Cole stood still, scanning his surroundings, his breath steady and controlled despite the growing tension in his chest. Something was off, fucking obviously. The thick, unfamiliar trees loomed around him, their branches heavy with leaves that shimmered in a way he'd never seen before. The air was strange too—damp, cool, and tinged with a faint metallic scent.

None of this was right. One minute, he’d been leaving his house to head to his favorite fly fishing spot in Norther Iowa, and the next... here he was. Wherever here was.

He adjusted his backpack, shifting the weight of his gear as his eyes swept the landscape. No sound of traffic, no familiar birdsong. Not even the distant hum of planes overhead. Just silence. Thick and unsettling.

“Where the hell am I? What the fuck just happened.” Cole muttered. He felt his chest and arms start to burn, his chest tightened, his heart started pounding, he stumbled into a near by tree dropping his pack and digging into his pockets. He pulled out a bottle and took one of the pills. He closed his eyes and started to hum. Fucking panic attacks.

It took awhile for the hydroxyzine to do its job but he felt himself slowly start to calm. The burning slowly faded from his arms and chest, breathing was becoming easier and his heart was finally starting to calm down.

Cole took a few deep breaths and let out a long breath “Fuck you body.” He muttered. He hadn’t always been like this. Once he was normal, or whatever the fuck that meant, but there was a time before all the medication and the panic attacks. Why was he like this, what was wrong with him? Had he finally lost it?

Cole smacked the side of his head “And fuck you too brain. Don’t chase the rabbit. Don’t chase the rabbit. Don’t case the rabbit.”

Cole spoke to himself “I'm going to open my eyes no matter what I see, I'm not crazy, I might need help but im not crazy. I will assess the situation, and work the problem.”

He slowly opened his eyes still seeing the forest around him. “What the fuck, I did not need this today"

Cole sat and leaned his back again the tree. The bark or wood was, unlike any other tree he had ever seen back home, the bark or wood or whatever was almost soft to the touch and smooth. He leaned back assessing his situation.

“Okay, think. I was leaving my house, I was going to go fly fishing. I opened my front door. Walked out…I walked out…then…I was here?”

Cole growled “I have to be missing something, you don’t just teleport wherever the fuck I am, okay. Assess my gear.”

Cole sat up and started going through everything he had on his person. Wallet, knife, glock 43x mos, and spare fifteen round mag. He knew he had two MREs in his bag, two bottles of water, spare flies, fly fishing Oreos with spare cord. Probably some other nonsense but that’s about it, and not knowing where he was that glock was going to be worth about fuck all if shit hit the fan. In his experience three hundred and sixty rounds went fast, thirty rounds wasn’t going to last for shit.

Cole started to look around and take in his surroundings The terrain was rougher than he was used to from home. The forest floor was uneven, littered with stones and roots that seemed to twist toward him like grasping fingers. The trees were larger than anything he’d ever seen before. Like those…what were they? Redwoods? Those giant tree in…California?

The foliage looked like something right out of a Jurassic park movie. He didn’t know where he was but it sure as shit wasn’t Iowa anymore. Cole looked around but nothing moved. No signs of wildlife, no tracks. Just that strange, oppressive quiet. The wind that slowly rustled the giant plants.

A familiar tightness started to grip his lower back. “again, fuck you body" he muttered standing up and getting his pack on, gritting his teeth against the growing pain as he adjusted his pack and picked a random direction and started to walk.

Normally this was a stupid ass decision. Les Stroud always said if you’re lost stay put, well that’s if someone knows where you might be, not if you stepped out the door of your house and were randomly teleported….wherever the hell this was. So moving and looking for civilization was going to be his best bet.

Cole talked to himself as he walked. “Well this is just fucking perfect. Lost in the asshole on who knows where, possibly crazy, definitely lost…I need to find another source of water, two bottles of water isnt going to last a day. What were those rules of three? Channel me some energy Les, Three hours without shelter, three days without water and three weeks without food?” cole muttered to himself as he kept walking thought the foliage. His training was kicking back in, he walk for a few steps, stop, listen, scan. This went on for hours until his back was on the verge of sizing up. He had to stop.

Cole found a tree and leaned against it dropping his pack and sliding down the trunk to a sitting position. He wiped away the sweat away from his brow and shook some of the sweat from his hair. He dug into his pack pulling out one of the MREs and a bottle of water. He wouldn’t eat the full MRE each one had a few different items in it. The full meal, a snack, some coffee, some had a powdered drink mix that tried to be a milkshake but was just fucking awful, and a side “dish". Then of course a treat.

Cole wished they were like the world war two rations right now that also had smokes. He could sure use one right now. He decided the snack would hold him over for now, he dug into the pack, poppy seed muffin. Well it wasn’t awful, if he was being honest he kinda liked those.

He ate in silence and washed it down with some water. After he packed everything back up he started to look around again deciding which way to go next. The tightness in his back flaired back up as he stood and started putting the pack back on. Cole just gritted his teeth and moved on.

It had been hours he was sure of it, and still nothing, the ground had started sloping upwards about two or three miles back, the trees were starting to thin and the rocks scattered throughout the forest were starting to grow thicker and larger. His back was tight and the pain had long been radiating up and down his spine.

Cole stepped on one of rocks and it rolled. It was nothing dramatic, no rock slides, no boulder rolling over his leg, it was a rock the size of a baseball, it rolled just enough to cause an involuntary reaction from his body, his back tightened to try and stabilize him from the “fall" that was never coming and that was it. His back muscles seized, the pain dropped him to his knees as he yelled. He fell to his stomach, eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched, growling against the pain.

He tried to get back up against his bodies will and the pain flared back up, his back muscles turning to molten iron rods, lights flashed in his eyes as he collapsed again.

Cole sat in the turret of the humvee, he fucking hated this job, dirt and dust rushing against his goggles, the dirt and grit forcing its was into his mouth and nose, the fifty obstructing his view, the gods damn strap he had to sit on was digging into that soft area between your ass and thighs it was fucking great.

At least being first in the convoy had its perks, he looked back over the armor plate to the humvee behind them. Jake was wearing his full baklava, goggles, and shielding his face with his arm. The dust from a vehicle in front of you really sucked. Cole looked back around and kicked the guy on his left and yelled down to him over the sound of the humvee and the wind. “Sean Switch me dude, my ass is numb and my legs arnt far behind!”

“Fuck you Cole!” Laughed Sean “You said you’d ride that bitch the whole way back for me taking your watch the other night!”

“I fucking hate you Sean! Come on Motherfucker I'm dying up he..” the roar of the humvee was suddenly          gone, the world was quiet. It was peaceful for all of the blink of an eye. Everything was in slow motion. One moment he was fucking around with Sean the next moment the humvee seemed to bulge at the bottom. The metal started to rip upward fire leaking through the tears. Then time was normal, Cole was falling toward the ground then there was darkness.

Cole opened his eyes gasping for breath, face in the dirt these fucking plants clinging around his body, he tried to move but his back was still tight. He curled into a fetal position to stretch out his back muscles. He tried to look around, it was dark. Like the middle of nowhere in Afghanistan with an overcast sky kind of dark. He couldn’t see anything.

He crawled forward trying to reach another tree to lean up against when he heard it. A faint grunt. He froze. He didn’t know what it was but he knew anything from a wild boar to a grizzly can and would be fatal. He slowly lifted his head above the foliage. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, but it was just so dark he could hardly see the plants in front of his face yet alone anything else.

But he did see something else, pairs of glowing red eyes. They slowly moved up and down as they moved silently through the brush. They else were moving as if they were searching for something….or someone. There looked to be three sets of eyes. A part of Cole wanted to call out for help, but another part of him knew it would be his death.

He reached for the glock pulling it from the holster as quietly as he could. The slight sound of metal on plastic sounded like a bomb going off. The eyes and whatever they were attached to noticed. Cole watched as all three sets of eyes snapped to him. Not to around about where he was but at HIM.

He heard whatever they were growling and speaking? It was no language he had ever heard before but it sounded like a language like they were talking to each other.

“Hello!” the voices went silent as the eyes vanished from sight, the noise from them dropping to the ground was obviously and extremely loud. Cole dared not take his eyes off of the location where they were. “I need help, I'm lost!” Two sets of glowing red eyes popped up with a loud shrieking and screaming as the eyes grew larger coming towards him. Whatever this was, wasn’t human couldn’t be with those eyes. His training kicked in, he lined up the glock with the first set of eyes. He aimed the red dot three inches below the eyes and fired twice, he saw bright flashed of green and the set of eyes fall. He turned to second and fired twice also. That set of eyes dropped.

His heart was pounding and his chest was heaving for breath. There had been three sets of eyes right? Where was the third? There was a screech behind him, and a grip of iron on his ankle. He tried to yank his foot away or out of his boot the grip was strong. Before he could fire he felt a searing pain in his thigh, he fired at the eyes. He saw the red eyes jerk away from him then shoot right back to his face, he heard a roar from the creature, something gutteral and full of rage he fired until the eyes eyes fell away from him and glocks slide locked to the rear and clicked.

He ejected the mag and put in the spare and dropped the slide, holding the gun in front of him and trying to slide away from where he thought the creature was, it was impossible to hear anything over his own rapid breathing. He tried to calm his breathing when he felt something on the barrel of the gun, he fired once. The creatures grip stopping the glock from cycling. The hand fell away, and cole crawled away as fast as he could dragging his injured leg. The darkness made it all worse. He couldn’t see, his stupid fucking back was sizing up his leg has been, stabbed or broken or bitten or something, and he could do nothing but crawl.

He crawled until he so tired he had to stop. He tore off his jacket and shirt and wrapped the shirt around the area he had been injured, he couldn’t do anything while he couldn’t see anything, he could only hope the wound was so severe that he would die in the night. He knew he was bleeding a lot he could feel that on his jeans. He could only hope that the shirt and pressure would stop the bleeding.

He leaned back running his hand over the gun, the upper receiver was….bent? No, indented, he wrapped his hand around it. It was indented by the grip of whatever it was that grabbed it. The gun was junk he was sure of it. It had indented the slide and most likely the barrel too.

Cole threw the gun in rage toward the creature, He was tired. He really hopped it was from the adrenaline wearing off and not the blood loss. It was hard to care either way. It had always been a long time coming. He should have died sixteen years ago. His head slumped to his shoulder, his eyes slowly closed, he heard the rustling of foliage close to him there was nothing he could do. He felt his body moving then felt his head hit the dirt.

His vision began to blur, the edges of his sight darkening, Cole woke up, confused at first. The world was swimming around him, fuzzy, blurry he couldn’t focus but he felt he was laying in the dirt and sand. The ground was warm the sands heat from soaking up the suns rays all day warmed his body. There was no sound though. Everything was quiet, almost peaceful. Then he felt a hand grab his ankle and pull. He couldn’t figure out why something was pulling on him but it hurt, a lot. His whole body hurt, here was pain everywhere. His back was in the most pain he had ever felt in his life.

Cole tried to crawl away from whatever was pulling on him causing the pain. When suddenly the world was back. He was look at humvee burning, he could hear screaming, small arms fire, the loud rhythmic thump of the fifty cals and MK19s firing. Who the fuck was screaming? He looked around he was being pulled back to another humvee? Why was he out of his humvee? And who the fuck was screaming!?

That Gods damn scream just wouldn’t stop! Who the fuck was that!? Cole tried to look around as he was being dragged, he saw the burning humvee, it was practically split in half burning on both ends, bits of burning stuff laying around the scorched crater around the humvee.

Colt heard his name, and tried to look around and found a face above his. It looked familiar…he knew that face somewhere, but that gods damn screaming was so distracting! He knew that face. Kyle, right? Yeah Kyle! The medic! Doc! Cole wanted to speak but that screaming. It was everywhere. the world snapped back all at once.

The humvee, an IED, he was blown from the turret. He started to crawl back toward the burning wreckage. SEAN! KAI! MIKE!!!! He crawled and dug into the earth trying to pull himself toward the humvee but fucking Kyle wouldn’t let him go, Cole screamed, cried and fought, but kyle wouldn’t let him go. The world started to swim again. Cole felt cold, tired and weak. As he started to pass out he had one final thought. At last the screaming had finally stopped.

