A Tamia's Tale - 1:Omen of Death

[Vr1bo]

PROLOGUE

It was a summer day.


The heat was suffocating.

The cicadas kept chirping.

The smell of roses.

A reminiscent dream,

That he can't shake off,

Nor Remember.


Fresh grass brushes his fingers,

Trees are wavering,

The wind is ceasing.


An encounter,

Its beginning.

Its end.​

---

Chapter 1:Kanami

A shadow passed across the sun.


There and gone in an instant—too fast for any eye to truly catch. The figure moved between rooftops in perfect silence, disturbing neither rusted weathervanes nor the pigeons dozing along the eaves. Crossing the gap between buildings in a single, fluid arc, landing without so much as a whisper of displaced air.


That shadow was dressed to feel like a hole in the blue sky.


From the waist down, black cloth wrapped tightly around its legs, tucking into sandals reinforced with thick, painted straw. Each sole was layered and dense enough to muffle even the sharpest gravel. That same dark fabric climbed its thighs, fitted without a single loose thread to catch the wind or snag a ledge. Even the pouches strapped along each leg, carrying blades, tools, and things with no gentle purpose, didn't shift an inch despite the explosive bursts of movement that carried it from roof to roof.


A hint of femininity interrupted the severity of the silhouette. Her thighs lay bare between the high-cut hem of her black kimono and the tops of her thigh-high black stockings. The kimono itself was layered over a deep indigo underlayer that surfaced only at the sleeves and hem, and cinched at the waist by a patterned obi of muted blue-violet, over which a braided red cord was tied in a precise knot at the front. The only color on her entire body. Whether it was a signature or a warning depended entirely on who was reading it.


Then the wind softened, not died, but gentled, as though it too had decided to treat her with care, and it caressed her cheeks as her long black hair came to rest past her waist, briefly unguarded, briefly human.


Her eyes, caught somewhere between silver and gold—molten and pale at once, swept slowly over the walls of the city below.


A stroll, she would have called it, if anyone had thought to ask. Every morning, before the castle fully woke and the servants began their shuffling routines, the shadow of the kingdom's princess slipped out of her quarters and climbed. It had become a ritual by now, as ordinary to her as prayer was to others, and, as she thought, considerably more useful.


The ramparts she now crouched upon had been built in an older era, wide enough to accommodate two guards walking abreast without either brushing the parapet. They were practical things, these walls. She had always respected practical things.


But guarding them, or seeing if a guard was slacking off, was not why she was here.


"Everything seems fine here," she thought while looking through the noble's quarters windows.


She let her gaze drift deliberately across the noble's quarters below. The tall windows were still shuttered at this hour, thin lines of Firelight bleeding through the cracks of one, then another. Someone was awake in the Faeborne household. Probably Uther, the court mage. She noted it without expression and moved on. Even if the man was a trusted friend of Morgann's, the shadow extended her suspicion to everyone equally. Her foreignness made it so that she carried none of the comfortable assumptions that long familiarity bred. She did not know who had always been honorable, who had always been loyal, whose family name was synonymous with virtue in this kingdom's memory. She arrived unburdened by any of it. In a court where everyone knew everyone, and knowing someone too well had a way of making you blind to them, being a stranger was her greatest strength.


The reason she had come to watch the sleeping habits of nobility was not idle suspicion.


A few months ago, the king, Albius Sora, fell ill.


Since then, Morgann, his daughter and the shadow's employer, took the throne to guide the kingdom in these troubled times. With the recent possible passage through the desert after centuries of impossibility, the country bearing the king's name was now open to new civilizations. New roads. New peoples. New ambitions flowing in from civilizations that had existed in isolation long enough to develop. Her own homeland among them.


The situation, and the rudeness of the illness, as well as the symptoms, planted seeds of doubt into the shadow's mind. Having seen many such cases—or at least similar ones on a smaller scale—a treason was the most probable outcome. There were many people in the council, and every one of them held a theoretical claim to succession should the king die without a formal resolution. Morgann was, in the eyes of half of them, a warm body occupying a seat that would soon need to be properly filled.


The timing was, at the very least, extremely convenient.


The shadow exhaled slowly through her nose. Once more, it was a fruitless expedition. She couldn't just enter these houses without causing a scene, and only watching from the exterior wasn't giving results. And besides—


"Oh, look up there, it's…" One of the passers-by below, in rich blue cloth, pointed upward to the roof.


"That dog again? What is she doing here?" Another said, looking up to where the man was pointing.


"You're going to dirty our rooftops with your disgusting feet!" An old man said, waving his cane around menacingly.


She couldn't stay here for long. Those were words and sentences the twenty-year-old woman was used to hearing by now. So much so that in fact, she barely spared a glance at the people down below. Not out of a feeling of superiority, but because of a lack of care.


A care she had buried deep inside for a long time now.


With a sigh betraying her interior struggle, she turned toward the castle. "I suppose I should go back to my lord's side."


Nimble like a cat, the ninja dropped from the roof and landed in the narrow gap between two buildings. A dark alley where no one was watching, amidst the tall buildings belonging to the uptown nobles.


From there, she simply walked. Despite her stature, the woman appreciated the lone, leisurely walks while watching her environment.


A couple of birds nesting on a tree's branch…


The water flowing from the river that divided the city in half…


And the majestic sun, rising on the horizon, past the high hills behind the castle.


A sight that was soon cut off as she passed through the cracks of a secret passage she knew all too well. A door built into the foundation, half-hidden behind a moss-covered buttress, leading down into the castle's lower dungeons. The cells there had been empty for some time now, the kingdom having enjoyed a stretch of relative peace, or at least the convincing appearance of one. She did not use the passage out of sentimentality. It was simply faster, and it spared her the performance of navigating guards and residents who would stop, stare, whisper, or, on occasion, feel compelled to say something.


She had nothing to say back to them. Even if she wanted to.


The underground corridors were cold and smelled of ancient stone, reminding her of the shrines of her home in the mountains. The silence, the sound of her sandals hitting the wet floor, eased her mind as she prepared herself for another day of work.


Despite the darkness, she moved without hesitation, and emerged, through a second door disguised as a section of paneled wall, into the lower servant's corridor.


From there, the castle's morning routines began to filter in. The distant clatter of the kitchens, which worked hard to prepare the meal for a certain council taking place every day. The distinct chatter of maids happily talking while dusting the numerous trinkets of the king. And the distracting smell of delicious food for today's lunch.


The shadow ignored it all.


That was until she became aware of the footsteps coming toward her from the east: bare, quick, graceless, and urgent. She recognized that breathless voice huffing and puffing before she recognized the silhouette.


A habit of hers had been to catalog the way everyone in the castle moved, and Morgann, when something was wrong, sounded like this: like someone who had set aside everything they had been taught about composure and was simply trying to arrive as fast as possible.


Even if she was about to lose her footing.


Morgann's shadow turned and closed the distance between them without hurry, arriving precisely in time. The princess tumbled. Arms received her.


"Your Majesty." Her tone offered the princess something solid to hold onto. "What is the matter?"


Morgann's fingers closed around her forearm. Her shining brown hair was half-undone, and her face open in a way the court was used to seeing. "The young man that arrived this morning!" the princess shouted before she could even catch her breath. "Uncle Marsh saw them take him out. Through the east corridor, he said, and then outside the walls, but he couldn't follow—"


"How long ago?"


"Not long. I came to find you as soon as—"


"How many did Marsh see?"


"Three. Perhaps four. Please, Kanami…" Morgann joined her hands together and looked at her servant with pleading eyes. "Find him!"


Kanami nodded once and waited just long enough to be sure the princess could stand on her own.


"Understood."


And with those simple words of acknowledgment, the girl moved.


Not toward the main gate, but through the window. It was a twelve-meter fall, but she landed with an inhuman facility and suppleness, like a feather falling on the ground, making no sound on arrival. Then, with a single jump, she landed on the roof of one of the nobles' houses, ignoring his comment on how she should get down from there. Some guards even looked at the all-in-black-clothed figure aghast, as she jumped from rooftop to rooftop like a human grasshopper.


