The cage stank of old wood and fear.
Daniel sat hunched, his knees pulled tight to his chest, the rough-hewn bars digging into his shoulders whenever he shifted. The cold seeped through his uniform, gnawing at his bones. He hadn't slept more than a few minutes at a time—the villagers never stopped watching.
At first, it had been a handful, whispering from a distance, pointing and muttering words he couldn't understand. But as the night deepened, more had come. Men, women, even children, gathering around his prison as though he were some beast dragged from the wilderness. Their eyes burned with fear and curiosity, their torches throwing long shadows across the square.
Some jeered. Some spat. A few made the sign Daniel had noticed before—crossing one arm over the other in front of their chest. Ward against evil? Prayer? He couldn't tell.
Daniel ignored them all, or at least pretended to. He kept his gaze fixed on the stars, forcing his breathing steady. In his head, he repeated the mantra that had carried him through deployment: stay calm, stay sharp, stay alive.
But the truth was eating at him.
No squad. No backup. No extraction plan. He'd been in bad situations before, but always with a chain of command behind him, always with the knowledge that someone, somewhere, was tracking him. Out here, there was nothing. Just him.
And that terrifying ability he barely understood.
The crowd dispersed with dawn. Daniel's body screamed from the chill and lack of food, but he dragged himself upright as the village stirred. Smoke curled from chimneys. Children darted through the square, tossing stones at each other and sneaking glances at him.
Kaelen returned with two guards. He barked an order, and one of them thrust a bowl of something through the bars.
Daniel eyed it suspiciously. Thick, gray porridge, steaming faintly.
"Breakfast in bed," he muttered. Hunger gnawed at his gut, but instinct screamed caution. For all he knew, this was poison.
Kaelen's sharp eyes studied him, as if daring him to eat.
Daniel lifted the bowl, sniffed. Bland, earthy, but not rancid. He dipped two fingers in, tasted. Grainy. Bitter. But edible.
His stomach overruled his brain. He shoveled it down, gagging at the taste but forcing every bite. The guards muttered, one of them smirking like it was a show.
When the bowl was empty, Kaelen knelt near the bars. He spoke slowly, tapping his chest again. "Kaelen."
Daniel exhaled, setting the bowl down. "Yeah. I remember. Kaelen." He pointed at himself. "Daniel. Human."
Kaelen's brow furrowed. He repeated, haltingly: "Da…niel."
It wasn't much. But it was a start.
By midmorning, they dragged him back into the hall. His wrists were bound again, though not as tightly as before. The villagers followed, whispering like a tide behind him.
The elder sat as before, regal in flowing robes. His eyes glowed brighter in daylight, silver burning like molten steel.
Daniel was shoved to his knees. He clenched his jaw, refusing to bow.
The elder spoke, voice low and deliberate. He gestured at Daniel, at his hands, then at the confiscated rifle resting on a table beside the chair. The villagers murmured louder at the sight of it.
Daniel swallowed hard. He couldn't understand the words, but the meaning was clear enough: they wanted proof. They wanted to see it again.
His miracle. His curse.
Daniel shook his head. "No. Not again. You don't get it—it's not a trick. It's not magic. It kills me every time I use it."
The elder's expression didn't change. He raised one hand. Guards closed in.
Daniel's pulse spiked. His vision swam with hunger and exhaustion. "Goddamn it," he hissed. He clenched his fists, forced his mind to focus. Something simple. Something small.
A knife. Just a knife.
The burn ignited. Pain lanced through his body, fire under his skin. He screamed through clenched teeth as light flickered between his palms.
And then, with a dull clatter, a standard-issue combat knife hit the floorboards.
The hall erupted.
Gasps. Cries. Some dropped to their knees. Others scrambled back as if the knife itself would leap at them.
The elder rose slowly, his expression unreadable. He lifted the blade, turning it in the torchlight, studying every inch. Then he looked down at Daniel with something colder than fear.
Judgment.
He spoke a single command.
The guards seized Daniel, dragging him back toward the cage. The villagers surged to follow, their voices rising into a chant Daniel couldn't understand.
But he knew the tone. He'd heard it in hostile crowds before.
It was the sound of a people demanding punishment.
They shoved him into the cage, bolted it shut, and left him under the gaze of the crowd. Daniel collapsed against the bars, every limb trembling from the energy drain. His chest heaved. Sweat chilled on his skin.
For a long time, he didn't move. Couldn't.
When the chanting finally died and the villagers drifted away, he dragged himself upright and stared out at the alien sky.
This world had judged him already.
Monster. Demon. Omen.