Cole stirred, half-aware of the world around him, his eyelids heavy and unwilling to open. His body felt like dead weight, pressed into the cold, damp earth beneath him. Every muscle ached, especially his back, which felt as if it had fused into a solid block overnight. He was shivering, his whole body twitching with the remnants of cold that had settled into his bones during the long, freezing night.

When he finally pried his eyes open, it took a moment for his surroundings to come into focus. The morning light was a dim, bluish haze filtering through the towering trees above. Cole blinked, realizing he was lying on his side, one arm trapped uncomfortably beneath him. He tried to move it, but his fingers were stiff, numbed by the cold, and the slightest shift sent a searing pain up his back.

He grit his teeth, forcing himself to sit up, but even that felt like climbing a mountain. His head swam, and for a moment, dark spots danced across his vision, a reminder of how much blood he’d lost the night before. He pressed a hand to his thigh, where the makeshift bandage clung to his skin, now stiff with dried blood. Every inch of him was either frozen stiff or throbbing, and his leg burned like fire with each small movement.

A shiver wracked his body, and he hugged his arms to his chest, his breath coming in small, fogged puffs. “Hell of a night,” he forced a small laugh, voice barely a rasp, his throat parched and raw.

He glanced at his backpack lying just out of reach, every movement an agonizing struggle to retrieve it. Finally, he managed to drag it closer and pulled out one of the water bottles. The cold liquid hit his tongue like relief and torture all at once. His body craved warmth, craved rest, but he knew he couldn’t stay here. Not like this, but first he had to know. What the hell were those things last night.

Cole’s fingers fumbled through the bag, the shakiness from the cold and blood loss making him clumsy. “C’mon, motherfucker. ” he growled to himself, steeling his resolve. He had to move, no matter how much his body protested. He slowly stood and looked around one of the creatures was only a few yards away from him, lying on its back its red eyes starring up into the forest cover above.

“Fucking….goblin?” Cole leaned against a tree building the energy to move closer to the creature.

He limped forward from tree to tree using them as support until he finally stood above the corps. It stunk, he covered his face with the crook of his arm as he look down at it. Now everyone had seen Lord of the Rings especially him, This was a fucking goblin down right out ofPeter Jacksons movies a goblin. Except this one had a neat bull hole right in its stupid fucking forehead.

It was a dark green verging on black, though cole couldn’t tell if that was how filthy the creature was or if it was the pigment of its skin, it had a head of rough looking greasy, wiry black hair on its head, a long crooked noise that ended in a point. Its mouth was partly open the inside was black and the teeth were pointed and jagged with probably every kind of mouth disease this place had.

“I've seen crackheads with a better smile” Cole muttered “smelled better too"

It was wearing leather armor that looked like it had been hand stitched together from the leather of different animals. It didn’t look like it had anything worth look at on it and its stench was awful.

Having enough Cole limped away from the stench of that thing. He made it just about as far as to where he had woken up and found a tree to sit against. He dropped the pack next to him and dug out some of the left over MRE.

He muttered to himself as he slowly ate, every bite felt like a challenge.

“Were not in Kansas anymore todo” he chewed forcing the dry rice down.

I've either lost my mind or I’m either in another world, or…time, or something. Cole looked around

He finished eating, packed everything up, and took a slow, steadying breath as he leaned his head back against the tree. This was all so far beyond anything he could wrap his mind around. Another world…? It sounded absurd, but he couldn’t deny what he’d seen. Creatures that looked like goblins straight out of a book, and this forest was like nothing he’d ever seen.

Cole pushed himself up, grimacing as his back tightened. The cold of the night and the blood loss had left him aching, weak, but staying here wasn’t an option. He needed a plan—water, shelter, and maybe, if he was lucky, some answers.

"Alright," he muttered, adjusting his pack, "time to get moving. Let’s see if I can figure out where the hell I am."

He took another dragging step forward, jaw clenched as the pain throbbed up his spine, radiating down to his hips and knees like fire eating away at him from the inside. Nothing new, he reminded himself, swallowing down the bitterness that surged up with each step. This was life now this is what life had been sense a piece of shrapnel logged itself near his spine—one foot in front of the other, no matter how much it hurt.

“Every damn day,” he muttered, almost as if reminding himself of the routine could lessen the ache. But out here, the pain felt raw, amplified by the cold bite of the morning air and the unfamiliar terrain that made his joints protest with every uneven step.

“Just keep moving, Cole. Just…keep moving. Don’t be bitch, suck it up.” The whisper was more to fill the silence than anything else, a mantra to keep him from crumbling under the weight of his own misery. He scanned the forest, hoping to catch sight of anything—a trickle of water, a break in the trees, maybe even smoke from a distant camp. But the forest stretched on, dense and endless.

He paused, after what felt like hours of walking. He wiped a shaky hand across his forehead and inhaling a deep, grounding breath. Out here, there were no soft beds, no painkillers waiting on the nightstand, no escape from this relentless ache gnawing at him. He was alone, wounded, barely clinging to any sense whatsoever.

Standing here feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t fix any of this. He pushed on determined to keep moving.

As darkness started to settle over the forest, Cole felt his back and leg throbbing with each step, pain radiating through his body. He scanned his surroundings, desperately hoping for any kind of shelter. Just up ahead, he spotted a rocky overhang jutting out from a hillside, partially concealed by vines and brush. It wasn’t much, but it would keep him out of the elements for the night.

Cole hobbled toward the overhang, gritting his teeth against the pain, and dropped his pack on the ground. He dug through the bag and found a lighter tucked into one of the pockets. "Thank the Gods for small favors," he muttered, flicking it to life. He gathered some dry leaves and twigs, coaxing a small fire to life in front of the overhang. The warmth was instant, and he leaned close, savoring it.

After arranging his things around him, Cole settled down he stared at his leg, the throbbing was only getting worse he needed to remove the makeshift bandage and see how bad it was. He carefully peeled off the makeshift bandage around his thigh. His stomach churned at the smell that started to carry from the wound. The smell of sour rot assaulted his senses. Cole slowly finished removing the bandage and looked at the sight of the jagged gash, swollen and red, caked with dried blood and dirt. He cursed softly, feeling the raw ache throb in time with his heartbeat. The skin around the wound was hot to the touch, a yellow pus was starting to leak from the ends of the gash.

He leaned back, staring into the fire, exhaustion and pain gnawing at him. He wasn’t sure what to do, none of his medical knowledge worked around infections. “Fuck" Cole growled staring into the fire. His mind racing. He thought of Rambo and cauterizing the wound, no that wouldn’t work, a burn would likely just get infected as well. Infection meant dead tissue, didn’t doctors cut or scrub that out? He couldn’t manage that on his own. Hell he couldn’t even boil his bandages to try and clean them.

He resigned himself to his fate for the night; there was nothing more he could do. Carefully, he wrapped the bandage around the wound again, wincing as he tightened it, then added more wood to the fire. The warmth felt like a small comfort against the vast, chilling night. Exhaustion pressed down on him, and the moment he closed his eyes, sleep claimed him.

The Eterna'vyrn Forest was as ancient and mysterious as the stars above, its towering trees forming a dense canopy that filtered sunlight into fractured greens and golds on the forest floor. Lyrelle Ashthorne moved with the grace of her kin, her light steps muffled by the moss-covered ground. The air was crisp and earthy, carrying the scent of pine and damp soil—but there was something sharper beneath it. Blood.

She paused, crouching low, her keen eyes scanning the forest floor. A disturbance broke the serene stillness: tracks, heavy and deliberate, cutting through the moss. Her fingers brushed the edges of the prints, larger than any she'd encountered in her patrols. They matched the ones from her training—human.

Her brow furrowed. A human this deep in Eterna'vyrn? It wasn’t unheard of in ages past, but few dared venture here now, and none had succeeded without guidance. The spacing of the steps showed exhaustion, and the uneven depth suggested injury. Whoever it was, they weren’t moving with ease.

Strange, she thought, rising fluidly and slinging her bow across her back. The trail led toward Sylvalis. That was even more strange, the city had defenses, wards to turn about any intruder away from the city. Yet this apparent human was apparently unguided, injured and stumbling toward the city.

It made no sense.

A soft breeze stirred the trees, carrying the faint scent of smoke. Her nose wrinkled. A fire had been lit recently, its acrid tang foreign in a forest that guarded its secrets fiercely. No elf would give away their position so carelessly.

Her sharp green eyes narrowed as she began to follow the trail. Her hand brushed the hilt of her sword as she moved, the stillness of the forest amplifying the rhythmic beat of her cautious footsteps.

It didn’t take long before the scent of blood was palpable. She froze at the sight of two crumpled forms lying motionless beneath the sprawling roots of an ancient tree. Goblins. Lyrelle’s lip curled in distaste. Their mangy, grotesque bodies were coated in grime, and their dark blood stained the earth. She crouched low, inspecting the wounds. Each one had been killed with precision—clean shots to the head or chest, likely projectiles, though the marks didn’t match any arrows she’d seen, there were many spells and artifacts that could cause such wounds though.

She examined the tracks again, now accompanied by faint smears of blood leading away from the scene. Whoever had killed the goblins had been injured. Lyrelle’s curiosity deepened as she continued the pursuit. Her lithe form wove through the trees, her steps guided by the faint trail of broken twigs and disturbed moss and occasional drops of blood where the human had stopped to rest. The scent of smoke grew stronger, and her sharp ears picked up the faint crackle of a fire.

As dusk fell, the trail led her to a small clearing. A human figure lay slumped near a modest campfire beneath a rocky overhang. His face was pale, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Sweat glistened on his brow, and his bandaged leg rested awkwardly to one side. Lyrelle approached cautiously, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword. The flickering firelight illuminated his features—rough, weathered, and marked with lines of hardship. He looked strong, but he was clearly in pain, his back stiff against the rock wall behind him.

Lyrelle crouched at the edge of the clearing, watching him intently. The small knife he clutched onto was strange unlike any she had seen before. As the hours passed, she remained hidden, keeping a silent vigil. Deciding what to do with this human. Elves needed little sleep, and she spent the night observing him, studying his movements and the occasional mutterings that escaped his lips. It was familiar, the language of the humans that she had been taught. It was strange to hear it from the actual source though.

Lyrelle crept silently toward the human as the night deepened, her steps just outside the glow of the firelight. She crouched low, studying him with sharp, watchful eyes. The acrid stench of rot wafted from the makeshift bandage wrapped around his leg, mingling with the metallic tang of dried blood. His sweat-drenched hair clung to his forehead, and his body trembled intermittently, likely from fever. She noted his shallow breaths and the unnatural flush to his skin—signs of a body struggling against its limits.

Hours passed as she kept her vigil. The human's feverish shivers came and went, his face occasionally tightening in pain. Then, without warning, his body jerked violently. His breathing turned erratic, a strangled cry escaping his lips.

“No! Let me go! No!” His words tore through the silence, hoarse and raw with desperation. He clawed at the air, his trembling hands reaching for something—or someone—unseen.

Lyrelle rose instinctively, her movements fluid as a cat's. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword, the weapon halfway drawn before she realized the human wasn’t awake. He was locked in a battle against invisible tormentors.

Her grip on the sword slackened, and she eased it back into the scabbard. She had seen this before—the Scars of Memory, as the elders called it. The ghosts of war, lingering long after the battles had ended. In soldiers who had survived the Great War, it manifested in nights of anguished cries and frantic movements, haunted by horrors that refused to fade.

Lyrelle’s sharp features softened as she watched him thrash and fight against phantoms. His cries fractured the stillness of the forest, echoing pain that felt far too human.

Then, just as suddenly, it ended. His body slumped against the rock, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. The firelight danced over his pale, sweat-slicked face, and he fell still, the exhaustion of his battle dragging him back into uneasy sleep.

Lyrelle retreated further into the shadows, her mind racing. Whoever this man was, he was no simple wanderer. His wounds, his scars, and now this—he was a warrior, one who had faced horrors she could scarcely imagine. Yet somehow, he had passed through the wards surrounding Eterna’vyrn, a feat that should have been impossible.

The council would demand answers. Tomorrow, she would bring him to Sylvalis.

