Chapter 1: Unknown Place
location: unknown
time: unknown
The room still thrums with the echo of closeness. Silver moonlight filters through the cracked window, casting dancing specks over the tangled sheets and the clothes scattered like dark petals. A soft whisper of silk as the comforter slides off, a faint creak of wood as he shifts—he presses a palm to the mattress, releasing a quiet ah... that fades into the air, heavy with warmth and memories.
The sweet, almost smoky scent of his own cologne—a blend of vanilla and wood—intertwines with the faint trace of his own arousal, forming an intimate perfume that floats in the gloom. He brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear; a shiver runs along the curve of her neck, and a breathless sigh escapes her lips, summoning the memory of every touch.
"I never imagined the night would end here," Richard murmurs, resting his hand on the bedframe. Just hours ago, he was lost in a different world.
Rebecca, lying on her side, lets out a lazy murmur, her messy hair spreading like a pool of darkness across the pillow. The white sheet arches where her silhouette lies: the curve of her back, the gentle line of her waist, the crimson bra peeking through the folds. It all speaks of a moment stolen from the chaos that surrounds them.
Richard Aiken, former special forces agent, still remembered the metallic taste of guilt—the death of a comrade he couldn't save had been the catalyst for his unexpected ability to travel between realities.
It had all happened so fast that he no longer knew whether what he'd experienced was real or just remnants of the little sanity he had left.
Just hours earlier, he'd been drowning his pain like a hopeless alcoholic.
Years of service in special forces had amounted to nothing.
He'd lost his best friend, his mission brother, and with him, both legs.
He couldn't walk. He had no family. And even less, the support of the country he had sacrificed so much to protect.
The last bottle rolled empty at his feet, his breath reeking of fire and abandonment. He felt a void in his chest so deep he thought it would never beat again. He took one final sip, closed his eyes… and the world disappeared.
When he awoke, everything was silent. A damp chill kissed the back of his neck. He forced his eyes open: he was lying on slick cobblestones, beneath a starry sky he couldn't remember seeing in ages. He wasn't in his room, nor in the messy house he'd stopped cleaning long ago—he was in a narrow alleyway, between moss-covered brick walls, with a flickering streetlamp a few meters away.
Sitting up, his hand ran across his torso: no longer in his tattered uniform, but a dark shirt he didn't recognize, and no combat pants either. He turned around and found, hanging from a cord around his neck, a polished tag with the name:
"Richard Aiken"
"Bravo Team"
"S.T.A.R.S."
Below his name hung several burnished metal tags, each engraved with a different name. Attached to them was a photograph of him smiling at the camera—something he hadn't seen in ages.
He looked genuinely happy.
In the photo stood a group of unfamiliar people, their faces joyful, glasses raised as if to celebrate his arrival—it looked like a welcome party.
He was confused. He still couldn't believe this was real. Everything felt like a disjointed dream sequence.
But beyond those strange images, something else—something the cold pavement had kept him from noticing—hit him hard: his legs… no longer throbbed with the pain of months past. A tingling electric sensation had replaced any memory of amputation.
Heart pounding with fragile hope, Richard pressed his palms against the narrow brick walls and carefully stood up. A tremble ran through his limbs, and for the first time in a long time, he felt his feet firmly on the ground. One step. Then another. And the world exploded in a flood of emotions: relief, disbelief, a spark of joy he thought long extinguished.
His crutches lay forgotten in a dark corner. With each stride, a smile grew on his face.
At last, he felt hope again—something he hadn't seen in a very long time.
Step by step, like a newborn's first walk, he approached a small bar.
With his awkward gait, he looked like just another drunk, so no one gave him a second glance.
As he opened the door, a warm blast of distant music and muffled chatter surrounded him. The legs of an old barstool screeched as someone poured him a drink without even looking.
"Another one, Richard," said the man behind the bar with familiar ease, a rough guy with an unkempt mustache.
Richard frowned. He didn't know this man—how could he know his name?
"Sorry," he said, confused. "I think you've got the wrong customer."
The bartender raised an eyebrow, set the glass on the counter with a soft clack, and nodded as if it were no big deal.
"Another Scotch, Richard?" he asked again, in the tone of someone recognizing an old friend. "This one's on the house."
Richard shook his head, still in shock. The warmth of the bar wrapped around him as the chatter grew clearer. Then a sharp, bitter exhale caught his attention.
Rebecca Chambers, leaning against the far end of the bar, clutched her glass so tightly the wood beneath creaked. Her half-unbuttoned uniform revealed the paleness of her skin; loose strands of chestnut hair fell over her brown eyes.
"Damn it," she muttered, frustration clear in her voice. "Too young for the Arklay mission… What if I've got more guts than all of them!?"
Intrigued, Richard took a step back to find a free stool. He sat two seats away from Rebecca, trying not to disturb anything, yet unable to look away. The bartender, seeing him stay, simply nodded and walked off, whistling.
Rebecca rested her forehead on the bar and mumbled in a voice so low it was almost lost:
"They've had me doing office work for months. Now I finally get the chance to prove myself, and they sideline me for being the 'kid' on the team."
The sound of a glass being set down echoed faintly. A moment later, she looked up and found Richard watching her with a mix of curiosity and empathy. Her lips twitched in an uncertain expression:
"You think I'm capable?" she asked, her voice tired and tipsy.
Richard met her gaze solemnly, gently placed his empty glass on the counter, and nodded.
Twenty minutes later
The last customers were fading into the night, and the bar emptied into soft murmurs. Richard leaned his elbows on the counter and, looking at Rebecca kindly, murmured:
"If Bravo Team's 'kid' learns this fast, they'll realize she's no child."
She chuckled softly, determination flickering in her eyes:
"I'll try. Thanks, Richard… for listening."
"Always," he said. "Don't let anyone take your worth from you."
He looked toward the bartender, who winked at them from the other end of the bar.
"All right, lovebirds," he said sarcastically. "Better leave before the cops get here first."
Rebecca stood up, grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair, and Richard joined her. They stepped out into the cool night, shoulder to shoulder.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Writing doesn't stop the hunger… but it sure leaves you too broke to eat.If you enjoy what I do and want me to keep creating instead of turning into the village square juice vendor (something I've seriously considered), your support on Patreon would be like a warm coffee for my soul… and maybe even food for my stomach.
Here's the link—no pressure, no drama, just love and a lot of worn-out keyboard keys: on my Patreon I upload 10 extra chapters every Saturday. They're in English, with some small narrative changes, but nothing too drastic.
👉 [patreon.com/Dalaraamater]
If you'd like to support me with a one-time donation instead of a Patreon commitment, here's my secret Ko-fi link. Every $10 milestone reached will unlock 5 extra chapters of the most-voted story here on Webnovel.
https://ko-fi.com/dalaraamater