"Rei! The boar!"
Durik's voice boomed like a warhorn through the edge of the forest.
Rei barely had time to blink before he saw the red-bearded dwarf barreling past the treeline, cloak flapping, hammer in hand.
"It's bloody massive! Legs like tree trunks! That's meat for a week!"
Kaia blinked. "Don't—"
"REI!" Durik pointed dramatically. "Roasted boar. Midday feast. That thing has apple-stuffed belly written all over it!"
Rei gave Kaia a helpless look.
She stared at him flatly. "Don't."
But Durik was already making grunting noises and miming holding a spit.
"Please?" he begged. "Just chase it a little. Scare it toward me. Or I swear to all the Seals I will eat moss."
Rei sighed. "Fine."
He dashed forward.
The forest blurred around him again—cool mist slapping his cheeks, his boots slick against moss-covered stone. The boar darted ahead with more grace than its bulk promised, weaving through trees as though it knew the land intimately.
Rei pushed harder. Faster. He could see it. He was gaining.
Then—
Click.
The earth dropped.
He didn't even have time to swear.
A whip of vines, a creak of hidden gears, the groan of ancient wood.
Snap.
And Rei vanished upward, a blur of black and silver as a net of woven root and spirit-thread pulled him into the air.
The forest swallowed the noise in an instant.
Durik, some yards behind, stopped mid-sprint and looked up.
"…Rei?"
Kaia appeared behind him a second later. "Where—"
Then both of them looked up.
And there, dangling ten feet in the air, limbs tangled and struggling—
Rei.
Caught in a glowing elven snare.
Face unimpressed. Arms pinned. Net shimmering faintly with ancestral energy.
He said nothing for a moment.
Then—
A voice.
Low. Alluring. Laced with amusement.
It came from above, veiled by branch and shadow.
"Gotcha."
The voice came from the trees—soft and silk-slick, with a curl at the edge like a smile you weren't sure you wanted or feared you wanted too much.
It wasn't the wind.
It wasn't a threat.
It was a woman's voice. Smooth. Playful. And absolutely satisfied with herself.
Kaia turned toward the sound, eyes narrowed.
Durik stopped chewing mid-thought. "That's not the boar."
Rei still hung upside down from the trap, arms crossed, blinking mist from his lashes. "This definitely isn't the boar."
And then—
She fell.
Not gracefully. Not like the songs say elves descend, cloaked in moonlight and majesty.
No. She tumbled.
Branches cracked.
A low yelp.
A high-pitched curse in Elvish that sounded suspiciously like "Not again—"
And then, with all the elegance of a leaf in a storm, she dropped from the canopy, bounced off a lower branch, flipped once midair, and landed with a heavy thud flat on her back in the soft moss.
Silence.
The mist even seemed confused.
Then she groaned.
"Oh gods… my ass..."
Kaia blinked.
Durik muttered, "Ten out of ten."
The woman lay sprawled like a starfish—her limbs tangled, her cloak twisted halfway around her thigh, and a tuft of golden hair sticking out in an entirely defiant angle. And yet, despite everything, there was something… captivating.
She was stunning.
Long golden hair spilled in a tangle across her shoulders, wild as the thorns above. Her eyes were the color of deep forest—green, rich, and framed by long lashes that shouldn't have survived the fall. Her armor was partial, mismatched—dark leathers tightened over curves that moved like they had their own rhythm, their own purpose. Her blouse was unbuttoned just enough to leave one guessing, and the single strap of her shoulder pauldron had slipped down her arm.
And she didn't care.
She pushed herself up with a smirk that belonged in a tavern's darkest corner and wiped a smear of moss from her cheek.
"Well," she said, voice warm and wicked, "that wasn't entirely how I planned that."
Durik offered her a hand. She ignored it.
Instead, she stood in one graceful sway of hips and shoulder, brushing her backside like she was flirting with the wind.
Her gaze locked on Rei, still dangling midair like a confused bat.
Her smirk widened.
"Oh. You're not a boar."
Kaia raised a brow. "You set that trap for a boar?"
The elf nodded matter-of-factly, hands on her hips. "A big one. Real juicy. Thought I'd have lunch. Instead…" she tilted her head, giving Rei a slow up-and-down look that made even Kaia twitch. "…I caught something much more interesting."
Rei sighed. "Can you cut me down?"
She took a step forward—tripped on her own foot—stumbled—
—and caught herself against a tree with a small yelp.
"…Totally meant to do that."
Durik leaned toward Kaia. "I really like her."
"Of course you do."
The elf reached for the dagger at her side, drawing it with a little spin that ended in a dramatic twirl.
"Now, hold still, tall-dark hair-and-handsome. I'm great with traps. Except, uh… disarming them."
Rei blinked. "That's not reassuring."
She stepped closer anyway. "Relax. I once freed a prince from a wyvern's snare using only a hairpin and a curse word."
"Did he survive?"
"Mostly."
The knife sliced the rope cleanly.
Rei dropped like a stone.
He landed with a grunt—straight into the mud. Face first.
"Oops."
Kaia groaned.
Rei pushed himself up, face splattered, pride gone. "You did that on purpose."
"Maybe a little," the elf said sweetly, reaching down to offer him a hand—then pulling him up with surprising strength.
Once upright, Rei met her eyes.
They danced with laughter and something wilder—intent.
She didn't let go of his hand.
She didn't need to.
"I'm Sylvi," she purred. "Of Thornevale. Hunter. Tracker. Expert in falling out of trees. And… lucky you… your new guide."
"We don't need a guide," Kaia snapped.
Sylvi turned to her, entirely unfazed. "Oh, you definitely do. You're in Thornevale. And the woods don't like outsiders." Her gaze flicked to Rei again. "But they do like me."
Rei rubbed mud off his cheek. "They like you enough to drop you on your ass?"
Sylvi grinned. "They like to tease."
Durik was smirking at this point. "You got food, Sylvi?"
She winked at him. "If you can catch another boar, I'll cook it."
The forest dimmed.
Mist rolled low, cool and silent.
Rei blinked. The sounds of the world dulled. Kaia, Durik, Sylvi—all faded to shadow.
And then—
Void.
A whisper.
"Dreaming again, Riftborn?"
A throne of horns. A sky of wounds. A face made of flame and bone, looming like a memory yet unnamed.
The Void curled like smoke around him. Heavy. Warm. Familiar.
"Still running? Still pretending you don't remember?"
Rei clenched his fists.
"You cannot run forever. Even shadows have roots."
Then—a surge. Like falling.
A voice:
"My name is Rei Watanabe. I used to live in Tokyo. I just wanted to buy curry bread."
And then—
Nothing.
Only the Void.
Watching.