Amidst the bustling orderly chaos of soldiers, eagerly traversing the battlements. Within the swirl of men and woman, making ready for the siege of their lives, sat a young boy not of this world. Seated on a crate, casting his vision to the descending sun. He didn’t notice the figure approaching from behind.

A slender hand fell upon his shoulder. He didn’t react at all. Immersed, he was so in the visage of an alien sun. For a moment, the hand lingered, the owner remaining speechless. The boy remained silent. He could sense the hesitation. The lingering gaze of concern, the figure behind him, was none other than his keeper.

“What is it, Elisara?” The boy asked, calm and cold.

“I'm worried about you. You haven't come to our lessons in days... Peter?”

“I've just been thinking about stuff. I will resume soon enough. Assuming we survive this damn war.” Peter added with disdain.

His own irritability puzzled him with her. He had kept it under wraps with Jasmine and Lucy. He neither had the desire nor inclination to worry them. The two were the only friends he had that understood his situation. Not that he resented being brought here. Slowly, he was withdrawing from the people here.

Understanding was as elusive as the wind itself. Forever before him, never within his grasp. Ever since he nearly died and Mal’s impromptu demonic surgery. He hadn't felt the same since. No matter how he thought of it, he wasn't himself anymore. It wasn't a major change, like him turning evil. That cliche thing was only in movies or novels. Despite his literal fantasy adventure, this didn't feel like a story.

The change wasn't profound, neither was it overcoming his sensibilities. It wasn't anything as generic as corruption or temptation. It was just an unsettling calm, a freedom he had never felt before. Insecurity and fear had previously paralyzed him. There was always a little voice inside trying to keep him down.

Don’t talk to that girl, she is too pretty. Don’t hang out with them, they are way too cool for you. Avoid fighting them; otherwise, you will lose and get hurt. Those thoughts plagued most of his high school days. They made him a shy and awkward, for most of his life that was his reality. But now, things felt different.

Weakness and a lack of confidence plagued him. He felt free, freer than he had ever experienced in all his life. He never stopped to think how much was weighing him down. Looking back on his life, he saw every missed opportunity, every word never said, every desire never fulfilled. Even coming here and gaining magical powers, he was still afraid. Yet, in this moment, he felt more alive than he had ever been.

Was he dead before, or just less alive? He was not sure, the only certainty he had, that he was not the same. Mal said their would-be side effects with a mischievous cackle. The creature was a demon, so that wasn't just a random joke. Peter had to take him seriously.

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” He lied rather poorly.

“It doesn't take an oracle to tell that was a lie.”

Despite his mood, Peter smiled. It felt oddly nice that someone cared enough to point out his attempts to deflect. He guessed his change wasn't total, and he still had poor emotional communication.

“I just don't feel like myself, OK,” He answered snappishly.

She sat down beside him, ruffling her witches' robes and trying to keep it clean on the mostly unclean crate. Now seated beside him, she sighed.

“I know things have been hard.”

“Hard, yeah, almost dying and then brought back by a demon.”

The moment he uttered, demon. The witch cast her gaze around. Comforted by the fact no one heard, she turned to him.

“I would keep that to yourself. I have no issue with it, but the rest will.” She stated curiously.

“I know demons are evil, blah, blah. I mean, who even decided that?” Peter whispered back, trying to keep his voice calm.

“War and historical record.”

"I'm sure nobody embellished those records."

“I’m sure they were. Still doesn’t change how people feel. They have been the enemy since even before the reign of the Upire.”

“Upire, I haven’t heard of those.”

The mention of something not covered in his history lessons visibly brightened Peter and temporarily lifted his funk.

“Didn’t the imperial scholars teach you history?”

“They did, but only the past 500 years,” He explained.

“Idiots, that’s only half of human history. The kingdoms span back over a thousand years, half a millennium before the empire was even an idea in the mind of a Sylvanian.” She stated indignity, expecting more from the supposed elite of the learned society.

“It’s not the first time teachers have omitted facts from history.”

“Does that kind of thing happen in your world?”

