Nightmares of burning flesh give way to unfamiliar ceiling beams as I crack open my eyes, montarily disoriented by the wooden rafters that aren't mine. The morning light filters through threadbare curtains, painting golden stripes across a room that slls of old timber and soone else's mories.
We rolled into the city of Qence just as the sun abandoned the sky last night, the journey rcifully uneventful after what happened at our campsite. Getting through the gates was surprisingly easy, seems this place isn't nearly as concerned about security as Honeywood. The guard barely glanced at us before waving us through, more interested in finishing her shift than questioning travelers.
I push myself up on the lumpy mattress, taking in our new surroundings properly. The room is modest but clean enough, with two narrow beds separated by a nightstand that's seen better centuries. Mirelle occupies the other bed, her electric blue hair splayed across the pillow like exotic seaweed, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of deep sleep.
Qence is definitely smaller than Honeywood, the buildings more weathered, streets narrower, and less maintained. Parts of the city look like they're one strong breeze away from collapsing entirely. Instead of a castle looming over everything, there's just a moderately impressive mayor's residence squatting in the town center. Apparently, this whole region falls under sothing called the Grelas Duchy, which ans absolutely nothing to .
We sold the horses and carriage almost imdiately after arriving. The coin now sits heavy in a pouch beneath my Mirelle’s, our ticket to whatever cos next.
I slide my legs over the edge of the bed, floorboards creaking beneath my weight. The sound makes Mirelle stir, but she doesn't wake. Good. I need a few minutes to myself before facing her and the awkward tension that's beco our constant companion.
I grab the wooden staff leaning against the wall, the sa one I used to nearly burn her alive, and feel its familiar warmth against my palm. Despite everything, it's beco sothing of a comfort, a reminder that I'm not completely helpless in this bizarre world.
My reflection in the small, cloudy mirror above the washbasin looks more rested than I feel. I splash water on my face, trying to wash away the lingering images of Mirelle's burning flesh and the mory of words I never ant to say.
The cold water does little to clear my thoughts. As I pat my face dry with a threadbare towel, a troubling question surfaces in my mind.
What if Kayla isn't the Hero who gets summoned? What then? Would I still be so determined to resist Mirelle if I knew for certain Kayla was never coming back?
I glance over at Mirelle's sleeping form, studying her features in the gentle morning light. Her face, relaxed in sleep, looks younger, almost innocent. The strong line of her jaw, the curve of her lips, the way her blue hair fras her face, she's objectively beautiful. I'd be lying to myself if I claid otherwise. Any man from my world would consider himself lucky to be with soone like her.
But that thought just makes the guilt twist deeper in my gut. I sigh, leaning against the washbasin. Part of what makes this whole situation so ssed up is how physically good it felt, despite the violation. If her body wasn't so perfect, if she wasn't so tight, maybe it would be easier to completely hate what happened.
I grip the staff tighter, finding comfort in its solid weight. The wood warms beneath my touch, almost like it's responding to my thoughts.
A rustling sound pulls my attention back to Mirelle's bed. Her eyes flutter open, imdiately locking onto standing there with the staff in hand. In an instant, she's fully awake, rolling behind her blanket and throwing her hands up defensively.
"Whoa, whoa!" Her voice is higher than usual, tinged with genuine fear. "I didn't try anything, I swear!"
I realize how this must look to her, standing almost over her bed, gripping the sa staff I used to set her on fire.
"I know, Mirelle," I say softly, lowering the staff slightly. "I just like holding it. It makes feel... safer."
The tension drains from her shoulders, but wariness remains in her eyes. She sits up slowly, keeping the blanket wrapped around her.
"Oh," she says, relief evident in her voice. "Good. That's... good."
An awkward silence stretches between us. I turn away, giving her privacy to dress while I stare out the small window at the awakening city below.
"So what's our plan for today?" I ask, turning away from the window. The bustle of morning comrce is starting to pick up outside, and we should probably get moving, too.
Mirelle slides her feet into her boots, her electric blue hair still mussed from sleep. "Well, we could head to the Adventurer's Guild today, get that all set up." She tightens the laces with practiced efficiency. "Or we could take it easy for about a week if you want to get acclimated first. We've got enough money to last us about a month if we're careful."
I shake my head imdiately. "No. Let's go to the Guild now."
The sooner I start learning how this world works, the sooner I can beco independent. Every day I spend with Mirelle is another reminder of what happened between us.
"Are you sure?" She pauses, studying my face with concern. "The Guild can be... overwhelming for newcors."
I open my mouth to confirm, but then hesitation creeps in. There's a fundantal gap in my knowledge that I've been avoiding.
