[POV Ryan First-Person] [Tense: Present]
12:30 p.m. - At The Village Headman's House, Eryndral Village, Aurelthorn. (11 September 2025)
After a taut beat, I found myself face-to-face with Lord Draemyr. The knight, gleaming in armour tempered by war, studied me with a blend of respect and inquisitiveness.
"You managed to spare your village from a surge of more than 20,000 Drakensvale," Draemyr observed, a thread of praise in his voice. "With only 200 folk at your side, that took no small measure of nerve."
Pride rose in me, quickly cooled by the weight of my own misgivings. I knew fortune had stood with us that night as much as anything I'd done. Yet an unasked question still lingered behind Draemyr's look.
"It is no small accomplishment," Draemyr went on, steel-grey eyes narrowing as he assessed me. "But I must know—why did the Umbrathorax surface here after a century gone? And those objects you bear—they don't feel like happenstance."
(Shit, did I just get found out?)
I swallowed, a tightness knotting beneath my ribs. I remembered the dragon's voice that had burst out of me in the fray—a force I barely grasped. I kept my face composed, though my pulse jumped at the recollection.
Draemyr leaned in, curiosity sharpened. "I heard a dragon's bellow during the struggle. Nothing like it in all my days. Tell me—can you truly call up such a sound?"
I shifted, thrown by how much the knight had noticed. "I… didn't call anything, Lord Draemyr," I said, buying time. "I'm not sure what you mean."
Draemyr's brow knit, then eased as understanding dawned. "Eryndral Forest has always held fewer dragons than other reaches. They're near vanished—hunters saw to that. For one to return… it's singular. Forgive me. I let the implications run away with me."
He paused before adding, "All the same, you will no longer serve as village head, another will take the mantle as my sworn knight," he said with a decisive nod.
I exhaled, grateful. "That sounds right, my lord."
"But," Draemyr said, tone turning grave, "you did stand for the village at its blackest time. For your courage, take 10 silver as our thanks."
(I should ask him about the various associations, like the Merchant Guild, or how to find ways to start a business in this world.)
I felt a flicker of gratitude, then saw a chance to secure something steadier. "What of the merchant guild?" I asked, the thought of a safer path tugging at me.
Draemyr considered. "That choice is yours. We hear talk from the royal mines—various associations are coalescing. You could trade in whatever you can manage."
I nodded, thoughts already spinning. This could be an opening—a way to stake out ground here. "Where would one start?"
Draemyr's interest sharpened. "Where are you from, truly? Your speech is unlike the locals."
"I hail from the extraterrestrial lands to the west," I answered, careful not to bare too much, like script i spoken before.
"Extraterrestrial?" Draemyr echoed. "What do you call your realm?"
(Oh shit, I didn't think of this.)
"The United States of America," I said, a crooked smile tugging at my mouth. The syllables felt strange, a ghost of the life I'd left behind.
Draemyr frowned thoughtfully. "An odd title. Does it mean many small states bound as one?"
(I'm surprised he knows the word.)
I went with it. "Yes, that's right."
We spoke easily after that, laughter breaking through as we traded tales of daring and intent, a quiet camaraderie forming in spite of the distance between our worlds. Then Draemyr circled back to the matter that had first seized him.
"Returning to my initial question," he said, face sobering. "That dragon's voice—how did you manage it?"
(Why does this guy really annoy me.)
Caught unprepared, I searched for footing. "A magic stone," I said at last, hoping the explanation would suffice.
"A magic stone?" Draemyr repeated, leaning in.
"It's a crystal that carries sound further—lets me cast a powerful noise," I said, keeping it cursory.
On cue, I drew out my phone—a relic of my past—and played an old recording: the unmistakable roar of a dragon like from a game I'd loved. Draemyr's eyes widened.
"Strange but amazingly," Draemyr breathed. "Could you secure one for me?"
My stomach dipped, I had to deflect. "When I arrived, I couldn't be sure I'd ever make it back to my home. I can't promise I'll be able to get another for you."
Draemyr seemed to grasp what lay beneath that answer and inclined his head gravely.
---
13:00 p.m. - At Village Square, Eryndral Village, Aurelthorn. (11 September 2025)
After finishing my talk with Lord Draemyr, something within me shifted—a quiet realisation that this was only the start of my path in this wondrous land. I drew a steady breath, gathered up my unruly thoughts, and toyed with the idea of returning to my own world. But one look around Eryndral pulled me back. Even with the havoc a dragon had left behind, the village carried a certain charm.
Folk hurried about, mending cottages and shoring up weathered beams. The ring of tools and bursts of laughter threaded together, oddly soothing despite the fresh marks of war.
I paused to take it in—towering trees with crystal-sheened bark, bright blooms pushing through cobblestone cracks, and rustic timbered homes—everything thrummed with life, even beneath a veil of grief.
