Solider:
I am not sure what happened in the forest after I passed out. I drifted into a deep sleep, and then the dream came. A familiar dream. One I hadn't had since arriving in this world. It plagued me for years in my old life waking up ears still ringing unable to drift back to sleep it lingering aftershocks of war.
I was back in Afghanistan. It was the last mission before we were supposed to return home. The smell hit me first it is one of the most vivid memories I still carry. Afghanistan smelled of burning trash and diesel a heavy smell over whelmed your nostrils until you just got used to. I double checked my pack out before the mission and then for good measure then checked again. My last mission was spouse to be a simple mission. But if they are sending my team then it is never a simple mission. The colonel trusted us with the missions he thought would be the hardest to complete. So we always ened up with the hardest missions
We were briefed on the intel that a high-priority target is hiding in a house in Kandahar. The plan was straightforward, the kind of operation we had practiced a hundreds times. Hit the house at 3 a.m: when everyone was asleep. Move fast, and Clear rooms as we move. There was a saying that military men like to use fast is smooth, smooth is fast. We lined up for the breach, running through the room‑clearing procedure we knew by heart. The C4 went off. I was first through the door. The first room was Empty room. We moved to the next. I heard shouting upstairs the target is confronting us. As he comes down the stairs. He was not alone. The coward dragged his wife and young daughter with him, using them as a shield. The girl could not have been older than six. Her sweet incent face still haunts me. He as he pointed his AK-47 at me.
"Drop the Fucking weapon," I yelled. "We do not have to do this."
He shouted back in Arabic I could not understand the words, only the fear and anger behind them. Then the shots rang out from his AK-47.
I will not say what happened next. I am ashamed of it. I made it home. His family lay in a ditch somewhere in Afghanistan.
I came to on the kitchen table when you finally wake, drenched in sweat, Quinn sitting beside you with both hands wrapped around yours. Her eyes are red and swollen, but when you whisper, "Don't worry mother… I'm tougher than you think," she lifts her head and a shaky smile breaks through. I hear Anna's footsteps barrel down the stairs, Joker right behind her. Every muscle in your body feels like you went ten rounds with a mountain. Even breathing hurts.
Anna wastes no time explaining. After you collapsed, an elf with a hilarious looking hat and crazy looking bow he put an arrow straight into the Alpha's one remaining eye killing it. Anna managed to squeeze out one last small healing spell it was enough to keep you alive. Someone must have cast a sleep spell on all of us, because the next thing anyone remembers is waking up on the front lawn. The elves had bandaged our wounds and pinned a letter to the door warning us about the dangers deeper in the forest.
"You didn't wake with the rest of us," Anna says quietly. "Mother sat with you for two days."
you see the exhaustion in your mothers' eyes she is still gripping your hand like you might vanish. You make a mental note: if you ever meet those elves again, you owe them more than thanks.
It takes several more days before you can walk without wobbling. You earned a fresh scar that runs across your chest.
Father does not let the moment pass quietly. He tears into all three of you for your recklessness. "I expect this from those two," he growls, pointing at you and Joker, "but you? You're supposed to be the responsible one." As he yells at anna You've never seen him so furious. You're not even sure how Joker got dragged into the punishment, he is a orphan but he was with us any way.
That summer of fun was over because we were super grounded. One morning the sun rose early in the morning and instead of running into the fields with my friends. I found myself hauling fence posts across our land. The days stretched long and heavy, each one packed with chores meant to "build character," as Father put it.
Some days I worked our farm repairing the fence, hauling water from the well and out clearing brush. Other days I was sent to help the elderly neighbors split wood for winter. They always thanked me with a smile and some kind of snack, but by the time I got home my arms felt like they were made of stone.
There were several days I spent at Victor's farm. It was just him and Helen now, and they needed the help. I did not mind. Victor worked hard with me and never barked orders . Helen… well, she tried to help, even if she could not lift much she because she was small and she was a bit clumsy. She tried to help but she mostly followed me around, handing me tools, holding nails, asking questions about everything. One day I talked Joey into coming a few days he reluctantly came with me he just gave me an annoyed look as she followed him around I personally think this is cute. I never asked what happened to Helens mother. The silence around that topic felt too heavy, too raw. Even as a kid, I knew some questions were not meant to be touched.
