Kahlil gives a solemn nod at the explanation. Not so different from his own world, which had also been going through changes for the better in the past two decades. And while Kelson doesn't outright speak his title, it's clear enough that the young man is some kind of leader. Explains the stubborn confidence.

"Many people here believe that those who vanish return to the exact moment they disappeared from in their own world."

If that matters to him. Kahlil has no proof to offer, though. Only his own experiences, which he doesn't intend to speak on yet.

The serving woman is quick with the kettle, setting it down on the wood table with two mismatched mugs between them. Kahlil waits for it to steep a minute or two longer. He watches the steam curling from the spout.

"It's alright," he shrugs. "There's not much to say. My world is a single country on a continent. We had no magic like this world, and what we did have was mostly forbidden by the church."