Alex awoke to the pale gray of early dawn seeping through the tree canopy. For a disoriented moment, he forgot where he was. The scent of damp leaves and woodsmoke, the unfamiliar weight of a woolen cloak over him, the distant trill of strange birds—all of it came rushing back.
He sat up slowly, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles. Painfully, last night's events solidified in his mind: the portal, the ruin, the wolves, and Serah's band of rebels around a flickering campfire. Not a dream, then.
A few embers still glowed in the fire pit, tendrils of smoke spiraling upward in the crisp morning air. Darius was awake, crouched by the ashes and quietly feeding them new kindling. Caleb was perched on a rock at the camp's edge, alert with an arrow already nocked on his bow, keeping watch.
Serah was nowhere in sight, but as Alex scanned the small camp, he spotted her a short distance away, speaking in low tones with another person—a slim young woman who looked travel-worn, a quiver on her back and a short bow in hand. The missing scout, presumably.
Alex stood, brushing dried leaves from his clothes. Serah noticed and waved him over. As he approached, the scout gave him a wary once-over. She had a streak of dried mud across her cheek and a tired, urgent look in her eyes. Whatever news she'd brought, it wasn't good.
"This is Marin," Serah said by way of introduction, her tone brisk. The scout nodded in greeting. "She's been keeping an eye on Greyford. There's been… an incident."
"Incident?" Alex echoed, stomach sinking at Serah's tone.
Marin exhaled, her breath misting in the cool dawn air. "Imperials discovered a rebel safehouse in town during the night. There was a skirmish." Her voice was hoarse, as if she'd been shouting or running for hours. "They've locked down Greyford completely—no one in or out. Anyone on the streets is being arrested or shot as a warning. I slipped out before dawn or I'd be in chains too."
Serah cursed under her breath. "Casualties?"
"Dozens," Marin replied grimly. "They executed several known sympathizers in the town square. The garrison's on high alert. Patrols are sweeping the outer farms for anyone who fled."
Alex felt a cold wave of sickness. He had no love for this Empire he barely knew, but the thought of people—ordinary villagers—being slaughtered made his blood run cold. He also realized with a jolt that if Serah's group had tried to escort him to Greyford as planned, they might have walked straight into a massacre.
Serah's fists clenched at her sides. "We need to move, now. They'll extend the search out here soon." She glanced back at Darius and Caleb and raised her voice slightly. "Break camp! We leave in five."
The two men sprang into action, wordlessly efficient. Darius kicked dirt over the fire while Caleb gathered the warding stones and slipped them into a satchel. Marin immediately began refilling a water skin at a small nearby stream.
Alex hurried to fold the cloak he'd been given. As he handed it back to Serah, she shook her head. "Keep it. You'll need it where we're going."
He draped it back over his shoulders, grateful for the warmth against the morning chill. "Where are we going?" he asked, trying to quell the nervous tremor in his voice.
Serah tightened the straps on her pack and slung it over her shoulder. "East, away from Greyford. Deeper into the wilds. There's an old hunter's cabin in the hills a day's trek from here where we can lay low and figure out our next move. We can't risk the main road."
Marin nodded. "The Imperials won't expect us to head toward the old battlegrounds. They think we'll try to slip south to the trade roads. Heading east buys us a little time."
Old battlegrounds. Alex remembered Serah's words about blood-soaked land and twisted creatures. Heading toward such places didn't sound ideal, but it wasn't as if they had much choice. And what alternative did he have? Wander off alone now, with armed patrols and monsters lurking about? He might not last a day. He tightened his grip on the wrench still tucked through his belt. It was a pitiful weapon compared to swords and spears, but it made him feel a little less helpless.
In minutes, the camp was dismantled and the group was on the move. They left little trace behind, slipping into the forest just as the sun's first rays broke over the horizon. The dawn light was weak and red, filtered by low-hanging mist—a bloody dawn, Alex thought uneasily.
Serah led the way, Marin at her side, presumably updating her on more details of the night's events in hushed tones. Alex followed close behind, with Darius and Caleb flanking the rear. The woods were quieter than they had been in the dead of night, but every crackle of underbrush or distant birdcall still set Alex's nerves on edge.
They kept a brisk pace, winding through game trails and around thick stands of briar. The terrain soon began to slope upward, leading them into hill country east of Greyford. Through gaps in the trees, Alex occasionally glimpsed the valley behind them and the town itself in the distance. Greyford's squat watchtower was just visible, and above it a thin column of smoke rose into the morning sky—whether from hearth fires or something more sinister, he couldn't tell.