“Totally, if you ask certain questions in history class, you can really start stuff.” He chuckled, recalling the time he questioned his history teacher about the origin of thanksgiving.

“I’ll take your word for it. But the basics of the Upire are they once reigned supreme over the continent. All races bowed to their magical might and immortal rule.”

“Immortal?”

“Yes, it is said they were immortal demons that feasted on the blood of man, to sustain their dark lifespan.”

Peter thought for a second, collating several points in his head. Immortal, demonic, feeds on blood. These three factors manifested the image of a certain Romanian figure dressed in a red cape and suit, dining on the neck of a maiden.

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“Are we talking about vampires? Like Dracula and Camila?”

“I don’t recognise those names from the annals of history. Are they vampire lords from your world?” She inquired, puzzled.

“There are stories about them, but they are fiction.” He responded with certainty, before stopping.

He was currently on the battlements of a medieval kingdom, in a world of magic and spirits. Who knows if those stories don't hold some weight, in fact, rather than fiction? The idea compelled his eyes to widen. The possibilities could be endless. Historical fact may underlie all the amazing stories floating around in the fandom. Either from his own world or another.

“I may have to reconsider that.” He muttered.

“Reconsider?”

“Never mind. How far away is the enemy?” He asked, shifting the subject.

The witch knew he was again deflecting. She wanted to press him. But doing so would likely cause him to clam up more. Despite all he had experienced, he was still so young. A hint of guilt crept into her already plagued heart. She had taken part in the summoning and brought three young strangers to a strange world.

“They are mere hours away. They had already passed the satellite towns. The refugees are coming in batches.”

Upon uttering those words, he rose to his feet. Quickly, he ran to the wall's edge, peering down. He saw the influx of battered and injured refugees. Lost in his own internal introspection, the young man had been ignorant for much of the comings and goings. Once locked in his room, and only recently ventured out. Even then, he only wandered until finding a crate.

“What happened to them?” He asked, his eyes glassy, yet his face broke with no emotion.

A cold felling whelped up in his chest. Hands grew hot, and they sank to the deepest chill of the coldest region. With the stone gripped in his hand, he stared like an eagle. Set upon the refuges as the battered and torment people shuffled past the gate and into the fortress. Not noticing the chill emanating from his body, causing the armed and armoured soldiers to shiver. The stone beneath his grip slowly froze, solidifying into pristine ice, coating the wall.

“Peter!” She cracked her voice like a whip.

Pulled out of the cold, he felt the faint chill slowly receding. Reality took form, and the world became more than his own dark thoughts. Looking down, he found the wall frozen solid. To his left and right were soldiers keeping their distance. Some holding their hands, traces of frost coating the armour.

Apologising, they accepted, backing away even further. Noting this, the young man sent his gaze to another familiar face. Standing not too far away, crowded by soldiers and workers, was Lucy. Since arriving in Tarkon, she had become the centre of attention.

“She’s popular.” Peter muttered coldly.

"This is unavoidable. Tarkon’s patron spirit is Pyrus. The other spirits are not so favoured here. Don’t let that get you down."

“It doesn't. What do I care about their praise?” He replied, seating himself.

While seated, he promptly ignored the world, pulling out his GameBro and tuning out. The sounds of button mashing and sound effects followed. The witch lingered for a moment, trying to come up with something to say. In the end she left, leaving the young man to his games.

Half an hour later, in the middle of catching a forest type. Another tapped on his shoulder. Sighing and annoyed, his battle was being interrupted. He paused the game and turned to give Elisara another less perfunctory brush off. Only for his words to caught in his throat. It was not the witch as he expected. It was his fellow companion, Jasmine.

“What do you want Jazz?” He asked, turning back to his game.

“I've told you to stop calling me that.”

“And I will continue to do so, same as Al.”

Snorting derisively, she quickly checked herself. Finding lately, she had slowly slipped in terms of manners. The voice inside that told her to be prim, proper and dignified, that sounded too much like her father, was fading. It was a mere whisper now and so she felt little need to keep up appearances.

