The night air was heavy with the smell of smoke and blood. Orc corpses littered the clearing, and the last of the enemy fled into the woods, their roars fading into the distance. The soldiers moved through the camp, extinguishing bonfires and checking for survivors.
Ren stood in the center, chest heaving, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead. His hands still glowed faintly — the Soul Gauntlets simmering down from their furious blaze.
Then the adrenaline began to drain.
Pain rushed in to take its place. His arms ached to the bone. His ribs burned where the chieftain had struck him. A dull ringing filled his ears. He took one step toward Lira and Darian… then another… then his vision tilted.
"Ren?" Lira's voice cut through the noise. "Hey—"
The world blurred. The torches smeared into streaks of gold. His knees buckled.
Darkness swallowed him before he hit the ground.
He drifted.
There was no pain here — only weightlessness. He floated through a hazy, half-lit space where shapes melted and reformed like smoke.
Then he saw her.
Lira.
She wasn't armored. No sword, no command in her voice. Just standing barefoot on a calm, endless stretch of water, moonlight reflecting in her hair. She looked… softer.
She didn't speak, but somehow, her presence anchored him. He found himself walking toward her, though the water rippled with every step like he might fall through it.
When he reached her, she simply looked at him — those sharp blue eyes no longer guarded. It wasn't romantic exactly. It was something stranger. Familiar. As if part of him already knew she would matter.
He opened his mouth to say something — anything — but sound wouldn't come.
She stepped closer and placed her hand lightly against his chest. A single ember flared beneath her palm, glowing through the darkness like a heartbeat.
The world cracked with a sound like distant thunder.
Ren gasped awake, sitting bolt upright.
He was in a bed, inside one of the village houses they'd turned into a makeshift infirmary. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his hands clutching the blanket. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
The room was dim, dawn just brushing the windows. Nearby, soldiers dozed in chairs, and healers moved quietly between cots.
"What… the hell was that," he muttered, rubbing his temples.
He'd never had a dream like that before. It wasn't just a random image. It felt like something was tugging at him from deep inside — a connection he couldn't explain.
And for some reason… it was her.
He let out a breath, falling back against the pillow. His body screamed for rest, but his mind wouldn't let go of that ember glow beneath her hand.
The door creaked softly.
Ren tilted his head toward the sound. Lira stepped inside the small infirmary room, still in her combat uniform, her hair tied back but a few loose strands framing her face. She was carrying two tin mugs, steam curling up into the cool morning air.
"You're awake," she said quietly.
"Yeah," Ren muttered, sitting up a bit straighter. "Barely."
She handed him one of the mugs. "Herbal tonic. Tastes like dirt, but it'll help."
He took it, sniffed suspiciously, then took a sip and immediately winced. "You weren't kidding."
She smirked faintly and sat down on the stool beside his bed. For a few moments, neither spoke. Outside, the faint sounds of soldiers and villagers echoed — repairing fences, cleaning up the aftermath of the raid.
Then Lira broke the silence.
"What you did," she began slowly, "was reckless."
Ren glanced at her. "Yeah, I figured that out when I got launched into a tree."
Her lips twitched — somewhere between amusement and frustration. "You could have gotten yourself killed, Ren. Charging into an orc camp alone in the middle of the night? No plan. No backup. Do you even understand how lucky you are to be lying here and not in a shallow grave out there?"
He didn't have a good answer for that. He looked down at the mug in his hands, watching the steam swirl.
"I've always fought alone," he said finally. "Back home… nobody came to help. If I wanted something to change, I threw myself at the problem until it broke. It's the only thing I know."
Lira was quiet for a moment. The usual sharpness in her expression softened, just a fraction.
"This isn't your alleyway anymore," she said gently. "You're part of something bigger now. You don't have to throw yourself away to prove you're strong."
Ren blinked at her. The words weren't accusatory — they were honest. Almost… concerned.
He gave a half-smile. "Didn't realize you cared that much."
She shot him a sideways look. "Don't flatter yourself, Hero. If you die, I'll have to deal with the mess."
They both laughed softly. The tension in the room eased.
Then her gaze lingered on him a moment longer, thoughtful. "But… you were incredible out there. What you did to that chieftain… I've never seen someone fight like that. Not here."
Ren rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed. "Guess fists work just fine, even in another world."
She stood, finishing her drink. "Rest while you can. The capital's going to want to hear about this. You're not some nameless brawler anymore, Ren. People are watching."
As she reached the door, Ren called out, "Lira."
She paused, looking over her shoulder.
"…Thanks," he said simply.
She nodded once — not with her usual soldier's crispness, but something quieter. "Don't make me chase you into another forest," she said. Then she was gone, leaving the faint scent of steel and morning air behind her.
Ren leaned back against the headboard, the warmth of her words lingering longer than the bitter tonic.