Nightfall had settled, casting long shadows across the room. The flickering light of the small fire illuminated the weary faces of the group, except for Arlen, who sat in the corner with his legs crossed and his eye closed. His meditative form was still as stone. Arlen had grown tired of trying to circulate his mana. Arlen was going through a quiet internal struggle—his thoughts weighed down by the events of the past days.
The merchant, Marcus, stirred from his sleep, his body stiff from the hard ground. As he sat up, he noticed Elara still awake, her gaze fixed on Arlen, as if she couldn’t look away. She had been watching him for hours now, her mind clearly racing with questions. The faint pulse from Arlen’s chest intrigued her, its rhythm strangely calming. Now she was lying there silently observing his unmoving form. She watched the shadows of his body dance.
Marcus cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled heavily over the room. “Morning,” he said softly, though it wasn’t quite morning yet.
Elara blinked, shaking herself from her thoughts, and gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. Arlen, though lost in his thoughts, slowly opened his eye, the red pupil shining faintly in the dim light.
“Morning,” Arlen muttered, though his tone was devoid of warmth. His mind was still tangled in the complexities of what lay ahead. Beasts, undead, minor gods, and strange powers seemed to be littered across this world like landmines. There were forces—good and bad—far beyond his comprehension, and he felt like a speck, caught in a tide that threatened to sweep him away.
The merchant shifted uncomfortably before breaking the silence again. “When should we head out?” Marcus asked, his tone eager to move from the tense stillness that had blanketed the room.
Arlen stood, his shadowy form towering over the others. “I’ll be heading out alone,” he said, his voice firm.
Elara’s eyes flashed with defiance, and she quickly stood. “Alone? That’s absurd. Ithlul is too dangerous right now. You need us—especially someone who knows the area.” Her arms crossed over her chest as she stared him down, but Arlen remained unmoved.
“Elara, I move differently,” Arlen replied calmly. “I draw attention.”
“More like you are attention,” Marcus mumbled, eyeing the shadowy figure up and down.
Elara’s lips pressed into a thin line, clearly fighting the urge to argue further. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Fine, but you can’t just go waltzing into Ithlul looking like... that.”
Arlen raised an eyebrow, the red glow of his eye narrowing. “What do you mean?” Though he suspected he knew exactly what she was getting at, her words still stung.
“Well, no offense,” Marcus cut in, “but you look like something straight out of a nightmare. You might not have realized it, but you do look evil. I mean, come on—black smoke, shadows, red eye… people will think you’re some sort of cursed magical beast.”
Arlen winced inwardly, reminded of how far he had fallen from his humanity. ‘Maybe they’re right. It would be hard to get into the city looking like an evil shadow monster,’ he thought bitterly.
Elara took a step closer, her tone softening slightly. “The enlightened races don’t exactly get along with magical beasts. Even if some of them are intelligent—sometimes even more intelligent than people—their appearance alone draws hostility. You’ll be hunted down before you can say a word.”
Arlen remained silent, contemplating her words. He had already faced enough trouble simply existing in this new form. Walking into a city teeming with people—suspicious, fearful people—was a death sentence. But what choice did he have?
“What do you suggest then?” Arlen asked finally, his voice edged with uncertainty. “Are you able to help me?”
Elara gave a slight nod, her expression becoming thoughtful. “I am the third daughter of Duke Theodric, who governs this part of the country,” she began, her tone shifting to something more authoritative. “I can provide some cover for you to enter the city without suspicion.”
‘A duke’s daughter?’ Arlen thought, somewhat surprised. ‘I don’t know anything about the structure of noble hierarchy here. Is that a high status?’
Marcus, sensing Arlen’s confusion, raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know much about the nobility, do you?”
Arlen shrugged. “No. I’m… not well versed in it.”
“The third daughter of a duke still carries weight,” Marcus explained. “The duke governs this entire region, so she’s got connections. Even if she’s not in line to inherit the title, her word has sway.”
