Liora froze, her hand going to her sword. She crouched behind a charred bush, her green eyes wide. The man was sitting up, brushing dust off his coat as if he'd just had a minor tumble. He looked... unharmed. Unfazed. He had silver hair that shone in the moonlight and a gentle, calm expression on his face.
He looked around, taking in the unfamiliar sky, the two moons, and the distant city lights. He didn't look surprised. He looked... observant.
"Ow..."
He said it so quietly, Liora almost missed it. He stood up, not a single scratch on him. His clothes were simple: a worn long brown coat over layered clothing, and scuffed boots.
Liora's grip on her sword tightened. This wasn't a meteor. This was a person. A person who had fallen from the sky and survived without a scratch. This was either the greatest discovery of her life, or the last mistake she would ever make. She took a deep breath, her grandfather's words echoing in her mind.
'Fortune favours the bold.'
She decided to be bold.
He was sitting up, casually brushing dust and dirt off his coat as if he'd just fallen off a horse.
"I got to get better at this…" he mumbled, the sound barely carrying over the settling dust.
The man looked up, and for the first time, Liora got a good look at him. He had silver-grey hair that glinted in the moonlight, and his eyes were a strange, deep violet. He didn't look like a demon or an angel. He looked… tired. And completely, utterly unfazed by the fact that he had just created a crater in her favourite thinking spot.
He saw her then, standing at the edge of the crater, a silhouette against the night sky. He didn't flinch. He didn't reach for a weapon. He just watched her, his expression calm and unreadable.
"You should probably stand back," he said, his voice even and quiet. "The ground's a bit unstable."
Liora crept closer, her sword held loosely at her side. She peered down into the crater. "Are… are you alright?" she called out.
The man tilted his head, as if considering the question. "Y-yeah.... I guess..." he mumbled, patting himself down. "Nothing's broken. Not that it matters." He stood up, brushing non-existent dust from a long, worn coat. He moved with a strange, fluid grace, like a dancer or a swordsman, but there was no threat in his posture.
Liora's mind was a whirlwind of questions. Who was he? What was he? Where did he come from? The shooting star… it was him. It had to be. Right?
"You… fell," she stated, the words sounding inadequate even to her own ears.
"I seem to have a habit of that," he replied, his voice low and even. He started walking towards the edge of the crater, his boots sinking slightly into the loose soil. He moved with an unnerving calm, as if falling from the sky was a minor inconvenience, like tripping on a cobblestone.
He stopped a few feet from her, close enough for her to see the faint lines of exhaustion etched around his violet eyes. He looked her up and down, a quick, assessing glance.
"You're not screaming," he noted, a hint of curiosity in his tone.
"Should I be?" Liora asked, her grip on her sword tightening. She wasn't sure if she was brave or just too stunned to be scared.
The man gave a small shrug. "Most people do."
"Most people don't fall from the sky," Liora retorted, a spark of her usual fire returning. "Are you… a demon? An angel? Some kind of… monster?"
He seemed to find the question amusing. "I'm just a traveller," he said. "Passing through."
"A traveller," Liora repeated, her scepticism clear. "From where? The Sky? The moon? The Heavens?"
"Errrrr... Somewhere like that," he said vaguely. He looked around at the crater, then back at her. "Is this your land? If so, I apologise for the mess. I'll pay for the damages."
Liora blinked. Pay for the damages? He talked about destroying a hillside like he'd broken a neighbour's window. This whole conversation was getting stranger by the second.
"It's not my land," she said slowly. "It's just… a hill. Belongs to the city, I think. But that's not the point! The point is, you fell from the sky! Just who are you?"
He hesitated, his gaze drifting towards the distant lights of Thalindor. For a slight second, a flicker of something else appeared in his violet eyes. It wasn't fear or anger. It was something deeper, heavier. A weariness that went beyond mere exhaustion. He looked like a man who had carried the weight of worlds on his shoulders and had finally, for a brief moment, set them down.
"You can call me... the Stranger," he said finally.
"The Stranger?" Liora frowned. "That's not a name... That's a… a description."
"It's what I am," he said simply.
The Stranger took a step forward but then collapsed onto one knee, holding onto the ground for balance.
Liora instinctively rushed to his side, sword still in hand but lowered. "Hey! Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, her suspicion momentarily forgotten by the sight of his sudden weakness.
The Stranger took a deep, shuddering breath. "It's… nothing. Just a bit of… backlash from the arrival. It'll pass."
"Backlash?" Liora looked from him to the crater, then back again.
"...Give me a moment," he mumbled, his head starting to droop.
"Wait, don't—!"
