Cloaked figures slid out of the darkness like shapes torn from shadow itself, their movements were measured and unnervingly precise. Steel flashed in the dim light, not with the clumsy eagerness of raiders but with the calculated rhythm of predators who had already marked their prey.
Adira stepped forward instinctively, blade raised, the lamplight glinting off its edge. Elior's staff hummed low as the crystal at its head stirred awake, shedding pale light across the chamber. Gabriel shifted subtly to Zephan's side, every inch of him coiled, steady, prepared to strike.
Zephan's pulse thundered in his ears. He had faced fights back in his world—scuffles in alleys, moments when fists or knives decided the outcome—but this was nothing like that. These enemies didn't breathe like men; they didn't fidget, hesitate, or posture. They advanced with a unity that was unnatural, their cloaks whispering against the stone as though one will guided them all.
"What are they?" Zephan muttered, his voice low, half to Gabriel, half to himself.
No one answered.
The first figure lunged. Adira met it with a sharp twist of her wrist, steel ringing as their blades collided. Sparks danced off stone, but instead of a grunt of pain, there was only a hollow clang—too sharp, too empty. She struck again, harder, driving her blade into the thing's side. The cloak tore, revealing not flesh but the glint of metal ribs and the grind of gears.
Zephan froze, his breath catching in his throat.
Elior swept his staff across the air and a burst of light surged outward, slamming two more of the cloaked figures into the wall. Their hoods slipped back, and what Zephan saw beneath chilled him more than blood ever could: faces carved from alloy, eyes like dull glass lenses that glowed faintly as if storing memory.
"They're not human," Zephan whispered.
"Move!" Gabriel barked, his hand gripping Zephan's arm.
The chamber exploded into chaos. Adira fought like fire itself, each swing of her blade sparking against the mechanical assassins. Elior's light seared through their ranks, cracking alloy and leaving scorch marks across the stone. Gabriel fought differently—close, efficient, striking joints and weak seams, each dagger thrust precise. But no matter how many fell, more came forward, relentless, unfeeling.
Zephan stumbled back, ducking under a sweep of metal that hissed inches from his face. One of the figures stopped mid-motion and turned its head toward him. Those faintly glowing eyes fixed on him, recording him, as if memorizing the shape of his face.
It knows me.
The thought thundered in his skull. Not just fighting—watching.
Gabriel shoved him hard toward the corridor. "Go!"
Adira slashed down another, sparks flying, her voice ringing across the chamber. "The passage, now!"
Elior slammed his staff into the ground, and stone split open behind them with a groan. A narrow passage yawned in the wall.
They bolted through it, Gabriel pulling Zephan with him, Adira and Elior close behind. The sound of footsteps followed, dozens in perfect rhythm, echoing in the tight corridor.
The tunnel twisted downward. Crystals burned along the walls, faint and flickering, casting everything in pale light. The air grew thick with dust and dampness, the scent of stone and age pressing in.
Adira glanced back. "They're gaining!"
Elior raised his staff and struck the ceiling. The tunnel shuddered as part of it collapsed, stone and rubble crashing between them and the attackers. Dust filled the air, choking their lungs, but the pounding footsteps finally stopped.
For a moment, only silence remained.
They stumbled into a wider chamber, faintly lit by crystal lamps. The walls bore the marks of age—carvings faded, stones worn smooth. Here, at last, they paused.
Zephan leaned heavily against the wall, chest heaving. "What were those things?"
Adira lowered her blade but didn't sheath it, her eyes sharp and burning with the heat of battle. "Kezrim," she said simply.
Zephan frowned. "Kezrim?"
Elior rested his staff against the floor, his voice quiet but grave. "Veyra's creations. Machines built for killing. Cloaked so they resemble men, yet inside nothing lives."
Gabriel's gaze remained fixed on the entrance they'd left behind, his jaw set tight.
Zephan's mind spun. Machines. In this world? "That's… impossible. This realm doesn't have—" He stopped, words tangled in his throat. "That's Earth's kind of technology."
Adira shot him a look, half-curious, half-measured. "Earth?"
He swallowed, his voice dropping low. "Where I come from, we have machines like that. We call them robots. But here? No… that shouldn't exist."
Gabriel finally turned, his expression firm, carrying the weight of truths he didn't want to speak. "And yet, they do."
Zephan stared at him. "Which means someone… someone from my world—"
"—has been here before you," Gabriel finished.
The words struck like a hammer. Zephan froze, mind racing.
Adira's eyes flickered toward Elior, who remained silent. Gabriel went on, his voice steady but sharp. "Long before you came, another crossed through the veil. A man who carried knowledge foreign to our realm. Veyra gave him shelter. In return, he gave them power—power they now wield against us."
Zephan's mouth went dry. The thought twisted through him like a blade: someone else had come here, someone who knew his world and had sided with the very kingdom hunting them.
He shook his head slowly. "So this isn't just prophecy. This is… sabotage."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "Whatever it is, it means one thing: Veyra has seen you now. The Kezrim don't just kill. They record. They carry your image back to their masters. From this moment on, the kingdoms will know the Hero has arrived."
The chamber grew still. Zephan felt the truth of those words sink into his bones. He had thought this journey would give him time—time to learn, to understand, to breathe. Now he realized the world had no intention of waiting for him to be ready.
Elior broke the silence. "Then we must move quickly."
Zephan looked at him, at Adira, then at Gabriel. His voice was quieter than before, but steadier. "What do we do?"
Gabriel stepped closer, his eyes locking with Zephan's. For the first time, there was no iron in his tone—only resolve. "We prepare. There are things you must have. Things written into the prophecy."
Zephan's breath caught. "What things?"
Gabriel lifted a hand, as though weighing the words before letting them fall. "A map. A book. And a ring."
Adira tilted her head. "The map will guide you to places long hidden. The book will help you understand the scroll you carry. And the ring… it belonged to the first Hero. Without it, your journey will never be complete."
Elior's eyes deepened, the glow of his staff flickering faintly. "They were scattered across the land, hidden so that no kingdom could claim them. Guarded fiercely. And yet, if you are to rise, Zephan, they must be reclaimed."
Zephan's throat tightened. His entire body hummed with fear and anticipation. "Where do we begin?"
Gabriel's hand went to the dagger at his side, his gaze turning toward the shadows of the chamber. "Tomorrow. We move at dawn."
Zephan blinked. "Tomorrow?"
"Yes," Gabriel said. "The longer we wait, the closer Veyra comes. And if the Kezrim have already seen your face, then every kingdom will soon be watching. You wanted to understand your purpose? Tomorrow, you begin to claim it."
The chamber fell into silence once more. For a heartbeat, Zephan only heard the quiet hum of the crystals, the slow rhythm of his own breath.
And then, for the first time since crossing into this world, he felt something steady beneath the fear. Not certainty, not yet, but purpose.
Gabriel turned from him, his voice softer, almost weary. "Rest tonight, Zephan. Tomorrow, the hunt begins."