"I still can't see them…"


Methodically and rapidly, she scanned the city, street by street, in search of the young man. No sign of urgency or stress was visible on her face, her lips betraying no expression. Just the robotic work she was used to doing, the result of years of experience and training.


Once she landed on the roof of the tavern of the Blue Falcons, she stopped abruptly, gripping tightly the handle of the dagger attached to the back of her belt.


"Here they are."


Was it her instinct? No. While she could be told to have subpar instincts, Kanami was known for her skill in tracking people. Even those she had never met before. She didn't get her nickname of "guard dog" for no reason, being born with an ability to sense the mana contained within people. For in this world existed an energy that slept within every living things, and even some objects. Other countries might give it another name, like chi, or simply life energy, but it remained the same to her. Each individual emitted a certain unique pattern she could recognize.


Some people were also told to be able to use said energy to create miracles, called "magic" here in Sora. Waging war, helping people, or simply discovering the secrets of the universe, magicians used it variously. And in a place like this, brimming with said mages, it was no wonder the kidnappers had one too.


When she had left the castle, Kanami noticed immediately traces of a spell being used near the gate, a camouflage spell she figured. All she had to do was follow the trail.


There, tucked inside a narrow, filth-strewn alley between sagging tenements, stood a derelict little shack. Its walls were warped and rotting wood, patched clumsily with mismatched planks, while its roof sagged under countless holes and missing tiles. Laundry lines heavy with threadbare garments drooped overhead like dusty spiderwebs, casting faint, shifting shadows across the cramped courtyard. The stench of rot, urine, and spoiled refuse clung thickly to the stagnant air, undiluted even by the maze of connecting alleys.


A perfect place to make someone disappear…


Kanami, perched on the tavern, took a moment to assess the situation. A man was posted in front of the door. Light armor, sword on the hilt, looking anxious, ready to pounce on anyone who would dare approach. She jumped from the roof and approached the alley. In the middle of the day, as everyone was watching her, the city, usually loud and brimming with life, went quiet.


They knew that when the dog appeared, trouble wasn't far.


The faces of the passersby turned sour. Disgust, contempt, fear, morbid curiosity… A wave of emotions submerged the citizens. They couldn't do anything but watch. They couldn't do anything but hear their own heartbeats, their own breaths as this creature, completely undisturbed by this turn of events, took a step down from the roof in the middle of the most populated road of the city.


"It's her."


"I know her, she is the guard dog of the princess…"


"Why is she even allowed to quit the castle?"


"How horrible."


Countless voices rose in the silence. But Kanami heard nothing. She was too preoccupied by the shack in front of her, walking in a straight line, ignoring the passerby and the usual chatter surrounding her.


Because once she stepped into the shadowed mouth of the alley, the noise of the city rushed back in all at once, as though a spell had been broken.


"So? How's your mother doing, Jack?"


"Fresh eggs! Best in the region, straight from the farm!"


"I'm telling you, that singer last night—something else entirely!"


Life resumed. The shadow had passed. And the people, relieved, pretended they had never seen her.


Kanami's fingers brushed the hilt of the dagger at the belt as she advanced deeper into the alley. The guard, of course, noticed, as the absence of noise for a few seconds altered him earlier.


"Dammit! They sent the dog!" he shouted in panic.


He didn't waste time unsheathing his weapon, a longsword, and taking a stance to intercept the young woman. Kanami was already moving. She slipped under his swing, dagger flashing. A single precise cut severed his Achilles tendon without mercy. And as he screamed and fell, she drove the blade into his neck, effectively killing him before he even hit the ground.


Then, her ears heard some commotion from inside the shack. She quickly pushed the body aside and prepared herself to intercept the incoming reinforcements. Three men emerged: a spearman in heavy armor, a dual-wielding scimitar fighter in light gear, and a nervous mage hanging at the back.


In this situation, anyone would flee and come back with reinforcements. But Kanami was just assessing the situation, calm and steady as usual, gripping her dagger firmly, barely looking them in the eyes.


"Gareth! You bastard!" The spearman shouted and lunged forward upon seeing his comrade's lifeless body. The other warrior with scimitars followed closely. Kanami evaded the thrust of his lance with a simple step to the side, seemingly unbothered by the other one as well. After all, the one who worried her was the mage.


While stepping forward, brushing against the shaft of the spear, she pointed her dagger at the man's throat. Once the distraction of his range was gone, she could go all out on the remaining closed-range fighter.


That was when the air grew bitterly cold. A mist formed in the back, and dozens of ice spears materialized from it, right above the mage. With a movement of his staff, the deadly creations rained down at lethal speed, forcing Kanami to twist sharply.


Most missed, shattering against the alley stones, but one grazed her left thigh, drawing a thin line of blood. If she hadn't moved at the last second, her leg would have been torn apart, and her life would have ended here. The sting made her flinch for a fraction of a second—long enough for the dual-wielder to close in.


His scimitars sang through the air in a deadly cross, aiming to carve her chest. But at the last second, she snapped a powerful kick into the man's stomach mid-swing, using the impact to launch herself backward into a smooth backflip. The moment she landed, Kanami exploded forward in a burst of speed, black hair whipping behind like liquid ink.


"Esfelto!"


The mage chanted, a ball of fire erupting from his staff right toward Kanami. An undodgeable attack, a sure hit, meant to reduce her to cinders.


The heat reached her face, the flame so bright it could blind her.


But blue spark suddenly surrounded her right forearm.


Not mana, not technology, a power only she possessed flared brightly as Kanami slashed upward with her dagger. The glowing blade cut straight through the heart of the fireball, splitting it cleanly in two. The flames parted around her like water around a blade and vanished into harmless sparks that faded on the wind.


"Impossible—!" the mage cried, eyes wide with shock and terror.


That single heartbeat of disbelief sealed his fate.


Kanami accelerated, a streak of black and crimson. She ignored the two warriors completely, closing the distance to the mage in the blink of an eye to plant her dagger into his chest, piercing his heart.


The wind suddenly lifted itself behind her with a loud noise of metal. Without turning around, she grabbed the mage's now lifeless body and positioned it right behind her. The sound of metal piercing flesh reverberated through her body, as the spearman pierced its friend's corpse, blood dripping down on the stone pavement.


"S-Sorry!"


Shocked, he couldn't even bring himself to remove his weapon.


Using the impaled corpse as leverage, Kanami vaulted upward. Her legs snapped around the spearman's neck in a vicious scissor lock, thighs clamping down hard. As she twisted her body mid-air, she ripped her dagger free from the mage's chest in a spray of blood. The spearman choked, eyes bulging, clawing desperately at her legs.


In one smooth, merciless motion, she drove the dagger down into the side of his neck. Once. Twice. His struggles weakened instantly. She released her leg lock and landed lightly on her feet as the heavy man collapsed in a heap.


Only the dual-wielder remained.


"Raaah!" he roared, charging forward in a frenzy of grief and rage. Both scimitars raised high, he poured every ounce of his strength into the attack. He had watched his comrades fall one by one to this woman, and nothing short of her death would satisfy him now.


But the moment she turned to face him, everything changed.


Her face was lightly splattered with the blood of his friends, yet her expression remained eerily serene. And those eyes… those strikingly beautiful silver eyes were utterly empty. Cold. Hollow. They looked at him as if he were already dead, as if he had never mattered at all.


Terror seized him deep in his veins.


She wasn't even trying. There was no bloodlust, no hatred, no satisfaction. Not even disgust. Just… nothing. To her, they were less than insects.


That realization broke something inside him. His roar faltered, his steps growing heavier with fear even as momentum carried him forward.


Kanami moved to meet him.


She slipped inside the arc of his first scimitar with unnatural grace, making no excess movement. The second blade came down fast too, but she parried it with her dagger, the impact ringing sharply through the alley, then drove her elbow into his throat. He gagged, stumbling. Before he could recover, she twisted low and swept his legs out from under him.


