“You don’t look like a soldier. Are you a traveler? A merchant?” she asked, her hand resting near her sword.

  Before Ray could even form a proper answer, the blade was out—cold steel pressed lightly against his throat. Her emerald eyes locked onto his, unblinking.

  Instinctively, his hands went up. “Whoa—okay, okay! Not a merchant. Not a soldier either.”

  “Then what are you?” she asked coolly.

  “I… I don’t know,” Ray said honestly. “I’m lost. In every possible sense.”

  She studied him in silence for a moment, blade still drawn, reading the tension in his shoulders, the confusion in his eyes. Then, slowly, she lowered the weapon—but didn’t sheath it.

  “Your name,” she said.

  He hesitated. “Ray. Just Ray.”

  She finally slid the blade back into its sheath. “You don’t lie like the others.”

  Ray let out a shaky breath. “Thanks for sparing me. I think.”

  “And you?” he asked, trying to shake the tension. “Or should I keep calling you ‘Dagger Girl’ in my head?”

  A corner of her mouth lifted.

  “Elira,” she said. “Acting commander of the resistance in this region.”

  Ray blinked. “You’re the commander?”

  “I’ve held a blade longer than some men have held a quill.”

  He gave a half-nod. “Noted. You nearly introduced that blade to my lungs, after all.”

  This time, her faint smile lingered a second longer before fading into focus again. Her eyes scanned him. “You’re injured. Come. I’ll have someone tend to your wounds.”

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  Ray followed her as they moved through the thick woods. The silence here wasn’t peaceful—it was heavy, like the forest was holding its breath.

  Then—a whisper.

  “Save my children.”

  Not a sound through the air. A voice—divine, haunting—inside his head.

  Ray stopped cold.

  Then a flash.

  Elira—her back to him—standing in the fog.

  A massive blade burst through her chest from behind.

  Her body crumpled. Blood sprayed across the mist.

  He gasped and stumbled forward.

  Elira turned sharply. “What’s wrong?”

  Ray pressed a hand to his forehead, breath shaky. “Nothing. Just a sudden headache. It’s… gone now.”

  She gave him a look, lingering longer than comfort allowed, before turning away again. “This land plays tricks on those who don’t belong,” she said, her voice quiet.

  They stepped through the worn archway of an old fortress nestled between the trees. Stone statues—cracked and weathered—lined the entry. As they moved past the gates, Ray’s legs nearly gave out.

  Elira caught it and snapped her fingers. “Marceia!”

  A servant girl rushed forward. “Commander?”

  “He’s injured. Treat him.”

  The girl led Ray into a small chamber. She sat him down, cleaned his wounds, and applied a glowing salve that burned like fire before turning to cool relief.

  “You’re lucky,” she said softly. “A little deeper and you'd have never lifted that arm again.”

  Ray only nodded, his thoughts spinning.

  Elira returned just as the bandaging finished. She looked at him with a calculating gaze, folding her arms.

  “You said you’re lost,” she said. “Men don’t just wander into our lands from nowhere.”

  Ray looked up, uncertain. “What is going on in this world?”

  Before she could answer—a horn blared.

  Low. Ancient. It echoed through the stone like the call of a buried god.

  Elira's expression darkened. “Demon strike.”

  She turned to the servant. “Stay here.”

  To Ray: “If you want to live, keep close. If not—hide.”

  She drew her blade and broke into a sprint. Ray followed without thinking.

  They burst into the courtyard. Soldiers rushed past, donning armor, gripping blades. Magic glyphs lit up the ground as mages prepared spells.

  And then—the first demon charged in.

  Eight feet tall. Skin like cracked obsidian, glowing from within. Horns curled back from its skull, and its eyes were pits of molten hate.

  Ray froze.

  Elira did not.

  “Ignis Fractum!”

  A glowing glyph burst beneath her feet. Flames erupted along her blade. She dashed forward in a blur, dodged the demon’s claw, and drove her sword through its throat. The fire spread, consuming the beast from the inside.

  It fell in a smoldering heap.

  Another demon darted in—smaller, faster.

  Elira whispered under her breath—“Lux Discus.”

  A spinning blade of light appeared in her hand. She flung it—it arced clean through the demon’s torso before returning to her like a boomerang.

  Ray ducked behind a fallen stone pillar, breathless.

  Two more demons entered together.

  “Terra Spina!”

  The ground erupted in jagged stone spears, impaling both creatures instantly.

  Elira moved like a dance—fluid, brutal, beautiful.

  A winged demon swooped from above.

  “Aegis Lunae.”

  A shimmering silver shield formed midair, blocking its descent. Elira leapt up and met it in the air, blade first. She slashed it clean in half.

  The last beast charged—a brute plated in bone and armor.

  Elira clenched her fist.

  “Ignis Fractum: Finale!”

  Her blade ignited with a roar. She dashed forward and cleaved it down the middle, flame and fury exploding outward. The demon fell with a dying shriek.

  Smoke rose. The battle ended.

  Elira stood in the middle of it all, breathing slow, sword cooling in the wind.

  Ray stepped out slowly, staring at her in awe.

  She wiped her blade clean, turned to him, and spoke calmly.

  “This is our world, Ray,” she said. “Welcome to it.”