Training did not stop because we were grounded it intensified. Father's discipline hardened into something almost relentless. Every evening, he drilled me on sword forms until my arms shook. By the time I finished my chores and then survived his "lessons," I felt like I'd lived two days in one. His methods were always… unorthodox. One week he had me leaping from roof to roof to "build balance." He said Another week he made me dodge boulders Joey hurled with magic and Joey did not exactly throw gently. I think Joey took a bit of pleasure in hitting me. Then there were the aggressive sparring sessions where Father repeated his favorite line: "The best defense is more offense." Sometimes I swear the crazy bastard was trying to get me killed. One day he even tossed me straight into the river and ordered me to swim upstream to him. I still do not know what skill that was supposed to teach. If it were my old world This would be child abuse.
Eventually Joey joined our training. It became clear quickly that swordplay was not his strength. He struggled with the footwork, the weight of the blade, the discipline. I always went easy on him during sparring until we added magic. Once spells were allowed, we were on equal footing. The larger the distance between us, the more likely Joey was to win. He would turn dirt into mud to trap my feet or flash‑boil water into steam to blind me. He was a smart kid and really talented. Even up close when he was at a disadvantage he still had a few tricks up his sleeve.
Anna got off with a lighter punishment. She spent her days helping Mother with household chores and studying healing magic. For a nine‑year‑old, she was already impressive focused, patient, and determined.
Joker found his place in the forge. Under George the blacksmith's guidance, he learned to shape his flames instead of letting them explode out of him. The forge became his sanctuary, a place where heat meant creation instead of destruction. Slowly, he gained control over his magic and over his temper I am still not sure about his temper but he hid it better that is for sure. I went up there to see him one day to pick up a replacement shovel joker called me over and whispered in English "do you want some hooch" I roll my eyes and think well maybe he did not really learn all that much.
The summer flew by in a blur and Father's anger faded as the Shadow Wolf incident slipped into a bad memory, but the lessons stayed. That was our summer in a nutshell chore, training, responsibility. The carefree summer was over.
Two years passed with a steady swiftness, the land reshaping itself every time the seasons turned. Sturdy homesteads dotted the plains now, a patchwork of farms and new businesses stitched together by dirt roads. The where all hard people all of them had a stubborn hope that made all of this possible. Two more towns had sprung up nearby Summerhol, Winterhol along with Autumnsvill, the largest city in the region and the center of trade. The adventurers' guild and the lord of the domain were based there, which meant coin, and trading caravans.
Life on the frontier stayed hard, restless, and unforgiving. If your harvest failed, you starved. I smoked every bit of extra meat I could, usually with Joker's help; his flames made the work faster. We were ten now, and I would like to say we had calmed down, but trouble clung to us like a bad plague. Mother opened a clinic in town. A post office, a courthouse, and a brewery followed soon after. The local beer was surprisingly good of cores I never took any alcohol from my parents. Springhol was the first village in the area built it become more of a towns then a village. It grows faster every season. Farming was the backbone of the region's economy, mostly wheat and barley, endless fields waving like gold in the wind.
I was out hunting that day when I saw it: a column of smoke rising in the distance. A heartbeat later the earth trembled beneath my boots, and a deafening boom rolled across the plains. It sounded like a bomb had gone off.
Joker:
The blacksmith's shop was unbearably hot that day. Spring should have been warm, not sweltering, but the forge felt like the sun had decided to visit. My fur coat didn't help either; as I panted, trying to stay cool. Eventually I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. I thought to myself Maybe I'd go see Anna her pretty face could brighten any miserable day. I walked around the corner to the clinic.
Old man John was there, cradling a broken arm while Quinn scolded him about not being young anymore and how his wife would not be happy the next time she had to see him. My mind drifted to Miss Bailey's lessons on healing magic: Basic healing could fix cuts and bruises; appearance‑level spells handled simple fractures. Intermediate spells the kind Quinn was using on Mr. Johson could mend bones cleanly. Anything worse required advanced healers, and masters could reattach limbs. But even they couldn't bring someone back once their spirit had left. That was a darker school of magic entirely. I blinked, realizing I'd zoned out. Why was I thinking about Miss Bailey's lectures? I should've been thinking about Anna she was much brighter. Anna was in the back room organizing paperwork. When she looked up, I gave her my biggest grin. She smiled back and something about the way she smiled made my stomach knot up.
She giggled. "Oh look, it's the village troublemaker."