Elara glanced at Marcus, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Exactly. I might not have the authority of my older siblings, but I can still pull some strings to get us into Ithlul. But we’ll need to be cautious.”
Arlen considered her words. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was better than trying to sneak in as a shadowy figure. He gave a slow nod. “All right. If you can get me in, I’ll follow your lead.”
Elara’s smile widened, though there was still a glint of concern in her eyes. “It won’t be easy, but if we disguise you properly and stick close, we should be able to avoid suspicion.”
Arlen glanced at Fenri, who lay quietly beside him, his glowing eyes watching the exchange. They had come far, but the road ahead was only growing more dangerous. If getting into Ithlul was the next step, he would take it—shadowy form or not.
“Ithlul awaits, then,” Arlen murmured, a new sense of purpose flickering in his chest. But even as he prepared to face the challenges ahead, a nagging feeling lingered in his mind—one that whispered that the journey was just beginning, and the forces at play in this world were far beyond anything he could imagine.
Arlen stood up and quietly equipped his robe, the dark fabric flowing around him like liquid shadow. The movement caught the attention of both Marcus and Elara, though neither said anything. Elara raised an eyebrow but chose to remain silent. Arlen’s form seemed to change with the robe, almost as if the shadows clung to him tighter. It was unsettling, but practical.
As Arlen adjusted the robe’s hood to hide his glowing eye, Marcus glanced at him, concern lining his face. “The guards still might be able to look under that hood of yours,” Marcus said cautiously. “Here, wear this.”
Marcus reached into his magic bag and pulled out a wooden mask, handing it over to Arlen. It was simple in design, with blue wave-like patterns that curved around its edges, likely meant to represent Aqua, the Great Goddess of Water. There were only two tiny holes for vision, offering just enough visibility.
Arlen tilted his head as he took the mask, inspecting it before giving Marcus a curious look. “Why do you have this in your bag?” he asked, mildly amused by the odd offering.
Marcus flushed slightly, scratching the back of his head. “Well, uh… I wore it to the Day of Tides festival for Aqua in the capital a few months ago. You know, it’s a big event… everyone wears masks. I just… haven’t cleaned out this bag yet,” he admitted sheepishly, his embarrassment clear.
Arlen let out a rare chuckle, the sound dark and hollow beneath his hood. He placed the mask over his face and immediately noticed how his field of vision narrowed considerably. The small eye holes were practical for a festival, but less so for combat or stealth. Still, it would serve its purpose—to conceal his inhuman features. “It’ll do,” Arlen muttered. “Thank you.”
Marcus smiled, clearly relieved that the awkward moment had passed without further ridicule. “Glad it works.”
With that, Arlen adjusted the mask to sit comfortably under his hood. The simple wooden piece didn’t feel like much, but it made him feel slightly more… normal. If only a little.
“Let’s head out then,” Arlen said, his tone firm, signaling that it was time to move. Elara and Marcus quickly gathered their things, packing up what little they had.
Fenri, who had been resting beside Arlen, suddenly perked up and padded over to Marcus. Without warning, the wolf snatched a piece of jerky out of Marcus’s hand that he had been about to snack on, his teeth flashing briefly before the meat disappeared into his maw.
“Hey!” Marcus exclaimed, though it was half-hearted, his voice carrying more amusement than annoyance. “That was mine.”
Fenri merely looked up at him with his glowing red eyes, a low growl that almost sounded like a chuckle emanating from his throat.
Elara smiled at the interaction, shaking her head as she strapped on her sword and shouldered her small pack. She laughed at the exchange between the merchant and beast, glancing at Arlen with a nod.
The group set off into the night, the forest around them quiet but watchful. The air was cool, the moonlight casting pale beams through the branches above. With the mask and robe concealing Arlen’s more monstrous features, he walked silently, his shadowy form blending with the darkness.
