The city gates were sealed by midnight.
Not officially, of course. The crown couldn't afford to admit that one rogue otherworlder had turned their capital into a cage. Instead, they called it a "precautionary curfew drill."
Guards tripled at every exit.
Watchtowers lit with mana flares.
Patrols sweeping the walls every quarter-hour.
We didn't wait for morning.
I led Elara out through the eastern sewer grate behind Raven's Edge—Garrick's "emergency exit" he'd never mentioned until I asked point-blank. The tunnel stank of rot and old magic, ankle-deep water cold enough to numb the feet. Elara slipped twice. I caught her elbow each time without a word.
We emerged in the marshlands just outside the eastern wall, where the city's refuse met the wild. Moonlight turned the reeds silver. Somewhere far off, a horned owl called—a lonely, warning sound.
"Keep low," I whispered. "They'll have scent hounds soon."
Elara nodded, breath fogging in the chill.
We moved north-east, skirting the main road, hugging the treeline where the pines grew thick and black. The ground turned soft, sucking at our boots. Streams appeared—narrow, fast, icy. We crossed the first one by stepping on moss-covered rocks. Elara lost her balance on the third; I grabbed her wrist and pulled her across before she could fall in.
She muttered thanks.
I didn't reply.
We didn't speak much that first night.
There wasn't time.
Dawn found us deep in Blackthorn Woods—the same forest where I'd killed the horned wolf pack days earlier. The trees were older here, trunks wide as houses, branches knitting a ceiling that turned day into permanent twilight. Moss hung in curtains. The air smelled of wet earth and pine resin.
We found a hollow beneath an ancient oak—roots forming a natural roof—and decided to rest.
I built no fire.
Too much smoke.
Instead I used Crimson Dominion to draw heat from our blood in tiny pulses—enough to keep hypothermia at bay without glowing like a beacon.
Elara sat with her back to the trunk, knees drawn up, staring at her hands.
"You're quiet," I said finally.
She gave a small laugh—hollow.
"I'm not used to being quiet. Back when I had a sword, I talked too much. Orders. Jokes. Threats. Now…" She flexed her fingers. "Nothing feels right."
I leaned against the opposite root, sword across my lap.
"You miss it."
"Every second." She looked up. "Do you miss who you were before… this?"
I thought about Earth.
The apartment.
The truck.
The way no one noticed when I disappeared.
"No," I said. "I don't miss being invisible."
She studied me.
"You're not invisible anymore. You're a nightmare to half the kingdom."
I almost smiled.
"Good."
We ate in silence—dried meat from my pack, a few berries Elara found that she swore were safe.
The sun never really rose in the deep woods.
It just got slightly less dark.
Around midday we moved again.
The forest thickened into a maze.
Paths disappeared.
Roots tripped us.
Twice we doubled back after hearing patrol horns in the distance.
Then the monsters came.
First a pair of shadow panthers—sleek, black-furred, eyes like dying coals.
They dropped from the canopy without sound.
I felt them before I saw them—pulses of warm blood moving above us.
"Down!" I barked.
Elara dropped flat.
I drew steel.
The first panther lunged.
Blade Saint Candidate turned my swing into poetry.
The blade met throat mid-air.
Blood sprayed—hot, dark.
I shaped it instantly.
Whipped the crimson arc toward the second cat.
It hit like a lash.
The panther screamed—high, furious—then collapsed, chest torn open.
[Two enemies defeated: Shadow Panther (Level 11) ×2]
[Minor talents available: Night Vision (B-), Silent Step (B)]
I took Silent Step.
[Talent Acquired: Silent Step (B) → (A)]
[Passive: Footfalls produce 80% less sound. Synergy with Enhanced Agility detected.]
Elara pushed herself up, staring at the corpses.
"You didn't even blink."
"I've had practice."
She swallowed.
"I used to hunt things like that. Now I just… watch."
I looked at her.
"You're still alive. That's more than most get."
She didn't answer.
We kept moving.
Night fell hard—true night, no false stars, no lanterns.
We found a stream—clear, cold—and followed it upstream until it widened into a shallow pool ringed by boulders.
"Camp here," I said. "Water. Cover. Defensible."
I cleared a small circle of ground, used mana to dry the moss into something like bedding.
Elara gathered dry twigs—quietly, carefully.
I allowed a small fire this time—tiny, smokeless, fed by compressed air instead of oxygen.
Just enough warmth to keep fingers from stiffening.
We sat across from each other, flames dancing between us.
Elara spoke first.
"My father used to tell stories around campfires. About knights who never lost. About honor that couldn't be bought."
She poked the fire with a stick.
"He sold me anyway."
I stared into the flames.
"My father never told stories. He left before I could remember his face."
She looked up.
"Earth?"
I nodded once.
"Truck. Quick. No second chances."
Silence stretched.
Then she asked the question I'd been waiting for.
"Why do you keep taking? Talents. Lives. Everything."
I thought about it—really thought.
"Because I was nothing.
And nothing hurts worse than being nothing."
She nodded slowly.
"I understand that."
Another pause.
"I don't hate you," she said quietly. "For taking my talent. I asked you to."
"I know."
"But sometimes… I wish I could hate you. It would be easier."
I met her eyes across the fire.
"You don't have to stay."
She laughed—soft, broken.
"Where else would I go? I have no house. No name. No sword. Just a debt I can't repay."
"You don't owe me anything."
"I owe you everything."
She looked away.
"I'll follow you. Until you tell me to stop. Or until I die. Whichever comes first."
I didn't answer.
I just added another twig to the fire.
The night deepened.
Somewhere in the dark, wolves howled—distant, mournful.
We slept in shifts.
Elara first.
I watched the flames and listened to her breathing—shallow, uneven, like someone still learning how to be alive again.
And for the first time since the summoning chamber,
I wondered if I was still learning too.