For now, she kept her watch, letting the weary stranger rest. Tomorrow would not be kind to him.

Morning arrived in a haze of muted light and searing pain. Cole's body burned with fever, every muscle and joint aching as if he’d been hit by a truck. The world around him was distorted, spinning in slow, nauseating waves. He blinked, his vision swimming, trying to make sense of the figure looming just beyond the firelight.

A voice. It was faint at first, a murmur cutting through the fog. Then it sharpened, clear and commanding, though the words were foreign and incomprehensible. Cole groaned, his head lolling to one side as he squinted at the figure. It was tall, slim, and wreathed in the dappled shadows of the forest. The voice came again, firmer now, insistent. Was it asking something? Demanding?

His chest tightened as fragments of the night before crashed into his mind—those glowing red eyes, the screeching cries, the feel of blood soaking his hands. His grip tightened instinctively around the pocket knife still clutched in his palm. Monsters. It had to be more of those monsters.

With a guttural growl, Cole lashed out, swinging the blade wildly in front of him. His vision blurred, but he heard the sound of movement—light footsteps retreating, just out of reach. He struggled to rise, but his legs refused to obey, his body trembling from fever and exhaustion.

"Stay back!" he rasped, his voice cracking. The figure moved closer again, the same unfamiliar words spilling forth in a controlled, even tone. It was calm, deliberate—but it only fueled his panic. His heart thundered in his chest as he slashed again, his movements growing weaker with every swing.

Then he heard it—a voice. Feminine. The tone shifted, softening like the edge of a blade sheathed. The words were still foreign, but the cadence... it wasn’t hostile. It wasn’t a monster.

Cole’s vision flickered, and for a moment, he thought he saw a face. High cheekbones, piercing green eyes, and a calm, steady expression. The voice came again, quieter now, almost soothing. His grip on the knife faltered.

The adrenaline drained from him in a rush, and his body went limp. The knife fell from his hand, clattering against the stones. His vision darkened, the figure still standing over him, framed by the morning light.

"Not a monster," he muttered, his voice slurring as his head lolled to the side. The warmth of the fever overtook him, dragging him back into unconsciousness.

Got it, here's a revised version that better meshes with Cole's hazy perspective and doesn't repeat prior information unnecessarily:

Lyrelle stood a cautious distance away, watching the human stir in fevered confusion. The infection had clearly taken hold, his face flushed and his body trembling as he wrestled with something unseen. She had observed his restless night, the way he fought specters of his past in his dreams, and now it seemed the fever had dragged him into a waking nightmare.

She approached slowly, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword, ready to defend herself if necessary. The morning light painted the clearing in muted hues, but her sharp eyes never left the human’s erratic movements. As she stepped closer, she called out to him in a steady, commanding voice. “Human. Be still.”

At first, he didn’t respond, his glassy eyes blinking slowly as if trying to focus on something beyond her. Then, as her shadow fell across him, his body tensed. Panic overtook his features. His hand darted for the small blade at his side—a strange and crude weapon, she noted—and swung it wildly, the motion clumsy but driven by desperation.

Lyrelle stepped back smoothly, avoiding the swipe with practiced ease. “Calm yourself,” she said, her tone firm but calm, though she doubted he understood her words. His breathing quickened, and his eyes darted around the clearing, unfocused and filled with fear. His lips moved, forming words she couldn’t understand, but their tone spoke of panic and defiance.

He lunged forward, or tried to, but his injured leg betrayed him. The motion sent him sprawling back against the rock, his chest heaving. Lyrelle’s hand tightened briefly on her sword, but she didn’t draw it. This human was no threat—at least, not in this condition. Still, his desperation made him unpredictable.

The human thrashed weakly, his hand clutching the knife as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. “Stay back!” he rasped, his voice hoarse and trembling. Lyrelle tilted her head, the words unfamiliar but filled with intent. She spoke again, softer now, trying to convey reassurance. “I mean no harm.”

Her words seemed to cut through his haze, if only for a moment. His wild gaze met hers, and for a brief instant, she saw something in his eyes—a warrior’s resolve, buried beneath the fever and fear. But the moment passed, and his strength failed him. The blade slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground as his head slumped forward.

Lyrelle hesitated, her sharp ears catching the faint, strained breaths escaping his lips. He muttered something, too quiet for her to hear, and then he was still. She stepped closer, crouching beside him with a watchful gaze. His face, though lined with pain, bore the unmistakable mark of someone who had fought and suffered.

Yet now he was broken, vulnerable. Her brow furrowed as she took in his injuries. The makeshift bandage on his leg was poorly tied, and the wound beneath it reeked of infection. She had no skill in healing, but even to her untrained eye, it was clear he wouldn’t last long without aid.

Lyrelle straightened, her gaze lingering on the unconscious human. The trail back to Sylvalis was clear in her mind, but the decision to follow it with him in tow was not so simple. Her duty was to the city and its safety, and bringing a human this close to their borders was not a matter to take lightly. Yet leaving him here, defenseless and fever-stricken, felt... wrong.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, resolve hardening. She had to bring him back. If not for the sake of the man himself, then for the council. He was closer to Sylvalis than any human in centuries, bypassing defenses meant to be impenetrable. The Verdant Sovereign and the elders would demand answers.

Taking a steadying breath, Lyrelle crouched down beside him. With strength that belied her lithe frame, she lifted the human onto her shoulders in a fluid motion. He was heavy, his body slack and fever-warm against her back, but her training as a pathfinder had prepared her for burdens far greater than this.

Without another glance at the clearing, Lyrelle turned and began the journey back toward the hidden city, her footsteps as sure and silent as the forest that closed in around her.

Cole’s head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, every thought sluggish and distorted. His body was a patchwork of aches, the sharp pain in his leg radiating through him like fire. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open, his vision swimming. Sunlight filtered in through an intricate lattice of carved wood above him, casting geometric patterns on a ceiling that seemed almost alive.

Where the hell was he?

He groaned, trying to sit up, but his back screamed in protest, and his thigh sent a jolt of searing pain up his body. He collapsed back with a frustrated growl. The surface beneath him wasn’t like any mattress he’d ever known—it was firm but somehow soft, as though nature itself had formed it just right.

Blinking to clear his vision, Cole scanned his surroundings. The room was unreal, walls of polished wood and stone blending seamlessly with the flowing patterns of living plants. It was like something out of a dream—or a movie he’d watched a hundred times.

"Rivendell?" he muttered under his breath, the thought making him chuckle weakly.

The air was crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of pine and flowers. But something darker lingered beneath it—a metallic tang that sent a shiver of dread through him. He turned his head, wincing, head swimming with a wave a nausea washing over him.

Footsteps, soft and deliberate, drew his attention. A figure stepped into the room, her movements so fluid it was almost unnatural, like she was a part of the very air. Her long brown hair was braided neatly, strands falling in perfect harmony as if each had been placed with purpose. Her pointed ears peeked elegantly from beneath the braids, a subtle reminder of her inhuman grace.

Her face was a masterpiece of symmetry and refinement, with high cheekbones, a slender nose, and full lips that seemed to naturally rest in an expression of quiet confidence. Her sharp green eyes, bright and piercing, glinted with intelligence and purpose, holding his gaze like a predator sizing up its prey. They seemed to cut through the haze clouding his mind.

Her skin was smooth and unblemished, the color of warm ivory, faintly aglow in the soft light of the room. She wore garments of flowing fabric, delicately woven with intricate patterns that seemed to shift as the light caught them. Every inch of her radiated elegance, as though she were carved from the essence of beauty itself.

Cole blinked, unsure if it was the fever or her sheer presence that made it hard to breathe. She was stunning in a way that felt almost unreal, an ethereal figure that could only exist in dreams—or nightmares, depending on her intent.

"You’re awake," she said, her voice melodic but edged with caution.

Cole tried to push himself up again, groaning as the room spun. "Who...Where am I?" His voice was hoarse, and the effort of speaking made his head pound.

"You are in Sylvalis," she said simply, crossing her arms. "The city of the elves."

Cole blinked. "Elves? Oh, what the hell is going on." He let out a dry laugh, though it quickly dissolved into a pained cough.

The elf didn’t react, her expression unreadable. She stepped closer, her gaze flicking to his bandaged leg. "I found you deep in Eterna'vyrn, close to the city’s wards. Your condition was critical. Without intervention, you would be dead."

Her words were matter-of-fact, but Cole bristled at the implication. "I didn’t ask for your help," he snapped, his voice rasping.

Her brows arched slightly. "And yet you are alive because of it."

Cole opened his mouth to retort, but another wave of dizziness hit him, and he slumped back against the bed. His breathing was shallow, his head swimming.

"You are infected," she continued, her tone calm but firm. "The wound on your leg was deep, and the infection had already spread. It was too dangerous to use a healing potion; such magic can accelerate the spread of rot in tainted wounds. Instead, we treated you the traditional way—herbs, salves, and rest."

"Potions? Like...magic?" His laugh was hollow, tinged with disbelief. "Yeah, sure, why not? Next you’ll tell me you’ve got dragons in your backyard too."

Lyrelle raised a brow, unamused. "If we did, they would be better company than you."

"Well...thanks for the heads-up before you dragged me here," he muttered, his defiance dimmed by his obvious weakness.

Lyrelle’s eyes narrowed. "Had I left you there, you would have succumbed to the fever within hours. Perhaps you should reflect on that and be grateful."

Cole glared at her, his teeth clenched against the pain radiating from his leg. "Why’d you even bother? What do you want from me?"

Her expression softened slightly, though her tone remained measured. "You were closer to Sylvalis than any human has been in centuries. The council will want answers. It is not my place to decide your fate, but I could not let you die without understanding why you were here."

Cole laughed bitterly, the sound dry and hollow. "Council? My fate? I don’t even know where the hell I am, let alone why. I’m not your enemy. I’m just...lost."

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she spoke again. "Perhaps. But you trespassed in our sacred forest, and there will be consequences."

He stared at her, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface. But his strength was ebbing fast, his body trembling with fever. "Yeah, well...fuck your consequences," he mumbled, his eyelids growing heavy. "I shouldn’t even be here."

Lyrelle tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "That we agree upon. Rest. You will need your strength when you face the council."

As she turned to leave, Cole’s voice stopped her. "Hey...what’s your name?"

She paused, glancing over her shoulder. "Lyrelle Ashthorne."

"Right. Well, I'm Cole, Lyrelle," he muttered before the darkness pulled him under once more.

Cole woke to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the intricate latticework of the ceiling above him. For the first time since his ordeal began, the relentless heat of the fever was gone. His body still ached, and his leg throbbed with a dull, persistent pain, but the fog clouding his mind had lifted. He blinked, groaning as he tried to sit up. Every muscle protested, and the effort left him gasping for air.

“Damn,” he muttered, leaning back against the raised cushion that served as a headrest. His stomach growled audibly, reminding him he hadn’t eaten much in days.

Before he could dwell on his hunger, the door creaked open, and Lyrelle entered with her usual silent grace. She carried a tray laden with food and drink in one hand and a crutch in the other. Her sharp green eyes immediately locked onto him, scanning him with the same piercing intensity as before.

“You look better,” she said simply, setting the tray down on the table beside him. “The fever has broken, though you are still far from healed.”

“Yeah, I feel like I got run over by a freight train,” Cole muttered, rubbing his face. “So you here to interrogate me?

“No, its not my place. I have plenty of questions but that’s for the council to ask you first"

He glanced at the tray, the sight of the food drawing his full attention. The arrangement was almost too perfect—fresh bread, slices of fruit, and a steaming bowl of what looked like soup. A tall cup of clear water sat alongside it. “Is this...all for me?”

Lyrelle arched a brow. “Who else would it be for?”

Cole let out a weak chuckle, reaching for the bread. “Fair point.”

As he ate, Lyrelle stood nearby, her posture relaxed but her gaze ever-watchful. Once he finished half the tray and leaned back with a satisfied groan, she stepped forward and offered him the crutch.

“You will need this,” she said. “Today, you are to appear before the council.”

Cole frowned, taking the crutch and testing it against the floor. “The council? Let me guess—they’re not happy about me crashing their secret forest club?”