As they walked, Arlen couldn’t help but wonder: how much longer could he hide who—or what—he really was?
Arlen and his companions continued their journey toward Ithlul. Their pace was steady, though they paused periodically to rest. With Arlen’s dark robe shielding him from the sun’s harmful rays, they were able to travel even during the day. He had informed them of his weakness to sunlight, and they adjusted their movements accordingly, stopping in shaded areas to rest.
As the sun began to set on the second day of their journey, they found a clearing in the forest just off the road. It was an ideal spot to make camp for the night—secluded, quiet, and spacious enough for them to rest without fear of being too exposed.
Arlen, ever practical, began preparing a fire. His shadowy form crouched as he rubbed sticks together over a pile of twigs and dry leaves. The cold air didn’t bother him, nor did he need the light from the fire. But his companions did.
Elara, after setting her bedroll up nearby, approached him. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice curious.
“Making a fire,” Arlen replied without looking up, his hands working steadily.
Elara tilted her head, watching him for a moment. “Can you not use fire magic?” she asked. “I mean, I saw you glowing the other night… I assumed you could use magic.”
Arlen paused briefly before continuing with the sticks. “I can use some magic. But I can’t use fire.”
‘Yet’ Arlen inwardly added.
Elara nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense.” Everyone’s attuned to certain elements. It’s rare to be able to use multiple types of magic.
“Can you use magic?” Arlen asked, glancing at her.
“Yes, though not much,” Elara replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I can use fire magic and earth magic to a minor degree.”
Arlen’s face became slightly wary, his thoughts flashing to his recent realization of how sunlight and fire affected him. Elara noticed the change in his expression and waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, I can’t do much. I’m nowhere near being considered a mage, much less a fire mage. The best I can do is light a cigar. It’s not much, but it should suffice to get the fire started. May I?”
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Arlen stepped aside, his wariness still present but tempered by practicality. He watched as Elara closed her eyes and began making numerous intricate hand signs, her fingers moving with deliberate precision. After a moment of awkward silence, a tiny flame flickered to life on the edge of her index finger. She quickly used it to ignite the pile of leaves, and the small flame on her finger extinguished just as swiftly.
Exhaling , Elara leaned back, clearly exhausted from the effort.
“You’re the daughter of a duke,” Arlen remarked, his voice curious. “Can’t you afford to become a mage?”
Elara gave a small, amused smile, the firelight reflecting in her eyes. “The cost isn’t the issue,” she explained. “I just don’t have much talent for magic. My mana capacity is comparable to that of a toddler’s.” She laughed lightly, seemingly unbothered by her limitations. “I haven’t practiced much, either, so it takes me a while to perform even simple spells.”
Arlen looked at the growing fire, watching the flames dance and flicker in the cool night air. The sight of the fire triggered a memory.
Earth:
The wailing of the siren filled Arlen’s ears as he rode backward in the nozzleman’s seat. His turnout gear clung tightly to his body, familiar and well-worn from countless fires. The street lights blurred past the windows as the engine hurtled through the night. He had already donned his gear, waiting for the inevitable burst of adrenaline that always accompanied their arrival on scene. The sky was pitch black, not a single star visible, the world seemingly holding its breath as they sped toward the flames.
Arlen rolled down his window, the thick scent of smoke hitting him instantly. His nostrils flared, memories of similar nights flashing through his mind as he felt the deep, foreboding weight of what was to come. They were close now. Even facing backward, he could see the glow of the fire reflecting off the back wall of the cab. The Attack engine had arrived.
The radio crackled to life, the voice of the Attack lieutenant cutting through the noise. “Engine 13 on scene, heavy fire showing. This is a working fire.”
Arlen tuned the radio out, focusing instead on donning his SCBA. The straps were frayed, worn from years of service, but functional. He buckled his lumbar strap, and as the engine screeched to a halt, his crew moved with practiced efficiency. The passenger beside him jumped out, grabbing the 5-inch hose, wrapping it around the hydrant before they sped toward the house.
