Ravi walked out of the Adventurer's Guild with a cheap bronze tag in his pocket and the collective pity of an entire hall of drunk mercenaries on his shoulders.
He found he didn't mind it.
Back on Earth, that kind of open disdain would have made his stomach clench. He'd spent a lifetime trying to be invisible, to avoid any situation where his physical weakness might be put on display. Here? It was a shield. The perfect camouflage.
He clutched the small pouch Lyanna had given him. It jingled with a pathetic sort of clink. He poured the contents into his palm. A few copper pieces and a couple of silver ones. The metal felt weirdly light, almost like plastic.
The streets of Aethelgard were even more chaotic at night. Glowing lanterns lit the cobblestone streets, casting long, dancing shadows. The smells were stronger, the sounds louder. He navigated the crowd carefully, hyper-aware of his own body. A simple bump could probably send a normal person flying into a merchant's stall.
He just needed a place to sleep. A room with a door he could lock. A place where he could stop acting.
After wandering for a bit, he found an inn that looked like it wouldn't ask too many questions. 'The Grumpy Gorgon'. The sign depicted a gorgon that looked less mythical beast and more like she'd just been told her favorite tavern was out of ale. It felt appropriate.
He pushed the door open, this time with the delicacy of a bomb-defusing expert. It still swung open a little too fast, but at least it stayed on its hinges.
The inside was quiet, a stark contrast to the guild. A few patrons sat nursing drinks in shadowy corners. Behind the bar, a portly man with a magnificent mustache was polishing a mug with a less-than-clean rag. He looked up as Ravi approached.
"Need a room?" the man grunted. His voice was gravelly, like he gargled with rocks.
"Yeah. Just for the night."
"Three silvers. Bed, blanket, and a bowl for a piss-pot. Don't get any funny ideas. I hear any trouble, I'll have the guards on you before you can blink."
Ravi pushed the coins across the wooden bar. His fingers brushed the surface. It felt like compressed sawdust. "Deal."
The innkeeper squinted at him. "You from out of town? Never seen you before."
"Something like that," Ravi said evasively.
The man grunted again, snatched the coins, and slapped a heavy iron key on the counter. "Room three. Upstairs, end of the hall. Don't break anything."
Ravi nearly laughed. "Wouldn't dream of it."
He took the key. It was supposed to feel heavy, substantial. It weighed as much as his car keys back home. He made his way up the creaking staircase, each step groaning in protest under his weight, even though he was trying to walk as lightly as possible.
Room three was small. It had a bed that was more of a hay-stuffed mattress on a crude wooden frame, a rickety table with one leg shorter than the others, and a single, grime-covered window overlooking a back alley.
It was perfect.
He closed the door, slid the bolt, and for the first time since he'd opened his eyes to a purple sky, he was truly alone.
He exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
The act was over. No one was watching.
He walked over to the bed and sat down. The wooden frame shrieked like a dying animal and bowed dangerously in the middle. He froze, then carefully shifted his weight until it settled. He lay back, staring at the water-stained ceiling.
The ceiling spun. Not from dizziness, but from the sheer weight of his new reality.
"I died," he whispered to the empty room.
He'd been crossing the street, headphones on, probably listening to some dumb podcast. A truck ran a red light. That was it. No heroic sacrifice, no final words. Just a stupid, pointless end to a quiet, unremarkable life.
But he wasn't dead. He was here. Wherever 'here' was.
And he wasn't weak anymore.
He held up his hand, turning it over in the dim lantern light. It was the same hand. Same pale skin, same long fingers, same scar on his thumb from a kitchen knife incident when he was sixteen. But it wasn't the same. This hand could punch through solid rock. This hand had, just today, accidentally broken a man-sized log without trying.
He sat up and swung his legs off the bed, placing his feet flat on the floorboards. He focused, pushing down gently.
The board beneath his left foot creaked, then splintered with a soft crack.
He pulled his foot back instantly. Crap.
He stood up and paced the small room, a caged lion trying not to break its cage. The thoughts came in a flood. Physics. It has to be physics. Atmospheric pressure. Cellular density. Back on Earth, he'd been a good-looking guy, but a complete dud physically. A lifetime of being picked last in gym class, of needing help with heavy boxes, of feeling fragile in his own skin.
