Ori tilted her head, her lips parted in stunned silence, her breath stilled as she tried to comprehend what stared back at her in the mirror. Was this some woven tale from the hearth-fires of old? A whisper of fabled myths brought to life?
Stories of fair folk with long, graceful ears had often danced through the pages of bedtime legends—elusive beings of wonder and beauty. But never, not even in her most far-fetched imaginings, had Ori believed she would one day become one. Her reflection bore the features of their sacred kind… and it terrified her.
Her mind swayed on a fragile thread, caught between panic and composure, unsure of which emotion to surrender to. There, between the tides of confusion and awe, she stood, lost in thought.
Meanwhile, the steady hands of time marched on, and the loyal patrons of the famed Kharvald Bakery grew restless. The smell of sweet pastries no longer wafted from her ovens. The line that once curled around the corner of her street had frayed; many customers had given up in quiet frustration, while others lingered, hope flickering faintly in their eyes.
Ori, however, remained utterly distracted—fixated on her reflection, fumbling for ways to conceal the transformation that now marked her as something more—or perhaps less—than—human.
Then came the knock.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sound rang out—three heavy strikes—like a war drum bellowing through the quiet of a dying day. It echoed from the downstairs hall to her upstairs room, reverberating through her bones. Her shoulders jolted at the first hit; her eyes winced at the second; and by the third, her new ears twitched, far more attuned than any human's. The sound didn't just reach her—it pierced her.
She could sense the air shifting, the faintest echoes folding in around her like a bat clinging to its cave walls while intruders invaded its sanctum. A strange new awareness surged through her—a gift or a curse, she did not know.
Clutching a bath garment around her frame, she darted down the stairs, each step loud upon the hardwood, heart thundering in her chest.
At the door, she paused. Fear curled around her heart. Would she be met with scornful customers and impatient voices? She'd endured worse, she reminded herself. This would pass.
She reached for the doorknob, fingers trembling, and turned it.
The door creaked open.
And standing before her was not a customer.
The figure towered over Ori like a monument of war. Broad-shouldered and armored in menace, the woman's muscular form cast a shadow that swallowed the doorway whole. Her presence was not merely imposing—it was domineering. Her face was sealed beneath an iron helm, unyielding, faceless, and cruel in its silence.
"How may I assist you?" Ori asked, her voice small but even, her instincts whispering that this was no ordinary visitor.
No answer came.
Instead, the figure raised a fist—clenched and iron-bound—and slammed it down with savage force.
Ori barely had time to react. She felt the heat of the strike, the wind rushing ahead of it like a fiery herald. She twisted aside, narrowly avoiding the blow, and the floor where she'd stood shattered beneath the strike. Splinters flew. Her heart thudded in raw terror.
It had been years since Ori had felt this way.
"Ghahaha... fascinating!" came a raspy voice, hoarse and venom-laced. The woman straightened slowly, dust rising around her like smoke. Her eyes glowed—lurid yellow orbs that locked with Ori's, twin torches burning into her very soul.
"You're faster than the other Never-Slayers I've faced," the woman growled, her tone laced with twisted admiration.
Ori stood frozen. What was this being? Human? Monster? Whatever she was, she had broken through solid timber like it was parchment. No ordinary strength could do such a thing.
Gathering her breath, Ori met the glowing gaze. She would not cower—not again. Her voice came firm this time, with a storm brewing in her tone. "Who are you—and what business do you have in my home?"
The masked woman laughed, cruel and sharp. "You may be fast, little baker, but I know how to shut a mouth—just one well-placed strike to the face!"
With a roar, the woman lunged again. Ori saw the attack before it came—sensed it. Her reflexes flared. She dodged swiftly, the monstrous woman barreling past her and into a cupboard, shattering plates, breaking cups, sending utensils flying like metallic rain.
Amid the chaos, Ori's eyes caught something strange. A flicker of light—a rectangular screen hovering before her eyes, glowing faintly like a spirit's warning.
>Quest Condition: Failure to comply will result in the wielder's heart ceasing.
>Time Limit: Two hours.
"You can't be serious," Ori muttered, eyes narrowed with disdain as the cruel reality sank in. This wasn't a dream. This was a death sentence masked as a challenge.
Behind her, the enemy stirred. The iron-helmed figure shook off the debris, grinning beneath her mask. "Still here, I see," she said, voice low and eager. "Good. I like a chase."
The two clashed again—Ori dodging blow after blow, each punch whistling past her with deadly speed. Some grazed her skin, leaving burning lines where flesh had narrowly escaped destruction.
Then, Ori broke free—outside now, surrounded by onlookers. Gasps rose in the air. The people stared, whispers spreading like wildfire. But the Iron Woman was not fazed by the crowd. She advanced, unrelenting.
Ori fled—vaulting across barrels, knocking over crates, flinging whatever she could grasp. The beast pursued, unhindered and even more incensed. Nothing slowed her down.
The chase ended in ruins.
A forgotten district, once devoured by the wrath of Never-Weres, now stood silent. Crumbled stone. Wilted flowers. Memorials of a battle lost to time.
Here, finally, Ori turned. Here, she would stand her ground.
She faced the iron behemoth. Her breaths were ragged. Sweat traced lines down her brow. But her eyes—her eyes were full of fire.
The woman stopped a few paces away, arms crossed, her laughter echoing through the dead district. "Hah! Look at you… Seems you've given up."
Ori's shoulders rose and fell with her breath. But her gaze never wavered. Her stance was firm now, grounded in defiance.
"I just needed to get to a better place," she said coldly, voice edged with steel. "So that no innocents would get in my way."
"Playing hero, I see," the mad woman said, her fists clenching as she charged up another attack, "Then you won't mind dying for their sake!"
Despite the formalities, Ori still stood firm, ready for any attack that was about to be thrown at her. The mad woman raised her fist in the air, a battle cry escaping her lips.