Arlen pulled his mask on, adjusting the edges with careful precision before sliding his hood over his head. He’d done this countless times in the past two years, yet the familiar tightness in his chest remained. He clipped his radio to his turnout jacket, immediately greeted by the steady chatter of the team.
“Engine 13 ready for water.”
“Truck 2, command, we’re approaching the roof for ventilation. Watch out for those power lines.”
“Engine 13, command, supply line is laid, water’s on the way.”
The engine moved closer to the scene, the tension mounting as they closed the gap between them and the flames. Arlen jumped out as soon as they came to a stop. He yanked open the side compartment, grabbing an axe before turning to see Max, his lieutenant, moving toward the house.
He followed closely behind Max, his senses hyper-alert as they approached the burning structure. The scene ahead was familiar, almost routine, but that didn’t mean the danger was any less real.
The two-story house stood before them, flames licking out of a first-story window, creeping up the exterior toward the roof. The siding was melted and warped on the alpha-bravo side, twisted by the intense heat. Steam poured out of the front door, signaling that the attack team was already inside, fighting to hold the blaze at bay.
Arlen’s task tonight wasn’t fire suppression, though. It was search and rescue. The bystanders had mentioned that the house had been vacant for months, but that never eased his mind. Just because no one was supposed to live there didn’t mean it was empty.
He turned his air pack on, the familiar beeping of the control module confirming the pressure in the system. Arlen steadied himself, clicking the regulator into his mask. The cold, sterile air filled his lungs, momentarily calming the rising adrenaline as he focused on the task ahead.
Inside the house, the smoke swallowed them. Visibility was almost nonexistent—thick, suffocating darkness, save for the occasional flicker of flames. Arlen and Max stuck to the right wall, following their training, sweeping every inch of the first floor.
“Command, Engine 14. Primary search of the first story clear. Moving to the second floor,” Max radioed in, his voice calm but urgent.
“Check,” came the crackled response, barely audible over the chaos of the scene.
They reached the staircase, the air thickening as they climbed. Arlen tested each step with his axe before putting his weight down, mindful of the risk of collapse. By the time they reached the second floor landing, the smoke had become unbearable. He could no longer stand upright, the oppressive heat bearing down on them. His ears buzzed, the familiar sting of heat pressing through his hood like a thousand angry bees.
Arlen dropped to his knees, crawling through the smoke-filled hallway. His gloved hand swept the floor in wide arcs, feeling for any sign of a body. His breathing came in controlled, steady bursts, the cold air from his tank mixing with the unbearable heat of the blaze around them. They had to be fast—there wasn’t much time before the structure became too unstable to navigate.
“Anything?” Max’s voice came through the radio, barely cutting through the haze of smoke and flames.
“Not yet,” Arlen muttered, his voice muffled by the mask.
He continued crawling, feeling the oppressive weight of the fire pressing in on him. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, the flames roaring closer, the structure groaning under the strain of the heat.
He and Max had been searching for what felt like hours, but in reality, only a few tense minutes had passed. The flames were creeping closer, and the groaning of the building told Arlen everything he needed to know—time was running out.
Then it happened. In one of the upstairs rooms, Max stepped forward, and with a deafening crack, the floor beneath him gave way. His leg plunged through, trapping him in the burning structure. Arlen rushed over, grabbing Max by the shoulders, trying to pull him free. But the floor had splintered in a way that pinned Max’s leg between the beams.
“Hold still!” Arlen shouted over the roar of the flames, his voice hoarse inside the mask.
Max gritted his teeth, trying not to cry out in pain as Arlen struggled to free him. But no matter how hard Arlen tried, the beams wouldn’t budge. His heart pounded in his chest, and the world around him was closing in. The fire was getting worse.