“Fine, if you want to call me by that garish name, go ahead.” She said before gesturing him to accompany her.

Peter didn't really want to walk and talk. Too immersed in his game, but it was Jasmine. He saved his progress, pocketed the console and went for a chat. The two passed by busy soldiers setting up various defensive armaments. Ballista, tubs of a boiling water, archer stations with an impressive stockpile of arrows. Along with other paraphernalia, he didn't recognise and suspected they were for the wizards. The empire did not favour wizardry, but he noted Tarkon treated wizards better.

Wizards and witches were even part of the military, royal council, and other civilian organisations that supported the kingdom. Peter had little interest in politics, but wanted to know how people treated the magical. Since he had designs on becoming a wizard, not content with his blessed powers. One could easily take away power if one could grant it.

“You have been different ever since the injury.” Jasmine stated, turning to gage his response.

“You mean my nearly dying. I read somewhere near-death experiences change people.”

“I read that too. Must be something to do with chemical reactions in a fading brain. But I doubt they ever considered magic as a catalyst.” She smirked.

“Yeah, scientists are all about observations and proven facts.”

“I wonder what scientists from earth would make of this world?” Jasmine added, casting a glance to the faded moons in the distance.

“Probably make them rethink everything they knew.”

The two stopped upon reaching the first guard tower. An area just out of the way of the rushing soldiers. Leaning against the wall, they descended to silence. Jasmine staring at the young man intently, as if she could pierce his innermost thoughts. Peter tried to ignore this, instead finding the land beyond the wall fascinating.

“What do you want me to say?” He muttered, just underneath his breath.

“Just tell me what's going on with you.” She asked, simply and evenly.

Sighing, Peter thought very hard about his next words. He felt the normal protocol of his mind trying to reassert itself. His old anxieties and traits pressing him to shut down and ignore. Despite years of being plagued by this impulse. Their intensity lessened for him. He found even his anxieties about being so close to the opposite sex less intense.

He doubted if this change would turn him into a ladies' man. Cliche movies and novels reserved for such things. But the disturbing calmness was undeniable. In the end, he decided on honesty. Jasmine was, in a way, one of his only friends in this world. He had read so many stories that depicted the positive aspects of otherworldly adventures. But also, the darker ones, anti-hero stories where they trusted when they shouldn't.

Originally, this sudden shift to a fantasy world awed and inspired him. So much so, it overwrote any nagging doubts. Admitting to himself that he was foolish is an understatement. Now in this state, with whatever that demon did. He rethought his glorious adventure. The empire's goal, the emperor's desires and even the friends he made. This doubt and paranoia slowly began pushing itself to the four corners of his mind. And yet, he trusted Jasmine and Lucy. They were in the same boat and from the same world.

“I think...” He paused, unable to get the right words out.

“I think whatever Mal did to save me changed me.”

“Change you. What do you mean?” She inquired.

“Nothing obvious, at least not that I have noticed. It’s nothing on the outside, it’s inside.” He tried articulating the new feelings and found at least, this was the same as before.

“I feel differently about things. My old way of thinking has changed. I don't react the same way. Like when I killed those men, froze them solid. I thought that would scare me or make me feel guilty. Instead, I was oddly calm, afraid yes, but still calm. I don’t know what to do about this.”

“I think we should talk to Maligore. If we can get straight answers out of him. We can go from there.” She said before leaning down to face him.

“It’s okay. I can't imagine what it’s like to kill someone. But I've encountered people haunted by killing someone. My father's army buddies once told me, after they knocked back a six-pack. They claimed the experience affected them, and that talking about it was therapeutic. If you ever need to talk, I am here.”

She gave a reassuring smile, appearing oddly motherly, in stark contrast to the age gap. Peter felt happy to know he had someone. At least, the joy of having a friend and the slight anxiety her proximity caused felt familiar. Perhaps he hadn't changed as much as he thought. The two smiled and he soon immediately shifted to nerd mode. Withdrawing his GameBro to show off his new catches. Jasmine humoured him and tried to keep up with the bombard of information.