We'd been walking for about an hour—or at least, I thought so. It was hard to tell without a phone. Not that it would have helped anyway. Arthur's wouldn't even turn on.
"So, judging by your accent," Arthur said casually as we walked, "Irish?"
"Born in Ireland. Raised in London."
"That tracks." He nodded. "I'm from New Orleans. America."
He said it with far too much pride.
"Cool," I replied, forcing something that resembled interest.
A few minutes passed in silence. I could tell he wanted to say something—kept glancing over—but he held it in. Eventually, he cracked.
"This is cool, right?" he said. "We literally got isekai'd. This kind of thing doesn't happen. It's supposed to be fantasy—pure escapism—and now it's real. How are you not losing your mind with excitement?"
I looked at him blankly.
I still didn't believe this was real. Because he was right—it doesn't happen. This was the kind of story people dreamed up when their lives felt empty. A way to escape something uninteresting. Something pointless.
Before I could respond, a growl echoed through the forest.
It wasn't a fox.
It wasn't a dog.
It was loud—almost deafening.
Then I saw it.
It looked like a wolf, but far larger. Its fur was pitch black, matted with blood. Its teeth were too long, too sharp—like it could tear a normal wolf in half without effort.
I froze.
Every instinct screamed at me to run, but I knew I'd be sprinting straight into death.
Isn't that what I wanted? I thought.
Before I could move, Arthur drew his sword and stepped in front of me.
"Stay behind me!" he shouted, shoving me back with his free arm.
"What are you doing?" I yelled.
He's going to get himself killed.
The beast charged.
Arthur held his ground, sword raised.
When it reached him, he swung.
It was clumsy—like a child flailing a stick.
The creature bit down on his arm and hurled him aside. His body slammed into the ground with a sickening thud. My legs began to shake.
I don't want to die.
The beast turned toward me.
It was going to kill me.
Then Arthur screamed.
The creature shifted its attention back to him, moving slowly now—deliberately. Like it was playing with us. With its prey. Each step closer made Arthur's screams louder.
Without thinking, I raised my hand.
Whether it was fear or something else, I didn't know.
A ball of light formed in my palm.
I could feel it—wanting to be released. Wanting to fly.
I held it back.
The light grew. Larger. Hotter. Denser.
The beast opened its jaws, ready to finish him.
Then I let go.
The light shot forward faster than I could comprehend. In a blink, it struck the creature's side, tearing straight through it—missing Arthur by inches.
The beast collapsed on top of him.
I stared at my hand.
"What the fuck…"
I ran forward and shoved the creature aside. It was heavy—far heavier than it should've been—but adrenaline pushed me through it.
Arthur lay on the ground, writhing, barely able to control his screams. Blood poured from a deep wound in his arm.
"Please," he gasped. "Help me."
I tore off my shirt and pressed it against the wound, tying it as tightly as I could. I didn't know why, but I needed him to live.
He couldn't die here.
If he did, I'd be alone again.
Then a voice echoed in my head.
[Class Skill Learned: Healing]
"What?" I muttered.
Nothing about this made sense anymore—but after what I'd just done, sense felt irrelevant.
I raised my hands over his wound.
"Heal," I said.
Green light spilled from my palms, washing over him. I watched as the wound closed in real time. His breathing steadied.
Moments later, he passed out.
I stayed by his side.
An hour later, he stirred, dazed and confused.
"I'm not dead?" he asked weakly.
"No. Not yet," I replied. "But after that stupid shit you pulled, I wouldn't get used to living if I were you."