After a couple of hours of hard hiking, Serah raised a fist to signal a halt. The group wordlessly crouched in the brush. Alex crept up to where Serah and Marin peered ahead and carefully parted the branches to see what they saw.
Ahead, the treeline ended at a small farmstead nestled in a clearing. A modest cottage and barn stood amid fallow fields. The scene might have been almost peaceful, except for the thick black smoke billowing from the cottage roof. The thatch was ablaze, flames consuming it with a crackling roar. In front of the cottage, a cluster of figures stood among trampled vegetable patches.
Alex's heart lurched as he took in the tableau: Imperial soldiers—four of them—armed and armored in dark leather and steel, insignia visible on their surcoats. They had gathered three people in the yard: an older man and woman, likely the farmers, and a younger man who might have been their son. The younger man was on the ground, clutching his stomach—Alex could see a red stain spread between his fingers. He wasn't moving.
One soldier was holding the older man and woman at swordpoint, forcing them to their knees. Another soldier tossed a torch aside—the one used to ignite the house, no doubt—while a third paced with agitation. The fourth, clearly an officer from the plume on his helmet, stepped forward with his sword drawn. Even from this distance, Alex could make out the sneer on his face. A faint echo of shouted words reached them, carried by the breeze: "…harboring rebels… treason… examples must be made…"
Alex felt his blood run hot. This wasn't a search; it was a punishment. These people were about to be executed for the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. His hands trembled as he gripped the bushes. Memories of news reports from his own world flashed through his mind—war zones, atrocities—things he'd only seen on a screen. But here it was happening right in front of him.
Beside Alex, Serah's face was taut with anger. Marin had an arrow silently nocked, eyes scanning the tree line for any sign of additional soldiers. Darius's knuckles were white around the hilt of his sword.
"We have to do something," Alex whispered, barely aware he was speaking. "They're going to kill them."
Serah didn't take her eyes off the scene, but she nodded once. "Caleb, circle left. Darius, right," she ordered, voice low and tight. "Marin, on my signal, take the first shot at the one guarding the prisoners. Alex—" she glanced at him and seemed to weigh something in her mind, "—stay behind me. If things go wrong, you run. Understood?"
Alex nodded, though his heart was hammering too loudly for him to reply. He doubted he would run, even if things went wrong. How could he live with himself if he turned his back now?
Caleb and Darius ghosted away through the foliage, moving to flank the farmyard. Serah motioned for Alex and Marin to follow her, and together they crept closer, using a low stone pasture wall as cover.
In the clearing, the Imperial officer was speaking again, his voice carrying across the field. "—sheltering enemies of the Empire is sedition," he barked. "By order of his Majesty's law, the sentence is death. Let all who witness this remember the price of disloyalty."
The older farmer shouted something back—a plea or a curse, Alex couldn't tell. The officer's face hardened. He raised his sword.
Alex's pulse surged. Any second now—
Without thinking, Alex rose from behind the stone wall. "Hey!" he shouted, voice cracking but loud. "Leave them alone!"
It was a foolish distraction, but it served its purpose. The officer froze, sword still poised, and all four soldiers whirled toward the source of the shout. In that same instant, Serah and Marin struck.
A sharp twang cut through the air as Marin loosed an arrow. It struck the soldier who was holding the farmer couple at swordpoint; he gurgled and went down, clutching at the shaft that suddenly jutted from his neck. Simultaneously, Serah vaulted over the low wall, spear in hand, and charged the officer with a feral cry.
The officer recovered from his surprise in time to parry Serah's first thrust, steel ringing against steel. They broke apart, circling each other with deadly intent.
The remaining two soldiers were already rushing to engage. One lunged at Serah's flank, but a throwing knife came whistling out of the shadows and buried itself in the man's eye-slit. Darius materialized from the drifting smoke of the burning cottage, barreling into the soldier like an avalanche. As the Imperial crumpled, Darius drew his broadsword with a snarl, meeting the last soldier weapon-to-weapon.
Amid the chaos, Alex realized with a lurch of panic that he was standing exposed in the open. The final soldier—locked in a fierce swordfight with Darius—was occupied, but the officer Serah was fighting had caught sight of Alex out of the corner of his eye. The officer snarled and, with a powerful swing, locked Serah's spear down against the ground long enough to shove her back with his gauntleted hand. Shaking free, he turned and started toward Alex, murderous intent in every stride.
Alex scrambled backward, instinctively raising his wrench in a shaking hand. The officer bore down on him, sword stained crimson from a wound he'd inflicted on Serah's upper arm during their scuffle. Alex swung the wrench desperately as the man closed in. The officer dodged it with ease and retaliated with a gauntlet backhand that caught Alex across the jaw. Stars burst in Alex's vision as he hit the ground hard, the wrench flying from his grip.
