After the battle, everything was destroyed. The ground was covered in rubble and death. Jack knelt beside Elara, crying so hard his whole body shook. He couldn't believe what she had done—how she had given her life to save his. The idea of leaving her behind without a proper burial hurt him deeply. He had to run to survive, but it broke his heart to leave her like that.
Before escaping, Jack went back to Elara's small cottage hidden among the willow trees. He just wanted to lock it up—one small way to show respect before he left. But something unexpected happened.
On her bedside table, he found a letter. The handwriting was neat and flowing, but it was written in a language he didn't understand—Eldorian. Still, as he looked at it, something inside him shifted. He felt a strong need to read her words. Grief turned into determination. He would learn the language, figure out what she wanted to tell him, and hold onto her final message. Gently, he put the letter in his pocket. It was now his most precious possession.
As he got ready to leave, something on the wall caught his eye. It was a sword with a white, shining blade and a handle made of ivory. It seemed to glow with quiet strength. It was so beautiful that Jack felt it was meant for him.
He reached for it, letting his fingers run over the smooth handle. He thought about putting it back—but then he heard footsteps. Voices. People were coming. He didn't have time. He grabbed the sword, surprised by how light it felt, and ran into the night, carrying with him Elara's memory, her letter, and a new sense of purpose.
Just as Jack was about to close his eyes, he heard the sound of a horse galloping toward him. He couldn't move, so he stayed lying on the ground. When he opened his eyes, he suddenly said, "It's white."
At first, he was confused—then he realized he was staring at the undergarments of a young woman who had leaned over him. She was beautiful, but her voice was sharp as she spoke in a language he no longer understood.
"You stink. Why are you lying on the road? Get out of the way!" she scolded.
Jack didn't respond. He couldn't understand her words.
She turned to her guards. "Soldiers, lift this man up."
Two soldiers came and picked Jack up off the ground.
"Say your name and where you're from," the woman demanded.
Jack just stared at her, confused and silent. He didn't understand anything she was saying.
The woman glanced at one of the soldiers and asked, "Is there something wrong with my face, soldier?"
The soldier quickly answered, "No, my lady. Nothing at all."
The forest closed in around him. Under the pale moonlight, Jack ran west, carrying Elara's letter and her sword. He hadn't stopped to eat or rest in ten hours, just kept moving, driven by a need to escape and a deep, lonely feeling.
Fear was always with him, sharp and cold. Every rustle of leaves, every snapping twig made him jump. He knew he was alone and vulnerable in the big, dangerous forest. The sword, a reminder of Elara and a possible weapon, became his eyes in the dark. With each careful step, he used its point to check for traps or danger. The blade, usually shiny, was now dull from brushing against the bushes, showing how hard he was working to stay safe.
He was all alone, under a sky full of stars that seemed to not care about him. But even though he was scared and tired, he still had a little bit of hope. It was a weak hope, easy to lose, but it was all he had. He prayed, not like someone who goes to church all the time, but like someone desperate to survive. He prayed for strength, for guidance, for a chance to live. He kept moving, guided by a hope as strong as the moon in the sky, a hope that whispered about a new day.
The first light of morning touched the sky, coloring it with soft, gentle shades. But Jack felt nothing like the peaceful sky. He was completely exhausted. His whole body ached, every muscle tight and sore, but his tired eyes finally spotted a road in the distance. It felt like hope in the middle of nowhere. With all the strength he had left, he stumbled toward it, barely able to stay on his feet.
For ten long, painful hours, he had forced himself to keep going—driven by fear and a small bit of hope. Now, just sitting down on the dusty road felt like a huge victory, like he had finally beat the tiredness for a moment.
He dropped to the ground. The rough road, surprisingly, felt comforting against his sore body. He let out a shaky breath, filled with everything he had been through.
"Finally," he whispered, like a breath of relief and defeat all at once. "I can rest. I think… I'm finally feeling just how tired I am."