Here, that same body made him a god. The irony was so thick he could choke on it.
And Kaelen... that shove. It had been meant to humiliate him, to put him in his place. But Ravi had felt nothing. It was like being pushed by a child. He'd had to fake the fall, fake the pain, fake everything.
He was going to have to fake his entire life.
What was the alternative? Announce it? "Hey everyone, I'm an invulnerable superman from another dimension!" He'd be a king for about five minutes. Then he'd become a tool. A weapon. Some noble or general would lock him up, study him, point him at their enemies. He'd never have a moment of peace. His life wouldn't be his own.
No. The weakling act was the only way to stay free. To stay human.
A wave of grime and the lingering smell of wolf-guts wafted off him. He needed a bath. Desperately.
The innkeeper had mentioned a bathhouse downstairs for an extra copper. Privacy was worth it. He paid the fee and was directed to a small, steamy room with a stone-lined tub. A set of crude metal pipes fed water into it, one for hot, one for cold.
"Alright, Ravi," he muttered to himself. "New challenge. Basic hygiene without causing property damage."
He reached for the hot water faucet. It was a simple, star-shaped metal handle. He wrapped his fingers around it, applying what he thought was a reasonable amount of pressure to turn it.
The handle twisted, grated, and then came off in his hand, crumbling into bits of rusted metal and dust.
A jet of scalding hot water shot out of the broken pipe, spraying the opposite wall.
"Shit!"
He lunged for the other faucet, the cold one, determined to be more careful. He used only his thumb and forefinger, turning with surgical precision. This one groaned but held, releasing a stream of icy water.
The tub began to fill with lukewarm water. Progress.
He stared at the mangled handle in his hand. This is going to be my life now, isn't it?
After stripping off his clothes, he dipped a toe in. The water was... okay. He carefully, gingerly, lowered himself into the stone tub. He put his weight down as slowly as he could.
The tub held.
For about three seconds.
Then, a spiderweb of cracks appeared beneath him, spreading outward from where he sat. A low groan echoed in the small room, followed by the sickening sound of cracking stone. The bottom of the tub gave way, and he dropped half an inch with a jarring thud. Water began leaking out onto the floor, first as a trickle, then a steady stream.
"You have got to be kidding me."
He was sitting in a rapidly draining, broken bathtub, with a busted faucet spraying the walls, completely naked and alone in another dimension.
He started laughing. A quiet, shaky laugh at first, then a full-blown, teary-eyed belly laugh. The sheer, utter absurdity of it all hit him at once. He was the most powerful being on this planet, and he was being defeated by a leaky tub.
After the laughing fit subsided into exhausted chuckles, he got to work. He used a piece of his own discarded t-shirt to plug the broken pipe, stemming the flow of hot water to a manageable drip. Then he had to figure out what to do about the tub.
He couldn't leave it like this. He'd be on the hook for damages, maybe kicked out. Worse, it would raise questions.
He found a few loose stones in the corner of the washroom. With the delicacy of a watchmaker, he jammed them into the cracks in the tub from the inside, slowing the leak enough that it wasn't a flood. It was a pathetic fix, but it would have to do.
He finished his hasty wash in the half-empty, jury-rigged tub and got dressed. He felt cleaner, but mentally exhausted.
Back in his room, he collapsed onto the abused bedframe. The hay-stuffed mattress felt like a cloud.
Sleep began to pull at him, but one image kept his eyes open. Silver hair, icy blue eyes, and a look of genuine, fierce concern. Lyanna.
She had stood between him and a monster without hesitation. She'd been ready to draw steel on a man twice her size to defend him. She had given him money, advice, and a path forward when he had nothing.
She was protecting him. And she had no idea that if roles were reversed, she was the one who was fragile. The thought settled in his stomach like a lead weight. It was guilt.
He was lying to her. Lying to the first person who had shown him an ounce of kindness in this crazy world.
He pulled the roughspun blanket over himself.
Tomorrow, he thought as his eyes finally closed. Tomorrow, we have a quest. She'll be there to 'protect' me.
A new resolve hardened within him. He would play the part. He would be the weakling. But he would keep her safe. Not just from monsters, but from everything.
She would be his protector. And he, in secret, would be hers.