The pain had dulled, but the questions hadn't.
Zayden sat under a tree, his back pressed against its rough bark. His chest rose and fell in slow, shallow breaths. His wounds were wrapped in clean linen, smeared with a cooling paste that smelled of crushed leaves, earth, and minerals. Primitive... but oddly effective. The kind of treatment no combat medic on Earth would recognize.
Nearby, a woman knelt beside a flickering fire, grinding herbs in a bowl with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times. Her robes shimmered faintly, fluttering in the breeze—light as mist, white tinged with lavender, strange and elegant.
And she was beautiful. Not the kind of beauty he saw in the cities or the magazines, but otherworldly. Ethereal. The way moonlight might look if it had a face. Her features were delicate yet strong, her expression unreadable—like a portrait come to life.
Zayden couldn't help but stare for a moment. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe it was the surreal nightmare he'd fallen into. But part of him whispered: she doesn't belong to the same world as you.
"Where are the others?" he finally asked, his voice rough.
She didn't look up. "Others?"
"My squad. The ones who got ambushed. If this is a battlefield, maybe they fell through too."
There was a pause. Then she shook her head slowly. "You're the only one I found. There were no signs of battle… only a tear in space. And your body falling through it."
A tear in space?
Zayden clenched his fists. His muscles throbbed—not from the bullet wound, but from helplessness. From not knowing. From the gnawing terror that he was truly alone.
"I need to get back," he said.
That finally made her look at him. Her eyes were deep—gray flecked with silver, like storm clouds holding secrets.
"Back to where?" she asked.
"To my world. My mission. My... life."
She stood gracefully, brushing her hands clean. "Then you'll need power. Because in this world, strength is everything. Without it, you're prey."
He stared at her. "You're serious."
She didn't answer with words. Instead, she reached into a satchel and tossed something at him.
Zayden caught it out of reflex. A small, smooth stone—warm in his hand, pulsing faintly with life.
"What is this?" he asked.
"A test," she said. "Try to sense the Qi inside it."
He furrowed his brow. "Qi?"
"Energy," she explained. "It flows through everything in this realm. Trees. Rivers. Even you. Close your eyes. Breathe."
Zayden hesitated, then obeyed. His fingers closed over the stone.
At first—nothing. Just the darkness behind his eyelids. The hum of wind. The crackle of fire.
Then… something.
A flicker.
A thread of warmth, brushing his fingertips. A sensation like thunder echoing underwater. His heartbeat slowed to match its rhythm.
His eyes snapped open.
The stone glowed faintly in his hand.
She was watching him. Calm. Evaluating. "Interesting," she murmured. "You're not a cultivator… but your body responds."
Zayden's voice was hoarse. "What does that mean?"
"It means," she said, turning away, "you're either incredibly lucky… or incredibly dangerous."
He looked down at the stone, then back at her. "You still haven't told me your name."
A pause. Then she glanced over her shoulder, the faintest hint of a smirk at the corner of her lips.
"Yue Lian."
He nodded. "Zayden. Zayden Wu."
Their eyes met again—and something unspoken passed between them. Neither trust nor distrust. But a beginning.