Finally!
Aiden's eyes scanned his surroundings.
He was met by towering trees — too tall, unnaturally so. Their trunks were so wide he doubted he could wrap his arms halfway around one.
Green dominated everything — the leaves, the grass, the moss... even the light filtering through the canopy carried a greenish hue.
But still, it was better than the dark hallways; at least some sunlight managed to slip through, touching the forest floor in scattered patches.
If not for the unsettling atmosphere clinging to the air like a second skin.
For some reason, his senses were on edge, alert, searching for danger without fully understanding why.
Yet nothing moved. Nothing more than endless giant trees stretching out in every direction.
Behind him, the portal had already dissipated, leaving no trace it had ever existed.
Well... it's not that bad.
At least for now.
Then he took a step forward—
and just at the end of his boot, an arrow slammed into the ground, vibrating from the force.
Damn it!
Aiden froze instantly, not daring to move.
One wrong move and I'll be a pin-cushion.
Whoever had shot at him had a good view—and decent aim.
If they had wanted him dead, they wouldn't have hit the ground.
Or at least... that's what Aiden hoped was happening.
There was always the possibility it was just some novice with horrible aim.
Yet, deep down, he trusted his instinct.
He slowly raised his arms up, palms open, signaling he wasn't a threat.
Should I say something?
No... if they don't speak the same language, I risk making it worse.
Better to let them approach first.
It's not like I have a weapon—
other than...
Po's soul.
The thought made his stomach twist slightly.
It was still a strange, uncomfortable idea.
Wielding someone else's soul like a tool…
Just approach already, goddamn it...
A rustle echoed from the left—where the arrow had come from—somewhere deep inside the thick bushes.
Footsteps followed.
Multiple.
At least four.
Aiden tensed, forcing himself to stay still, arms still raised.
Then one figure emerged, slipping from the foliage with practiced ease—
a woman, bow in hand, string drawn but pointing low, ready to lift and fire at a moment's notice.
Behind her came two more.
One carrying a spear, the other a short sword, both moving cautiously but purposefully.
From the sharp features, slender builds, and pointed ears, there was no mistaking it.
Elves.
They wore rough leather armor, battered and stained with mud and blood.
Not the polished, pristine warriors Aiden might have once imagined—
but survivors.
That confirms a lot...
Aiden's mind worked fast, piecing things together.
The view from the crumbling structure had already hinted at it—
and now, standing face-to-face with battered elves, it was undeniable.
This world was way different.
I wanna go home...
Home?
A voice broke his spiraling thoughts.
"Who are you?"
The one with the spear stepped forward, his voice rough and visibly exhausted.
He was older, but his stance was solid—trained.
A veteran, then.
The others behind him looked younger, more unsure—
but in the end, they were elves.
And elves usually lived long lives, didn't they?
"Respond to me!"
The veteran barked again, impatience leaking into his voice as he pointed the spear closer.
"I am... lost," Aiden said carefully, forcing calm into his tone.
"I mean no harm."
I can't give a name yet,
not until I know more.
The elf narrowed his eyes, studying him sharply.
"Are you with the Watch?" he asked, the spearhead tilting even closer.
The Watch?
A faction?
That's bad.
From the way they look—muddy, bloodstained, desperate—they weren't soldiers on patrol.
Maybe they're running from the 'Watch…' ?
That doesn't sound good.
Well... here's my shot.
"No," Aiden said simply.
"I'm not."
Keep it short.
No extra information.
"Look at him! He's clearly not from it," the woman with the shortsword snapped, stepping closer.
"We can't risk it!" the older man shot back, his grip tightening on his spear.
They locked eyes, tension crackling between them—
something wasn't right.
They don't trust each other?
No—
They don't like each other.
"Then who are you?"
A new voice cut through the standoff, calm but firm, coming from deeper within the bushes.
A woman emerged, her presence commanding without needing to say much.
She wore the most armor of the four—still leather, worn and stained—but a green scarf was wrapped tightly around her neck.
Maybe a leader?
The woman with the shortsword turned toward her, desperation flashing across her face.
"How are the others?" she asked, ignoring Aiden completely.
"Fine," the armored woman replied, her voice tight, a sliver of fatigue slipping through the cracks.
"But we need to move. Quickly."
Then, turning her gaze back to Aiden, she repeated:
"Yet again—who are you?"
Which name should I use?
I could always borrow Po's name...
No—too risky.
"Aiden," he said, the name leaving his mouth a little too stiffly, a little too unsure.
Before the woman could respond, another figure burst through the brush—
younger, lighter on her feet, and wrapped in a simple, mud-stained cape.