"Wait," I say, running my hand through my hair. "I don't really know how magic works."
Mirelle blinks at , clearly caught off guard. "You... what?"
"I an, I know I can do it," I explain, gesturing with the staff. "I set a goblin on fire. I set you on fire. I healed you. But I have no idea how it works."
Mirelle settles back on her bed, patting the space beside her. "Co sit. This is easier to explain when we're not standing around like awkward strangers."
I hesitate, then perch on the edge of her bed, keeping a careful distance between us. The staff remains in my grip.
"There are two main ways to cast magic," she begins, her voice taking on a scholarly tone I haven't heard from her before. "You can either know the spell internally, have it morized and cast it directly, or you can channel your mana through an object that's already attuned to a specific spell."
"So that's how staffs work?" I ask, looking down at the wooden rod in my hands.
"Yes, exactly." She nods, seeming pleased that I'm following. "That staff you found is pre-attuned to fire bolt. It's why you could use it right away without any training."
I run my fingers along the smooth wood, feeling the subtle warmth emanating from it. "And healing?"
"That's different. That's coming from you, from your nature as the Saint." She tucks a strand of electric blue hair behind her ear. "Most mages tend to be attuned to one of the six elents better than others, though they can learn spells from any discipline with enough study."
I sigh, the word "elent" triggering mories of high school chemistry and the complex reality I left behind. "So there's no periodic table in this world?"
"What?" Mirelle's brow furrows in genuine confusion.
I close my eyes for a mont, fighting the urge to groan in frustration. The gap between our worlds suddenly feels as vast as the distance between galaxies.
"It's nothing," I mutter, waving my hand dismissively. "Keep going."
"Alright..." She gives a curious look before continuing. "The six elents are fire, water, earth, air, light, and darkness. Most people have an affinity for one or two at most."
"What's yours?" I ask, genuinely curious despite myself.
A small smile plays at her lips. "Lightning, technically. It's a specialized form of air and fire magic." As if to demonstrate, she snaps her fingers, and a tiny spark dances between them. "It's why my family has blue hair, a side effect of generations of lightning mages."
I lean forward slightly. "And mine? Besides healing, I an."
"Healing is considered light magic," Mirelle explains, her blue eyes brightening with enthusiasm. "So you probably have a natural affinity for light-based spells."
"Is it difficult to learn new spells?" I ask, genuinely curious about expanding my magical repertoire beyond setting things on fire and healing burns I've caused.
Mirelle tilts her head, considering. "It depends. So spells are relatively straightforward, simple fire manipulation, basic shields. Others..." She pauses, her fingers absently playing with a strand of her electric blue hair. "Well, so spells take elves centuries to master."
"Wait, elves?" I blink in surprise, processing this new information. "Elves are in this world, too?"
Mirelle sighs deeply, and I can practically see her biting back whatever she was about to say. Her expression shifts to one of forced patience, like she's explaining sothing to a particularly slow child.
"Yes, Sam," she says evenly. "Elves exist. So do dwarves, orcs, and several other races."
"Are they racist?" The question slips out before I can consider how it sounds.
She considers this for a mont, her electric blue hair falling across her face as she tilts her head. "Well, I don't know many elves personally. They tend to keep to themselves, staying in their forest kingdom far from Vopilia."
"Why's that?"
"This kingdom has always favored humans," she explains, absently tracing patterns on the bedspread. "The Queen's policies aren't exactly welcoming to other races. Most elves find it easier to just avoid us altogether."
"Interesting," I say, filing away this information. Another piece of the puzzle that is this world. "How do elves treat human n? Are they different from human won in that regard?"
Mirelle shrugs, her armor creaking slightly with the movent. "I honestly don't know. I've never seen an elf with a human man." She glances at , curiosity sparking in her eyes. "Why? Thinking of running off to find yourself a pointy-eared owner?"
I ignore her attempt at humor. "Just trying to understand all my options."
Mirelle's expression shifts, a frown settling on her face as she leans forward. "Look, Sam. You have now, okay? I'll protect you. You and I are going to make a great team."
I stare at her, taking in her earnest expression, the determined set of her jaw, the way her electric blue hair fras her face. In another world, another life where we'd t differently, I might have been swept off my feet by a warrior woman pledging to protect . I might have fallen for her confidence, her power, her undeniable beauty.
"Alright," I say simply, keeping my voice neutral.
But my mind remains unchanged. The mont I know how to survive on my own, I'm gone. No matter how sincere she sounds now. I just have to find the Hero once they're summoned. Find Kayla at all costs.
A/N: Kayla Sam's Wife during his last few monts.
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