Right before he fell, she drove her hand onto his face and slammed him down onto the paved ground. To pin him further, she brought her knee against his sword arm while the tip of her dagger hovered just beneath his eye.


"Who sent you?" she asked, voice calm and quiet.


The man trembled beneath her. Up close, the emptiness in her gaze was even more horrifying.


"I… I don't know!" he gasped, tears mixing with the blood on his face. "We got a note and a bag of coins! That's all! They said he was just some foreigner! Please… please don't kill me…"


Kanami stared at him for a long second, reading the terror in his eyes. Then, with a swift strike of the dagger's hilt to his temple, she knocked him unconscious.


She rose slowly, wiping the blood from her blade on his tunic before sheathing it.


"..."


A long, soft sigh escaped her lips. The fight hadn't been too hard, but something still grazed her left leg. A shallow cut, nothing that she couldn't fix back home with a bandage—for she hated to rely on this city's healers—but it was a point of improvement.


Kanami rolled her shoulders once, then methodically searched the bodies. Aside from a few coins and cheap weapons, the only thing of value was a crumpled piece of parchment. She unfolded it carefully.


"Capture the young man dead or alive who arrived this morning.

If you succeed, a man will reward you tomorrow.

One thousand gold coins shall be awarded in case of success."


She looked at it thoughtfully, trying to figure out if she recognized this writing style but nothing came to her mind.


"I wonder who's more stupid. The ones who hired them, or these idiots who thought they could handle it…" Another sigh escaped her. She folded the note and slipped it into one of the pouches on her thigh. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Then, she returned into the shack. After kicking aside a filthy rug, she found the trapdoor. The hinges creaked softly as she lifted it, revealing a narrow ladder leading into a dimly lit basement.


Kanami simply jumped down.


There he was.


The young man sat slumped in a wooden chair, wrists and ankles tightly bound with rough rope. He had short black hair, a strange and sturdy brown jacket filled with numerous pockets, and durable blue trousers that looked made with a material she wasn't familiar with. His face was a mess of bruises, one eye swollen shut, his lip split and bleeding.


The truth was that Kanami didn't know this person. Only that he arrived this morning, unexpectedly, from a place far away. And a part of her felt pity, but it soon turned into annoyance.


After one last stifled sigh, she cut his bindings.


His eyes opened.


There, he saw a young woman, her face splattered with fresh blood, wearing black clothes, her long black hair attached. He couldn't see clearly, his head still foggy, but he knew he was out of danger.


The golden eyes looking down at him, filled with quiet compassion despite the violence that still clung to her, told him everything he needed to know.


A hero had come for him.


Was it fate?


Or nothing more than a simple coincidence?


Even years later, Kanami still asked herself that question every time that same man knocked on her door, wearing that sincere, gentle smile of his…

 

[Vr1bo]

"Everything is ready, Professor."

In a cramped room located inside the dungeon of Eran's castle, several guards were crouched, drawing a circle made with brown sand mixed with elm wood chips. One of them turned to look at a man wearing a long black coat and a burgundy colored shirt below it. Even though he was in his forties, his long and detached hair that reached his waist and his lack of wrinkles made him look like he was still in his early thirties.

"Thanks. You can move back for now. We will proceed with the ritual," he said in a gentlemanly tone. While pulling out some vials from his sleeves to pour onto the circle, his eyes watched the person in the corner of the room.

The princess wasn't a morning person, and, while she usually appeared calm and regal as usual, some more astute people could see her lower lip twitching from nervousness. They had prepared for months and only had one shot, but she trusted Uther, an eminent professor of the magical academy of the capital, to succeed.

Morgann took a step forward, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress, and opened her mouth. "Are you sure this will work, Professor?" she asked, doing her best not to show her restlessness to her faithful guards.

"While magic is close to science…" Uther said with a light tone to ease the tension. "...I am not sure this ritual will really summon the man we are looking for. Only that we will tear open the door he walked through."

He passed his hand through his long hair before opening the book that he had kept under his arm. Nothing was written on it, or at least, it appeared so to those who didn't possess his Fae eyes. The pages began to twirl rapidly as if the wind itself was looking for the right page, before stopping abruptly. He had only one try, Uther knew it very well. If they were to fail now, there would be almost no other hope to find the man who killed his friends two years ago.

Failure wasn't allowed.

"Open."

The mage commanded, and the spell obeyed.

The sand-and-elm circle ignited with a sickly, subterranean glow. Instantly, the stagnant air was replaced by a violent vortex that roared upward from the floor. The wind shrieked, clawing at the tapestries and forcing the guards to shield their eyes. Morgann braced herself against the stone wall, her hair whipping around her face like a storm, as she watched Uther stand perfectly still at the eye of the hurricane, his gaze fixed on the circle.

Then, after pouring the contents of his vials—a mixture of gold and wood in powder—a blinding light began to illuminate the room, forcing Uther to avert his eyes and focus on his book. The ground started shaking, and then, a deafening whistle filled the room.

"Gate of the Starborn!"

His own voice was deaf to his ears. But as the final syllable left his lips, the universe seemed to snap back into place. The screaming wind died into a haunting silence that rang in their ears. In the center of the scorched ritual circle, a swirling aperture of absolute nothingness—the deepest of voids—flickered for a heartbeat before collapsing inward.

The dust settled. The guards lowered their arms, blinking away the afterimages of the glare.

And there, resting precisely in the center of the smoldering circle, sat a bed.

It was an utterly mundane piece of furniture, looking jarringly domestic inside the dungeon. It featured a frame of simple, polished wood, topped with heavy quilts of a deep, midnight blue and a matching pillow.

Uther remained frozen, his book still open, his eyes wide as he stared at the primary result of his life's most arduous work:

A sleeping man.

"Did… Did it work?" asked the princess.

"It seems that is the case, but…"

Uther examined the young man, who seemed to have awakened from his sleep quite brutally. They looked at each other for a while, both guarded.

"Raise your hands! Don't move!" The guards, however, didn't wait to point their spears at him. In his pajamas and completely defenseless, he obeyed instinctively, the gesture rapid and frantic.

"W-W-Whaaaat?!" His head spun twice to assess the situation around him, before settling on what looked like the most important person in the room: the man in long black robes. "What is going on?! Where am?! Who are you people?!"

"State your name," Uther uttered, readying a fire spell in case the man was a threat.

The tips of the spears approached the man's throat in a semi-circle, and an audible gulp could be heard as he swallowed.

"L-Luka… Sir," he stammered, squeezing his eyes shut as if trying to wake himself up from a nightmare.

"Do you bear any ill will towards us?" Uther asked another question while he readied a specific page from his book.

"N-No… Why?" Luka answered, curling himself up in fear.

Uther sighed loudly in unison with Morgann.

"We failed…"

Their shoulders slumped visibly, and the guards took it as a sign to stop threatening the man. They lowered their spears, though they remained watchful of the strange man's movements.

"What are we going to do, Uther? Can you send him back?" Morgann asked.

"No, we can't," Uther shook his head. "The gate was a one-way rupture. Unless our new guest possesses the knowledge to bridge worlds himself, he is stranded here."

Luka's eyes went wide. "What do you mean MY world!? Don't tell me you've—" An audible gasp escaped his mouth as he looked at his hands. "Oh crap… No way…This is actually happening…"

Morgann held a hand up to her face and shook her head. "This is a disaster…"

"I believe explanations are in order," Uther said, his tone shifting back to that of a polite, if weary, academic. He closed his book with a soft clack and stepped toward the bed. "Sir Luka, would you allow us to escort you somewhere more… fitting for a conversation? I have many questions, and I suspect you have a few of your own."

Morgann crossed her arms, her gaze turning icy as she glared at the mage. "You take care of this, Uther. He can have a room in the castle for now, but mark my words: if he proves to be a danger, you are to dispose of him. Understood?"