But Daniel Mason had survived worse.
His lips curled into a grim smile. "You can call me whatever the hell you want," he whispered. "But I'm still here. And I'm not done."
The days bled together.
Daniel lost track of time inside the cage. The villagers brought food—always the same tasteless porridge, sometimes with a scrap of dried meat—but never spoke to him beyond whispers and glares. The guards rotated in pairs, standing like statues with their spears, eyes never leaving him.
He tried speaking to them at first. Simple words. His name. Questions. Pleas. But their faces remained blank, language a wall between them.
So he stopped wasting his voice.
Instead, he studied.
Every word they spoke. Every gesture. Every routine. He cataloged them like intelligence reports. When they greeted each other, they touched a hand to their heart. When they cursed, they spat to the ground. When they feared him most, they made that strange cross-armed gesture, their knuckles pressed against their shoulders.
Superstition, he thought. They think I'm cursed.
He didn't entirely disagree.
On his fourth day in the cage, someone new appeared.
Not a guard. Not a villager.
A girl.
She couldn't have been more than sixteen, with tangled dark hair and eyes too big for her thin face. She crept forward while the guards were distracted, clutching something behind her back.
Daniel stirred. "Hey." His voice was hoarse from silence. "You're… new."
She flinched at the sound of his voice but didn't run. Instead, she glanced at the guards, then knelt by the bars. Slowly, she pulled out what she'd been hiding.
A hunk of bread.
Daniel blinked. "Is that for me?"
She didn't understand his words, but she pushed it through the bars anyway. Her eyes darted nervously toward the guards.
Daniel snatched it up, tearing into it with shaking hands. It was rough, stale, but glorious compared to the slop they usually gave him. He devoured it in seconds, licking crumbs from his fingers.
When he looked up, the girl was still there, watching.
"Thank you," he said quietly. He pressed a hand to his chest, mimicking the villagers' gesture. "Daniel."
She hesitated, then mirrored him, pressing her hand to her own chest. "Lyra."
Daniel's throat tightened. His first real connection. A name.
"Lyra," he repeated, giving a tired smile.
Her lips quirked faintly before she darted away, vanishing between huts before the guards could notice.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Daniel felt something warm bloom in his chest.
Hope.
Lyra returned the next day, and the next. Always when the guards were distracted, always with something small—an apple, a strip of dried meat, another piece of bread. And always with words.
She'd point to herself. "Lyra."
Then to Daniel. "Daniel."
He nodded, repeating. Then she'd point to an apple. "Thalas."
He'd mimic. "Thalas."
She'd laugh at his accent but nod approvingly.
It became their secret ritual. Each day, Daniel's vocabulary grew—one word, two words, phrases. Simple things. Food. Sky. Water. Fire. Human.
Every night, he repeated them under his breath, drilling them into his memory. Words were weapons. And here, they might be more valuable than his rifle.
Not everyone was blind to Lyra's visits.
Daniel noticed the stares first. Villagers lingering longer than usual, muttering to each other when Lyra slipped away from his cage. Guards scowling more openly. Even Kaelen, usually calm, seemed tense when he passed by.
One evening, as Lyra slipped him a strip of dried meat, a guard barked something sharp. Lyra froze, color draining from her face. The guard grabbed her arm, yanking her back.
Daniel surged to his feet, gripping the bars. "Hey! Leave her alone!"
The guard sneered at him, then spat on the ground before dragging Lyra away.
Daniel's blood boiled. He rattled the cage, shouting curses they couldn't understand, but the guards only laughed.
That night, Daniel lay awake, fury simmering in his chest. Lyra was just a kid. And they were punishing her for showing him kindness.
He clenched his fists, the urge to summon something—anything—burning in his veins. A crowbar. A lockpick. A weapon.
But he stopped himself. He wasn't strong enough yet. One more miracle could kill him.
And if he died here, Lyra's risk would mean nothing.
The next morning, Lyra returned with no food, no smile. Her face was pale, her hands trembling.
She crouched by the bars, whispering fast, urgent words Daniel only half understood. He caught fragments—Kaelen… Elder… judgment…
She grabbed his hand suddenly, eyes wide with fear. "Human… death."
Daniel's stomach dropped.
He didn't need to know the rest.
The villagers weren't going to keep him in the cage forever.
They were going to execute him.
The days of quiet waiting were over.
By the time the seventh dawn broke over the village, Daniel knew something had changed.
The guards no longer brought him food with the same bored indifference—they sneered, muttered to each other, spat at his feet. Villagers gathered more often, staring as though memorizing his face. The air thrummed with tension, like the moment before an ambush.