"You just like bad boys," I shot back without missing a beat.
Our banter did not last long at all. A group of rough‑looking men pushed into the clinic, one of them badly injured. Quinn moved instantly a healer never cared who you were, only if they can save your life. She shouted for Anna to grab a mana potion and began casting an intermediate spell. The man's bones knit together slowly, and the others whispered among themselves, impressed. The injured man drifted into sleep, and a sinister grin spread across the bandits' faces.
"We could use those skills out on the road," one said.
Quinn gave a polite smile. "If you need someone fixed, come back. I don't discriminate. I am here to save lives."
I could feel it the atmosphere was getting heavy. Their hands drifted toward their swords.
I started stepping forward, putting myself between Quinn and the bandits. My magic flared, my temper slipping its leash. They laughed.
"What's this little rat gonna do?"
The three men drew their swords I didn't hesitate I cast Flamethrower a lethal spell of my own making. The first man melted in front of me, his scream swallowed by fire. The others two lunged. I blocked one with my dagger and fired a quick beginner spell "Fire Arrow" into the second. More bandits hearing the commotion poured into the clinic. I was outnumbered and outmatched. I didn't know what I was going to-do. I had one last trick. I hadn't practiced it much. Miss Bailey called it an advanced level spell: Explosion. I gathered heat and Drew in air. Compressed everything into one point. Anna and Quinn knew something bad was about to happen they could see it in my eyes. They dove for cover. As I released it.
The world went white, then black. A thunderous blast tore through the clinic. Black Smoke billowed out. As five men lay dead, charred to the bone in front of me
I drifted in and out of consciousness. My fur had melted into my skin. The smell of burnt flesh filled the room. Pain swallowed everything.
Then I felt warmth it was a healing spell and Anna's voice, frantic and breaking:
"Don't die on me, Jenvon… please don't die."
Relief washed over me. She is alive.
Solider:
I do not think I have ever run that fast in my entire life. Sweat rolled off me as I sprinted into town, lungs burning, legs barely keeping up with the since of panic that has come over me. Mother's clinic came into view its front windows blown out, black smoke pouring from inside. My heart dropped. A man was hauling my mother and sister out of the building, both of them with sacks over their heads. They were already on horseback, slipping out of reach as a since of dread come over me. I screamed, but my voice could not outrun them. They were gone before I could get close. I forced myself into the clinic. There on the floor was Jevon. His fur burned away, his body barely recognizable, and one last bandit standing over him, spere raised to finish the job.
I did not think. I did not hesitate. I just drew my blade and cut the man down, taking his head clean off his Sholders. Maybe I should have kept him alive, dragged answers out of him but there was no time for thinking, only acting. It was the first time I had killed someone in this world. You would think it would shake me, break me, make me sick. But I felt nothing Cold and empty. Outside, I heard Father shouting for arms, rallying the militia. I dropped to my knees beside Jevon. He clung to life, barely conscious, barely breathing. I held him, my hands shaking not with fear, but with fury.
My father stood outside the courthouse as the bells rang out, their iron voices echoing across the town. Men from every walk of life began to gather. Victor arrived first, carrying his massive two‑handed axe. George followed with a war hammer so heavy only he could swing it. Farmers came with nothing more than spears. The baker normally a jolly, white‑haired grandfather who slipped me free samples whenever me and my friends passed by marched in with a shield and mace. Even miss baliy was in the group in weathered magicans robes that look to have seen hundreds of battles. These were the village's fathers, mothers, brothers, and uncles. And every one of them with a look of terror on their faces. This was not a random attack. It had shattered the town to its core. Adam, being the only knight in the region, took command. This was what he trained the militia moments like this. The mayor rushed over and handed Father a sealed message. I saw the look on Father's face change as he read it hardening, darkening, becoming something, I had never seen before. Joey stood nearby, gripping a the Benninger wand in magicians' robes that where too big for him. He was younger than me, just a scared little boy with tears in his eyes like he was crying just a moment before.
I stepped forward and joined Father and Victor, my sword at my side Father looked at me like I had lost my mind.
"This is not taining this is a real fight you and joey stay here to watch the village," he said, trying to sound stern.
"they have mother I can fight you have trained me to fight, Father," I told him.
