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Chapter 2 - Drip… Drip… Drip…

The river's white noise drowned out the last echoes of the town. Hugo sat hunched over, tracing the rim of his cigarette box with his thumb. Great. Just him, the night air, and the vague realization that he had apparently died and respawned in fantasy-land.

Lyra had fallen quiet, but not asleep. She sat cross-legged with her staff planted upright in the dirt. Her face was half-shadowed, but Hugo could still see the faint furrow in her brow. She didn't relax even here.

"You keep looking at me like I'm going to sprout horns," Hugo muttered, breaking the silence.

Lyra didn't move. "I'm deciding if you're going to survive the week."

"…Wow. And here I thought we were bonding."

"I said survive. Not thrive."

He chuckled quietly, laying back on the grass. The stars here were brighter, cleaner than Earth's. No smog, no neon. Just an endless black sky littered with light. For the first time since he'd opened his eyes in this nightmare, his chest eased a little.

"Alright then, professor," Hugo said after a moment. "Explain it. You called me a… Stray?"

Lyra's eyes flicked toward him as if she was scared of the word, then back to the river. "Strays are outsiders. People pulled here from other worlds. They never arrive by choice, and they never arrive prepared. Most die before they figure out how anything works."

"Sounds promising."

"Magic, reincarnation, gods... whatever force drags you here doesn't care about your chances. It just… drops you in." She shifted, hugging her knees. "This world is full of things that shouldn't exist. Strays bring them with them. It makes them dangerous. Or insane."

Hugo took note of her appearance, though he tried not to make it obvious. She looked young, maybe his age, but carried herself like someone who had lived through a war. Her amber eyes were sharp and restless, catching the moonlight as if they held fire of their own. Her long hair, red at the roots and fading to gold at the tips, was pulled back with a black bow that seemed out of place against the soot on her jacket. To Hugo, she looked like someone pulled straight out of a storybook, equal parts stunning and intimidating.

"Q… Quit staring," she muttered, catching his gaze. Her tone was sharp, but there was the faintest blush on her cheeks.

Hugo blinked, caught off guard. "…Sorry. Just—" he hesitated, fumbling for words. "You don't exactly blend in, y'know. Hard not to notice."

Lyra's blush deepened, though she kept her eyes on the river.

Hugo found his joke after being caught off guard. He smirked, rolling onto his back. "Relax, if I was staring you'd know. There'd be drool involved."

Lyra huffed and turned away, pulling her scarf tighter. "Idiot," she muttered. The corner of her mouth twitching before she buried it deeper behind her scarf.

Silence stretched between them again, but it wasn't the same as before. The night didn't feel quite so sharp at the edges.

Hugo let out a slow breath. "So. Just to recap. Pulled into a murder-fantasy world, everyone like me either dies or goes crazy, and my tour guide thinks I've got about… what, six days left tops?"

"Five," Lyra said without hesitation.

He barked a laugh. "Wow. Confidence inspiring."

"You're reckless," she replied, finally glancing at him. The glow of the fire caught in her eyes, burning like two little embers. "And you don't listen."

"Yeah," Hugo admitted with a crooked smile. "But I'm charming about it."

This time, Lyra didn't bother hiding the tiny smirk that flickered across her face before she shook her head.

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By the next day, the world felt different. Quieter. No more busy town, no screaming mobs. Just birdsong and the slow churn of the river. Hugo and Lyra followed its bend until the tree line broke, revealing a village tucked between hills. Smoke curled from chimneys. Children ran barefoot in the dirt. Goats bleated in a pen.

Hugo exhaled. "Finally. Somewhere that doesn't look like it wants me dead."

Lyra didn't bother answering, though he caught the slight ease in her shoulders as they stepped into the village.

They found work quickly. Lyra working as a barmaid at the tavern while Hugo got roped into hauling crates for a blacksmith until his arms felt like they'd fall off. It wasn't glamorous, but it earned enough for a night's meal and a bed that wasn't dirt.

By dusk, Hugo leaned on the tavern's wooden counter, wrist sore from manual labor. "First day in fantasy-land and I'm already doing blue-collar work. What a drag... shouldn't I have a harem of women by now?" he joked.

Lyra ignored him, sipping at her drink dismissively while scanning the room with sharp eyes.

A crash rang out near the back, table splintering, mugs flying. The laughter had shifted. Louder, meaner. Chairs scraped. A man slammed into a table, clutching his nose, blood spilling between his fingers.

At the center of it, a man, cloak draped over his broad shoulders, amber eyes cutting through the haze. He wasn't shouting, wasn't even looking at the man he'd just flattened. Just standing there, swaying slightly, bottle still in hand. His scaled hand flexed once, knuckles raw.

The tavern went quiet, then roared again as another drunk lunged at him. The cloaked man sidestepped with reptilian sharpness, blade never leaving its sheath, tail lashing once against the floorboards. The man folded after a single elbow to the gut.

Hugo watched half in awe and half unnerved.

Lyra's mouth pressed thin. "Kael."

The name carried weight. Kael's head turned, eyes landing on them. Recognition flickered, followed by a scoff.

"Another tagalong, Lyra?" he said flatly, eyes cutting to Hugo. He walked over swaying from the alcohol, sizing Hugo up.

The air in the tavern was thick with smoke, sweat, and stale ale. Kael was still drunkenly sizing Hugo up, bottle in hand, when the sound hit.

a boom that rattled the shutters.

For a heartbeat, everyone froze. Then the second crash came, louder, closer, timbers splitting, people screaming. The tavern door slammed open as a man stumbled in, face bloody, shouting words that broke into panic.