When Lyra slipped close that morning, she didn't bring food. Her eyes were red from crying. She pressed her hand through the bars and whispered fast, desperate words.
"Human… death. Sundown."
Daniel's throat closed. He didn't need to understand the rest. They weren't going to wait anymore.
By nightfall, they meant to kill him.
They dragged him from the cage at dusk, binding his wrists so tightly blood drained from his hands. The entire village had gathered, torches burning in a circle around the square. Children clung to their parents' skirts, eyes wide. Elders stood solemn, chanting under their breath.
At the center stood the elder, robes glowing with embroidered silver under firelight. Kaelen and the other warriors flanked him, spears gleaming.
Daniel was forced to his knees before the elder. His chest heaved, his mind a storm of fury and disbelief.
"This is it," he muttered. "Trial by torchlight. Goddamn medieval."
The elder raised his arms. His voice rolled across the crowd, deep and resonant, each word a hammer. Daniel caught fragments—cursed… omen… dangerous… death.
The villagers roared their approval, stomping feet, raising torches.
Daniel clenched his jaw. "So that's it, huh? No defense, no appeal. Just a monster to burn."
The elder gestured sharply. Guards hauled Daniel upright, dragging him toward a wooden post at the edge of the square. Chains clinked. Straw lay piled at the base, soaked with something that stank—oil.
His stomach turned. They were going to burn him alive.
Panic clawed at his throat, but training shoved it down.
Assess. Decide. Act.
He scanned the square. Two guards at his arms. Four more circling close. Kaelen by the elder. Dozens of villagers ringing them in. No rifle. No knife. Nothing but his hands—and the miracle that had drained him half-dead every time.
His options were razor-thin.
If he stayed, he died screaming.
If he acted, he might die anyway. But he'd die fighting.
His fists clenched. The burn answered, unbidden, crawling under his skin like fire ants.
The guards shoved him against the post, raising chains to bind him. Daniel sucked in a breath.
"Not today."
The world exploded.
He didn't think rifle this time. Didn't think knife.
He thought escape.
His body convulsed as light burst from his chest, searing white and blinding. The square gasped as a concussive shockwave rippled outward, knocking torches to the ground, sending villagers sprawling. The guards restraining him were hurled back like ragdolls.
When Daniel staggered to his feet, gasping, a pair of bolt cutters lay at his feet—rusted but real.
He grabbed them, snapped his bindings, and spun on the dazed crowd.
The villagers froze. Some screamed. Others fell to their knees. Kaelen barked an order, rallying his warriors, but the fear was palpable.
Daniel hefted the cutters like a weapon, eyes blazing. His chest burned, his vision swam, but adrenaline dragged him forward.
"You want a demon?" His voice cracked, savage. "Fine. I'll be your goddamn demon."
Warriors charged. Daniel swung wide, the bolt cutters cracking into a spear shaft, snapping it in half. Another warrior lunged—Daniel slammed the tool into his jaw, dropping him cold.
The crowd scattered, shrieking. Flames spread from the fallen torches, licking at huts, filling the air with smoke.
Kaelen himself advanced, eyes like cold steel, spear spinning. He barked something sharp, his movements precise, professional. Not just a guard—this was a soldier.
Daniel's chest heaved. He was running on fumes, every nerve screaming, but instinct locked him in. Two combatants. Different training. Different weapons. Same intent: survive.
The first clash was brutal. Steel against steel. Daniel blocked the spear thrust with the cutters, sparks flying. Kaelen twisted, kicked Daniel's leg out from under him, then swung for his throat.
Daniel rolled, dirt grinding into his wounds, and lashed out with a desperate kick. Kaelen stumbled back, just far enough.
The crowd howled. Warriors closed in.
Daniel knew he was seconds from being overwhelmed.
And then—chaos cracked wider.
A scream tore through the night. One of the villagers, sprinting with a torch, was hurled into the square like a broken doll. Blood sprayed.
The crowd gasped as shadows spilled from the treeline. Not wolves this time.
Something bigger.
Daniel's breath caught. Hulking shapes, eyes glowing crimson, claws like swords. Monsters straight out of nightmare, surging into the village.
The warriors broke formation, shouts turning to panic. Villagers fled, torches scattering.
Daniel staggered, chest heaving. His vision blurred. But even through the haze, one thought cut clear.
Opportunity.
The village was falling into chaos. His captors were distracted.
If he was going to escape, this was it.
The square dissolved into screaming chaos.
