"Dang, how could I let it slip?"

I muttered to myself, securing my Bag of Holding to my waist as I hurried towards the prison complex.

I should have made her liberation my top priority. Instead, I'd wasted hours exploring, leaving her to languish in confinement. The sun was beginning to set, and I berated myself for expecting events to unfold like in a fantasy tale.

When I finally arrived at the young woman's cell, I was out of breath. "Are you... alright in there?" I managed to ask between gasps.

Her eyes widened, and she cried out, "No! Stay back!"

Puzzled, I stammered, "Hey, it's okay! There's no need to be scared of me!"

"Keep your distance, you vile creature! You Fiend!"

In that moment, I realized her gaze wasn't fixed on me but on something behind me. I turned slowly...

"Groo?" My loyal ogre guard, who had followed me into the prison, cocked his head quizzically, awaiting my command.

"I...uh, didn't mean to spook you. Could you hear me out for a sec? I'm not with those bandit guys or any... beast, as you put it. I'm not here to harm you."

Silence was her only response.

The young woman had retreated to the farthest corner of her cell, casting me cautious glances. I quickly dismissed Groo, but the damage was done—his presence had already scared her.

Upon closer inspection, I realized describing her as a young woman was fitting. She was likely in her late teens, dressed in a plain, sweat-soaked dress that clung to her form and highlighted her curves. Her hair was a cascade of fiery curls, and her spirited disposition betrayed an energy that was almost palpable. She looked ready to lash out if I got any closer. Nevertheless, I steeled myself for another attempt at communication.

"I swear to you, I'm not deceiving you. That creature I just dismissed is a being I conjured through magic to serve me. There's no cause for alarm."

"But if you can summon such a fiend... doesn't that make you one of them?"

The term "fiend" came up again. It must be a unique term here in Dravus. Given that my ogres are consistently mistaken for these "Fiends," there must be some resemblance. Yet, based on this girl's reaction and the bandits' earlier responses, these "fiends" were clearly feared and despised.

"I'm just a mage, a practitioner of magic," I tried again.

"Mage? And what am I to make of that?"

Considering her reaction and the earlier conversation with Karyon, it seemed likely there was no equivalent term in the Dravus tongue for my form of magic, or perhaps the concept was simply obscure. From what I'd gathered, my magic and what Karyon referred to as "weaving" were likely two distinct systems, functioning in entirely different manners. It might explain why my protective spell failed against Karyon's ice arrow...

I caught myself, halting the train of thought. Those inquiries would have to wait. There was a more immediate issue at hand.

"Listen, if I were allied with those bandits, do you think they would have tossed me around like a ragdoll and thrown me into a cell? You saw them dragging me out of that one over there, didn't you?"

"Maybe... a disagreement among yourselves?" she suggested, her voice hesitant.

I tried to see the situation through her eyes. It was fair that she was skeptical of a stranger who had suddenly appeared, proclaiming that he was here to liberate her. Even I was struggling to wrap my head around the bizarre chain of events that had led me to this point. However, I believed she was beginning to grasp some of what I was saying. If I remained patient, I could possibly persuade her...

I exhaled deeply. Convincing her proved to be tougher than I had anticipated. If I weren't my usual forty-year-old self but resembled the dashing, golden-haired High Elf, Emberus Blazeus Xandros, as described in my character sheet, would she have trusted me instantly? A sudden realization struck me. Even if she didn't, Emberus had spells like Charm at his disposal. If I simply cast Charm on her, I...

"What am I thinking!" I barked, smacking my forehead against the iron bars of the cell.

"Why... why did you do that?!" she yelped, taken aback.

Even though it was a fleeting thought, I couldn't forgive myself for even contemplating the use of Charm. It was the most significant moral lapse I'd had up until this point. My head pounded, but that was nothing compared to the self-reproach I felt. I deserved this pain.

The spell Charm does precisely what it implies. It grants the caster control over another individual's mind. As I thought of it, I was filled with revulsion. It was hard to imagine anything more manipulative and self-serving. This wasn't a game. Real lives were at stake.

