Orla:

My eyes fluttered open, and I squinted against the light filtering through a thick, eerie mist. Within a few seconds, a dull, pounding ache reverberated in my head, and everything felt foggy. It took a second to realize something was wrong—nothing looked familiar. The last thing I remembered was riding Raven, but now everything around me had changed.

I tried to sit up, and that’s when I noticed it. My clothes were no longer the familiar riding gear I’d been wearing. Instead, I had on a drab hanbok, its rough fabric coarse against my skin. A wave of panic hit as I glanced down at my hands. Blood. They were covered in blood, and I could feel a sticky warmth on the side of my head. My breath hitched.

“What the...?” I whispered, my voice shaky. I looked around, but the dense fog made it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The trees were massive and gnarled, their twisted branches reaching out like claws. The whole place felt suffocating. My heart was racing, and when I tried to stand, a wave of dizziness knocked me back to my knees.

Out of nowhere, something whizzed past my ear, close enough for me to feel the air shift. It slammed into a tree with a loud thud. My head snapped toward the sound, and my stomach dropped when I saw the arrow sticking out of the bark next to me. A second later, another arrow zipped by, even closer. I screamed when I saw it, the sound tearing from my throat as I realized someone was after me. Instinct kicked in, and I dropped to the ground, trembling as fear took over.

I forced myself to move, crawling on unsteady hands and knees. My body felt heavy and weak, my legs shaky from the fall or... something worse. Maybe I had a concussion. But there wasn’t time to figure it out.

Through the fog, I saw movement. A figure on horseback emerged, cloaked in black and looming like a nightmare. The archer. He slowed his horse until it walked mere inches from me, his bowstring drawn back tight. Panic surged through me. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move. This was it.

Then, just as he released the arrow, something hit him. He jerked violently, and the arrow flew wide, missing me by a few feet. The next second, the warrior tumbled off his horse and landed hard, his body crashing into mine. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I screamed again, pinned under his heavy armor. His lifeless eyes stared blankly into the fog, and blood pooled beneath him. My hands slipped as I tried to push him off, my fingers slick with the blood now soaking into my hanbok. An arrow jutted out of his back, and my brain scrambled to make sense of what had just happened. Who shot him? And why?

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The sound of another horse’s hooves snapped me out of it. Someone was coming. I tried to squirm free, but the weight of the dead man was crushing me. Tears blurred my vision as pure panic took over. “Please! Don’t kill me! I didn’t do anything!” I cried out, my voice breaking.

Strong hands grabbed the body and heaved it off me. I scrambled backward, desperate to get away, but then I froze. My eyes locked onto the face of my rescuer, and my brain stalled.

“Milo?” I whispered, barely able to process what I was seeing.

It was him, but it wasn’t. This Milo looked like he’d stepped out of another world. His long, dark hair was tied back, and his face was sharper, harder, like he’d been through hell and back. He wore leather armor over a black tunic, a bow slung across his back. He looked like a full-on warrior.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice steady but low. He crouched down, helping me to my feet. “Are you okay?”

“I... I think so,” I stammered, my thoughts a mess. “What is this? What’s happening? Are we in a movie?”

His expression hardened. “I don’t think so,” he said, glancing around. “I woke up here after Raven threw me. He found me, and then I heard those soldiers. Whoever they are, they’re not friendly. We need to move. Now.”

I nodded, my brain screaming with questions I didn’t have time to ask. The distant shouts of men echoed through the fog, and Milo’s eyes sharpened. He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward his horse. Raven stood nearby, looking almost otherworldly himself. His saddle and bridle were different, more ornate, and he seemed bigger, stronger, like he belonged in this strange world.

“Get on,” Milo said, hoisting me into the saddle. He climbed up behind me, his movements quick and practiced. As he grabbed the reins, his arms brushed against mine, and he pulled me close. “Hold on tight,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “We’ll figure this out later. Right now, we need to survive.”

Raven surged forward, cutting through the thick fog. The damp air clung to my skin as the forest twisted and blurred around us. The shouts behind us grew louder, more frantic, and I clung to Milo, my heart racing.

My mind was a whirlwind. Nothing about this felt real, but it also didn’t feel fake. Milo had killed someone. The blood on my hands wasn’t stage makeup. The fear in Milo’s voice, the panic in his eyes—it was all real. Too real. Whatever world we’d landed in, it wasn’t ours anymore.

©Sky Mincharo