The sun always looked different here.
Warmer somehow — even if the air was sometimes chillier than back home.
Demha sat on the edge of the little stone fountain in the heart of the old market, a place he and Lessa had agreed to meet.
The streets buzzed with soft life — vendors calling out their goods, children laughing and darting between stalls, the strange, beautiful half-animal, half-elf people weaving their lives like a living tapestry around him.
These three days were actually just one night in Demha's world. And night after night, he got used to it — until it no longer felt strange. It became the most normal, beautiful part of his day. He didn't care whether it was a dream or not. He didn't want to ruin it.
(Even though, somewhere deep down, a small voice whispered: "There is something dangerous." But it was far too beautiful to care.)
Since Lessa was away… it had been three months in Demha's world — and nearly eight months in Lessa's.
But who cared?
—
Demha wasn't watching the crowd.
He was watching the path that led from the bakery where Lessa usually arrived — her silhouette becoming familiar in a way that tugged gently at his chest.
When he finally saw her — her light step, the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her pointed ear, the small smile when her eyes caught his —
his heart gave a subtle, happy beat.
"You're early," she teased, her voice carrying that bright energy he had come to crave.
Demha smiled. "Couldn't help it. Your world's breakfasts are better than mine."
They bought two pastries from an old vendor and sat together, sharing bites and watching the market wake up.
It had become routine — as real as anything Demha had ever lived through.
The idea that this was still just a dream had long since faded.
Whatever this place was, it was living. Breathing.
Touching him deeply.
—
Later that day, sitting under the shade of a wide, whispering tree, Lessa pulled out a small notebook filled with their messy handwriting.
Clues. Marks.
Strange similarities between Demha's Earth and her world's early multiverse days.
"I think…" Lessa hesitated, tapping the pen against her lip, "maybe your world is about to wake up to this."
(Over the past eight months, Demha and Lessa had talked about everything. Their worlds. Their people. Their histories. Even conspiracy theories.)
Demha told her about weird things he'd read online — strange relics used as tourist traps, rumors about lizard-men, brutal hybrid creatures.
Sci-fi writers speculating about other worlds.
Nothing he ever took seriously.
But one video stood out — showing something that felt… wrong.
Too real.
And Lessa?
She told him her world had only started participating in the multiverse a few months before they met.
And once that began, challenges appeared all over the planet — to earn strange rewards, and something greater.
—
Demha frowned, uneasy.
"You mean…?"
"The signs." Lessa pointed with the pen.
"The scar at the relic site. The reports you read. Even the monsters people claim they saw — it all fits the pattern.
That's exactly what happened here, right before our first multiverse event."
Demha leaned back, letting it sink in.
It wasn't just his life changing.
Maybe soon, everyone on Earth would know.
—
Over the next few nights, they dedicated themselves to preparation.
They practiced solving puzzles and riddles. (Honestly, it felt more like gaming together.) They trained lightly — and Demha was surprised by how skilled Lessa was at navigating unknown mazes. They shared pieces of their childhoods. Their families. Their fears.
Demha talked about his mother. Lazy summers playing video games.
Lessa told stories of her childhood — chaotic family gatherings, stupid little games she played with cousins.
Each story was another thread, woven gently between them.
A bridge across two worlds.
Over those eight months, they began to trust each other more than anyone else.
Not through dramatic moments — but through the steady, quiet warmth of understanding.
The kind only time could build.
—
But shadows had started creeping in at the edges.
Some markets they passed were suddenly "closed for repairs."
Guards in strange uniforms — clearly higher-ranking officials — began patrolling streets they once walked freely.
Old women in doorways whispered and turned away when they approached.
And one night, when Demha stayed late walking Lessa home…
—
Walking Lessa home had become part of Demha's nights.
But tonight, the air felt heavier.
The closed markets.
The shimmer he noticed in the streets —
They weren't illusions.
They walked quietly through dim alleyways, lanterns swaying in the cold breeze.
As they reached her door, Lessa's mother — warm and kind as always — waved from inside.
They both smiled, soaking in the last few moments before Demha would leave.
But just as he turned to go — a sudden noise froze them both.
A giant screen lit up in the sky. A voice rang out —
The same one from the maze that made Demha's gut twist.
"THE GLOBAL CHALLENGE WILL START NEAR!"
Demha froze.
Lessa's eyes widened — not much, but enough.
Demha knew her expressions well enough to feel the fear hiding behind them.
One year of minor challenges.
Small contests.
Practice trials.
But this… this was global.
It would change everything.
"Global?" Lessa whispered to herself. Her voice trembled slightly.
(Lessa had survived the maze. But she hadn't forgotten it — or what she'd seen.
People crushed by falling stones. Others taken by the spider-snake monster.
Even if she hadn't witnessed every horror directly, she remembered the families afterward.
The grief. The fear.
If Demha hadn't been there… she would have remembered only that.)
Demha felt something stir in his chest — a pull deeper than logic.
He leaned in, voice steady and warm.
"Don't worry," he said.
"I'll come tomorrow. We'll be together, like before. Always."
Lessa looked at him — really looked.
And without a word, she placed her hand over his, resting on the small table beside them.
They'd touched hands before —
during puzzles,
while laughing,
in panicked moments escaping the maze.
But this time… it was different.
There was a charge in the air —
Like the moment before a storm.
Her hand gripped his — not tightly, not desperately — just enough that he could feel her grounding herself through him.
And something deep inside Demha shifted.
It wasn't love.
It wasn't admiration.
It wasn't something he could name.
It was the first real heartbeat he had ever felt —
in this world,
or in his own.
He pressed his hand gently over hers, steady and sure.
Without speaking, he gave her strength he didn't know he had.
Lessa smiled — radiant, quiet, and full of something that could shatter stars.
And in that moment, Demha knew — with certainty that defied logic:
Wherever she went.
Whatever the challenge was.
He would protect her.
—
End of Chapter 4