"Because she... won't listen... to you! That doesn't give you... the right!" I yelled, punctuating each phrase with another headbutt against the iron bars.

I was aware, in some distant part of my mind, that I was losing control. This emotional outburst, in front of a girl I barely knew, was hardly going to help my case. But I was terrified. Terrified that if I didn't condemn this gross misuse of my powers immediately, if I allowed it to happen just once, I would be tempted to repeat it again and again. This gradual indulgence could be my undoing.

"Please, stop! You're bleeding!" she cried.

As might have been predicted, my forehead was split open. Blood trickled into my eye, causing a wave of pain to wash over me.

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"What's gotten into you?! Why would you do that?!"

"I... I'm truly sorry. I... uh... Huh?"

Wiping my forehead on my robe, I felt something being pressed into my hand. A handkerchief.

"You're bleeding everywhere! Cover your wound with this and apply pressure!"

"Uh... alright..."

Without thinking, I did as she instructed. I held the handkerchief to my forehead. She had moved from the corner of her cell, close enough to pass the handkerchief through the bars.

"Th-thank you..."

Ignoring the fact that I had healing potions in my Bag of Holding, I thanked her and slumped down onto the ground.

Silence hung heavy in the cell for a few moments.

Her sweet face was a mixture of a grimace and a frown as she looked down at me. I couldn't blame her. Only moments earlier, she had seen a grown man batter his head against the bars of her cell in a fit of self-inflicted madness. But at least her fear seemed to have receded, replaced with exasperation. And my self-anger had ebbed away, too. I had another chance to make my point.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that..."

"Alright..."

"I don't expect you to accept everything instantly, but could you at least listen to what I have to say?"

"Well..."

Her voice faded into silence as she pondered for a moment. She then sat down on the other side of the bars, facing me. Her posture allowed a glimpse of her right leg from beneath her dress. Once settled, she reached out and began to knead her right ankle.

"Fine. I'll listen," she conceded, finally.

I had made it through the initial hurdle. Clutching the girl's handkerchief to my forehead, I straightened myself and met her gaze.

"Thank you again for the handkerchief. I'll make sure it's cleaned and returned to you."

"You need not fret about that..."

"Before we talk, I have a small matter to attend to," I announced, reaching into my Bag of Holding and retrieving a cup and a brass bottle.

"Is that some kind of... alcoholic beverage?" she inquired.

"No, it's a healing potion. It's used to heal injuries."

To be precise, the bottle was a valuable magic item known as the Bottle of Endless Potions. Despite its compact dimensions, it could store up to ten doses of potion, refilling itself each dawn.

At present, it contained a basic healing potion, akin to the ones typically encountered in fantasy games.

"Then you should use it," the girl suggested.

"Pardon?" I responded, perplexed.

Ah, she believes it's for the laceration on my forehead, I realized, suddenly recalling my own state.

"No, no, this is for you. I presumed you might need it. Have you sustained any injuries?"

"No, I'm unharmed, thank you," she answered, shaking her head.

Yet, I remained doubtful, especially since she had been massaging her ankle just moments before.

"It's not poisoned. I'll consume the first portion to demonstrate there's no danger," I assured, pouring the crimson liquid into the cup.

The potion emitted a sweet fragrance, and as I downed it in one gulp, the taste resembled an exceedingly sweet alcoholic drink—bordering on excessive sweetness. Nevertheless, I could sense my recuperation.

"See, it's healed," I declared confidently, though I was still somewhat amazed. The wound on my forehead closed in no time.

"Here, you should have the next serving," I offered, refilling the cup with the healing potion and extending it to the girl.

"But you shouldn't waste something so precious on me... it's merely a sprained ankle," she protested.

"Consider it an apology for frightening you earlier. Please accept it."

The girl hesitated. It seemed her reluctance stemmed less from distrust and more from the worry of accepting something she might struggle to repay. Given her prior confusion about the term "mage," I was astonished she had grasped the concept of a healing potion so quickly.

