Arthur woke up like someone had hit the "resume" button on a dream he didn't remember saving. His eyes cracked open one at a time — the left first, then the right, which stubbornly stuck for a second before giving up. Everything was blurry, like he was underwater, or maybe drunk, or both. Hopefully not both.
The ceiling he saw above him had wooden beams. Dark ones. Old ones. Not the cheap concrete-and-fiberboard ceiling tiles from his miserable office. Not his apartment either, unless someone had broken in during the night and replaced the ceiling out of sheer generosity.
His throat felt dry, and when he tried to swallow, something scratched.
"Arthur?" someone whispered — too softly, too carefully — and he flinched.
A woman stood near the bed. If someone had pulled an elf out of a fairytale book and removed the pointy ears, she'd look like this. Silver hair braided loosely over her shoulder, violet eyes that shimmered like she'd been crying but tried to hide it. Her dress looked expensive, but also wrinkled, like she hadn't slept either.
"Oh… thank goodness," she breathed, and her shoulders sagged like she'd been holding them up for hours. "You're awake."
Arthur blinked at her like an idiot. "Uh… hi?"
He immediately wanted to slap himself. Hi? Really? That's what you say to a fantasy model-woman who apparently knows your name?
Before she could respond, something tiny and loud slammed into him.
"BROTHER!"
A small blur — a girl maybe seven? eight? — launched herself onto his chest. She nearly knocked the air out of him, which was impressive considering she weighed approximately as much as a pillow.
Arthur's arms instinctively jerked up in self-defense. The woman hurried over, half laughing, half scolding.
"Lily, careful! He's barely awake."
"I'm sorry!" the girl sniffed, though she didn't actually let go. Her hair was silver like the woman's but tangled, sticking up in places like she'd run through a forest. Her eyes were red from crying… or allergies… or maybe both.
"You scared me…" she whispered, and the wobble in her voice stabbed Arthur right in the heart.
Great. Now he felt guilty for dying. Or collapsing. Or whatever happened before he got here.
"I—I'm okay," Arthur said, though it sounded more like a question. "I think."
The woman sat on the edge of the bed, brushing Lily's hair while gently touching Arthur's forehead as if double-checking he hadn't evaporated. "You've been unconscious for nearly three days. Feverish. Talking nonsense. It frightened all of us."
"Nonsense?" he repeated, mortified at the idea of talking in his sleep in ANY universe.
She smiled sadly. "You were calling strange names. Strange places. Nothing we recognized."
Ah. Probably yelled about Excel spreadsheets or deadlines or coffee. That would definitely count as nonsense here.
He tried sitting up and instantly felt like his bones weren't where he left them. His arms were slimmer. His legs longer. His center of gravity totally off. It was like someone had rearranged his body without asking permission.
"Where am I?" he asked, even though he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.
"Grayfall Manor," the woman said gently. "Your home, dear."
Home. Right.
Totally normal for someone who died at his desk.
Arthur swallowed. "And… my father?"
The way her face changed told him everything before she even spoke.
"Your father, Baron Aldren, passed two weeks ago. The battle at the eastern ridge." Her voice thinned. "We are… still adjusting."
Arthur felt the weight of the words even if they weren't his memories. The grief in her eyes wasn't something you could fake. He felt out of place, like an actor thrown into a role halfway through the play without reading the script.
Before he could even figure out how to give a fake but polite condolences, heavy boots stomped in the hallway. The door pushed open without knocking.
"My lord!" a soldier blurted, panting a little. "You're awake! Thank the— uh— thank everything."
Arthur stiffened. My lord? Oh right. Baron's son. Noble. Important. Totally underqualified.
"Sorry to rush in," the soldier said, "but we've got trouble."
Of course there was trouble. Day one and the universe already wanted him dead again.
"What… kind of trouble?" Arthur asked, voice wobbling slightly.
"Tracks, sir. In the east woods." The soldier's expression tightened. "Big ones."
Before Arthur could guess whether "big ones" meant bears or dragons or dragons riding bears, someone else stepped inside. Younger. Sharper. Mud on boots. Blood on sleeve — hopefully not his own. Eyes that looked like they saw everything and judged half of it.
"My lord," the boy said. "Leon Farwin. Hunter." He hesitated, then added, "I saw the pack myself."
"Pack?" Arthur echoed.
"Fangwolves," Leon said plainly. "At least two alphas."
"Alphas. Uh-huh." Arthur nodded like he understood ANY of that. "And, uh, that's bad?"
Lily whimpered, which was answer enough.
Leon continued, "They're moving faster than usual. They'll reach the outer farms by dusk unless we do something."
Arthur did not want to ask the next question, but it came out anyway. "And… how many soldiers do we have?"
The soldier sighed. "One hundred, my lord. Maybe sixty that can actually stand straight and hold a spear at the same time."
Arthur felt a small part of his soul die.
He was an engineer. A cautious, conflict-avoiding, overtime-surviving office worker. His greatest confrontation until now had been arguing with a vending machine that ate his coins. And now he was expected to lead… soldiers… against wolves. Big wolves. With fangs. Maybe magic.
His palms got sweaty. His throat went dry again. His brain screamed run, but his legs didn't move.
Lily tugged at his sleeve again. "Brother… don't let the wolves… eat us…"
Ah. Fantastic. Emotional responsibility added to physical danger. A perfect combo for someone who had panic attacks over group presentations.
He took a shaky breath. "Bring me… a map."
"A what?" the soldier blinked.
"A map," Arthur repeated, louder than intended. "Please."
They scrambled to bring one. Probably because the word "please" surprised them.
The map was old, edges frayed, but Arthur recognized the basics — ridges, slopes, forest mass, river curve. He traced his finger along a narrow valley.
"If wolves avoid unstable rocks," he muttered, half to himself, "they'll funnel through here. Natural choke point."
Both soldiers leaned closer. Leon especially, like Arthur had grown three extra heads.
"If we put logs here… angled inwards… and dig shallow pits here and here… we can force the pack into a single line." Arthur tapped the spot. "They'll lose the ability to flank. And wolves without flanking capability are… manageable. Sort of."
Leon's eyes lit up. "You want to fight them on the land's terms."
Arthur shrugged weakly. "I can't fight them on mine."
The soldier straightened, almost excited. "My lord, that— that's clever."
Lily's eyes brightened slightly. "So we'll be safe?"
Arthur froze. He wanted to lie. He wanted to cry. He wanted to crawl under the blanket and pretend none of this existed. But she was looking at him like he mattered. Like he could do something.
He forced a nod. "I'll do everything I can."
Leon bowed sharply. "I'll lead the men, my lord. Just give the order."
Arthur inhaled. The air was thick. Tasted like dust and fear and a little bit like herbs.
"Go," he said quietly. "Start preparing."
Leon left. The soldier left. The room got quiet again, too quiet.
Arthur finally sagged forward, elbows on knees, head in hands.
"What am I doing?" he whispered. "I barely passed my engineering licensure exam…"
But he stood anyway. Shakily. A mess. Unsteady as a foal.
He wasn't brave.
He wasn't strong.
But he couldn't let Lily cry again. Or let that woman — Evelynn — lose the last family she had.
He straightened his back.
"Okay," he muttered. "Don't die. That's the first step. Don't die."
It wasn't a heroic declaration.
But it was enough to take the first step.