Villagers scattered, clutching children, dragging carts, abandoning homes as the creatures surged through the palisade. Hulking beasts, bigger than the twisted wolves Daniel had fought, their bodies bristling with jagged bone plates, their mouths dripping with strands of glowing saliva. Their roars shook the night.
The warriors rallied instinctively, spears flashing, shields locking. Kaelen barked orders sharp enough to cut through the panic, his soldiers forming a ragged line between the monsters and the villagers.
Daniel stood half-collapsed near the burning pyre, bolt cutters still clutched in his hands. Every muscle screamed. His vision swam. His lungs felt like sandpaper.
He could run.
Right now, with the chaos, no one would stop him. The forest was open, dark, waiting.
Freedom.
The thought coiled like a lifeline in his mind.
But then he saw her.
Lyra, trapped at the edge of the square, too close to the beasts. She screamed as one lunged, its claws slashing down. A guard shoved her back just in time, taking the hit himself. He crumpled, blood spraying the dirt.
Daniel's body moved before his mind caught up.
He charged. The bolt cutters swung wild, crunching into the beast's side. It howled, spinning on him, its crimson eyes locking like burning coals.
Daniel grit his teeth, forcing strength into exhausted arms. "Come on, you bastard."
The monster lunged. Daniel dove aside, the claws ripping through wood and stone like paper. He came up swinging, slamming the cutters into its jaw. Sparks flew as bone cracked. The beast reeled, snarling.
A spear shot past Daniel's shoulder, driving deep into the monster's chest. Kaelen appeared at his side, face grim, movements precise. He shouted something harsh, then yanked the spear free and shoved Daniel back with his other hand.
Daniel stumbled but didn't retreat. He set his feet, cutters ready. For the briefest moment, Kaelen's eyes met his—not as captor and prisoner, but as soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder.
And then the fight was on.
The square became a storm. Beasts crashed through walls, sending splinters flying. Warriors darted in and out, stabbing, retreating, reforming ranks. Fire spread from the fallen torches, painting everything in flickering orange.
Daniel fought like a man possessed. Every instinct drilled into him in boot camp and combat came roaring to the surface. Step, strike, dodge, counter. He flowed with the chaos, his body remembering even when his mind threatened to break.
But he was unarmed, outmatched. The bolt cutters bent on bone, the weight dragging him down. His arms shook with every swing. His breath came ragged, blood dripped from shallow cuts.
And still, he fought.
Because running now would mean Lyra's death.
And after everything she'd risked for him, Daniel Mason wasn't about to let that happen.
One of the beasts broke through the line, charging straight for the villagers huddled near the hall. Daniel's chest seized. No time. No weapon. Nothing left.
Unless…
He clenched his fists, dragging up every ounce of strength, every drop of rage, every scrap of willpower he had left. His vision went white-hot.
A grenade. Just one.
The pain was indescribable. His body convulsed, every nerve screaming, his heart threatening to tear free from his chest. Light seared his vision.
And then, heavy and solid, a fragmentation grenade dropped into his hand.
Daniel didn't hesitate. He pulled the pin with his teeth, hurled it into the beast's gaping maw, and dove flat.
The explosion tore the night apart. The creature's head vaporized in fire and bone shards, its body collapsing in a smoking heap.
Silence crashed over the square. For a moment, even the monsters froze.
Daniel lay gasping, half-conscious, his ears ringing, his body hollowed. He couldn't move. Could barely breathe.
But the grenade had shifted the tide.
The warriors roared, rallying. Spears surged. The remaining beasts fell back under the renewed assault, snarling, retreating into the burning treeline.
And just like that… the village was saved.
Daniel rolled onto his back, staring up at the alien stars through smoke and ash. His chest heaved. His arms trembled. Every cell in his body screamed with exhaustion.
Kaelen loomed over him, spear dripping with blood, eyes blazing. For a long moment, Daniel thought he'd finish what the villagers had started—strike him down as a cursed omen, a dangerous monster.
Instead, Kaelen lowered his weapon.
He barked something sharp, and two warriors stepped forward—not to chain Daniel, but to lift him, half-carrying him toward the hall. The villagers parted in stunned silence, their eyes wide with fear, awe… and something else.
Respect.
Lyra's tear-streaked face appeared in the crowd, her hands pressed together at her chest. Daniel met her gaze briefly before darkness claimed him.
When he woke, he wasn't in the cage.
He lay on a rough cot inside the hall, his wounds bandaged, a bowl of broth steaming nearby. His rifle sat against the wall.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Daniel Mason wasn't just a prisoner.
He was something more dangerous.
An unknown. A weapon.
And the village knew it.