Lyrelle’s expression remained neutral, though her lips twitched slightly, almost imperceptibly. “You were found within the Eterna'vyrn, closer to Sylvalis than any human has been in centuries. They will want to know how and why you are here. Their patience is limited, and their trust is not easily earned.”

Cole sighed, adjusting the crutch under his arm. “Great. Can’t wait to get interrogated by a bunch of pointy-eared judges. Anything else I should know?”

Lyrelle ignored his sarcasm and stepped closer, her tone shifting to one of instruction. “When you stand before the council, show respect. Bow your head when addressed and speak only when spoken to. Do not raise your voice or interrupt. They will not tolerate insolence.”

Cole gave her a sideways glance. “So basically, ‘Yes, sir. No, sir.’ Got it.”

“They are not your superiors, human, but they hold the power to decide your fate,” Lyrelle said coolly. “It would be wise to remember that.”

Cole rolled his eyes but nodded. “Fine. Be respectful, keep my mouth shut. Anything else?”

“Yes,” she said, gesturing toward the door. “First, you need to bathe. You reek.”

Cole blinked, caught off guard. “Wow, okay. Way to sugarcoat it.”

“It is not a personal insult,” Lyrelle said, her expression unreadable. “Your condition has left you... less than presentable. The council will expect you to appear clean and composed. I have arranged for a bath to be prepared for you. Follow me.”

Cole sighed, gritting his teeth against the ache in his leg as he stood. He leaned heavily on the crutch she’d brought earlier, wobbling slightly as he adjusted to the unfamiliar weight distribution. Lyrelle didn’t offer a hand, merely watching him with that same calm intensity, as if assessing whether he could manage on his own.

“This council of yours better be worth all this effort,” Cole muttered under his breath, shuffling after her as she led him through the winding halls of Sylvalis. The intricate architecture blurred in his peripheral vision, though the faint scent of flowers and the cool touch of the stone beneath his feet were impossible to ignore.

They entered a smaller chamber connected to what appeared to be an open courtyard. Steam rose from a sunken stone bath, the water shimmering with a faint blue light that seemed almost magical. Surrounding the bath were intricately carved wooden screens adorned with nature motifs, offering a semblance of privacy.

Cole glanced at the bath, then back at Lyrelle. “Right. Thanks for the help. I’ll, uh... take it from here.”

Lyrelle crossed her arms, her stance as unyielding as her gaze. “No.”

“No?” Cole echoed, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean, no?”

“You are still an intruder,” she said matter-of-factly. “You will not be left unguarded for even a moment.”

Cole stared at her, incredulous. “Lady, I’m about as threatening as a wounded puppy right now. I can barely walk, let alone limp up behind you and attack you.”

Her expression didn’t change. “I do not underestimate strangers, especially ones who somehow bypassed our wards. You may not look dangerous, but appearances are often deceiving.”

He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine, but can you at least turn around? I’m not exactly comfortable with an audience.”

Her lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, though it was hard to tell if it was amusement or irritation. “Turning my back to you would be foolish. A warrior—even a wounded one—can still be dangerous. Besides are all you humans this shy about the flesh?”

Cole let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “You’re kidding, right? Look at me. I can’t even bend down to untie my boot without this stupid crutch. If I was gonna attack you, don’t you think I’d have done it already? Or ya know…tried and failed im sure”

Lyrelle didn’t respond immediately, her sharp green eyes fixed on him as though weighing his words. Before she could reply, there was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” she called, her tone sharp but controlled.

Another elf stepped inside, carrying a neatly folded set of clothing. His features were as refined as Lyrelle’s, though his demeanor was far more subdued. He inclined his head toward her, sparing Cole only a brief, disapproving glance as he placed the garments on a nearby bench.

“The council has approved these for the human,” the elf said curtly before departing as silently as he had arrived.

Lyrelle turned back to Cole, her expression as unreadable as ever. “Very well. I will face the door and remain there. But do not mistake this for trust.”

Cole raised his hands in mock surrender, muttering, “Yeah, wouldn’t dream of it.”

With a fluid motion, Lyrelle turned her back to him, standing at the doorway with her arms crossed. Her stance was rigid, her head held high, like a sentry on watch.

Cole sighed, slowly removing his clothing. He tried to look at the wound but it was bound in bandages and he didn’t want to mess with those, he slowly limped toward the bath leaning on the crutch for support. Each motion sent jolts of pain radiating from his leg and back. “Most awkward bath of my life,” he muttered under his breath, eyeing the shimmering water with a mix of suspicion and longing.

He leaned on the edge of the bath, testing the depth with his hand. The heat rising from the water promised some relief, but he couldn’t tell how deep it was. Cole hesitated, his body protesting with every movement. Lowering himself into the bath was going to be a challenge.

Gripping the edge tightly, he swung his good leg over, but as he tried to lower himself, his back seized up, muscles locking in painful spasms. The motion sent a sharp, white-hot pain shooting through his body, and he let out an involuntary shout. His injured leg, already unstable, gave out completely, and he pitched forward into the bath.

The water swallowed him in an instant, the unexpected depth catching him off guard. His arms flailed, trying to find purchase, but his coordination was a mess from the pain and feverish exhaustion. The bath was deeper than he’d expected—more of a small pool than a tub.

Before he could react, a pair of strong hands wrapped around him, pulling him upward with surprising strength. Spluttering, Cole surfaced, clutching onto the edge of the bath with one hand and grabbing onto Lyrelle’s shoulder with the other. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, water dripping from his face. His injured leg throbbed, and his back screamed in protest as he ground his teeth, seething in pain.

Cole didn’t immediately process her words, his focus locked on the overwhelming pain and his desperation to stabilize himself. He let out a guttural groan, his grip tightening on the edge of the bath. “Just... just give me a second!” he managed, his voice a low growl of frustration and pain.

Lyrelle’s expression was a mix of irritation and faint concern as she steadied him, her hands firm but measured. “You are reckless,” she muttered, her sharp green eyes scanning him.

Cole growled in response, his frustration evident as he released her and half-climbed out of the tub, his movements unsteady. Any thoughts of modesty had long since vanished in the haze of pain and exertion. He slumped onto the edge, panting heavily, his hands braced against the smooth stone.

Lyrelle remained in the water, her clothing clinging to her slender frame as she moved a few feet away to give him space. Her sharp gaze lingered on him, taking in the lines of his body as the morning sunlight streamed softly through the room’s carved wooden lattice. What first caught her attention were the scars.

A long, jagged scar ran from the middle of his back down to the left side, crossing over his buttocks and trailing down the back of his thigh. Even in the soft morning light, she could see the uneven texture of the scar tissue, a deep reminder of a wound that had once been grievous. As her eyes traveled further, she noticed smaller scars peppering his calves, the faint outline of old lacerations and punctures stark against his skin.

Her brow furrowed in confusion and unease. Scars like these were a rarity in her world. Injuries, even mortal ones, were healed with potions or magic, leaving little more than faint marks at worst. The only scars she’d ever seen were on warriors who had been wounded by cursed weapons or infected by the Blight—injuries that resisted even the strongest magic. But these? They were numerous and lacked any signs of magical interference. They were...mundane, yet horrifying in their permanence.

She found herself staring, taken aback by the brutal evidence of his survival. Each scar told a story, though she could only guess at the details. The long scar on his back might have been from a blade, but the irregular ones on his calves...they were unlike anything she had seen before. Her sharp green eyes softened, and for the first time, she saw the human not as a potential threat but as a man who had endured far more than most.

How could someone bear so many injuries and still move? And what kind of world left wounds like this untreated?

Lyrelle’s gaze lingered on his broad shoulders as they rose and fell with his labored breathing. There was strength in his frame, but it was worn, like a blade used past its prime. The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

She spoke softly, her voice almost hesitant. “These scars...they are unlike anything I have ever seen. How is it that they remain? Did your healers not treat you?”

Cole shifted slightly, his body tense as if the question was a burden he didn’t want to carry. “Not everything can be fixed,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “Sometimes you just...deal with it.”

Lyrelle frowned. That concept was entirely foreign to her. In her world, pain was a temporary inconvenience, not something one carried for years—or a lifetime. Her thoughts lingered on his words as she watched him regain some semblance of composure, her curiosity and unease growing with every passing moment.

Lyrelle lingered in the water, a few feet from Cole, her gaze fixed on his back as he leaned heavily against the smooth stone ledge. The bath’s depth kept her afloat, the water lapping gently at her shoulders as she treaded silently, her sharp eyes tracing the network of scars etched across his skin.

Her duty demanded vigilance, to guard him and ensure he posed no threat to Sylvalis. But as her gaze lingered, curiosity gnawed at her resolve.

She shifted slightly, the ripples of her movement reaching him as she treaded closer. Her curiosity warred with her sense of responsibility. She was his guardian, not his confidant, yet the questions burned in her mind. Finally, she let herself drift nearer, close enough to speak without raising her voice.

“Where do you come from?” she asked, her tone neutral but weighted with genuine curiosity. The question broke the silence between them like a ripple breaking still water.

Cole stiffened but didn’t turn, his shoulders visibly tightening.

“What kind of place leaves its people so wounded and scarred?” Lyrelle pressed, her voice soft but steady. Her emerald eyes remained locked on his marred skin, the faint glow of early morning light catching the raised ridges and deep lines carved into his flesh.

The human didn’t answer immediately, but the way his hands tightened into fists against the stone told her her words had struck something raw.

Finally, she treaded closer, her movements slow and deliberate. The bath’s warmth enveloped her as she swam up beside him, her fingers lightly brushing the stone as she steadied herself near his shoulder. She tilted her head, letting her piercing gaze rest upon his face.

“Your body tells a story of great pain,” she said, quieter now.

For a moment, he was silent, his breath steady but labored. Lyrelle searched his expression, noting the hard lines of his jaw, the distant flicker in his eyes, as though he was replaying memories too painful to fully confront.

“Iowa. United States. Earth, to be specific,” Cole finally said, his voice quiet but steady.

Lyrelle tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing. “Iowa. Earth,” she repeated, as if testing the unfamiliar words for the first time. Her voice was tinged with curiosity, but her gaze remained fixed on him, waiting for more.

Cole let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, doesn’t sound like it rings any bells, huh?”

She shook her head slowly, her wet hair catching the soft light filtering into the bath. “No. Your words are foreign to me. They hold no meaning.” Her tone softened just slightly. “But you carry the weight of a life that has not been kind.”

He didn’t meet her eyes, instead looking down at his scarred hands resting on the edge of the bath. “The doctors back home… they did what they could,” he said, his voice low. “They patched me up, got me walking again. But there’s only so much they can fix. Some wounds just… stay with you.”

Lyrelle’s eyes flicked over his back again, her brows knitting together. She knew nothing of these “doctors” he spoke of, but his words carried the weight of resignation, the acceptance of someone who had been forced to endure more than he could repair. She found herself wanting to ask more but hesitated, feeling the vulnerability in his words.

“How did you come to be in our forest?” she asked instead, her tone softer now, lacking the suspicion that had previously laced her voice.

Cole leaned his head back against the stone, exhaling heavily. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his tone carrying equal parts frustration and confusion. “One second, I was stepping out my front door. I was going fishing. The next… I was there. In your forest. Like I got ripped out of one world and dumped into another.”

Lyrelle studied him closely, her green eyes searching his face for any sign of deception. There was none—just exhaustion and bewilderment. Her initial wariness began to waver. He wasn’t a threat; he was lost, alone, and hurt, in a world he couldn’t possibly understand.

“You truly do not know how you arrived here,” she said, more to herself than to him. “That is... troubling.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Cole muttered, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “And then I get jumped by those goblins—or whatever the hell they were—and the next thing I know, I’m waking up here. Not exactly how I planned to spend my day.”

Lyrelle’s lips pressed into a thin line. “The creatures you call goblins… they are a scourge on this forest. It is rare for them to be so close to Sylvalis. If they were pursuing you…” She trailed off, her brows drawing together in thought.

Cole glanced at her, catching the shift in her tone. “Look, I don’t know why they came after me, or why I ended up here. But I wasn’t looking for trouble. I was just… trying to survive.”