"D-Dispose?!" Luka's voice hit a high-pitched note of pure terror. He looked at the Princess, then at Uther, realizing that while the spears were down, the threat was very much alive.

"Ahahah," Uther chuckled brightly at the proposition of the princess. "Now, now, Your Majesty. I don't believe there is any need to frighten the poor man with such statements. I can tell that the fairies harbor no ill will toward him."

"Hmph." Morgann's regal mask slipped, her cheeks puffing out in a silent, childish protest. Despite the crown she represented, she was still young enough for her frustrations to manifest in a pout when her authority was gently bypassed. "As you wish, Faeborne. Just ensure he is treated with the appropriate hospitality... provided he proves to be harmless."

She spared one final, lingering glance toward Luka—her eyes flickering with a complex tangle of disappointment, curiosity, and a trace of guilt—before executing a sharp, one-eighty-degree turn. Her cloak flared behind her as she marched out of the room, the armored rhythm of her guards' boots echoing against the walls until the dungeon fell into its usual silence.

Uther turned back to Luka, his expression softening into a polite, inquisitive smile. "I believe we won't need these anymore," he said, waving his long fingers with the fluid grace of an orchestral conductor. Light filled the room and disappeared in particles as numerous hidden runes etched into the masonry and the invisible tethers stretched across the floor dissolved into white mist.

Despite knowing nothing about magic, Luka could tell those were meant to welcome whoever they were waiting for, and not in a kind manner. It only heightened the threat they were expecting.

"Now, would you kindly follow me? Sir Luka…" Uther trailed off, his head tilting slightly as he waited for the missing piece of the introduction.

"Morgen. Luka Morgen," the black-haired man said firmly, his earlier fear somewhat gone and replaced by curiosity, and dread.

"Well then, Luka Morgen," the mage smiled, his eyes glinting with a secret light as he stepped aside to clear the way.

"Welcome to Tamia."

---

It was only a few hours later that the man was kidnapped and brought back by Kanami to the castle. While he was adjusting to his new room after being asked numerous questions by Uther Faeborne, several men barged inside, knocked the guard unconscious along with him, and dragged him to the east aisle with a camouflage spell.

His memories of these events were hazy at best. The smell of urine and sweat, the jostling of his captor's pace, and the humid air of the cave he had been put in.

However, one image remained etched into his mind.

The terrifyingly beautiful sight of that woman standing over him, her face splattered with the hot blood of her enemies. And those eyes…

Eyes that he knew all too well.

When he finally drifted back into a state of semi-consciousness, he found himself lying on a comfortable bed in the castle's infirmary. It was a place with barely any decoration and light, smelling strongly of dry flowers and herbs. In there, he could hear the conversation of his savior with a voice he recognized.

"Thank you, Kanami. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't found him…"

Luka cracked his eyes open. The Princess and her shadow stood face to face in the center of the room, while a maid worked in silence, tending to the bruises on Luka's arms with a cool, herbal salve.

Morgann's gaze was fixed on Kanami. Seeing the fresh blood drying on the woman's cheek made the Princess shiver with a brief, instinctive disgust, but she quickly steadied herself. She had lived in this castle long enough and through numerous similar situations to know that peace was often painted in such grim colors.

Kanami didn't offer a bow. She stood perfectly still, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger with a perfect straight posture. "They were professionals," Kanami replied, her voice so soft that anyone further than two meters would need to force their ears open to hear her. "They were offered a ransom."

"I see…" The princess averted her eyes, not able to take the sight anymore. She didn't know if it was the blood or Kanami's face that caused this reaction, however. "Thank you once more for bringing him back. We will look into this later. For now… You should use a bath."

Kanami looked at herself in a mirror near the entrance and nodded. "You're right. Sorry to impose such a sight on you, Your Majesty."

"It's nothing. Just go."

Kanami nodded again and left the place at full speed, only leaving behind a fleeting breeze.

"Maria!" Morgann commanded, turning her attention to the woman sitting beside the bed.

The blonde-haired maid tending to Luka with slender fingers was dressed in a crisp gown trimmed with white lace and a pristine apron.

"Keep an eye on this man," Morgann continued, her voice regaining its royal edge. "I trust no one else with him until Uther arrives from his study."

"Are you going to bother Sir Faeborne again, Your Majesty?" Maria asked, her voice carrying the subtle, teasing undertone that only a lifelong confidante could get away with.

"I-I have no choice!" The curly-haired princess grumbled as she crossed her arms. "Only he can deal with that! I surely can't! Especially since…" She bit her lip hard, catching herself before she could admit the truth out loud. Especially since the man in the bed looked a bit like the man she lost two years ago. "Anyway, you heard me, so I trust you. I have other things to do."

"Understood, Your Majesty," Maria bowed graciously, crossing an arm over her chest in a gesture of deep reverence as she saw the princess out. Then, from the corner of her somewhat dull brown eyes, she watched the man stirring in the bed. "It is not good to peek at conversations, Mister Morgen."

"Urgh…" Luka brought a trembling hand to his forehead with a pained grunt. The light of the room felt like needles against his retinas. "I wasn't peeking... I was still half-asleep..."

"A convenient excuse. But an acceptable one," Maria remarked with a soft giggle. She wrung out a cloth, the water splashing softly back into the basin.

"May I ask… who you are…?" Luka said, forcing his eyes open more fully to take in her face.

Gentle and warm were the first traits he would attribute to her. Unlike the sharp, terrifying lethality of Kanami or the prickly, royal tension of the Princess, Maria looked like a port in a storm. Her blonde hair was pulled back neatly, and her expression held a quiet, maternal wisdom that made the terrifying events of the day feel miles away.

"My name is Maria," she replied, leaning over to gently replace the warm cloth on his brow. Her touch was light, professional, and practiced. "I am the head maid of this castle, and for today, I am your nurse. You've had quite a fright, Mister Morgen, but you are under my care now. And I assure you, my nursing skills are the top of this castle."

She said it with such assurance that he couldn't help but believe her fully. Luka let out a shaky breath, his muscles finally beginning to unclench from the trauma of the kidnapping.

"Thank you… I swear, it feels like I've been run over by a car," he groaned in pain as he tried to hold himself up in the bed.

"A car?" the maid repeated, puzzled. "Do you mean, a carriage? Because it surely looks like you did."

"Oh… right. No cars," he muttered, his voice sinking into a hollow whisper. He sank back into the pillows, his gaze drifting toward the high ceiling.

It was hard to realize, but earlier that day, he had been transported to another world. From his mundane home to a place with fantastical creatures and magic being as common as any fact of life.

"I don't remember much of what happened…"

"You need to take it slow. You also were probably unconscious for a few hours," Maria said as she took his hand. The soft gesture made Luka smile despite himself, and encouraged him to stand up further.

With a bit more effort, he managed to sit fully upright against the wall, though he was in pain. He kept trying to remember what happened, but the only thing that flashed through his mind was receiving hits and seeing this unknown girl who saved him.

"By the way… Do you happen to know who saved me back there?" he asked, staring at the far blank wall.

Maria's hands paused mid-motion, the cloth hovering above his forearm. A small, knowing smile curved her lips. "You mean Kanami? Yes. She is the personal bodyguard of the princess."

"Kanami…" Luka repeated the name under his breath, the image flashing vividly in his mind once more. That name sounded Japanese to his ears, but due to being in another world, it probably meant something else he didn't want to assume.

Still, the name "Kanami" rang pleasantly in his ears, carrying an exotic, almost musical quality that felt fitting for this strange new world.

"Wait, the princess's personal bodyguard?" He suddenly blinked in realization.

Maria let out a soft, melodic laugh as she resumed applying the ointment, her fingers working with practiced care. "Indeed. And one of the most dangerous people in the entire kingdom, I might add. You're fortunate she was nearby when those mercenaries took you."

Luka swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "Mercenaries? They mentioned a ransom. Who would even want to kidnap me? I've been here less than a day. I don't know anyone, I have no money, no power—nothing!"

