Asher’s eyes snapped open to a world draped in dark hues and silence so thick it pressed on his chest. The ground beneath him felt raw and coarse, as if every rock and grain of sand was sharpened just to prick his skin. He struggled up, his limbs heavy and sluggish, every nerve blazing with an unfamiliar sting. He clenched his jaw. Gone was the warmth of his plush bed on Earth, the safety he’d commanded, the life he’d meticulously constructed—and lost.

Drawing in a deep breath, he forced himself to steady. The air here was dry, carrying a metallic taste that scratched down his throat. He took in his surroundings: endless plains, tinted in shades of rust, stretching toward jagged peaks that tore into the crimson-streaked sky. It was both haunting and beautiful, and an odd part of him felt the urge to drink in the desolate beauty. But now wasn’t the time for wonder. Not with a head full of questions and instincts honed by a lifetime of survival whispering, Move. Think. Control.

A throbbing ache crawled up his arms, his senses sharpening with every heartbeat. He held up a hand, noting its strange pallor, the way the skin looked…different. Younger. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the strength and unfamiliarity, as though his own body was foreign territory.

A voice echoed from his past. “Well, Asher, it seems you’ve cheated death. Again.”

But he wasn’t alone. A figure approached from the west, a silhouette against the bloodied horizon. Asher squinted, noting the strange attire—a knight’s armor, though nothing like the polished ceremonial armor he remembered from Earth’s reenactments and museums. This was functional, scarred from battle and adventure.

The figure moved closer, revealing a woman with golden eyes that glinted in the fading light, her armor scorched, her face hardened with experience. She stared at him with a mix of wariness and intrigue, as though he were a strange creature she’d discovered by accident.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Well, you’re not what I expected to find out here,” she called, her voice clear, carrying a quiet authority. She studied him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re…odd. Like you don’t belong.”

Asher straightened, feeling a flash of irritation. “And you’re perceptive,” he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Are we trading observations, or do you actually have something useful to say?”

The woman’s lips quirked in a faint smile. “You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that.” She took a step closer, her hand drifting toward the hilt of her sword in a casual, almost indifferent gesture. “But out here, spirit alone will get you killed. The Crimson Wastes aren’t forgiving to newcomers.”

The tension between them was tangible, a silent contest of wills. Asher met her gaze, unflinching, his mind racing. This world—wherever he was—demanded strength. He could feel it, an oppressive force in the very air. His instincts screamed at him to establish dominance, to seize control of the situation.

“And who are you, then?” he asked, folding his arms as he raised an eyebrow. “Some desert guardian here to warn hapless wanderers?”

The woman laughed, a sound that was more steel than mirth. “Name’s Lira Starfall. Not that my name matters to you.” Her gaze swept over him, assessing. “But your name, stranger? That might matter more than you think.”

“Names have power here, don’t they?” Asher muttered, more to himself than to her. He couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, everything he knew about power and influence was distorted here, as though the very rules had shifted. He could feel the weight of his name on his tongue, a history he wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal.

“I’m Asher.” He met her gaze, daring her to comment. Asher Voss was a name feared, respected, and hated back in his world. Here? Only time would tell.

Lira’s expression remained neutral, but something flickered in her eyes. “Well, Asher, if you’re going to survive, you’d better follow me. These wastes aren’t a place for someone who doesn’t know the rules.”

Asher smirked. “And what’s in it for you? I assume you’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”

A muscle tightened in Lira’s jaw, but her gaze didn’t waver. “You’re sharp,” she said quietly, glancing down at her hand as she flexed her fingers. “Look, I have my reasons. Just…trust me, for now.”

“Trust?” Asher echoed, a bitter laugh slipping from his lips. “Trust isn’t exactly my strong suit, Lira. But I’ll follow you…for now.”