Her gaze softened slightly at his words. There was a raw honesty in his voice, a vulnerability that chipped away at the walls she’d carefully built. She let out a small sigh, her posture relaxing ever so slightly as she drifted closer in the water, her curiosity and empathy overriding her sense of duty.

“You have endured much,” she said quietly. “There are few of us here who can relate to that kind of lingering pain"

Cole raised an eyebrow at her, a hint of his usual sharpness returning. “You’ve got scars like these hiding under all that armor and silk?”

Lyrelle’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile before her usual composure returned. “Not in body. But the scars of duty… they are not so different.” Her voice was measured, but there was a trace of understanding beneath her words.

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension between them easing slightly. For the first time, Lyrelle saw the human not as a potential threat, but as someone who had been thrust into a world as foreign to him as he was to her. And for the first time, Cole saw the elf not as a captor, but as someone willing, perhaps even eager, to understand him.

In one fluid motion, Lyrelle pulled herself from the water and stood dripping at the edge of the bath. She pointed to the corners of the tub, her movements graceful but firm. “Each of the corners has a seat that will support you,” she said. Then, with a glance down at her own soaked form, she motioned to herself. “I’m going to send the healer in. Her name is Elaris—she’s the one who’s tended to you, so treat her with respect. She’ll need to examine and rewrap your wound. I’m going to change.”

Without waiting for a response, Lyrelle turned toward the door, leaving a trail of water behind her.

“Just like that, you’re leaving me alone now?” Cole called after her, his voice laced with both amusement and skepticism.

Without breaking stride, she tossed back over her shoulder, “Like you said, you’re a wounded puppy.”

Cole smirked, leaning back against the edge of the tub. “You just wanted to see me naked,” he quipped, then in a more serious tone added “Thank you, for helping me.”

For the briefest moment, he thought he saw her step falter—but it was so quick, he doubted it had actually happened. What he couldn’t see, however, was the faint smile curling at the edges of her lips as she disappeared through the doorway.

Lyrelle returned to the bathing chamber, her hair now pulled back into a single braid and her clothes dry and pristine, a contrast to the waterlogged image she had left behind. She stepped lightly into the hallway, her keen ears catching the soft rustling of fabric and the faint sound of footsteps. The healer, Elaris, emerged from the chamber, her expression calm but contemplative.

“How is he?” Lyrelle asked, her voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

Elaris inclined her head slightly, glancing over her shoulder at the closed door before replying. “He is stubborn,” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “But that is to be expected, given his condition. His fever has broken, and the infection has been slowed. However, those wounds...” She trailed off, her brow furrowing. “They run deep, both on his body and his spirit.”

Lyrelle crossed her arms, leaning against the smooth wooden wall as she considered the healer's words. “You’ve tended to many injuries before. Can he be healed?”

Elaris hesitated, her gaze falling briefly to the polished floor before meeting Lyrelle’s. “Yes. But it will not be an easy path.” She gestured lightly with her hands, as if searching for the right words. “The wounds have lingered for so long they have scarred over in ways unnatural to us. Healing potions, as you know, are not meant for such...neglected injuries. They must be reopened—cut anew—to allow the potion to reach the deepest parts of the damage.”

Lyrelle’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. “That sounds...barbaric.”

“It is,” Elaris admitted, her tone measured but firm. “But without it, his body will continue to degrade. He mentioned—reluctantly—that a piece of metal remains lodged near his spine, a remnant of some past injury. That alone causes him constant pain. The scars bind his muscles and ligaments in ways that restrict his movement. If we do nothing, he will be crippled in time. However, the process of mending will be excruciating.”

Lyrelle exhaled softly, her gaze drifting to the door of the chamber. “He seems resilient. Do you think he can endure it?”

Elaris tilted her head thoughtfully, her tone softening. “Yes. He has endured worse, I think. There is resilience in him, buried beneath layers of defiance. He even thanked me, begrudgingly, this time.”

Lyrelle arched a brow at that. “Seems to be a lot of that going around lately"

The healer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Still, I would not push him until after the council meeting. His fate must be decided before we speak of treatment.”

Lyrelle’s jaw tightened at the thought but she gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Elaris. I will speak with him once the council has given their judgment.”

Elaris inclined her head in farewell and made her way down the corridor, leaving Lyrelle lingering a moment longer. Finally, she straightened her posture, steeling herself as she opened the door and stepped inside.

Lyrelle entered the chamber, her footsteps soft but deliberate. Her sharp green eyes immediately found him, standing near the bed as he adjusted the clasp of the cloak draped over his shoulders. She froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sight. The human scrubbed clean and dressed in elven attire was...unexpected.

“Well,” she said after a pause, her voice carrying a note of surprise. “You almost look presentable.”

Cole turned at her words, raising a brow as he glanced down at himself. “Almost?” he repeated, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Lyrelle tilted her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “It’s an improvement. You looked like a bedraggled stray before. Now, at least, you resemble something civilized.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he smoothed the front of the tunic. “I’ll take it as a compliment. Honestly, this is...incredible. The material, the fit—it’s like it was made for me.” He tugged lightly at the sleeves, the soft fabric conforming perfectly to his arms. “Back home, anything this nice would cost a fortune—and it probably wouldn’t even be this comfortable.”

Lyrelle crossed her arms, leaning lightly against the doorframe as she watched him. “Elven craftsmanship is unparalleled. Every piece you wear was tailored to fit you perfectly the moment you put it on.”

“No kidding.” Cole turned, catching his reflection in a polished silver mirror mounted on the wall. His brow furrowed as he examined himself. “It’s...strange, seeing myself like this. I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything this...fancy.”

Lyrelle arched a brow, stepping further into the room. “Fancy?” She gestured lightly toward his attire. “This is practical by our standards. It’s hardly ceremonial.”

Cole scoffed, running a hand over the embroidered patterns on his sleeve. “Practical, huh? You elves have a pretty high bar for practicality.”

Lyrelle’s gaze softened slightly as she studied him. Cleaned up, dressed properly, and standing tall despite his lingering injuries, he looked...different. She pushed the thought aside quickly, her tone shifting to one of authority.

“You’re expected to face the council soon,” she reminded him. “You should be prepared—for their scrutiny and their questions.”

Cole’s expression sobered at her words. He adjusted the clasp of the cloak again, his movements slower, more deliberate. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess I should get ready for whatever’s coming.”

Lyrelle watched him for a moment longer before nodding. “Follow me. It’s time.”

The walk to the council hall was both surreal and nerve-wracking. Cole followed Lyrelle through a series of winding corridors, each more intricate and breathtaking than the last. The wood and stone of the structure seemed alive, the walls flowing and arching in ways that defied logic. Natural light poured through impossibly high windows, dappled with the greens and golds of the forest canopy outside. It felt less like a building and more like a sacred grove frozen in time.

Lyrelle walked ahead, her steps confident and unhurried, but Cole could barely keep his eyes on the path. Every detail called out for his attention: the carved vines that twisted seamlessly into the pillars, the glowing crystals embedded in the walls that cast a soft, ethereal light, and the faint, melodic hum that seemed to emanate from the very air around him.

"Eyes forward, human," Lyrelle said, glancing back over her shoulder with a faint smirk. "You'll have time to admire the architecture later—if the council permits it."

Cole snorted softly, though he couldn’t hide the awe in his voice. "This place... it’s like something out of a dream. How is it even possible?"

Lyrelle’s smirk softened into a faint smile. "The Eterna'vyrn Forest and Sylvalis are one. The city is grown, not built. Every beam, every arch, is alive and in harmony with the land. It is a reflection of our people."

“Grown,” Cole repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “Back home, we’d chop trees down to build something like this. Guess that wouldn’t fly here.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, her expression unreadable. "Indeed not."

They rounded a final corner, and the corridor opened into a grand hall that stole the breath from Cole’s lungs. The council chamber.

Massive trunks of ancient trees rose into the vaulted ceiling, their branches spreading wide to form natural arches that interwove like fingers clasped in prayer. Veins of golden light pulsed faintly through the wood, as if the trees themselves carried the lifeblood of the forest. The floor was smooth stone, polished to a mirror-like finish that reflected the glowing branches above.

At the far end of the hall stood the council dais, a semi-circular platform of carved wood and stone. Behind it rose an enormous tree that seemed to be the heart of the chamber, its trunk adorned with glowing runes and its roots spilling outward like a protective embrace.

Seated upon the dais were the council elders, each exuding a presence so commanding that Cole felt like an intruder in a sacred space. At the center, elevated above the rest, sat the Verdant Sovereign, their gaze piercing and inscrutable.

Cole hesitated at the threshold, his usual sarcasm and bravado suddenly muted by the weight of the moment. "This is... something else," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

Lyrelle stepped beside him, her expression neutral but her tone firm. "You are about to stand before the wisest and most powerful of my people. Remember what I told you, and choose your words carefully."

Cole swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah. Got it.”

"Good," she said, her voice softer now. "And Cole?"

He glanced at her, his face betraying the tension he felt.

"Stand tall."

With that, she gestured for him to step forward, and together they approached the council dais.

The chamber remained silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the distant canopy, as the Sovereign’s gaze settled on Cole. Their calm but commanding tone broke the stillness.

“Before we proceed, it is only proper that you are introduced to those who will deliberate on your fate,” the Verdant Sovereign began, their piercing eyes fixed on him. “Listen well, human, for each elder seated before you speaks with the authority of millennia and carries the wisdom of our people.”

The first to speak was the silver-haired elder to the Sovereign’s left. Their presence radiated calm authority. “I am Aelindar Nightshade, Keeper of Lore and Guardian of Histories. It is my duty to preserve the truth of our past and ensure our decisions align with the lessons of our ancestors. I will hear your story and judge its truth against the records of our kind.”

Cole nodded stiffly, unsure of how to respond, but the elder’s intense gaze lingered, making him feel like every detail of his soul was being scrutinized.

Next, the sharp-eyed elf with fiery auburn hair spoke. Their voice was laced with an edge of severity. “I am Caelthas Emberthorn, Watcher of the Eternal Glade and Defender of our Borders. My role is to protect the sanctity of Eterna’vyrn and our people’s sovereignty. You stand accused of breaching the wards that guard our sacred home. That alone makes your presence a threat.”

Cole’s throat tightened as Caelthas’s words cut like a blade, but he forced himself to meet their gaze.

A third elder, her hair a cascade of gold and her expression serene, stepped forward. Her soft voice was deceptively gentle. “I am Sylara Dawnmere, Keeper of the Eternal Bloom and Speaker for Nature’s Will. It is my task to ensure that all things within our forest—living and otherwise—remain in harmony. Your presence here disturbs that balance, human, and I will see that it is restored.”

Cole shifted uncomfortably under her tranquil yet accusing stare, realizing just how unwelcome his intrusion into their forest truly was.

To her right sat a somber elder with storm-gray hair and deep lines etched into his features. His voice carried the weight of age and caution. “I am Thalorien Duskwatch, Arbiter of Wisdom and Counselor to the Sovereign. It is my duty to weigh facts and guide this council in the pursuit of fairness. Your arrival raises questions, many of which I doubt you can answer. But answer them you must.”

A final figure, younger in appearance but no less formidable, spoke last. His hair was dark as midnight, and his emerald eyes shimmered with an unnerving intensity. “I am Valtheris Moonshade, Keeper of the Arcane Veil. I protect the sanctity of our magic and its secrets. Your presence is a disruption, one that may have far-reaching consequences. I will ensure those consequences are contained.”

Cole glanced around at the assembled council, his pulse quickening. Each elder’s introduction weighed heavier on him, their titles and roles painting a picture of authority and power unlike anything he had faced before.

The Sovereign’s voice drew his attention again, steady and unyielding. “These are the voices of Sylvalis, those who stand as stewards of our people and guardians of our home. Speak truthfully, human, for their patience is not infinite, and their judgment will determine your fate.”

Cole swallowed hard, feeling every pair of eyes on him as he dipped his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment. “Understood,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady.

The Sovereign nodded, and the introductions ceased. For a brief moment, the chamber was silent once more, the weight of the council’s presence palpable.

A faint shimmer of magic rippled through the air as Aelindar’s hand, resting on the table before him, began to glow with a soft golden light. His expression was calm, but his eyes glinted with sharp focus.

