Elena woke to pale light slipping through the narrow window, painting the stone walls in muted silver. For one suspended heartbeat, she lay still, waiting for the cold unfamiliarity of the room to dissolve into dream.
It didn't.
The air smelled faintly of pine and old stone. The blanket felt rough beneath her fingers. Soft footsteps echoed somewhere down the corridor.
She was still here.
Still in this impossible world.
The realization tightened across her ribs like a compression band.
She pushed herself upright. Her body ached—not sharp pain, just the deep fatigue of someone who had endured too many shocks in too few hours. Her mind felt wrapped in cotton, panic hardened into something quieter but no less heavy.
She crossed to the window.
Dawn had washed out the twin moons, leaving a gray sky and distant mountains sketched in charcoal. Below, the courtyard stirred with early activity—soldiers in formation, servants carrying baskets, smoke drifting from the smithy.
Life continued here as if nothing extraordinary had occurred.
As if she hadn't fallen through worlds.
Elena's stomach tightened.
She needed answers. A plan. Some anchor in the chaos.
Anything except—
She cut herself off with an irritated breath.
Soren.
His presence lingered in her mind like a bruise she kept testing. His voice, his smirk, the steady dark weight of his gaze. The way he stood too close, as if proximity were something he granted, not requested.
And the way her pulse had reacted—unhelpful, startled—every time he did.
Elena exhaled sharply. "Stop."
She refused to let her thoughts drift toward him. Not after one night. Not when he'd offered nothing but arrogance and control disguised as protection.
Yet the memory persisted—the quiet pause outside her door, the almost unheard shift of his weight before he walked away.
She wasn't sure if that unsettled her more than the idea of him entering.
Trying to focus, she splashed cold water onto her face. The shock snapped her thoughts back into tight, clinical lines.
She needed information.A map.A timeline.A way home.
Steeling herself, she stepped into the hallway. The citadel's corridors were still a maze, but staying in that room felt like surrender. She moved the way she'd observed last night—left at the carved archway, right where the floor dipped, straight toward the faint hum of morning activity.
Daylight changed the fortress.
It was less ominous. More awake.
Servants paused and bowed before hurrying on. Soldiers stared openly—not hostile, not welcoming, but wary, as though unsure whether she was a threat, an anomaly, or both.
She stepped into the courtyard. Cool morning air brushed her skin, and for the first time since arriving, something like clarity flickched through her.
She was not helpless. She was not fragile.
She had kept patients alive through chaos. She had made life-or-death decisions while the world burned around her.
She would survive this too.
"You rise early."
The voice rolled behind her, low and even.
Elena turned.
Soren stood a few paces away, as though he had been there long enough to study her before speaking. His armor today was lighter but still imposing, a dark cloak draped over one shoulder. Morning light caught the scar on his cheekbone.
He looked carved from the citadel itself—cold, unyielding, impossible to ignore.
Elena's pulse kicked. Ridiculous. Unwanted. Predictable.
"I'm not used to staying in bed when there's a crisis," she said.
"Are you in crisis?" he asked.
"I fell into another world," she said flatly. "What do you think?"
A faint smirk touched his mouth—that same arrogant curve that made irritation and something else twist low in her stomach.
"And yet," he said, stepping closer, "you walk my citadel as though it belongs to you."
"It doesn't," she said.
"Not yet."
Her breath caught.
She looked away. "I'm trying to understand where I am. How this place works. I need answers."
"You will have them," Soren said. "When I decide you are ready for them."
Her frustration flared. "You can't keep me in the dark forever."
He didn't move at first.
Then—A small, dangerous smirk ghosted across his mouth.Soren stepped closer—slowly, deliberately—until she felt his presence like heat brushing the air between them.
"Elena," he said softly, "I can keep you anywhere I choose."
Her pulse stumbled, sharp and involuntary.
"But," he added, something quieter sliding beneath the steel, "I prefer cooperation to confinement."
He gestured toward the courtyard. "Walk with me."
Her instinct said no. Her curiosity said yes. Her treacherous pulse leaned forward.
Elena drew a slow breath.
If she was trapped in this world, she needed knowledge. And Soren—infuriating, controlled, impossible Soren—was the only person who could give it.
"Fine," she said. "But I want real answers."
His eyes warmed—not kindly. With interest.
"You will have them," he murmured. "And more than you expect."
The morning shifted around them. Training swords clashed in the distance. Smoke curled upward from the smithy. The citadel stirred with life.
Elena walked beside Soren into the heart of Varyn Citadel.
Uncertain. Unsteady.
And trying very hard not to notice that, despite everything, being near him felt less frightening than being alone.