Above him, the officer loomed, sword raised high. Alex's dazed mind registered that this was the same pose the man had held moments ago over the farmer—a pose meant to execute.
Suddenly, a flicker of movement behind the officer: Caleb emerged at the edge of the clearing, that metal tube-like weapon from before braced on his shoulder. With a whoosh, a fiery projectile streaked out and struck the officer in the side. It detonated in a flash of flame, knocking him off-balance and engulfing his cloak in fire. The officer cried out, desperately trying to tear the burning fabric away as he staggered.
Alex didn't think—he just moved. Scrambling to his feet, he spotted a fallen Imperial sword in the grass (the one dropped by the soldier Darius had felled). He snatched it up. It was heavier than he expected, but adrenaline fueled his limbs. With a shout that was half terror and half fury, Alex lunged and swung the blade at the officer.
Steel met flesh with a jarring jolt up Alex's arms. He hadn't aimed particularly well; the sword hacked into the officer's thigh. The man screamed and collapsed onto one knee, the flames on his cloak now sputtering out into charred embers. Alex wrenched the sword back, breathing hard. He'd actually struck him—actually hurt him.
Nearby, Darius had dispatched his opponent, and Serah—freed from the officer's assault—closed in swiftly. She spun her spear and delivered a crushing blow to the side of the officer's helmet with the butt end. The man, already kneeling from Alex's strike, toppled sideways with a grunt. His sword clattered away from his limp hand. In a flash, Serah planted a boot on the officer's chest and leveled the tip of her spear at his throat.
It was over. The only sounds in the clearing were the crackling cottage and the ragged breathing of the combatants. The farmer couple huddled by their fallen son, trembling with shock and relief. Marin stepped out of cover, another arrow already drawn just in case, but it wasn't needed. Caleb jogged over to Alex's side, wide-eyed at what had just transpired.
The Imperial officer coughed wetly, his face a grimace of pain beneath the soot and blood. One arm was pinned under Serah's boot, the other hand weakly raised in surrender. "Mercy," he gasped, agony and fear mingling in his voice. "Please… I-I was following orders…"
For a moment, Serah's spear point hovered, unwavering, at the hollow of the man's throat. Her chest heaved with exertion and anger. Alex could see a trickle of blood running down her upper arm where the officer had cut her earlier, but she seemed not to notice. Darius came up beside her, his broadsword smeared with gore, and glared down at the cowering officer.
"Finish it," Darius growled. "We can't let him live to report this."
Alex stood a few steps back, the bloody sword still clenched in his hands. He felt numb. The adrenaline of battle was fast draining, leaving a sickly dread in its wake as he realized what might happen next. His eyes met Serah's for an instant. He could see conflict in them—fury warring with something else.
The Imperial was practically whimpering now. "Please… I have a family… I'm just a soldier…" His voice choked as Serah pressed her boot harder against his chest to keep him down.
Alex's stomach churned. This man had been about to butcher innocents without mercy just moments ago. If Caleb's flare hadn't hit when it did, that sword would've been in Alex's neck. And yet, watching him beg for his life, Alex couldn't help but feel a pang of pity and revulsion at the same time. Is this what it comes to? Executions on both sides?
Serah's face hardened to stone. "The Empire showed no mercy to my family," she said quietly, almost a whisper. Then, with a swift thrust, she drove her spear through the officer's throat. His eyes bulged and a gurgling gasp escaped as blood bubbled around the steel tip. Serah withdrew the spear and the Imperial sagged back, lifeless.
Alex looked away quickly, swallowing down a surge of nausea. Even Darius flinched just slightly before turning away, muttering a curse under his breath. Serah stood over the body for a heartbeat, her expression unreadable, then wiped her spear blade on the officer's smoldering cloak.
Marin was already moving, rushing to the farmer and his wife. The older woman had collapsed beside her injured son, sobbing and cradling his head. Up close, it was clear the young man was dead; the wound in his belly had soaked his tunic with blood. The older man—the father—stared at his son's body with hollow disbelief, tears streaming down his weathered face.
"We're too late to save him," Marin said softly, laying a gentle hand on the father's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
The old man bowed his head, grief carving deep lines in his face. Serah approached, and when the farmer looked up, she spoke gently. "We have to leave. More soldiers will come when they see that smoke. Please—come with us. We can get you to safety."
The woman tore her tear-streaked gaze from her son and shook her head vehemently. "No, I won't leave him," she cried. "We can't just… leave him here like carrion."