“What’s that?” Cole asked, his voice laced with suspicion as he gestured toward the glow.

“I am using the Voice of Truth,” Aelindar replied smoothly. “A gift of my station, ensuring that no falsehoods can take root in this chamber. Be assured, it will reveal any lies you speak.”

“Now,” Aelindar began, leaning forward slightly, “state your name, your origin, your purpose, and your class and level.”

Cole blinked, his confusion palpable. “Class? What do you mean, class? Like... social class?”

The council exchanged glances, some annoyed, others intrigued. Sylara Dawnmere tilted her head, her curiosity evident. “No, not your station in society. Your class as a warrior, mage, or otherwise. What skills do you possess? What role do you fulfill?”

“Your class and level,” Caelthas repeated, his voice sharp with authority. “Every being has one, human. Surely even your kind are not so ignorant as to lack this basic knowledge.”

Cole hesitated, his confusion plain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Class? Level? I don’t have one.”

The room remained silent, the council members’ expressions unreadable, but the faint flicker of surprise in a few gazes told him his words had not gone unnoticed. The Sovereign inclined their head slightly, prompting him to continue.

“I… I don’t know how I got here,” Cole admitted, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “One moment I was at home, stepping out my front door, and the next… I was in your forest. I didn’t mean to trespass. I didn’t even know where I was.”

Caelthas narrowed his eyes. “You claim ignorance, yet your actions suggest otherwise. You carried weapons into our forest, killed creatures within its bounds, and evaded our wards.”

Cole clenched his fists, his voice rising despite himself. “What was I supposed to do? Those…goblins, or whatever they were, attacked me! I defended myself! And your wards? I didn’t even know they existed!”

“Enough,” the Sovereign said, their voice calm but commanding, silencing the exchange. “You claim to be a stranger, unknowing and unwilling. Yet you stand here before us, alive, beyond barriers designed to thwart even the most cunning intruders. Your words will be tested, human, and the truth of your presence revealed.”

The council continued their questioning, probing into his world, his knowledge, and the strange absence of a class or level. As the interrogation deepened, the council turned their focus to Earth.

Sylara asked softly, “What is this... Earth? How does your kind live, if you lack magic and the harmony it brings?”

Cole struggled to find the words. “We... we don’t have magic. We use technology—machines and tools—to build cities, to heal, to fight. It’s... complicated.”

Valtheris frowned, his emerald eyes narrowing. “A world bereft of magic, yet you survive and thrive? How?”

Cole exhaled sharply, frustrated by the weight of their disbelief. “Because we have to. It’s not perfect, and yeah, it’s messy, but it works. We make it work.”

The council members exchanged glances, their voices dropping into quiet deliberation among themselves, as though Cole wasn’t even there.

“A world without magic would be fragile,” Sylara murmured. “Yet they endure. Fascinating.”

“Perhaps their technology compensates,” Valtheris suggested. “Though it seems an inefficient substitute.”

“It raises questions,” Thalorien added. “If he comes from such a place, how did he survive the journey? And why now?”

The Sovereign’s gaze returned to Cole, unyielding as ever. “These questions will be answered in time, but your presence here cannot be dismissed as mere happenstance. Speak plainly, human. Do you bring with you any knowledge or power that might threaten the balance of our world?”

Cole shook his head, the weight of their scrutiny pressing down on him. “No. I’m just... a guy trying to survive. That’s it.”

The golden light from Aelindar’s hand remained steady, affirming his words.

The room fell into a tense silence as the council absorbed his words. The notion of someone existing outside the framework of their world was as alien to them as Cole’s situation was to him. Aelindar’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If he has no class and no level, he is as a newborn in our world—defenseless and ignorant.”

“Perhaps it is sheer luck,” Caelthas muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.

“Or perhaps,” Sylara mused, her expression softening, “his world has forced him to adapt in ways we cannot yet comprehend.”

The Sovereign raised a hand, quieting the murmurs. Their gaze fixed on Cole, their expression unreadable. “Your confusion appears genuine, and your ignorance of our systems lends weight to your claims. However, it leaves us with more questions than answers. A being without a class, without a level, surviving in the Eterna’vyrn Forest... It is unprecedented.”

Cole ran a hand through his hair, the tension and confusion evident in his movements. “Yeah, well, welcome to my world,” he muttered under his breath.

A faint ripple of amusement crossed Sylara’s lips, but she remained silent as the Sovereign leaned forward. “This matter is far from resolved. If you truly lack a class, your survival here will be a challenge. You will be tested in ways you cannot yet imagine. But this is not a trial for the council to decide. Your intentions here must first be understood.”

Their voice softened, though it carried no less authority. “You claim ignorance of how you arrived. You claim no intent to harm. But ignorance does not erase the disruption you bring. Now, speak. What do you wish to accomplish here, should you be allowed to remain?”

Cole rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the assembled council as their expectant silence stretched on. He exhaled sharply through his nose and muttered, “Not being killed would be a good start.”

A faint ripple of amusement crossed Sylara’s lips, though she quickly masked it, while Caelthas frowned deeply. The Sovereign’s expression remained unreadable, their piercing gaze urging him to continue.

“But,” Cole continued, his tone softening, “I get that’s not enough. Look, I don’t know what I can offer you. My knowledge—military tactics, survival skills—they’re probably useless to you. I mean, I’m sitting here trying to wrap my head around magic potions and glowing truth hands.” He gestured vaguely toward Aelindar. “So yeah, not sure my expertise is gonna blow anyone’s mind here.”

The council remained quiet, their stares weighing on him. Cole ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I don’t have a way home. Hell, I don’t even know if I can get home. And honestly…” He hesitated, his voice faltering before picking up again. “I didn’t really have much waiting for me back there anyway.”

A brief silence followed his words, the weight of his admission settling in the room. Even Caelthas seemed momentarily taken aback, his fiery expression tempered.

“So, I’ll do whatever you recommend,” Cole said, his voice firm. “If that means helping your people in whatever way I can, then fine. I’ll do it. If you want me gone, I’ll go. I’m just trying to survive and figure this out as I go.”

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as he finished. “But if I stay, I’ll pull my weight. I don’t expect handouts.”

The Sovereign inclined their head slightly, their sharp gaze studying him as though trying to discern the true measure of the man before them. For a long moment, the council remained silent, their collective expressions unreadable.

Then Aelindar spoke, his tone calm and measured. “He speaks plainly, with no falsehoods.” The golden glow around his hand faded as he relaxed it onto the table.

“He offers little,” Caelthas said sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Knowledge we have no use for, no connection to this world, and no class or level. What possible value could he bring to our people?”

Sylara tilted her head, her serene expression thoughtful. “Perhaps the value lies not in what he brings but in what he represents. A being outside the bounds of our understanding, yet surviving despite the odds. There is potential there, even if it is yet untapped.”

“Potential?” Caelthas snorted. “Or liability? If his presence invites danger, are we prepared to bear the consequences of that risk?”

“Risk is always present in the unknown,” Thalorien interjected, his voice calm but firm. “But dismissing him outright without understanding his purpose here may be shortsighted. There is much we do not know—about him and the circumstances of his arrival.”

Valtheris leaned forward slightly, his emerald eyes gleaming with intensity. “Agreed. His world, his lack of class and level, his immunity to the wards—all of this suggests forces beyond our comprehension. That alone warrants careful consideration.”

The Sovereign's piercing gaze swept across the council before resting once more on Cole. They raised a hand, quieting the murmurs and refocusing the conversation. “His lack of class and level is indeed troubling,” the Sovereign began, their voice calm yet weighted with significance. “But it also presents an opportunity. A blank slate is rare in any world. He has the potential to be shaped, guided—perhaps even weaponized.”

Cole’s brow furrowed at the word, unease flickering across his face. “Weaponized?” he muttered under his breath, his voice too low to carry beyond the table.

Thalorien folded his hands, his expression thoughtful. “Consider this: his immunity to the wards, his survival in Eterna’vyrn despite lacking a class or level—it suggests adaptability. If such an individual can grow into this world’s systems, gain levels and a class, his lack of ties to any faction or kingdom beyond these woods could be an asset. He could be molded to serve our interests.”

“Trained to deal with threats beyond the forest,” Valtheris interjected, his tone measured but sharp. “The Blight’s return is inevitable. Our scouts have reported signs of its corruption spreading in isolated pockets. A champion outside of our traditional ranks could confront these dangers directly, without exposing our own forces to unnecessary risk.”

Sylara turned her serene gaze toward Valtheris. “You propose to mold him into a tool, but what guarantee do we have that he will remain loyal? His presence here was not by his own design. His allegiance lies only with survival, not with our people.”

“That,” Caelthas said curtly, “is precisely why we should send him from our forest. The more he learns of our ways, the greater the risk he poses. He has proven resilient, but his ignorance of our world may yet bring harm to us.”

“Then bind him,” Aelindar suggested, his voice calm and unwavering. “A binding oath can ensure his silence. Should he betray the sanctity of Sylvalis or the Eterna’vyrn Forest, the consequences will be immediate and absolute. Such a safeguard would allow us to guide him without fear of betrayal.”

Cole’s head snapped up at that, his unease deepening. “Wait—what the hell is a binding oath?”

“It is a magical contract,” Aelindar explained, his tone as though speaking to a child. “One that ensures your word is kept. Should you attempt to reveal the location of our city or bring intention harm to our people, the magic would... end your life.”

Cole glared at him, his fists clenched. “You’re talking about putting a leash on me.”

“A leash is necessary for a wild beast that roams unchecked,” Caelthas shot back, his tone biting. “You have no standing here, no trust, and no place among us. Yet we offer you the chance to prove yourself. Do not squander it with indignation.”

The Sovereign raised a hand again, silencing the brewing argument. Their voice cut through the tension like a blade. “This human is an anomaly. His presence disrupts the natural order of Eterna’vyrn, yet it may also herald something greater. It is not for us to dismiss his arrival lightly. If he is to remain, he will train under our guidance and learn the ways of this world. If he cannot be trained—if he proves unwilling or unfit—we will send him from the forest.”

They turned their sharp gaze to Cole, whose expression was a mix of wariness and defiance. “Do you understand what is being offered to you, human? This is not a matter of debate. You will abide by the terms we set, or you will leave this forest forever.”

Cole hesitated, his jaw tightening. “And if I leave? What then? You said your wards keep people out. What’s stopping them from keeping me in?”

Lyrelle, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. “You made it past the wards once, likely by chance or sheer ignorance. But to leave, you will be escorted to the edges of the forest. Any attempt to return would be seen as an act of aggression.”

The Sovereign’s voice softened, though it carried no less authority. “This is your choice. Train under us, with a binding oath to protect the sanctity of our forest, or leave now and fend for yourself beyond these woods.”

Cole’s gaze flicked between the council members, their expressions ranging from cold to curious. He was trapped, and they all knew it. “And if I take the oath and fail your training?” he asked, his voice rough.

Thalorien answered, his tone grave. “Then you will be sent beyond our borders, your oath intact. You will live, but you will never return to Sylvalis.”

For a moment, Cole said nothing. The room fell into a tense silence as the council awaited his response. Finally, he exhaled sharply and nodded. “Fine. I’ll take your damn oath. I’ll train, I’ll learn, whatever. But let’s be clear—this doesn’t make me your puppet.”

Caelthas opened his mouth to retort, but the Sovereign silenced him with a glance. “Your defiance is noted, human. Perhaps it will serve you well in the trials to come.”

They turned to Lyrelle. “Escort him to the binding chamber. The oath will be administered there. From this point forward, he is your charge. See to it that he is prepared for what lies ahead.”

Lyrelle inclined her head, though her sharp gaze flicked toward Cole, her lips pressing into a thin line. “As you command, Sovereign.”

As she stepped forward, Cole felt a weight settle over him, heavier than any pack he’d ever carried.

Cole followed Lyrelle through the labyrinthine halls of Sylvalis, the intricate beauty of the elven architecture lost on him in the moment. His jaw was tight, his steps heavy despite the pain in his leg. The gravity of the council’s ultimatum weighed on him like lead. He was no stranger to tough choices, but this one felt different—alien, literally.