Suddenly, Arlen heard the blaring horn of one of the apparatuses outside. His heart sank. The sound of the horn meant evacuation. A second horn, then a third—confirming that command had deemed the situation too dangerous, or the attack crew had lost control of the blaze.
Arlen quickly reached for his radio, his fingers fumbling with the button on his chest. He pressed it down, ready to call in their location, to tell command that Max was still trapped inside.
Nothing.
The radio stayed silent. Arlen frowned, thinking maybe he hadn’t hit the button right. He pressed it again. Still nothing.
Panic rose in his chest as he keyed the radio once more, this time speaking directly into it. “Mayday, mayday! Lieutenant down on the second floor! Command, do you copy?” His voice was urgent, desperation creeping into his tone.
But the radio remained dead.
Max’s pass device had already been activated, the shrill sound echoing through the inferno, alerting anyone nearby to their location. But it was clear now—no one could hear them.
“I don’t think the radios are working!” Arlen shouted to Max over the noise, the sense of dread deepening.
Max, pale and grimacing from the pain, nodded. “Mine’s dead weight too.”
It was then that Arlen’s air pack began to beep, the familiar sound signaling that he was running low on air. He checked his pressure gauge and saw it—he was down to his last few minutes of air. They were out of time.
Max’s voice cut through the haze. “Go outside and tell command I’m still in here.”
Arlen hesitated. Every part of him screamed not to leave Max behind, but he knew what had to be done. If he stayed too long, he’d run out of air, and then neither of them would make it out.
“Go!” Max urged. “You need to tell them. Be quick.”
With his heart hammering in his chest, Arlen turned and blindly stumbled his way through the smoke, feeling along the wall for the stairs. The heat was unbearable, but he pushed through, descending the staircase and following the familiar route out of the building. The smoke was so thick he could barely see his own hands.
Finally, he found the door. Bursting through it, Arlen staggered out into the cool night air, coughing and gasping as he ripped off his mask. His coworkers were standing around, preparing for defensive operations, but their eyes widened in surprise as they saw him emerge from the inferno.
Several firefighters rushed over to help, pulling off his air pack and leading him to the sidewalk.
Arlen, still gasping for breath, looked up at the gathered team. His voice cracked as he shouted, “Max is still in there! Second floor, his leg is stuck! Our radios aren’t working!”
Chaos erupted. RIT, already geared up and standing by, sprang into action. They moved swiftly, disappearing into the burning house with practiced efficiency. Arlen watched in a daze as they charged back inside to rescue Max. His own lungs burned from the smoke, but all he could think about was Max—his friend, his lieutenant, his mentor—still trapped in that inferno.
The next few minutes were a blur. Arlen stood by helplessly, his body heavy with exhaustion and fear. Then he saw them—RIT dragging Max out of the house, his leg twisted at an odd angle, his face pale.
Arlen’s stomach dropped. There was shouting, movement all around him. EMS rushed over, stripping Max of his gear, laying him on the pavement. Arlen watched in stunned silence as they began CPR.
His mind struggled to comprehend what was happening. Max… why were they performing CPR?
The weight of it all crashed down on him, but he couldn’t process it. Everything around him felt muffled, as if he were watching it unfold from a distance, disconnected from reality.
Two weeks later, Arlen stood in his Class A uniform, the collar too tight, his hands trembling slightly as he held his hat under his arm. He stared at the framed photo of Max on the table in front of him, surrounded by flowers. The funeral hall was silent except for the soft murmur of grieving family and friends.
Max’s son, no older than twelve, sat in the front row, clutching the folded flag that had been handed to him during the ceremony. His small hands shook as he held onto the only piece of his father he had left.
Arlen’s throat tightened, his eyes burning with unshed tears as he stared at the flag. Max shouldn’t have died. They should have been able to save him.
But that night, their lifeline—their radios—had failed. A drunk driver had crashed into the radio tower, knocking out the department’s communication system at the worst possible moment. For a few critical minutes, the radios had gone silent, and in those minutes, Max had lost his life.