The maid's expression grew more serious, though her touch remained gentle. "That is precisely what worries Her Majesty and Professor Uther. Someone went to great lengths to abduct you so soon after your arrival. Either they knew the ritual was happening, or they had eyes inside the castle. Both possibilities are… troubling."

But before Luka could press further, she reassured him with a smile. "But please, do not concern yourself with such matters. You are an outsider and innocent in all of this, and I am sure time will prove to whoever tried to kidnap you that they are simply not worth it."

She froze the moment the words left her mouth, one hand flying up to cover her lips, eyes widening in mortification.

"Oh… Sorry. That came out rather mean, innit?"

Luka let out a long, weary sigh and gave her a tired half-smile. "That's fine… I get the feeling behind it. Honestly, I'd prefer to be worthless to them if it keeps me alive."

Maria's shoulders relaxed slightly at his understanding. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before turning back to the basin, wringing out a fresh cloth with practiced ease. "You have a resilient spirit, Mister Morgen. That will serve you well here."

The faint scent of dried lavender and healing herbs filled the room as she worked. Luka watched her for a moment, the quiet domesticity of the scene strangely grounding after the chaos of the day. It almost felt normal if he ignored the medieval-style infirmary and the fact that he was wearing borrowed linen sleepwear instead of his pajamas.

A soft knock sounded at the door. Before Maria could answer, it opened silently.

"Sorry for the trouble, Maria. I didn't expect something to happen this quickly," the voice of the teacher filled the room as he quickly approached the bed. "Luka, are you feeling well?"

Luka sat up a little straighter, ignoring the dull throb in his side. "I'm fine… Thanks to Maria here."

"Praise the divines for that," Uther sighed wearily, collapsing into a nearby wooden chair with uncharacteristic heaviness. The elegant, composed mage suddenly looked exhausted, the weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders. "If something irreparable had been done to you, I doubt I would ever hear the end of it from Morgann."

Luka felt a sharp pang of annoyance at the mage's phrasing. So I only matter because of the princess? The thought stung, but he kept it to himself, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Uther then snapped his fingers, suddenly sitting straighter as he caught Maria's cold, pointed glare. "Right, right. I also wanted to check on the clothes I gave you earlier, Luka. I trust they fit well enough?"

The otherworlder perked up slightly. Earlier that day, shortly after the summoning and his long interrogation, Uther had brought him a set of clothes that had once belonged to the missing man named Desmond. When it became clear Luka knew nothing about him, the professor had offered the garments as a gesture of goodwill—modern attire from Luka's own world.

"Desmond was a man from your world, Mister Morgen," Uther had explained, gesturing toward a neatly folded stack of garments on the bed of his room. "Furthermore, you two look roughly the same size. His clothes should fit you reasonably well."

And they had. Before the kidnapping, Luka had changed into them: a well-worn leather jacket, a simple black t-shirt, and a pair of sturdy jeans. They felt far more comfortable and familiar than the loose infirmary linens he currently wore.

Luka glanced down at the plain linen shirt and pants he was currently dressed in, then back at Uther. "They fit perfectly, actually. I was wearing them when those men took me… I don't know what happened to them after that."

Maria, who had been quietly organizing her healing supplies, spoke up. "The jacket and shirt were dirtied with blood, so I had them sent to be washed. The pants survived. You should have everything back tomorrow."

Uther nodded, relieved. "Good. It's better you wear something familiar. It might help you adjust." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Now, about Desmond… I know I asked you this earlier, but I must be certain. You truly have never heard the name before? No one in your world ever mentioned a man by that name who suddenly disappeared?"

Luka shook his head. "No. Never. I'm just an ordinary guy. College student… Though there are a bunch of known superheroes, I don't know any with the name Desmond."

"Superheroes…?" Uther blinked, uncrossing and then re-crossing his arms, clearly intrigued. "What is the difference between them and regular heroes?"

"Well…" Luka paused, trying to find the right words. "They're stupidly powerful and fight for the weak. That's what makes them 'super', I guess."

"So kind of like what the Blue Falcons were…" Maria pondered aloud, tilting her head thoughtfully.

"It seems like it," Uther chuckled softly, a spark of nostalgia in his eyes.

"Anyway…" Luka shifted slightly on the bed, suddenly looking a little nervous. "Would it be a bother if I were to… thank Kanami personally?"

Uther raised an elegant eyebrow, while Maria turned around with a faint frown.

"Thank her?" the mage repeated carefully, his tone oddly guarded. "Do you really feel the need to do so?"

"Of course. She saved me, did she not?" Luka blinked at the unexpected guarded atmosphere.

Maria and Uther exchanged a brief glance. The head maid hesitated, looking as though she wanted to say something more, but eventually shook her head. "Never mind. If that is truly how you feel, then I see no harm in it. Kanami lives in a small house in the woods behind the castle, to the north."

Luka frowned. "She doesn't live in the castle? I thought all castle personnel stayed here. That's what Mister Faeborne told me earlier."

"Yes, but… we have our reasons," Maria answered, her face carefully neutral. "And she has her own."

"A good one," Uther added solemnly, his voice carrying a weight that suggested the topic was not up for casual discussion.

The cryptic responses only deepened Luka's curiosity. There was clearly more to Kanami than just her deadly skills and quiet demeanor. The way both Maria and Uther spoke about her hinted at some hidden history they weren't ready to share.

"I see…" Luka said slowly. "Then can I go see her? Or is that not allowed right now?"

Uther stroked his long hair, considering. "You are still recovering, but the walk isn't far. The fresh air might do you some good."

"I agree," Maria nodded, wiping her hands on a clean cloth. "Though it is nearly dusk, so please come back quickly. Her Majesty decided to post more guards near your room for tonight in case something similar to today happens again."

"T-Thank you very much… I'm sorry for being a bother." Luka bowed.

"No, no, don't be. On that note, I need to prepare dinner for Her Majesty," Maria bowed too. "Please take care."

With Maria's departure, Uther gave Luka a few more instructions and a respectful bow before leaving him to rest. But rest was the last thing on Luka's mind. Today had been so chaotic, strange, and insane to him, that he felt like his head would explode if he didn't get more answers soon.

With just a set of borrowed clothes and a nightgown, he slipped out of the infirmary.

The castle's north aisle was noticeably quieter and dimmer, the long shadows of the hills and towering pines already swallowing the afternoon daylight. Following Uther's directions, the black-haired otherworlder made his way outside and onto the dirt path leading into the woods.

The air grew cooler and heavier with the scent of pine and moss, but it wasn't disagreeable for Luka, as he was used to nighttime walks back in his world. The quiet rustling of leaves and the distant calls of unfamiliar birds felt strangely grounding, even if everything around him still felt like a fever dream.

He walked carefully, noticing how tall the pine trees were. By taking some steps back to look at the castle, he remarked that some of them were even taller than the third floor, above the living quarters. And of course, as he squinted into the dark of the forest, no house was visible from here—only two out-of-place tombstones that were neatly placed near each other below a sakura tree.

A striking splash of soft pink against the gloomy, evergreen backdrop.

Luka slowed to a stop in front of the graves. On one tomb, the name "WRIMBO" was written in capital letters, while the other had "ILYS". Fresh flowers rested at the base of both markers, and the sakura petals drifting down occasionally landed amidst the scriptures. He didn't know who they were, but something about the care given to this small plot told him they had been important to someone.

"Are those family members?" He asked himself. "Also 'Wrimbo'... What a weird name. Is this some kind of old language or something?"

After pondering for a while and deciding that he had nothing to do here, he bowed his head slightly out of respect before continuing down the dirt path.

The ambiance of the woods could be summarized into two words: tranquil, yet strangely oppressive. Tall, ancient pines stood like silent sentinels, their thick branches interlocking high above to form a dense, living canopy that filtered the dying sunlight into scattered shafts of gold and shadow. The air was cool and damp, heavy with the scent of resin, moss, and rich earth. Every footstep on the path was muffled by fallen needles, creating an almost unnatural hush. Occasional beams of fading light pierced through the foliage, illuminating floating motes of pollen and the occasional spiderweb glistening like silver thread.