Lyrelle walked ahead, her posture rigid. She hadn’t spoken a word since they left the council chamber, her silence only deepening the pit in his stomach. Finally, he couldn’t hold back.

“So... this binding oath,” he said, his voice laced with bitterness. “What does that even look like? Do I sign something in blood? Shake hands with a glowing tree?”

Lyrelle glanced over her shoulder, her sharp green eyes narrowing. “This is not a jest, Cole. The oath is a sacred magic, woven into your very essence. It will bind you to your word. If you violate it, the magic will claim your life.”

“Yeah, you mentioned the ‘death’ part,” Cole muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just trying to get a feel for the process here.”

Lyrelle stopped abruptly, turning to face him. “You will swear the oath in the presence of the Verdant Sovereign and the council’s chosen enchanter. The magic requires your willing participation. Once spoken, the words cannot be undone. Do you understand that?”

Cole stared at her, his expression hard. “Yeah, I get it. Don’t screw up, or I’m dead. Pretty straightforward.”

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, searching for something in his face, then she turned and resumed walking. “Good.”

They entered a smaller chamber, its walls adorned with glowing runes that pulsed faintly, illuminating the room in soft, golden light. At the center stood a pedestal of carved stone, its surface etched with intricate patterns that seemed to hum with latent energy. The Verdant Sovereign awaited them, the former standing serene and unyielding.

Valtheris stepped forward, his emerald eyes glinting. “You understand what is about to occur, human?”

“I understand that if I break your rules, I die,” Cole said flatly. “Got it.”

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

The Verdant Sovereign stepped forward, their expression calm but commanding, as the runes on the pedestal glowed faintly with golden light. The air in the chamber grew still, heavy with magic and unspoken meaning.

“Cole Bennett,” the Sovereign began, their voice steady, “you stand here not only as an intruder but as a being of unknown origin. Your presence here disrupts the balance of our realm, and yet you have been given the chance to live among us. But this gift is not without its conditions.”

Cole glanced down at the pedestal, the glowing runes reflecting off his weathered face. “Yeah, I get that. Don’t betray the city, don’t spill your secrets, or I’m done for.”

The Sovereign’s sharp gaze held his. “It is more than that. This is not a punishment, Cole. It is a promise—between you and our people.”

Valtheris Moonshade stepped forward, his emerald eyes gleaming as he added, “It is a binding agreement, woven with magic to ensure its sanctity. If you betray it, the consequences will be swift, but it is not designed to kill you without cause. It will weigh your intent and your actions.”

Lyrelle, standing beside Cole, glanced at him. Her expression was firm, but there was a hint of reassurance in her tone. “This oath is a measure of trust. It allows you to walk freely among us but holds you accountable for your words and deeds. It binds you to honor, not to fear.”

The Sovereign nodded, gesturing to the pedestal. “Place your hand here, and we will begin.”

Cole hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward, resting his hand on the cool stone. The runes flared softly, a faint hum filling the air as the magic came to life.

“Repeat after me,” the Sovereign intoned, their voice resonating with authority.

“I, Cole Bennett,” they began, and Cole repeated, his voice steady.

“Swear to hold sacred the location, safety, and secrets of Sylvalis and its people.”

Cole’s voice wavered slightly but grew stronger. “I swear to hold sacred the location, safety, and secrets of Sylvalis and its people.”

“I vow to act with integrity, to bring no harm to the Eterna’vyrn Forest or those who dwell within.”

Cole’s brow furrowed, but he echoed the words. “I vow to act with integrity, to bring no harm to the Eterna’vyrn Forest or those who dwell within.”

“And should I falter,” the Sovereign continued, “I will accept the judgment of the magic and the will of this council.”

Cole hesitated, his mouth dry. “And should I falter... I will accept the judgment of the magic and the will of this council.”

“By your own words and your promise, you bind yourself to the safety and secrecy of Sylvalis and its people. Do you accept this burden willingly, Cole Bennett?”

Cole glanced at Lyrelle standing to his side. She gave him a subtle nod, her expression unreadable. He exhaled deeply, forcing his shoulders back. “Yes, I accept.”

The Sovereign’s voice echoed through the chamber, carrying a power that made the very air hum. “Then by the sanctity of this forest, the balance of this world, and the will of the council, you are bound.”

Cole winced as the glow beneath his palm intensified, a golden light flaring to life and crawling up his arm. It moved like liquid fire, flowing over his skin in intricate, deliberate paths. The sensation wasn’t painful—it was warm, almost like sunlight on a summer day—but it was entirely foreign, making the hairs on his neck stand on end.

The tendrils of light spiraled up his forearm, weaving themselves into complex, fluid patterns. The symbols were angular yet elegant, with sharp edges that melted into smooth curves, creating an intricate design that seemed to shift subtly when viewed from different angles. Each rune seemed alive, pulsating faintly as if breathing along with him.

Cole’s breath hitched as the light coiled around his elbow and began to solidify, its brilliance dimming until the glow faded completely, leaving the marks etched deep into his skin. The runes shimmered faintly under the room’s light, the golden lines catching the faintest glimmer as he turned his arm. They looked like tattoos but carried an otherworldly quality that no ink could replicate—lines that seemed both ancient and impossibly precise.

The patterns covered the length of his forearm, starting just below his wrist and wrapping upward toward his elbow. Vines intertwined with jagged symbols, each rune carrying a sense of purpose that resonated deep within him. Despite their intricacy, the designs didn’t feel chaotic; they were orderly, intentional, like a language he couldn’t understand but felt in his bones.

Cole stared at the markings, his chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. The warmth lingered, a faint hum of energy beneath his skin, as though the runes were alive and tethered to something greater than himself.

“What... the hell is this?” he muttered, his voice hushed, his fingers brushing over the marks. The surface of his skin felt smooth, as if the runes had always been a part of him, yet they were alien and new.

The faint hum of the runes echoed in his ears, a steady rhythm that seemed to match the beating of his heart. For a moment, Cole could do nothing but stare, the weight of the moment sinking in as the golden marks gleamed faintly in the dim chamber.

The warmth of the runes began to settle, leaving a faint tingling sensation in Cole’s arm. Just as he let out a shaky breath, a calm, neutral voice resonated clearly in his mind, cutting through the silence like a blade.

"Level up. New class obtained: Oathbound. Oathbound, Level 1.

New skill obtained: Oathkeeper's Mark.

New skill obtained: Verdant Resolve.

New skill obtained: Unyielding Bond."

Cole’s head snapped up, his eyes darting to Lyrelle and the Sovereign. “Did... did you hear that?” he asked, his voice sharp and uncertain.

Lyrelle frowned slightly, her green eyes narrowing. “Hear what?” she asked, her tone cautious but curious.

“That... voice,” Cole said, gesturing to his head. “It—it said I leveled up. Something about a new class—Oathbound—and skills. Oathkeeper’s Mark, Verdant Resolve, Unyielding Bond. You didn’t hear it?”

The room fell silent after Cole’s words, the faint hum of the runes on his arm the only sound. Lyrelle and the Sovereign exchanged a meaningful look, their gazes speaking volumes without a single word being uttered. Lyrelle’s brow furrowed slightly, her green eyes filled with thought, while the Sovereign’s expression remained calm but subtly intrigued.

The Sovereign inclined their head slightly, breaking the silence. “That explains it,” he said, his voice steady and resonant. “You are capable of gaining a class and levels. It is a sign that this world has begun to accept you.”

Cole blinked, his confusion evident. “So... that’s a good thing, right?”

The Sovereign’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Indeed, it is. It means you have potential—a chance to grow, to adapt, to survive.”

Cole glanced down at the glowing runes, still faintly pulsing on his arm. “Yeah, great. Potential,” he muttered under his breath, the weight of the moment pressing on him.

The Sovereign straightened, his piercing gaze meeting Coles. “Congratulations, Cole Bennett. You have taken your first step in this world.

The Sovereign’s piercing gaze lingered on Cole for a moment before they spoke, their tone steady and decisive. “Your path is set, and the oath is sealed. There is no more to be done here.”

Cole shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the Sovereign and Lyrelle. “Wait... so what now? What do these runes mean? What’s this class? What am I supposed to do?”

The Sovereign raised a hand, silencing his stream of questions. “Your questions will be answered, but not here. Lyrelle Ashthorne has been charged with your instruction. She will guide you, explain what you must know, and prepare you for what lies ahead.”

Lyrelle inclined her head respectfully. “I understand, Verdant Sovereign. He will learn what is required.”

The Sovereign’s gaze softened slightly, though their words still carried the weight of authority. “Learn quickly, Cole Bennett. The oath binds you, but it is your choices that will shape the path ahead.”

Cole glanced at Lyrelle, then back at the Sovereign, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “Right. Got it,” he muttered, his voice subdued.

With a final nod, the Sovereign turned and exited the chamber, leaving Lyrelle and Cole alone in the quiet space, the echoes of the binding magic still lingering in the air.

Cole adjusted his crutch, wincing as he hobbled alongside Lyrelle down the intricately carved corridor. The soft echo of their footsteps filled the otherwise quiet space. Every step sent a dull ache radiating through his leg, but he gritted his teeth and pushed forward. Lyrelle walked a few paces ahead, her movements fluid and precise, though her pace was deliberately slower than usual.

“Alright,” Cole started, his voice breaking the silence. “What’s the deal with this ‘Oathbound’ thing? Is it, like, a class or a title or something? And these skills—what do they even do?”

Lyrelle glanced over her shoulder, her expression calm but firm. “Wait until we arrive.”

Cole frowned. “Seriously? I’ve got glowing runes on my arm and a voice in my head telling me I leveled up, and you expect me to just... walk in silence?”

“Yes,” she replied without breaking stride, her tone polite but final. “All your questions will be answered in due time. For now, focus on walking.”

Cole let out a frustrated huff, adjusting his grip on the crutch. “You know, this ‘mysterious elf’ thing is getting old. A little heads-up would be nice.”

Lyrelle stopped abruptly, turning to face him. Her green eyes softened slightly, though her stance remained composed. “Cole, I understand your frustration, but there is much to explain, and this is neither the time nor the place. Your leg is still healing, and the last thing we need is for you to injure yourself further by rushing. Be patient.”

Her tone, though firm, lacked any trace of condescension. Cole sighed, feeling a bit sheepish under her steady gaze. “Fine. But you’d better have answers when we get there.”

Lyrelle nodded once, a faint curve of amusement tugging at her lips. “I will. Now, let’s keep moving.”

She resumed her pace, and Cole followed, muttering under his breath. The intricately carved walls of the passage seemed to stretch endlessly, their beauty lost on him as his mind buzzed with questions. Where were they going? What was he supposed to do now?

He tightened his grip on the crutch and trudged forward, determined to get to the bottom of it all—even if it meant enduring a little more elven patience along the way.

Cole stopped in front of the elegant structure nestled into the base of the towering tree. His eyes traced the seamless blend of wood and stone, the intricate carvings of vines and leaves adorning the exterior. The soft light filtering through the grove gave the place an almost ethereal glow.

“This is where I’m supposed to stay?” Cole asked, leaning on his crutch and squinting at the home.

“Yes,” Lyrelle said simply, stepping forward and pushing the door open. “Come.”

Cole hesitated before following her inside, his eyes immediately scanning the space. The interior was warm and inviting, with smooth wooden walls that curved naturally, as if the home had grown into shape. Light streamed through arched windows, casting patterns of leaves on the polished floor. Shelves filled with books and scrolls lined one wall, and a low table surrounded by cushions sat near a softly glowing hearth.

“It looks…” Cole trailed off, his gaze flicking to the personal touches scattered throughout—an intricately woven tapestry, a vase of freshly cut flowers, and what looked like a set of finely crafted bows and quivers hanging on one wall. “It looks occupied.”

“It is,” Lyrelle replied, glancing over her shoulder at him as she moved deeper into the home. “By me.”

Cole paused, frowning slightly. “Wait—you live here?”

“Yes,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. She gestured for him to follow as she ascended a narrow staircase. “Your room is upstairs.”

Cole followed, adjusting his crutch as he made his way up. “Feels a little strange sharing a space with someone I just met.”