"...No. Too late." He slumped forward, landing face down on the grass with a soft thud. He was out cold.
Liora stood there for a long moment, staring at the unconscious man at her feet. He was a mystery, a potential danger, and, she had to admit, the most interesting thing to ever happen in her life.
'Curiosity killed the cat,' she thought, 'But satisfaction brought it back.'
Liora groaned, sheathing her sword. "Great. Just great." She looked at the unconscious silver-haired man, then back at the path leading down to the city. She couldn't just leave him here. And she definitely couldn't call the City Guard. They'd lock him up, or worse, dissect him.
So she did the only thing she could think of. She dragged him.
***
Dragging a six-foot-tall man down a hill in the middle of the night was not in any of the Guild's training manuals. Liora learned this the hard way.
"Oof… come on," she grunted, pulling the Stranger's arm over her shoulder. He was heavier than he looked. His head lolled against her, his silver hair tickling her cheek. He smelled strangely clean, like fresh snow and something else, something metallic and faint.
Every step was a struggle. Her muscles screamed in protest. The path was dark and treacherous. Twice, she almost lost her footing and sent them both tumbling into a ditch. By the time she reached the back alley behind the Rusty Hearth, she was exhausted, her clothes were torn, and her temper was frayed.
"Mama Marine is going to kill me," she panted, leaning against the tavern's back door. She fumbled with the key, her hands shaking. Finally, the lock clicked open.
She half-carried, half-dragged the Stranger through the quiet kitchen and into the main room. The fire in the hearth had died down to a soft glow, casting long shadows across the empty tables.
"Li? Is that you?" a sleepy voice called from the stairs. Mama Marine's fourteen-year-old daughter, Elara, a girl with the same warm light brown eyes as her mother, was rubbing her eyes with one of her hands, holding a small candlestick. "You're back late. And… who's that?"
"Long story," Liora grunted. "I need a room. And maybe a drink. A big one."
Elara's eyes widened as she got a better look at the silver-haired man. "Li, you can't just bring strange men into the inn. Mom will—"
"Elara, please," Liora cut in, her voice desperate. "I'll explain everything. Just… help me get him to a room. The one at the end of the hall. Please."
Elara hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. But you owe me. Big time."
Liora leaned against the wall, her chest heaving. "Thanks, Elara."
"Don't mention it," Elara said, backing out of the room. "But when Mom wakes up, you're on your own."
Liora nodded. "I know." She looked at the Stranger, a tangled mess of questions in her mind. Who was he? What was he? And what was she going to do with him?
As they made it to the room, they leaned him against the wall as Elara went through the endless keys to unlock the room. Meanwhile, Liora decided to take the opportunity to search him. Not for theft, but for answers.
'Sorry. I'm not stealing. I'm surviving my own curiosity.'
She carefully went through his pockets, her fingers finding nothing but a few strange, smooth stones, a small, leather-bound book with no writing on its cover, and a single, unadorned, sleek, metallic rod with a blue crystal on the tip, which is about the length of her forearm. It was cool to the touch and hummed with a faint, almost imperceptible energy. It didn't look like a wand, or a staff, or any magical artefact she had ever read about. It just looked… Plain.
Whatever it was, she hastily put it back as Elara unlocked the vacated room in the far corner of the hall, and with a final, mighty heave, they managed to get him settled onto the bed. He didn't stir.
Elara leaned against the doorframe, catching her breath. "Li, you have some serious explaining to do."
"I know," Liora sighed, pulling up a small wooden stool. "I'll tell you everything in the morning. Just... please don't tell your mom yet."
Elara bit her lip, her gaze shifting from Liora's exhausted face to the strange man on the bed. "Okay. But if he snores, I'm telling."
Liora managed a weak smile. "Fair enough."
After Elara had gone, Liora sat by the bed, watching the Stranger sleep. He looked so peaceful, so normal. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who had fallen from the sky. She reached out, her fingers hovering just above his silver hair, then pulled back. She was tired, her body ached, and her mind was a whirlwind of questions and doubts. But for the first time in a long, long time, she felt a thrill of excitement. Something was happening. Finally.
She pulled her grandfather's journal from her satchel. The leather was worn smooth, the pages filled with his spidery handwriting and intricate sketches of monsters and ruins. She flipped to a blank page at the back, dipped a quill in ink, and wrote:
Day 1. A shooting star fell from the sky. It was not a star. It was a man. He calls himself the Stranger. He is now sleeping in Room 7 of the Rusty Hearth. I have no idea what I'm doing.
She closed the journal, a new determination hardening in her eyes. Whatever this was, it was her adventure. And she was going to see it through.