It felt like a world apart—a secluded cocoon tucked inside the castle walls, far removed from the noise and politics of this place, yet still very much enclosed by them. There was beauty here, but also a hidden history.

Up ahead, the path curved gently, and warm, golden light began to spill through the trees. Luka's pulse quickened. As he stepped into the small clearing, he came to an abrupt halt, eyes widening in surprise.

"Okay… What is going on?" he muttered.

Nestled among the towering pines stood a modest but beautifully crafted Japanese-style wooden house. Dark timber beams, a gently sloped roof, and partially open sliding doors revealed the warm glow of lantern light inside. Tatami mats could be glimpsed within, along with a low wooden table where a kettle gently steamed. To the side, a meticulously tended garden featured a small koi pond, blooming flowers, and carefully pruned shrubs.

A vibrant pocket of serenity that felt transported from an entirely different culture. It was strikingly out of place, yet somehow perfectly at home in this quiet corner of the woods.

Luka approached slowly, stopping at the wooden steps leading up to the engawa. He hesitated, unsure of the customs here.

"Excuse me?" he called out, voice respectful. "Is someone there?"

No immediate answer came.

He waited a few seconds, then leaned forward slightly to peer inside. In that exact moment, a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder from behind, and the cold, razor-sharp edge of a dagger pressed against the side of his neck.

"Who are you?" a low whisper breathed against his ear.

Luka froze, his pulse pounding in his ears. "L-Luka! Luka Morgen! You saved me earlier today!"

The grip eased just enough for the woman to spin him around. Kanami's eyes bored into his, before recognition flickered across her face, and the dagger disappeared into its sheath fluidly.

"…You," she said softly, almost to herself. "What do you want?"

Luka exhaled shakily, lowering his hands. "Sorry for coming without warning. I just… I really wanted to thank you…"

Kanami stared at him in silence. Most people in the castle avoided her. Many feared her. Yet this boy from another world had walked into the woods at dusk just to express gratitude.

A long pause stretched between them.

Then, slowly, the tension in her posture melted. A small, genuine smile curved her lips. It looked like something she hadn't allowed herself in a very long time.

"…Why?" she asked quietly.

Luka blinked, caught off guard. "Why?"

"Why are you thanking me? There is no reason to, I just did my job," she explained calmly.

Luka stared at her silently. This was awkward to him, very awkward. He had a nervous smile splattered on his face, his hands were shaking a bit, probably from being scared, but his eyes weren't wavering.

"B-Because I thought that…" he inhaled deeply before continuing. "Isn't it normal to thank someone because they saved you?"

His hands gradually stopped shaking. Despite knowing how dangerous she was, an odd sense of calm settled over him in her presence.

"Yes but…"

"Then I'm thanking you, Ms. Kanami," Luka said, a little more firmly this time.

A faint twitch of amusement crossed her face. "No need to add 'miss.'" She waved the honorific away lightly. "Did you decide to come here on your own?"

Luka nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. I asked Maria and Uther where you lived, and they told me. I didn't want to wait until tomorrow. It felt… important."

"You name is Luka, right?"

"Huh… Yeah?"

Her smile widened, just a little, and she extended her hand toward him.

"My name is Kanami," she said, voice gentle. "I'm glad to meet you, Luka."

Luka hesitated for only a moment before reaching out and taking her hand. His grip was nowhere near as firm as the guards' or warriors' she was used to. His hand felt softer, almost frail in comparison, yet there was some kind of hidden strength in the way he held on to it.

"G-Glad to meet you too," he replied, a shy but sincere smile blooming on his face as they shook hands.

After regarded him for another moment, then remembering the old lessons her grandmother had taught her about receiving guests, Kanami tilted her head slightly toward the open door.

"Would you like some tea?"

Luka, who had never been particularly fond of tea, didn't even hesitate. Because even if he secretly disliked tea, he couldn't possibly refuse such a gesture.

For it seemed like a moment she could rarely enjoy…

 

[Vr1bo]

The woods had long since swallowed the distant, stone-carved architecture of Eran's castle, replacing the bustling of the city with a deep, breathing silence. Inside the Japanese-style house, that tranquility became absolute. It was a silent haven hidden away in the middle of the woods, like another world where only the occasional chirping of the late-evening birds could be heard.

Luka lowered himself onto the comfortable, plush cushions arranged neatly around the low wooden table situated in the center of the living room. The smooth grain of the wood under his palms and the rich, earthy scent of tatami mats beneath him felt foreign to him, but nonetheless familiar. He could tell at a glance that this was a home, a place to rest your weary soul.

As he settled in, his ears caught the final, fading sizzle of the iron teapot resting on a small fire stove in the adjacent kitchen, its shrill whisper announcing that the water had finally finished boiling.

A moment later, the soft sliding of Kanami's bare feet against the mats broke the silence. She emerged from the kitchen carrying a modest wooden tray, her movements stiff as if she wasn't used to this type of situation. On the tray sat a pair of ceramic cups, steam rising from them in lazy curls.

She set the tray down softly and knelt across from him in a much more elegant manner than he did. After that, the homeowner slid one of the cups toward him, carrying the faint sweet aroma of citrus leaves.

"It might be a bit hot," Kanami said softly, her voice returning to that quiet, barely audible murmur he had heard back in the infirmary.

"Thank you," Luka replied. He wrapped his slender fingers around the warm ceramic, grateful for the heat bleeding into his still-aching hands. Though he didn't dare take a sip, as something was bothering her.

Well, to be perfectly exact, he just didn't like tea. For all he could remember, he never did, no matter how many times he tried it.

So, he simply watched as the person in front of him took a sip first, closing her eyes as she did so as if to take in the flavor.

Kanami was peculiar to him. Pütting aside the fact that he found her beautiful, her demeanor was anything but what one could call "warm". In fact, there was this constant coldness around her, an invisible barrier that subtly pushed him back, no matter how he tried to ignore it or convince himself that she had just saved his life. She sat perfectly rigid, her silence almost suffocating.

"You aren't drinking," Kanami noted quietly, breaking the hush without opening her eyes.

Luka jumped slightly, nearly spilling the hot liquid onto himself. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"Ah, sorry. It's not... It's not that I'm ungrateful," he stammered, his voice louder than he would have liked it to be. "I'll do that just now."

After taking a deep breath to brace himself, he brought the cup to his lips and took a sip.

His eyes opened wide.

"What the…"

Immediately after, he brought it again and began taking a bigger sip, finding the taste pleasant.

"Oh… It tastes good!" He exclaimed, almost surprised.

Kanami opened her eyes slowly, tilting her head by a mere fraction as she watched his sudden shift in behavior.

"You sound surprised."

"I am!" Luka laughed nervously, looking down at the pale, yellowish-green liquid as if it had just performed a magic trick. "To be perfectly honest, back in my world, I absolutely hated tea. No matter how many times I tried it, it always tasted like bitter grass or dirty water. But here… It was delicious!"

"It is made of citrus tree leaves from this place," Kanami explained matter-of-factly. "The specialty of the region is lemonade, so I thought that taking some leaves was a good idea. As for the recipe… it is my grandmother's."

Luka took another, longer sip, letting the gentle heat and the clean, bright flavor soothe the lingering tension in his chest. "Well, you would have to thank your grandmother. It's amazing."

Kanami didn't lean into the compliment, nor did she offer a smile. She simply accepted it with a microscopic nod. Yet, despite the pervasive coldness that seemed to define her very presence, Luka no longer found the silence between them as suffocating.

Finally, he set his cup down onto the wooden tray. "By the way, Miss Kanami…"

"Please, drop the 'miss'."

"K-Kanami… I know I've been transported here because the princess was looking for someone, but do you know why I've been kidnapped? And who were they?"