I would surmise it's roughly equivalent to "a costly balm that knits wounds together."

"You know, traversing back to your home will be a daunting task if your feet are in pain," I asserted, nudging the conversation further. "Especially if you opt to forgo my assistance."

"That's... an astute observation. In that case, I'll accept it... but I assure you, I'll repay this kindness," the girl responded, somewhat hesitantly, before imbibing the potion.

In the immediate moments that followed, a notable brightness returned to the girl's face.

"It's not sore anymore!" she declared joyfully, flexing her foot and extending her leg. Caught in her exhilaration, her dress hitched upward, revealing her thighs. While it wasn't entirely my place to say, I found myself wishing she'd display a tad more caution, given her youth.

"Huh? Oh! My apologies! I suppose I got a bit overexcited." Noticing my gaze, the girl blushed, hastily rearranging the hem of her dress. Her response was endearingly charming.

"I'm relieved to see it worked," I said.

"Thank you so much! I regret the harsh words I spoke earlier about you."

"So, do you trust me now?"

"Well, I trust that you're here to help me, at least."

That'll suffice, I mused, exhaling a sigh of relief. In America, even an initial encounter would already foster a certain degree of shared understanding to build upon. Aside from a few exceptions, both individuals could anticipate the other to abide by the same societal norms, the same frame of reference. Back home, even strangers understand they coexist in the same society, safeguarded by the same regulations.

In this foreign realm, my usual reliance on shared understandings was no longer a crutch I could lean on. The fact that I was at last able to establish meaningful communication with another human being (the terse exchanges with Karyon and the bandits were hardly worth mentioning) provided immense solace.

"So, could you perhaps facilitate my escape from here? Do you possess the key?" she inquired.

"Ah, of course. Please hold on a moment," I responded, realizing the urgency of the situation. This was no time to bask in relief. Having made my decision, my foremost responsibility was to ensure the safe return of this girl to her home.

Standing upright, I commenced the invocation of a spell. "Through this enchantment, any lock I lay my touch upon shall yield to my will, offering free passage. Skeleton Key."

Upon the spell's completion, the cell door's lock responded, freeing itself of its own accord.

"That's incredible," the girl expressed, her eyes wide with awe as she stepped out of her confinement. She stretched, almost as if testing the reality of her newfound freedom, before pivoting towards me and offering a respectful bow.

"I am Lana, daughter of Leo, a merchant from the city of Trelis. I apologize for my earlier rudeness. It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

Listening to her formal introduction, I couldn't help but think some of the greenhorns at my previous company could stand to learn a thing or two from her.

"I am Archmage Emberus Blazeus Xandros. Indeed, the pleasure is mine," I responded with a nod.

Once we had vacated the prison compound, I promptly commanded the ogres to establish a security perimeter. However, this incited an immediate reaction from Lana. "If people see us with these, they'll think we're in collusion with the Fiends! Do you wish to have the Inquisition on our tails?!"

Lana's outburst contained a few unfamiliar terms, but I deemed it best to follow her advice. Disengaging my magical grasp, the half-dozen ogres dissipated into nothingness as if they were mere illusions.

"You... you really did conjure those fiends, didn't you?" Lana queried.

"They're ogres... and I used wizardry, not weaving..." I corrected her under my breath.

There were still numerous uncertainties I needed to address, so I opted to accompany Lana into the tower where we could engage in a more thorough conversation.

"Erm... What is... that?"

As we progressed towards the tower, Lana's gaze landed on the toppled statue of Karyon in the courtyard. Her reaction was justified; the sight was far from pleasant.

"That's the... 'weaver' who supposedly led the bandits."

"But... it's a statue."

"Indeed, I transmuted him into one. With magic."

"I see... Interesting."

Up until then, Lana had been maintaining pace with me, but now, she subtly fell back, maintaining a few steps of distance between us.

At the very least, she didn't flee.