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One grows old.

Damon Singh

Visitor
Damon Singh was getting old.

It was obvious. But it wasn’t the grey hair; his unruly mane was still thick. It wasn’t the aches and pains in his joints; he was still powerfully built.

No. It wasn’t any physical ailment that made it obvious…

Damon had returned to Jhelom after a decade of retirement. Too many memories, he’d said to his attendant. Too many lost friends. It was time to leave but now he was back. Something called him back to Britannia – a feeling that there was something he should not miss.

He stepped through the moongate and the humidity reached up and slapped him. Face drenched with sweat he walked through the town, a large pack on his back holding all his possessions. The sights were familiar yet much had changed. He heard the shouts and laughter from the dueling pit. There was the old Hand of Death building. He barely glanced at it and walked past. He made his way to the teleporters and tried not to think of the Brothers in Arms – he would visit them later. First stop would be his house.

He was transported to the north island and saw that a pig had escaped from the ranch. The ranch hand scrambled after it as Damon stepped around them both towards his house. Some things never change.

Damon could finally see it in the distance, past the ranch. He breathed in the familiar air. Animal dung, saltwater and jungle - It was why he had built his house here. This was uniquely Jhelom.

The house was more impressive than he remembered. Much more impressive. Did it always tower over the ranch so powerfully? Where'd that greenery along the Eastern wall come from? Or the elaborate stonework?

Something was wrong.

He stepped closer and read the sign, which stated simply: “Owner: Dezra Blackwell”.

“What the bloody hell,” he thought, mouth slightly open.

He straightened as he realized his mistake, then smiled, then sighed, then made his way back to the main island and the moongate. He stepped through and arrived back in Jhelom – Felucca, this time.

After a few minutes he stood before his house, arms crossed, brow furrowed. The house was gone. There were only a few supporting walls and a sign post to signify that anything was ever there. Only one thing to do - get to work and build from scratch once again, as he did all those years ago.

Step one, he’d have to remember to go the right facet. He shook his head.

Damon Singh was getting old. It was obvious.
 
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