Kanami lowered her cup, placing it precisely back on the tray. "You're asking why before who… For what reason, I do not know. But for whom, I can answer. The people who captured you were mercenaries. They do not have the intelligence network to know about a hidden ritual inside Eran's castle. Someone paid them, and someone gave them the exact layout of the guards' rotations."
Luka felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. "That sounds like an inside jo—" He stopped himself short, feeling that saying too much might cause unrest here.

"It is likely," Kanami replied flatly, not denying the possibility for even a second. "But I suggest you keep those thoughts to yourself if you don't want to die."

Luka swallowed hard, his hand hovering over the empty ceramic cup. The warning wasn't delivered with malice or anger; it was stated with the same chilling neutrality she might use to describe the weather.

"Right," Luka murmured, his voice sinking into a quiet whisper. "Keep my mouth shut. Got it."

He leaned back slightly against his cushion, trying to process the terrifying reality of his situation. He had been in this world for less than twenty-four hours, and already, he was walking through a political minefield where a single wrong word could get him killed. On top of that, an unknown enemy inside the very castle he was staying in had already targeted him for abduction.

And he was, as he thought back to how he tried to defend himself against his captors, powerless.

"I cannot thank you enough for saving me, once more," Luka sighed, bowing his head slightly from across the table.

"There's no reason to," the bodyguard replied smoothly, her tone entirely even as she lifted the iron teapot to pour herself another cup. "But one way you could thank me is by going back to the castle before curfew. I do not think the residents will be appreciative of someone snooping around at night, especially a stranger."

Luka glanced toward the open sliding doors. The soft twilight had vanished, replaced by a dense, suffocating darkness that seemed to press heavily against the edge of the wooden engawa. The tall pine trees were nothing more than jagged black silhouettes against a starless sky, rustling like a restless ocean.

"Curfew," Luka repeated, a tired smile touching his lips. "Right. I should probably get going then. I don't want to be more of a bother to anyone."

He carefully stood up from the comfortable cushions. His muscles, still recovering from the rough handling of the mercenaries, groaned in protest, a dull throb radiating from his side. Kanami didn't move to assist him or follow him to the door.

"Thank you for the tea, Kanami," he said softly, slipping his feet back into the borrowed footwear at the entrance. "It really was good."

"Hm." The woman hummed in acknowledgment, watching him as he closed the door behind him. After she confirmed his departure, she stood up and gulped her tea in one go, a scowl forming on her face.

Why?

A question that held no answer, and a bitterness emanating from it that formed a knot in her stomach. It was a foreign yet familiar feeling of waiting for something that would never come.

"..."

Mindlessly, she began tidying up the place. For some reason, the events of the day kept replaying in her head. While she was used to unusual events, it was most unusual today with the arrival of an otherworlder. But what bothered her the most wasn't this strange appearance, but her own sloth.

As she peered, right on the wall of her bedroom—a simple room made of one poor futon and nothing else, devoid of decoration or furniture—on the wall, her single-minded quest.

"Father…" she whispered, the word barely audible even to herself.

The silence of the woods only deepened, the chirping of the birds now gone…

As the dragon still showed his back to her.

---

Outside, the darkness swallowed Luka whole. It did not bother him as much as it should have. The borrowed lantern swung gently in his grip, its flame struggling against the heavy blackness pressing in from all sides. The narrow dirt path felt narrower now, hemmed by the towering trees whose branches reached like skeletal fingers overhead. Every snap of a twig underfoot made his shoulders tense.

He kept his pace steady, replaying Kanami's warning in his head.

Keep those thoughts to yourself if you don't want to die.

While he knew better than to trust anyone, his savior included, that warning chilled him to the bone. This world didn't play by familiar rules. One wrong word, one misplaced trust, and he could vanish as easily as the stars hidden behind the thick canopy.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the leaves. Luka froze mid-step, raising the lantern higher. For a brief moment, he thought he saw movement, but when he looked again, there was nothing. Only shadows.

"Get a grip," he muttered under his breath. "I know this is a recipe to become paranoïd but you shouldn't let the situation get to you."

For now, what he needed to do was find information. About this world, its people, whether he could read or not. Since it seemed like he could communicate orally without issues, he figured either the people were speaking his language or somehow words were being translated to him. Either way, he was glad that was the case.

Still… there was that one detail that refused to leave him alone.

"Professor Uther Faeborne mentioned a man…" Luka whispered to himself. Back in the summoning chamber, the middle-aged scholar had spoken of another person from his world who had lived here for years. Someone whose clothes resembled modern Earth attire. If that man had truly existed, he might hold answers Luka desperately needed.

If he could find him, that is. After all, the reason why he had been summoned in the first place was that they were looking for him, and not for good-natured reasons.

But the thought gave him a fragile thread of hope to cling to as the castle finally came into view. Its towering stone walls were bathed in the warm flicker of torchlight, yet even that magnificent sight felt menacing now. Luka slipped through the same side gate he had used earlier, keeping his head low. The guard posted there gave him a long, appraising look but ultimately let him pass without challenge. Perhaps word of the otherworlder had already begun to spread.

Once inside the quieter corridors of the northern wing, Luka allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

Which was brief as he suddenly realized something.

"Ah."

Where was his room? Last time, it was someone who showed him the way, but right now, in the middle of the night, he had no way of knowing where to go.

Luka turned in a slow circle, lantern held high. The northern wing was quieter than the rest of the castle, almost unnaturally so. Only the distant echo of boots on stone somewhere far off reminded him he wasn't completely alone. He tried to retrace his steps from memory, but the pain in his side and the exhaustion weighing on his mind made every hallway blur together.

"Great," he muttered. "Lost on my first full night. Perfect."

He picked a direction at random and began walking, keeping close to the wall. The tapestries depicted mostly dragons and grand battles, as well as regal figures. While he was finding them beautiful, he really didn't know what to make of them.

After two wrong turns and a pulse-pounding near encounter with a patrolling guard—whom he barely avoided by ducking behind a thick pillar—he suddenly heard someone cheerfully humming a jaunty, off-key tune.

"Crap…!"

Luka pressed himself flatter against the stone as a side door to his right swung open. A man stepped into the hallway, still humming a jaunty tune under his breath. He was a large man, though not particularly tall—broad and stout in a way that spoke of good living and fine meals. He wore rich crimson clothing cut in a flamboyant Renaissance style: a velvet doublet slashed with gold, a heavy embroidered cloak draped over one shoulder, and a feathered cap perched at a jaunty angle. A curly mustache adorned his rounded face, and a golden chain rested across his chest.

He reminds me of a character from The 3 Musketeers… Luka thought. Like a plumper and overdressed Porthos.

The man paused mid-hum, tilting his head as though sensing another presence. His sharp, dark eyes swept the corridor. With surprising quickness for his size, he slipped a half-empty bottle under his doublet, hiding it from view.

Hm? He is acting awfully suspicious.

Luka blinked, holding his breath. The man reached into a pouch on his belt, carefully retrieving a ring of keys. He moved with surprising silence for someone of his girth, creeping toward a nearby door while glancing left and right, clearly making sure no one was watching. That was when he stopped, noticing something.

His gaze locked onto the faint glow spilling from Luka's position.

"My lantern!" Luka realized a second too late, cursing inwardly.

In the dim corridor, the soft amber light from the lantern suddenly felt blindingly obvious. Luka had lowered it as much as possible, but the flame still flickered.

The stout man's eyes narrowed. For a tense heartbeat, silence stretched between them.

"Who goes there?!" he demanded, his voice loud and commanding, echoing down the hallway. He strode toward the light with surprising purpose, one hand instinctively moving toward the ornate dagger at his belt.

Luka's heart slammed against his ribs. There was no point in hiding anymore. He stepped out from behind the pillar, raising his free hand in a placating gesture while keeping the lantern steady.

"I'm sorry!" he said quickly. "I'm not a thief or anything—I'm just lost!"

The stout man halted a few paces away, studying him intently. His initial stern expression slowly melted into one of recognition, followed by a broad, mischievous grin that made his curly mustache twitch.