Serah knelt down, her own voice thick with emotion she tried to control. "If you stay, you'll die, too. I know it's cruel. I know. But your son… he would want you to live." She glanced at the encroaching blaze; the cottage was now fully engulfed, flames beginning to lick at the nearby barn. "We have only minutes before this place swarms with Imperials."
The old farmer swayed where he knelt, torn between fear and grief. Finally, he reached out and closed his son's staring eyes with a trembling hand. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the young man's forehead, then forced himself to stand, pulling his wife up with him. "W-we'll come," he rasped, voice breaking. His wife clung to him, sobbing quietly.
Darius quickly went about stripping anything useful from the Imperials—the uninjured parts of their rations, a pair of binoculars, a few arrows from the one Marin had shot. Caleb retrieved his spent flare-tube and slid a fresh, slender canister into it from a pouch at his belt, readying it for another shot if needed.
Alex stood apart, trying to catch his breath and make sense of the storm of feelings inside him. He felt the weight of the Imperial sword in his hand and realized he was still holding it. With a shaking arm, he slid the weapon into his belt; his wrench was lost somewhere in the grass. He figured a sword—no matter how clumsily he might wield it—was better than nothing.
His eyes fell on the corpse of the officer, and he had to look away again. This was the second time in twelve hours that he'd seen someone killed right in front of him. The second time Serah had saved his life. He knew the officer likely would have given none of them mercy… but the brutality of it left him shaken.
Serah rejoined the group, ushering the farmer couple along. "We head for the hills," she said, firm and calm as if they hadn't just been in a life-or-death battle. Only the tightness around her eyes betrayed the emotional toll. "We'll cut through the woods; that should slow any mounted troops behind us."
They hurried away from the farm, disappearing into the treeline just as the distant sound of shouting voices and clattering armor echoed from the western road. The Imperials were coming, drawn by the smoke and fire, but Serah's band and the rescued farmers were already gone.
They climbed in tense silence for a time, the only sounds their labored breathing and the rustle of underbrush. Alex felt numb, replaying the last few minutes in his head—the officer's sword raised to strike him down, the flash of Caleb's fire-shot, the desperation in the Imperial's eyes when he begged for mercy, and the awful finality of Serah's decision.
He glanced down at his hands; at some point he had dropped the borrowed sword during their flight, and now he noticed his fingers were smeared with sticky blood—whether the officer's or someone else's, he didn't know. A violent tremor went through him and he had to fight the urge to be sick.
He had expected that saving those people would make him feel proud or relieved. Instead, all he felt was hollow and heartsick. Yes, the farmers were alive (two of them, at least) and he was alive, but what he'd seen—the cruelty on one side, the cold execution on the other—left a bitter taste. There were no cheering crowds, no clear victories here. Just survival.
And what about him? Hours ago he'd been a college dropout with no family and no direction, and now… now he had blood on his hands in a world that didn't even know his name. Who was he going to become in a place like this?
Alex clenched his jaw. He didn't have the luxury of philosophical musing—not here, not now. He had to survive first, figure out the rest later. Still, a spark of determination ignited in his chest. If this world was going to test him, he would meet that test. He had to, if he ever wanted to find his way home… or to make sure what happened this morning didn't happen to others.
They eventually reached a ridge that offered a partial view back toward Greyford's valley. Alex dared to peer out from behind a stand of pines. Far below, the farm cottage was a smoldering ruin and tiny figures—Imperial reinforcements—swarmed like ants around the clearing. They were too late to catch their quarry, but that wouldn't stop them from trying.
Serah gently urged him onward. "Come on," she said softly. "We need to keep moving. We'll be over the next ridge soon, and out of sight."
Alex nodded and turned his back on the distant scene of chaos. He helped the elderly farmer over a rough patch of ground, and the man offered him a wan, grief-etched smile of thanks. Together, the weary band pressed on into the shelter of the hills, disappearing from view just as a horn's distant call signaled the Imperials finding their fallen comrades.
Ahead lay more forest, deep and uncharted. The morning sun was hidden now behind a bank of iron-gray clouds rolling in from the east, casting the woods in a somber gloom. As Alex followed Serah into the shadows, he realized he stood at a precipice—of this world and of his own path. He could feel it, like a weight or a promise in the cool air.
Somewhere in the depths of this war-torn land, a destiny was unfurling—one that had begun the moment Alex discovered that portal in his basement. And as frightening as that thought was, he felt a flicker of resolve. He would meet whatever lay ahead, darkness and all. Step by step, he would survive, learn, and find his place in this world of magic and shadows… and perhaps, along the way, find himself as well.