Yet beneath Eryndral's quaint appeal, I knew I didn't belong—not yet. The villagers moved with easy grace in their simple garb while I stood out in my clashing, modern getup. Set on blending in, I hailed a passerby—someone who might point me the right way.
"Pardon me," I said, stepping toward a sturdy man with sun-browned skin and corded arms, "Could you help? I'm trying to find a clothing shop, a blacksmith, and maybe a stable."
He gave his name—Rowan—and dipped his head. "No smith here, sorry. We lean on trade from nearby towns for ironwork."
I creased my brow. "What about a stable?"
Rowan rubbed the back of his neck, faintly amused. "Can't say we've got one. Most folk walk, or catch rides with merchant cart."
My stomach dipped. I needed ways to travel, especially if I meant to find my way back to my home planet. Then a thought sparked. "How do people catch a ride with a merchant? Anyone here who could help?"
Understanding brightened Rowan's face. "Well, word is there's an Antlersteed being offered not far off—in a outside the village walls."
My eyes widened. "An Antlersteed?"
(What is that's creature.)
"A marvel of a mount," Rowan said, pride warming his voice. "Aurelthorn honours them. Bigger than a warhorse, crowned with great branching antlers that glimmer like they've snared old starlight. Strong and graceful—just the thing if you're set on the road."
Curiosity and a flicker of excitement raced through me. "Could you take me there?"
Rowan hesitated, then nodded. "Aye. I still think of you as our village headman."
The thought eased my heart—and pricked it. "I'm not anymore, Rowan. I stepped down by choice. You don't need to treat me like that."
He waved it off. "Title or no, you saved us. Deeds speak louder. Thank you."
I smiled, pulled between gratitude and responsibility. I'd left a real mark here, and though I wanted distance from the weight of command, I couldn't ignore the thread binding me to these people.
"Then let's be off," I said, resolved. As we headed toward the neighbouring village, I glanced back at Eryndral one last time, its stubborn spirit keeping pace with me. Whatever waited ahead, it didn't feel like mere survival, it felt like the first page of a new chapter in a world brimming with wonders I'd yet to meet.
--
14:00 p.m. - At Clothing Shop, Eryndral Village, Aurelthorn. (11 September 2025)
And me about to purchase the Antlersteed, it struck me that I ought to blend in better with the locals.
I went hunting for normal attire—pieces that matched the village look. A quick sweep of the nearby stalls turned up tunics, trousers, and cloaks cut from fine cloth in warm tones, all speaking to Aurelthorn's culture.
I chose a plain tunic traced with delicate motifs—evoking the village's bond with the Eryndral Forest—then swapped into the new set, slipping my old clothes into my bag.
"I'll have to wash it before I wear it again."
They were loaded with memories of my former life: the grit and soot on them calling up quick flashes of joy and shame in equal measure. They reminded me of who I'd been, the life I'd lived before this otherworldly detour began.
While I dressed, the persistent puzzle of how my authority actually worked.
It felt like I possessed a unique to shift reality from the present, existing in a cosmic space where choices had far-reaching consequences.
I pictured myself in that whirling Space House, skimming across infinite branches of possibility, each offering a glimpse of a different route.
The form always laid out three choices, and I had to lock in two—braided strands of outcomes that had shaped me in countless ways.
"What a convoluted power," I thought, trying to take in its scope. "Quantum Nexus of Infinite Probabilistic Multiversal Aeonic Continuum Convergence Algorithm for Absolute Chrono‑Singular Fate Determination!!!" The title slipped out before I could stop it, sounding more like a madman's spiel than anything I should say aloud.
Rowan shot me a puzzled look, one brow climbing. "Was that… a spell?"
Caught off guard, I felt heat crawl up my neck. "Uh, no. Just thinking out loud,"
(Ahhhh, what the fuck nerdy script came from 'get out of my brain'.)
I mumbled, hoping he wouldn't probe what was only a passing thought.
I steered us elsewhere and asked Rowan about his life and the twist that brought him here. He'd tried his hand with a merchant house once and got swindled out of everything, the only thing left was the family farm.
I picked his brain about other things too—customs, language, major cities, even the symbols for basic arithmetic. Rowan knew a bit here and there, though he couldn't good read. Even so, he fielded simple questions easily, and he was sharp with numbers.
---
14:50 p.m. - At Antlersteed Stables, Eryndral Village, Aurelthorn. (11 September 2025)
Before long, we reached the stable. "Wait, it looks like a moose?"
An Antlersteed stood there—a horse's grace fused with a moose's heft. Taller than me, its antlers spread like a constellation, faintly shimmering, the glow catching light as if it breathed. Awe lodged in my throat.
"Indeed," Rowan said, proud. "Aurelthorn's emblem. Magical. Swift over distances. Gentle. Loyal."