"Oho! Is that so?" his deep, rumbling voice echoed in the corridor. "And what precisely were you doing, lurking in the shadows like a common footpad and observing my movements? State your business, lad. I know every face in this castle, and yours is not among them."

"My name is Luka Morgen! Please talk to the princess or anyone, I'm sure they will—!"

"And you think I am going to rouse Her Highness from her slumber for a stray wanderer? What kind of fool do you take me for?!"

"My, Sir Safaran, there is no need to be quite so harsh with our guest."

Another voice echoed throughout the alley, and Maria, the maid, stepped into view from behind Luka, holding a lantern for herself. She offered Safaran a polite, practiced nod before turning her calm gaze toward Luka.

"I was beginning to worry when you did not return to your quarters after your venture into the woods, Sir Morgen," Maria said, her tone carrying a gentle, scolding undertone. "It seems my suspicions were correct—you are utterly lost."

Luka let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his shoulders sagging with immense relief. "Maria. Thank goodness. I was just... trying to find my way back, but every hallway looks exactly the same."

Sir Safaran looked between the two of them, his eyebrows climbing toward his feathered cap. "Ah! So this is the legendary otherworlder my brother has been talking about all day."

"Brother…?" Luka repeated before looking back at Maria. "Wait, wasn't this supposed to stay a secret?"

"Sir Safaran here is the brother of the king," Maria smiled angelically at Luka.

"Eh?! He is a big shot?!"

"Ah! As big as me, that is certain, young man!" Safaran laughed heartily, the sheer volume of his voice bouncing off the stone walls. Before Luka could even blink, the stout noble lunged forward with surprising agility, trapping the young man in a boisterous, one-armed headlock.

"Oof—!" Luka gasped, his nose pressed firmly against him. The hidden bottle of spirits clinked sharply against the man's golden chain right next to Luka's ear.

"Do not look so terrified, lad!" Safaran boomed, giving Luka a vigorous, playful shake that set his feathered cap dancing. "We here in Sora do not care for the theatrics or decorum. We are men, just like everyone else here!"

Maria's angelic smile didn't waver, though she let out a soft, patient sigh that suggested she was entirely used to the royal brother's theatrics. "Sir Safaran, please. Sir Morgen is still recovering from his... eventful afternoon. I doubt his neck appreciates your hospitality."

"Bah! A little roughhousing builds character!" Safaran chuckled, though he finally released his grip, giving Luka a firm, parting pat on the back that nearly knocked the wind out of him.

How strong is this guy?! He gritted his teeth, feeling the pat like a punch from a bear.

Luka stumbled back a step, straightening his collar and rubbing his sore neck. He looked at the flamboyant, plump man with a mixture of awe and sheer bewilderment. The king's brother. He had expected royalty in this world to be detached, majestic, or perhaps intimidating—not this kind of boozy, larger-than-life character.

"As for your secret," Safaran continued, his tone dropping just a fraction into something slightly more serious. "You cannot keep a merchant like me from getting all the juicy news of the day from my noble ears, my boy. My brother, the King, already knows. The Mage of the Court knows. But as for the rest of the court? They only know that the Princess brought someone back from the summoning chamber. They do not know your face, nor your name. Yet."

"Which is why it is paramount we get you back to your quarters, Sir Morgen," Maria interjected smoothly, stepping forward to position herself between the two men. Her lantern cast a steadying light over the tense situation. "Before any less... agreeable members of the court happen to find you wandering."

"Quite right, quite right," Safaran nodded sagely, reaching inside his doublet to ensure his hidden bottle was secure. "Take him away, Maria. And you, young man—keep your head low. While the Sora family won't cause you any issues, who knows what might happen nowadays? Especially since that viper from Fyr, Edgar Greyhood, arrived here."

"Sir," Maria gave him a pointed look of disapproval.

"Bah! He will know what to think of the man once he sees him! Goodnight!"

With a grand, sweeping bow that set his royal blue cloak swirling, the stout royal turned on his heel. He strode down the corridor, his jaunty, off-key humming resuming.

Luka stood frozen for a moment, the names echoing in his head. The Sora family... and Edgar Greyhood.

"Come, Sir Morgen," Maria said, her voice dropping into a quiet, serious tone that brooked no argument. She didn't acknowledge Safaran's slip of the tongue, but the slight tension in her jaw spoke volumes. "Let us get you out of the open."

Luka fell into step beside her, his mind whirling. He kept his gaze fixed on the rhythmic swinging of Maria's lantern as they navigated a few more turns, the cold stone corridors finally giving way to a carpeted hallway lined with polished oak doors.

Maria stopped in front of one of them, retrieving a small brass key from her apron pocket. She unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing a spacious, remarkably comfortable room that the young man immediately recognized. A soft bed sat in the corner, a crackling hearth threw a warm amber glow across the floor, and a small table held a plate of fresh bread, cold meats, and a pitcher of water.

"Your quarters for the night," Maria said, stepping aside to let him pass. "You will find clean garments in the wardrobe, and water for washing has already been prepared. I strongly advise you to lock the door from the inside and refrain from opening it until I return to fetch you for breakfast tomorrow morning."

"To avoid any other kidnappings, I see…"

"Yes." Maria nodded in agreement. "Now, please have a good night. If you need anything, please tell me tomorrow morning. I will be glad to accommodate you."

With one final smile, she closed the door, leaving him alone in the room.

Luka wasted no time sliding the heavy iron bolt into place. After that, he slumped against the sturdy wood of the door, letting out a long, ragged breath that he felt like he'd been holding since he stepped into the woods. He looked around the room—the very same one he had been brought to before his brief, disastrous venture outside. The sight of the food on the table made his stomach give a sudden, demanding growl.

Moving with the stiff, aching caution of someone who had been handled roughly by mercenaries, he walked over to the table. He broke off a piece of the fresh bread and popped it into his mouth, following it with a slice of cold meat. It was delicious, but as he chewed, the reality of his situation began to catch up with him, making the food feel heavy in his throat.

He was in a world he didn't understand. He had been here for less than twenty-four hours, and already he had been kidnapped, rescued by a terrifying ninja, met one of the most important people in the country, and realized that this was way too much over his head.

I cannot trust anyone here…

"..."

Luka Morgen didn't ask for this.

Luka Morgen was simply taken from his ordinary life and thrown into this strange world without any vision of the future.

A sudden wave of intense, suffocating longing hit him, squeezing his chest until it genuinely hurt to breathe.

Mom… Dad…

The half-eaten piece of bread slipped from his fingers, clattering softly back onto the wooden plate. He didn't care. A heavy, burning lump formed in his throat as the faces of his parents flashed vividly behind his eyes—his mother's warm smile, his father's laugh, the comforting, utterly mundane safety of his own bedroom back home. Just yesterday, his biggest worry had been ordinary life. Now, he didn't even know if he would ever see them again.

Get a grip, he told himself fiercely, his teeth clenching as he tried to swallow down the sob building in his throat. Crying won't change anything. It won't get you home. It won't bring you to their level.

Using the back of his sleeve, he aggressively wiped his face, drawing a deep, steadying breath. He needed to be smart. He needed to be careful. If he let his emotions swallow him whole, he wouldn't survive long enough to find a way back.

Dragging his weary, aching body over to the wardrobe, he stripped out of his dirt-streaked, borrowed clothes. He used the basin of prepared water to quickly wash the grime of the forest and the sticky sweat of fear from his skin, the cool water shocking his senses and helping to clear the fog from his mind. Once clean, he pulled the fresh garments the Professor gave him.

Jeans, a leather jacket, and a white shirt. The gift of Desmond, a man from his world.

"They fit well, just like earlier," Luka nodded to himself, liking his attire as he patted the pockets. "Hm?"

Suddenly, as he passed a hand inside the inner left pocket, he felt something hard through the leather.

That's odd… I never felt anything in here before.

Tracing the shape of the mysterious object with his fingers, he pulled it out.

"What the…?"

For some reason, in this old-fashioned world…

Luka Morgen, found a gun…