"Raiders! Raiders in the village!"

The laughter and drunken chatter snapped to chaos. Outside, the sounds multiplied, shouts, the thundering of boots, the crackle of fire.

Hugo blinked at the sudden shift, heart lurching into his throat. He stumbled back, voice cracking. "What the hell is happening—are we under attack!?"

Lyra was already on her feet. Kael tossed aside his empty bottle and drew his cloak tighter, his scaled hand flexing with grim focus.

The two of them pushed into the street with Hugo following behind them. Chaos spilled everywhere, houses smoking, villagers dragged into the dirt. A line of armed humans advanced with brutal precision, wielding magic and swords. Behind them, shackled figures moved reluctantly, forced forward by whips and chains. Slaves driven into the fray as expendable shock troops.

One of the chained girls stumbled into view. Slim, green-eyed, hair tied in a fraying braid. She fell to her knees as a raider yanked her chain.

Hugo froze. His breath caught, every part of him screaming. Stay back. Stay small. Stay safe. But when the raider raised his blade to cut her down for slowing, Hugo moved before he realized what he was doing.

He snatched up a broken bottle from the floor and swung with precision he didn't know he had. It cracked against the raider's temple with a sickening thunk. The man crumpled, bleeding out, sword slipping from his hand.

Hugo stood over him, chest heaving, bottle shards shaking in his grip. His face was pale, eyes wide, like he couldn't believe what he'd just done.

The girl looked up at him in shock.

"Don't—don't look at me like that," Hugo muttered, voice tight. "I didn't think. I just… couldn't watch."

His heart was hammering so hard it drowned out the clash of steel around him. "...run..." Hugo whispered towards the girl but mostly at himself. The girl blinked at him, shocked, before scrambling to her feet, and bolting away.

He tried to breathe but it caught in his throat, coming out as a dry gag. His legs shook, heat buzzing in his ears. "I didn't—I wasn't even—" His chest hitched, the words collapsing in on themselves. "I just… I just killed him." Hugo's breath was ragged, glass shaking in his grip.

The tavern noise blurred, too far away, too unreal. For a second Hugo felt like the world was tilting, like maybe he'd wake up back home if he just shut his eyes. But when he opened them, the cold lifeless shell of a body was still there. The blood was still on him. It felt like the whole world was leaning in with him, counting the drops. drip… drip… drip… blood hitting the ground. It wasn't sharp like water, but thick, wet, each drop sinking into the dirt like a clock counting down. The pauses between them made it worse. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next reminder that someone was bleeding out.

The raiders didn't stop with one body. The street was a blur of clashing steel, firelight, and screams that drilled into Hugo's ears like static. His hands still shook around the broken bottle, useless now.

Lyra swung her staff hard, the wood cracking against a raider's jaw before he could slash her down.

"We can't stay here!" she shouted. "If the village falls, there'll be nowhere to run!"

His ears rang, his throat locked. The world tilted sideways. He barely noticed Lyra shouting until

Kael's voice cut through, "Move, idiot. Or die with him."

A scaled hand shoved him hard, jolting him back into motion. His legs obeyed before his head caught up. He stumbled after them.

They ran through fire and smoke. Hugo wasn't fighting. He wasn't even really running. He was just being dragged forward by adrenaline and the terror of stopping. His mind wouldn't leave the image of the raider's lifeless eyes.

The noise around him blurred. Kael's blade splitting armor. Lyra swung her staff to keep raiders back, each crack of wood against armor barely buying them space.

I killed him. I killed him. What if he had a family? What if he wasn't even—what if he was just—

They broke through the east gate, into the trees. Hugo's chest heaved like it might split. The night was cooler, quieter, but the silence didn't help.

As they finally slowed, Hugo staggered, leaning against a tree. His hands still wouldn't stop shaking.

The blood wasn't even on them anymore, but he swore he could feel it. Sticky. Heavy. Permanent.

"I killed him," he whispered, breath hitching. "I killed him…"

Lyra touched his arm. "Hugo—"

A smaller hand caught his sleeve. She was barefoot, clothes ragged, her face smudged with soot, but she looked at him with wide eyes, desperate and shining. Like a stray dog that had just found food for the first time in days. She had followed them.

"Don't," Hugo croaked, pulling his sleeve from her grasp. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not—"

She still followed when he stumbled forward, clutching at the hem of his coat this time. Silent.

Unshakable in her pathetic, clinging way.

Kael sneered. "Congratulations. You've earned yourself a shadow."

Hugo wanted to scream at her to stop, to run, to find someone better. But when he finally turned, she was still there, eyes locked on him with that quiet, starving hope. He couldn't force the words out.

His knees buckled, and he slid down the trunk.

He sank. Collapsed. The world felt heavy with… impossibility. Nothing should feel this heavy.

Nothing should look this still. He wants to scream. Can't. Throat locked. Tears hot, wet, blurring the edges of the world.

The slave girl knelt beside him, still clutching his sleeve, but her comforting just floated past him like smoke. She didn't speak. She didn't need to. Her eyes, wide and shining, said everything, and it made him sick to his stomach.

All he could see was the man's face.

Pressing his hands to his ears he muttered to himself, "I killed him. I killed him. I—" 

drip. 

drip. 

drip.

"-No, no, no, no, no. Stop it! Stop it!"

Hugo pressed his hands harder against his ears, but the sound wouldn't stop.

"Someone, anyone, make it stop! PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!"

His voice broke into the night. Only the river answered, steady and endless.

And then, so faint it could've been nothing...

drip.

Lyra's eyes flickered, just once, before settling back on the firelight.

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