It was an honest moment, showing how drained he really was—physically and emotionally. He lay there, stretched out on the road, looking small under the brightening sky. His hope was weak and fragile, and all he could do was silently wish that someone would find him. He didn't pray with words, just hoped with all his heart that someone would notice him, hear his silent cry, and show him some kindness.
More than anything, he needed water, food, and even just a human voice—something to help ease the heavy loneliness he carried.
Just as Jack was about to close his eyes, he heard the sound of a horse galloping toward him. He couldn't move, so he stayed lying on the ground. When he opened his eyes, he suddenly said, "It's white."
At first, he was confused—then he realized he was staring at the undergarments of a young woman who had leaned over him. She was beautiful, but her voice was sharp as she spoke in a language he no longer understood.
Jack stood there, still half-dazed, being held upright by two armored soldiers who looked like they hadn't smiled since birth. The elegant woman kept talking to him in that strange language—sharp, fast, and absolutely meaningless to Jack's ears. He blinked at her, nodding slowly like a man pretending to understand the menu at a very fancy restaurant.
"Zarenth ka valen, vatra shol!" (state your purpose, Who are you!). she scold, hands on her hips.
Jack gave her a thumbs-up. "Yes. Totally agree. Big... big vatra. Love it."
The woman narrowed her eyes.
One of the soldiers leaned in toward her. "Mylady, I don't think he speaks Eldorian."
"No kidding," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "We've picked up a walking pile of mud who thinks he's at a picnic."
Jack, catching none of that, just smiled awkwardly and pointed at himself. "Jack. Ja-ack. Like... jackhammer but less useful."
The woman stared at him, unimpressed.
"Does he always smell like a dead goat, or is that new?" she asked her guards.
Jack chuckled nervously. "You're probably saying something very smart. I respect that."
The woman sighed. "Whatever. Take him to the healer. And try not to let him touch anything."
The soldiers nodded. One of them started guiding Jack forward, but Jack tripped over his own foot and fell flat on his face.
"Menthro sel kai..." (what a mess...) one soldier muttered, shaking his head.
As they dragged Jack toward the camp, he looked up at the sky and whispered, "I have no idea what's going on, but if this ends with soup, I'm okay with it."
As they neared the healer's tent, the air grew thick with the scent of strange herbs and smoke. Jack's legs barely held him upright, his mind clouded with exhaustion and confusion. The soldiers remained silent, guiding him like a prisoner—though he didn't know what crime he was guilty of.
Before they could enter the tent, a figure stepped out from the shadows—an old woman, cloaked in deep blue robes, her face lined with age and wisdom. Her presence halted everyone instantly. Even the soldiers straightened, as if her gaze alone demanded respect.
She walked slowly toward Jack, her eyes locked on him with unsettling intensity. Her steps were deliberate, her expression unreadable.
Jack tensed. She looked ancient, powerful—like she knew things no one else dared to speak of.
The woman stopped just in front of him. For a long moment, she simply stared, her eyes scanning his face, his clothes, the strange blade strapped to his side. Then, without warning, she turned to the noble woman and whispered something low, her voice dry like parchment.
"My lady… that man is not from here. He is not from this world."
The noblewoman's expression darkened. "What do you mean?"
"I feel the echo of another realm in him," the old mage said softly. "His presence is wrong. The magic clings to him, old and unfamiliar—like it was never meant to exist in this realm."
Jack stood there, understanding none of it, yet the weight in their voices made his chest tighten.
"Could he be a threat?" the noblewoman asked, her voice hushed but urgent.
The mage did not answer at first. She simply watched Jack, as if the answer might reveal itself in time. Then she finally spoke.
"I don't know. But fate does not bring people like him here by accident."
Silence fell. Even the wind seemed to still.
Jack, completely unaware of what had just passed between them, looked around nervously and mumbled, "Okay… seriously. Can someone tell me where I am?"
But no one answered him.