Arlen blinked back the tears, his chest heaving with the weight of the guilt he carried. He had made it out, but Max hadn’t.
That was the first time Arlen had lost someone he cared about in the line of duty. And the pain of it cut deeper than he had ever imagined.
Evralond
The flames danced before Arlen, their chaotic movements pulling him deeper into his thoughts. He stared into the fire, lost in the memory of that night—of Max, the feeling of helplessness as he watched his friend carried out. The smell of smoke, the weight of his gear, the distant hum of the funeral service… It all felt so real, so recent.
He could still see Max’s son gripping the flag with trembling hands. The weight of loss pressed heavily on his chest, like it had in the days following that night.
“Arlen?”
A voice, soft but urgent, broke through the haze of his mind. Arlen blinked, and just like that, the vivid memory was gone, replaced by the soft crackling of the campfire and the cool night air of Evralond. Elara’s face hovered in his line of sight, her brow furrowed with concern.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady, as if hesitant to intrude on whatever had just gripped him so tightly.
Arlen blinked again, taking a moment to reorient himself. His heart pounded in his chest, and he realized he had been holding his breath. Slowly, he exhaled, nodding. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I’m fine. Just… got lost in thought.”
Elara didn’t say anything, but the concern on her face remained as she straightened up and stepped back. Arlen could tell she wanted to press for more but held herself back.
The memory of Max’s funeral still clung to Arlen’s thoughts, but something shifted within him as he looked at the fire. A sudden clarity emerged, the need to test his own boundaries. He took a deep breath, gathering his focus, and without a word, he began to pump mana from his core into his hand.
He felt the familiar warmth, a surge of energy pulsing from his chest, through his arm, and into his fingertips. His eye and chest glowed red, illuminating the area around him. Without hesitation, Arlen reached out toward the fire.
“Wait, stop, what are you...” Elara’s voice broke in, her hand instinctively reaching toward him.
But before she could stop him, his hand had already entered the flames. The heat licked at his skin, and for a moment, he expected the searing pain to follow. But it never came. Instead, all he felt was warmth. The fire didn’t burn him, didn’t consume his shadowy flesh like it would any other living being. His hand remained unscathed, his dark form untouched by the flames.
Elara’s eyes widened in astonishment. “How... how are you doing that?” she whispered, her voice filled with awe. “Even fire mages are vulnerable to flames they didn’t conjure.”
Arlen withdrew his hand slowly, watching as the fire clung to it for just a moment before fading away. He stared at his palm. The fire hadn’t hurt him. It had felt... almost natural.
“I don’t know,” Arlen admitted, his voice low. “I just... felt like it wouldn’t hurt me.”
Elara stepped closer, her eyes fixed on his hand. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met,” she said softly. “What you just did... it’s not normal.”
Arlen shrugged, though the realization of what he had just done still lingered in his mind. “Nothing about me is normal,” he said, his tone a mixture of resignation and curiosity.
Elara continued to stare at him, her thoughts clearly racing. “You’re more powerful than I thought,” she murmured, her gaze lingering on the faint glow that was beginning to fade from his chest. “But how? You said you didn’t know much about magic.”
“I don’t,” Arlen replied, glancing back at the fire. “But... I’m learning.”
He knew there was more to his power than he understood, but the thought of what he could become—what he could achieve in this world—was still foreign to him. He had been a man of flesh and blood once, and now he was... something else. Something inhuman, with abilities he didn’t fully grasp.
His gaze drifted back to the flames, and once again, he thought of Max. The fire brought memories of Earth to the forefront of his mind, but in this world, the flames didn’t hold the same destructive power over him.
The fire crackled between them, the night air growing colder. For a moment, the world felt quiet again. But this time, Arlen wasn’t lost in his past. He was here, in this new world, standing on the edge of something far greater than he could have imagined.