"Selina! What are you doing?!" the veteran barked, stepping forward as if to stop her.
But Selina ignored him, moving straight to Aiden.
The woman with the green scarf—the apparent leader—frowned slightly, her arms folding across her chest.
She said nothing yet, her gaze sharp and calculating, watching both Selina and Aiden closely.
Selina stood before Aiden, bright-eyed, bubbling over with excitement.
"You're... Po? Ro? Which one?" she asked.
Damn it…
The leader shifted her weight subtly, tapping two fingers against her side as if restraining herself from stepping in.
She watched the exchange with thinly veiled impatience, her stance tense, almost daring Selina to say something foolish.
There goes a problem...
I have two names now.
I risk it.
Just tell me Po had a good reputation.
If she doesn't even know which is which, maybe that's for the better.
They looked alike—but there were differences.
Po had longer hair, for one.
So maybe they didn't meet in person.?
"I'm Po," Aiden said carefully, "but that's only a nickname."
Who names someone Po? I'm not even sure if it was a name or a nickname.
But there goes the bluff.
"I knew it!"
Selina lit up almost immediately, a wide, relieved smile crossing her face.
"Selina… who is he?" the chief finally cut in, her voice cool, carrying a warning edge.
Selina flinched slightly but nodded, stepping back half a pace.
Her tone wasn't sharp—
just careful, professional.
Aiden could tell she was trying to tread lightly.
"One of the scouts!" Selina said eagerly, stepping a little closer to Aiden without fear.
"I talked with him! Don't tell me you've forgotten already! We talked about it!"
The leader's expression shifted, her lips pressing into a thin line.
"Yes... we did..." she said, slowly, clearly trying to remember.
Scouts...
They were on a job when I met them!
Well... that's bad.
I don't know anything about that job!
Selina turned her head toward Aiden again, her eyes curious.
"So, tell me—how was it?"
Inside the prison? Are we talking about that? Please let it be that...
Fine. Just a little bluffing, nothing too detailed.
"Pretty horrible," Aiden said, voice steady.
"Horrible? So it's a bad place for a camp then..."
Selina muttered, frowning as she turned away, deep in thought.
Good. Let it stay that way.
If I made it sound too survivable, they might want to go back.
"And what about your brother?"
"He was the one who sent the letters, right? Or was it you?
You don't really seem like the letter-writing type."
Letters...
Okay, I think I'm starting to piece it together.
Po—or Ro—must've been the one talking about the job through letters.
At least, I hope so...
"Ro... is dead," Aiden said, his voice dropping lower.
He wasn't sure what kind of expression he should even make.
Regret? Sadness? Anger?
Selina's face froze in shock for a moment, the air between them going heavier—
before she reached out and patted Aiden gently on the shoulder.
"I'm really sorry for your loss," she said, her voice soft.
"If I had known—"
Aiden cut her off quickly, shaking his head.
"It's not your fault."
Selina gave a small nod, her hand falling back to her side.
It was clear—
She wasn't that close with Ro.
But at least, she cared enough to say something.
"Selina... can we trust him?"
The woman behind her finally spoke, her impatience cutting sharp through the air.
"Yes... I guess," Selina answered, sounding unsure even as she said it.
"I mean, they were clearly trying to help us... but still, better if you tie him up, considering his reputation."
Better than dead, I guess.
Aiden quietly offered his hands without protest.
The older man approached, rope already in his hands.
As the man tied his wrists together with rough, practiced movements, Aiden's mind wandered briefly back to Ro.
He had implied Ro was dead... but honestly, there was no real confirmation.
If Ro was still alive, at least he wouldn't have had to fight that damned golem.
As the knots tightened around his hands, the leader—still watching him closely—spoke again:
"We're moving to a temporary shelter. You'd better behave. We can't let you go free... not yet."
I wonder why?
Maybe they don't want me spilling information, left and right?
Well, gathering some won't hurt — just not enough to get myself killed.
Aiden shifted slightly, feeling the discomfort of the ropes.
He looked up at her.
"Can I ask for a name, at least?"
He tried to keep his tone casual, if a little hopeful.
For now, he only knew Selina — the caped blonde one.
The woman examined him, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Her blonde hair fell across her face in messy strands as she sighed, slow and reluctant.
The other one had blonde hair too, but a shade brighter — actually, all of them seemed to have hair on the brighter side.
She's definitely the leader — or at least holds some authority.
"Lyanna," she said finally.
"Call me Lya. But you better forget it... after you're free, Aiden."
At least someone who behaves human, Aiden thought—
right before Lyanna gave the rope a sharp tug, forcing him to move forward.
The rest of the group was already ahead, slipping back into the thick bushes.