I edged closer, the creature feeling somehow rooted to the land itself, a living emblem of the wild. "So… can I just ride it? Or is there more?"
"before ride," Rowan said. "They choose the rider. Your nature might resonate. Try."
Heart quickening, I raised my hand. The Antlersteed studied me, intelligent eyes steady.
I stepped in. "Come on, old friend," I murmured, old life tugging through my chest. "Partners?"
It sniffed, then nuzzled. I grinned. Maybe chaos didn't preclude purpose.
"Looks like a yes," Rowan chuckled.
We readied to move, the Antlersteed beside me, as if we'd done this for years.
A man in fine clothes approached, prosperity hanging off him with the same weight as his pride. "Bromund," he introduced himself—proud, shrewd. "Welcome. I raise many mounts, though most pull carts."
"How much for this Antlersteed?" I asked.
"Four silver coins," he said, all business.
Rowan's brow jumped. "It was two a few months ago."
"I raised it," Bromund snapped, bristling. "2 years of war—feed scarce, demand high. This one's battle-trained. Think in gold."
I felt for him, but I wasn't paying for his war twice. "3 silver," I said, steady.
He weighed it, need warring with stubbornness, then sighed. "Very well. Done."
I chose a black-coated Antlersteed with antlers glowing green, a subtle fire even in shade.
Bromund's tone shifted, scenting more coin. He gestured to a stout cart. "You'll want this."
"What's the price?"
"For cargo loads, 20 to 40 silvers. Larger four-wheeled military merchant carts? 60 to a 100 silvers."
My stomach dropped. Draemyr had given me ten silver, three were already gone.
(Damn you, Draemyr.)
"I'll pass."
"A night's lodging for your mount, then?" Bromund pivoted smoothly. "10 copper."
"Great. Saddle included?"
"Absolutely. Free with lodging," he said, agreeable now that money was moving.
I paid, counting what remained 6 silver, 90 copper—and filed the lesson on currency mechanics, thin as my purse felt.
With arrangements settled, the onlookers drifted off. I turned to Rowan. "Thanks. You kept me from a bad buy."
He shrugged, a simple, sincere smile. "Just looking out. The village trusts you, even if you don't see yourself as headman anymore."
Responsibility pressed in again. "Where should I stay?"
"Follow me," he said, already leading. "I know a place for newcomers. Close. Doesn't break the bank."
I fell in behind him, relief and a prickle of hope coiling together. War and magic loomed, the wilds of Aurelthorn unfurling ahead. For now, I had an Antlersteed that chose me, a few coins, and a guide. Tomorrow would have to sort itself out—and maybe, just maybe, the path home would show.
---
[POV Seraphina Third-Person] [Tense: Past]
06:10 a.m. - At cliff nearly Sylva River, Eryndral Forest, Aurelthorn. (11 September 2025)
As dawn bled gold, it lit a path of peril for Seraphina Duskbloom. She sprinted through dense trees, heart hammering as pursuit stitched the woods behind. Aurelthorn pressed on, duty-bound to seize Drakensvale's radiant general.
Draemyr's army hunters wore invisibility cloaks, swathed in shadow and despair. When she glanced back, figures flickered between trunks, shedding their veils. Every snapped twig sharpened her, their numbers crushed.
"Not like this," she muttered, breath ragged.
She drove harder, muscles aflame, weaving through underbrush until the forest broke on a cliff above the Sylva River. Below, water roared and mocked, a treacherous mirror to her brink.
She gripped her sword and wheeled to face the closing ring.
"Yield, Seraphina—you can't flee!" a soldier cried, blade lifted, courage loud.
Seraphina steadied her stance. "If you think fear binds me, you've misread me entirely."
She held fast, taking in the harsh sweep of the river winding south through Aurelthorn, its turbulence like a fate bent on breaking stone. No road remained—only to stand against the impossible, or to fall into the unknown.
"So this is the end you offer…" she whispered, eyes narrowing. "Then I'll choose my own."
A quick reading of the ground told her options were vanishing. Laughter rang, the weight of odds settled. There would be no retreat, no regrouping—only the end.
Her jaw set. "Drakensvale… guide my hand."
Then flame caught in her spirit. Surrender would not claim her, she would claim her choice. Drawing breath, she leapt. Wind tore at her as she fell, sword clutched tight.
"Hah—!" The cry ripped out of her as the air knifed past. "If this is death… then I meet it standing!"
The Sylva River seized her, cold and punishing, wrenching air from her chest. The current hurled her downstream, the world blurred and thinned, shouts dimmed.
"Cold… too cold—don't you dare fade," she gasped, fighting drag. She surfaced, lungs burning. "Move. Live."
Then, steadied by discipline, she slipped under again, hiding, letting the river carry her from their reach.
"Let the river shield me… just a little longer," her voice thinned, swallowed by the Sylva's roar. "I'm not done yet."