Ashen stood still in the early light, the scent of blood and ash clinging to the air. What had once been a desperate last stand was now the scene of a hard-won victory. The villagers moved quietly among the dead, gathering the wounded, burying their own.
At the heart of it all stood Ethan, leaning against a broken wagon, his shotgun resting across his knees.
He hadn't said much since the battle ended.
Neither had anyone else.
They didn't know what to make of him—not anymore.
Lyra approached him slowly, her boots crunching on the gravel. She'd been the first to see what he'd done. The way Varkos had fallen—not by a sword or an arrow, but by that weapon from another world.
"You okay?" she asked.
Ethan nodded slightly, eyes distant. "Tired."
She sat beside him in silence.
After a while, she spoke again. "The people are scared."
"Of me?"
She gave him a side glance. "Of what you can do."
He looked down at the shotgun. "I didn't want this. Any of it."
"I know," Lyra said softly. "But you've got it now. And whether you like it or not, you've changed everything."
Ethan looked up toward the twin suns rising over Avalon's hills.
The thought had haunted him since the moment he pulled that trigger—this world wasn't built for Earth's weapons. If people here got their hands on more of them... what then?
War would never be the same.
And it would be his fault.
By midday, they'd buried their dead. Twenty-six villagers. Dozens more wounded.
But Ashen still stood.
Joren, arm in a sling, walked up with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Word's spreading fast. Some of the other villages are already sending runners. They want to know what happened here."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "And what are you going to tell them?"
Joren smirked. "That we killed a warlord. With your help. And maybe that you're a god in disguise."
Ethan snorted. "Please don't."
Lyra leaned against the doorway behind him. "We need to decide what's next."
"What do you mean?" Ethan asked.
She folded her arms. "Varkos is dead, but the noble houses will send someone else eventually. His lands, his taxes—they won't just disappear. We've defied the nobility now. There will be consequences."
"And they'll come with bigger armies," Joren added grimly.
Ethan was silent for a long moment.
Then he stood.
"Then we prepare."
That night, as the village gathered around a quiet fire, Ethan sat alone at the edge of the square, staring at the sky.
He had returned to Earth. Brought back weapons. Killed a warlord.
And he could do it again.
The power he held—this ability to shift between worlds—could tip the balance of this realm. But it also terrified him.
He felt it again now, the strange tug in his mind. Like a door he could open just by thinking hard enough.
But then—
Something else.
A presence.
He turned—and standing in the shadows beyond the firelight was the figure from before. Cloaked in darkness, eyes like twin stars.
The Shadow.
Ethan stood quickly, reaching for his sword—but the shadowy figure raised a hand.
"You've started something, Ethan Carter."
The voice echoed inside his head rather than his ears.
"This world will not forget your name. Nor will others ignore what you've done."
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The figure stepped closer.
"I am the one who gave you the gift."
The stars in its eyes flared.
"I am the Architect. The Dreamer. The one you call… the God of Creation."
Ethan's breath caught.
"Why me?"
The god tilted its head.
"Because you were broken. And I wanted to see what you would build."
The fire behind Ethan flickered violently.
"But understand this—what you've done here echoes beyond Avalon. There are other realms, other eyes watching. You've tipped the balance. And now… others will come."
Ethan felt a chill down his spine. "Others like me?"
"Some like you. Some worse."
The figure began to fade, its form dissolving like mist.
"Choose carefully, Ethan Carter. You are no longer just a man caught between two worlds. You are the thread from which fate is being rewoven."
And then—it was gone.
Ethan stared at the empty space where the god had stood, a thousand questions clawing at his mind.
Lyra called out from the fire, unaware of the encounter.
But Ethan knew one thing now with chilling certainty.
The war had just begun.
And he was at the center of it.