"For someone claiming peace, you sure think hard," Lyanna muttered over her shoulder.
That's fair... I did take a long pause gathering my thoughts.
"Well, being nearly shot at and then interrogated tends to make your brain work a little slower," Aiden replied, his tone dry.
"Fair enough," she said, calm and almost amused as they pushed through the brush.
After a few more steps, the forest thinned, opening into what could only be called a rough camp.
A campfire smoldered weakly in the center, coughing up thin trails of smoke that barely reached the tree canopy.
Around it, piles of leaves had been fashioned into makeshift beds — crude, uneven.
But what caught Aiden's attention immediately were the injured.
They were scattered across the camp like broken dolls — more than a few, some groaning softly, others so still he wasn't sure if they were even breathing.
Bandages wrapped in hurry covered wounds on arms, legs, even faces. A few crude splints were tied together with strips of leather and vines.
If not for the handful who had confronted him, the rest barely looked fit to stand, let alone fight.
They're really struggling, aren't they?
The air itself smelled faintly of blood, sweat, and the damp rot of the forest creeping in.
It wasn't a camp meant to last — it was survival at its most raw.
"Sit somewhere. We'll talk later. I have duties now," Lyanna said, giving the rope binding Aiden's wrists a final sharp tug that made him wince.
Her sharp look said try anything and you'll regret it.
Aiden lowered himself carefully onto the ground, awkwardly shifting with his hands still bound in front of him.
He watched as Lyanna moved with purpose toward the wounded, her earlier exhaustion shoved aside by something closer to duty — or stubbornness.
The older man with the spear slumped against a fallen log off to the side, quietly drinking from a battered flask.
It was the kind of tired drinking Aiden recognized — not thirst, not pleasure. Just the dull need to feel something.
Selina was already at work too, kneeling beside one of the injured.
Her small hands worked surprisingly deftly, tightening a makeshift tourniquet around a wounded elf's leg.
Despite the clear exhaustion dragging her down, her movements stayed sharp, practiced. No hesitation.
Meanwhile, the woman who had been guarding Aiden — still unnamed — remained nearby, arms crossed tight over her chest.
Her eyes stayed locked onto him, sharp and cold, not even pretending to relax. Like she was daring him to make her day worse.
Among the wounded, Aiden noticed one man sitting up awkwardly against a stone, grimacing as he stitched his own shoulder with bloody fingers.
A medic, or at least someone who knew enough to keep people breathing longer.
Aiden let his gaze drift back to the woman still guarding him.
"What's your name?" he asked, keeping his tone casual, almost lazy — trying not to sound like he was prying.
But his question was met with cold silence.
Well, if that isn't a bad sign...
He leaned back against a tree, feeling the weight of exhaustion finally pressing down.
I'm not even sure of my own goals right now.
I need a way home...
But... all of this feels really one-sided.
My only real lead is those damn Coins.
I can buy core memories with them...
But Coins are gathered by... souls.
So what — am I supposed to become a mass murderer now?
That thought settled in his stomach like a rock.
It didn't sit right. Not even close.
Maybe if there's a war effort, I can join up... pretend it's for a cause.
At least that way, I wouldn't have to choose who falls.
His mind raced, and for a while, the world around him blurred into background noise — injured groans, the soft snap of branches, the whisper of someone muttering under their breath.
The sun dipped lower and lower.
Slowly, unnoticed, the last light bled away, leaving the camp wrapped in near-total darkness.
No torches were lit.
No fires stoked higher.
Not lighting torches... makes sense if they're being hunted.
Aiden tucked his knees up against his chest, feeling the dampness of the ground seep into his clothes.
And then —
A sharp sound sliced through the heavy silence.
'Thump!'
An arrow embedded itself into the center of the camp, quivering from the impact.
Damn it...
Aiden's heart kicked hard against his ribs.
Are we being attacked?
The elves reacted immediately.
Torches flared to life, illuminating tense faces and gleaming points of drawn weapons.
From the darkness, shapes moved.
Nine men emerged, armed and armored.
Each wore at least a silver chestplate, some better equipped than others — though none bothered with helmets, as if daring someone to aim for their heads.
At the front, one man stood apart from the rest.
His armor was better — layered, lighter for movement — and a small round shield rested against his side.
A silver fang charm swung from a chain around his neck, catching the torchlight with a metallic gleam.
There he is.
The big bad.
The elves wasted no time.
One immediately nocked an arrow.
Another shifted into a stance low and ready, gripping his spear in both hands.
Others tightened their grips on short swords or daggers.
The air itself felt electric —
A storm, seconds away from breaking.
This is gonna end badly... really badly.