He responded with "I Trained your to survive Let the grown‑ups handle grown‑up stuff. I do not want you anywhere close to the fighting"
He was treating me like a child. To him, I was a child. But I was not blind. I saw the fear in his eyes. His voice was steady, but his hands were shaking. He knew exactly what was about to happen. Some of these men would not make it home.
I had seen war in my past life. I knew its consequences far too well. And standing there among farmers clutching spears, bakers holding shields, and old veterans gripping weapons that had tasted blood decades ago… I felt that familiar heaviness settles in my chest.
My jaw clenched and my eyes narrowed. I knew Father was right. Pride has a funny way of making fools out of us, and I should have let it go. But hard‑headedness took over, the same stubborn streak that always gets me into trouble. The letter lay open on Father's desk, it was already opened the lords seal already broken. Before he noticed, I reached out and took it. I scanned the parchment quickly. It said
Winterhol under attack. Falling to bandits. Immediate assistance required.
Bandits. That was the word the Lord used, but it was not the truth. These were not starving thieves. They were former soldiers these men whose units had been dissolved and offered land in our region as a chance to start peaceful lives. Blood‑thirsty men, trained for killing, unwilling to lay down their blades. All they know is violence and they do not know how to live a quiet life. I put the letter back on fathers' desk a bit impressed he did not notice my quick hands. Joey was already waiting by the door, his robe sleeves too long, his wand clutched tight. We walked out of the courthouse together as the militia began to form up
As you navigate the dense forest With Joey was watching my back as I held the front line blade ready He needed space to weave his spells, and he trusted me to confront whatever lurked in the shadows.
I could feel the Frustration burned in my chest as I looked over at Joey. I could see the annoyance in his eyes too, though he carried himself better than I did. He was calm, collected I was thinking how he is the opposite of me.
"Are you ready for this fight?" I asked.
Joey nodded once, in a clam collected manner like he had already came to the same conclusion.
"Fine," I said. "Let's find some help."
My feet carried me toward the forest. I do not know what Drew me to the forest as the sight of the village vanished behind me. Soon the towering trees of the forest where all around me the scent of pine needles filled the air. I knew there was elves here in the forest the memory of the finely crafted arrows raining down and the boy with the funny hat is burned into me. Even if the rest of the village dismissed our story as childish fantasy. As we navigate the dense forest With Joey was watching my back as I held the front-line blade ready, He needed space to weave his spells, and he trusted me to confront whatever lurked in the shadows. The two years of training and the synchronization made you much more effective than you where the first time you where in this forest. The fog thickened I believe this is where the entrance of the elven village is. I swallowed my pride I was scared as I stepped forward, ready to enter the fog again, when a figure emerged a boy about my age, wearing a funny looking hat holding a compound bow and a large black wolf with a sinister gaze in his eyes.
I recognized two things instantly from my old life. The cowboy hat and the compound bow he had to be recanted.
I saw the birthmark on his forearm. Familiar that is Impossible. Is that for the Younger ranch.
I spoke without thinking in english. "Are you… cowboy?"
He answered in English. "Yes."
That single word hit me harder than that wolf that tried to take my life. My intuition had dragged me here for a reason.
I didn't know Elvish. And cowboy didn't know the common tongue well enough for him to hold a conversation. So, we spoke in English like old times. It felt strange, to be speaking in a language that we only knew. Two years ago, when we nearly died, I had a feeling it was him who saved us with those arrows. Now, I was sure.
But this was not a reunion. It was not a celebration.
I asked him what he was doing out here, and his expression darkened. He told me about his village, hidden by fog, they were attacked in the middle of the night. Bandits had taken women and children as they slept this is including his friend Lily. I saw the pain in his eyes as he spoke it had been ten year and I know how loyal of a friend he is. How he went to prison to save one of his horses. Leaving Lily to bandits? That was not who he was.
The Elven elders refused to act. They are having endless debates and no decisions. The elders were content to hide in the woods, pretending the world outside did not exist. Cowboy couldn't stand by he was an expert tracker, and with that monstrous wolf at his flank there was not much they could not find. Cowboy followed the bandits' trail through the forest. That trail led him straight to me.
He admitted he almost attacked me at first, but something I am assuming the same instinct that saved us from the shadow wolves told him not to attack.
I told him what happened earlier in the day. I told him Joker was alive but in critical condition. I told him about the intel I had taken from Father's desk.
And just like that, the three of us began to form a plan.