Lyrelle stopped at the top of the stairs, turning to face him with a calm expression. “It is not strange. It is practical. You are my charge, and it is my responsibility to ensure your safety and progress. This arrangement will suffice.”

Cole glanced around before nodding, though he still seemed unsure. Lyrelle opened a door on the left and gestured for him to enter. “This is where you will stay.”

Stepping into the room, Cole glanced around. It was a modest but comfortable space, with a single bed framed in dark wood, a small desk positioned near a window overlooking the grove, and a tall wardrobe in the corner. The bed was neatly made, the linens soft and inviting.

“It’s... nice,” Cole admitted, running a hand over the desk. Then he glanced back at her. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Good,” she said simply. “Now, come. There’s more to discuss.”

Without waiting for a response, Lyrelle turned and began descending the stairs. Cole followed her, careful with his crutch as he navigated the narrow steps. His leg throbbed with each movement, but he forced himself to keep pace.

The main floor of the home was spacious yet cozy, with the central hearth providing a soft, steady glow. Lyrelle gestured toward a cluster of low cushions arranged near a long wooden table. Books and scrolls were neatly stacked on one side, and a few potted plants adorned the room, their vibrant greenery adding to the natural elegance of the space.

“This is where we’ll speak,” she said, sitting gracefully on one of the cushions and gesturing for Cole to do the same.

Cole lowered himself slowly onto a cushion, wincing as he adjusted his leg. He glanced around the room again, taking in the serene atmosphere, the faint crackle of the hearth, and the subtle scent of herbs in the air.

Lyrelle sat across from Cole, her posture straight and composed as she studied him for a long moment. The flickering light of the hearth cast soft shadows across her face, but her expression remained neutral.

“I will explain everything to you now,” she began, her tone calm but firm. “I ask that you remain silent until I finish. You may ask your questions once I am done.”

Cole opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it again, nodding begrudgingly. He shifted in his seat, leaning back slightly to listen.

Lyrelle continued. “Classes are not unique to you, Cole. They are not something you are born with, nor are they tied to lineage or heritage. Classes are earned. They are bestowed by the world itself when an individual’s actions, choices, and experiences align with a specific path. They represent your skills, your potential, and your growth.”

She gestured slightly, her tone taking on a measured cadence. “Some classes are common—Warrior, Mage, Hunter. Others are more specialized or rare, combining traits of two or more disciplines. For instance, a Paladin is both a Knight and a Priest, bound by faith and combat. And then there are hybrid classes, such as Spellsword, blending magic with martial prowess. The world adapts to you as you adapt to it.”

She paused, giving him a moment to absorb her words before continuing. “Your class, Oathbound, is not unique but uncommon. It reflects the nature of your binding and the choices you have made—both willingly and unwillingly. It is tied to your oath to this city and the runes that mark you.”

Lyrelle stood gracefully and walked over to a tall shelf carved seamlessly into the wall. From it, she retrieved a leather-bound book, its cover adorned with intricate etchings of vines and stars. The binding glimmered faintly in the firelight as she set it on the table between them.

“This book,” she said, resting her hand on its cover, “is a compendium of every known class, skill, and ability cataloged by the elves. It is common among my people but rare and highly coveted by others. Within it, you will find an explanation for the skills granted to you and their potential uses.”

Cole’s curiosity piqued as he eyed the book. “That’s… a hell of a lot of knowledge,” he muttered.

Lyrelle shot him a sharp look, reminding him to remain silent, and flipped the book open with practiced ease. She skimmed the pages until she found the section she was looking for, her finger tracing the delicate script.

“The first skill you were granted,” she said, her voice steady, “is Oathkeeper’s Mark. It signifies your bond to the oath and allows you to sense when it is threatened. If the oath is at risk of being broken, whether by your actions or external forces, the mark will alert you. This skill ensures you remain steadfast in your promise.”

Cole shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the glowing runes on his arm. “Great. A magical conscience,” he muttered under his breath.

Ignoring him, Lyrelle continued. “The second skill, Verdant Resolve, draws upon the power of nature itself to bolster your endurance and resistance. It grants you increased fortitude in both body and spirit, especially when defending the forest or fulfilling your oath.”

“And finally, Unyielding Bond,” she said, turning the page, “creates a link between you and those you are sworn to protect. This bond can strengthen your allies in times of need, enhancing their resolve and ensuring their survival. It is a skill of unity, emphasizing the importance of trust and loyalty.”

She closed the book softly, her green eyes meeting his. “These skills are not just tools. They are responsibilities. They reflect the weight of your oath and the expectations placed upon you.”

Lyrelle leaned forward slightly, her expression shifting from neutral to solemn. The firelight flickered, casting soft shadows across her face as she folded her hands on the table before her.

“Cole,” she began, her voice steady but with a softness that hinted at the gravity of her words, “we need to have a serious conversation. I won’t sugarcoat this, and it might be difficult for you to hear. But it’s necessary.”

Cole straightened slightly in his chair, his brow furrowing. “Alright,” he said cautiously. “I’m listening.”

Lyrelle’s gaze held his, unwavering. “You’ve taken an oath, and with that oath comes responsibility—not just to Sylvalis, but to yourself. The training you will undertake will demand much from you. Strength, discipline, adaptability. Your skills—your class—require a body capable of supporting them. And right now...” She paused, her words measured. “Your body is a liability.”

Cole’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his fingers twitching as though wanting to interrupt.

She continued, her tone softening slightly. “Earlier, I spoke with Elaris, the healer who has tended to you. She explained that the injuries you carry—those scars, the metal near your spine, the damage to your muscles and ligaments—are not just reminders of your past. They are impediments to your future.”

Cole’s eyes flicked downward, his hands tightening into fists. “I’ve been dealing with it just fine,” he muttered.

“You’ve endured,” Lyrelle agreed, her voice steady. “And I respect that. But enduring is not the same as thriving. If you continue as you are, your body will fail you. Your pain will worsen, and your ability to train or fight will diminish.”

Her green eyes softened, and she leaned back slightly, her voice taking on a more personal tone. “Elaris believes your condition can be mended. But the process will not be easy, and it will not be painless.”

Cole’s gaze snapped up to meet hers, his expression guarded. “What do you mean, ‘mended’?”

Lyrelle sighed, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. “Your wounds—particularly the shrapnel and the scar tissue—would need to be reopened. Healing potions cannot mend what has already been sealed and scarred over. The damaged tissue would need to be exposed, allowing the potion to work on the deeper injuries.”

His face twisted in a mix of disbelief and discomfort. “You’re talking about cutting me open. Again.”

“Yes,” Lyrelle said bluntly, though her tone lacked the usual harshness. “It would be painful, but it would give you the chance to reclaim the strength your body has lost. To move without constant pain. To train without limitations.”

Cole exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face with one hand. “And what if I say no? What if I don’t want to be... ‘mended’?”

“why would you not wish to have the wounds healed" Lyrelle asked

“It's complicated" cole muttered looking at the floor.

Lyrelle’s gaze sharpened, her green eyes narrowing as she studied him. “What is so complicated, Cole?” she asked, her tone firm but lacking hostility. “Why would you not want to heal? To rid yourself of pain and regain what you have lost?”

Cole shifted uncomfortably, his hands clenching into fists. His eyes dropped to the floor, avoiding her piercing stare. “It’s just... not that simple,” he muttered, his voice low and uneven.

Lyrelle tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “I do not understand,” she pressed, her voice quieter now but no less insistent. “Why do you hesitate? Why refuse something that could help you?”

Cole’s jaw tightened, and he inhaled deeply through his nose, his chest rising and falling as if battling some internal war. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, the words faltering before they could form.

“Cole,” Lyrelle said again, softer this time. “Tell me. Why is it so difficult?”

He sat frozen for a moment, tension radiating from him like a coiled spring. Then, with a shaky exhale, he dropped his head into his hands, his voice barely above a whisper. “You wouldn’t understand…”

Lyrelle didn’t look away, her silence a steady presence, pressing without words. She slowly, hesitantly reached her hand across the table they were at. Gently resting her hand upon coles, feeling the rough texture of his hands the strength lying dormant below.

Finally, Cole let out a deep sigh, the sound heavy with resignation.

Cole sat in silence for a long moment, his hands still covering his face. The room felt unbearably quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves from the wind outside. Finally, he dropped his hands, his eyes fixed on the grain of the wooden table between them.

“Alright,” he began, his voice low and hoarse. “If you’re going to get it, I guess I need to start from the beginning.”

Lyrelle nodded once, her sharp green eyes locked on him, her hand still resting lightly on his as though silently encouraging him to continue.

“You asked why it’s complicated,” Cole said, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “It’s because it’s not just about me. It’s about them.”

“Them?” Lyrelle echoed softly.

“My team,” Cole said, the words catching slightly in his throat. “My... brothers. Not by blood, but by everything else that matters.”

Lyrelle’s gaze softened, her curiosity tempered by a growing understanding that whatever he was about to say carried immense weight. She remained silent, letting him take his time.

“Back home, we use these vehicles called humvees,” Cole began, his tone steady, though his eyes remained fixed on the table. “They’re... well, think of them as carriages, but covered in armor. They’re made to carry soldiers through dangerous places. The turret—it’s like a mounted weapon on top—sticks out, and it’s the gunner’s job to stand up there, exposed, to keep everyone safe.”

Lyrelle tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing as she tried to visualize what he described. “Exposed? Why?”

“Because someone has to,” Cole said simply, his voice tinged with bitterness. “The turret gunner’s job is to be the eyes and ears of the vehicle. You’re up there, looking for anything that might be a threat. Snipers, ambushes, and... IEDs.”

He paused, glancing at her. “IEDs—improvised explosive devices. Bombs. Hidden in the ground, on the side of the road, anywhere you wouldn’t think to look. They’re designed to rip apart vehicles like humvees. Kill everyone inside.”

Lyrelle’s eyes widened slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “And you were... this gunner?”

“Yeah,” Cole said, nodding slowly. “That was my job that day. I asked a buddy to take my night shift so I... so I could play a game with the rest of the squad. Stupid card game. We stayed up late, joking, drinking cheap coffee from the mess. He took my shift so I could sit in and blow off steam.”

He paused, his fingers tapping against the table before stilling entirely. His throat tightened as he continued. “The next day, I told him I’d take turret to even things out. He wasn’t gonna argue—nobody wants to ride turret unless they have to. Ass on that strap, bouncing with every bump, your legs going numb. But I figured it was fair, y’know? It was my turn.”

He glanced up at Lyrelle, who was watching him intently, her lips slightly parted as if she were about to say something but thought better of it.

Cole let out a humorless laugh, leaning back in his chair. “Halfway through the convoy, my ass was numb as hell, the strap cutting into that spot between your legs. I was shouting down to Sean—he was sitting in the back left seat—begging him to swap places with me.”

He mimicked the motion, lightly kicking the underside of the table. “‘C’mon, man,’ I yelled. ‘Just give me ten minutes in the seat. My ass is dying up here!’” His voice softened as he dropped his gaze. “And he just laughed. ‘No way, Cole,’ he told me. ‘You asked for this.’”

Cole’s voice faltered as he stared at the woodgrain of the table.

Cole’s hand unconsciously curled into a fist, his nails digging into his palm as he began speaking again, his voice distant, as if he were being pulled back to that day.

“It happened so fast. One moment, I was yelling at Sean, trying to make him laugh, trying to distract myself from the heat, the dust, and the endless goddamn noise. The next moment...” His voice faltered, his breath catching as his eyes stared past Lyrelle, unfocused. “The next moment, the world went quiet. Not peaceful quiet, but the kind of silence that screams something’s wrong.”

Lyrelle leaned forward slightly, her green eyes intent, not interrupting.

“I saw it... just a flash of movement on the road. A glint of something—metal—half-buried in the dirt. But by the time I processed it, it was already too late.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “An IED.”

Lyrelle frowned slightly. “IED?”

“Improvised Explosive Device,” Cole explained, his words clipped. “A bomb hidden on the side of the road or buried beneath it. The enemy used them to... catch us off guard, destroy vehicles, kill soldiers. They’re hell.”

He inhaled sharply, his hands trembling. “The humvee—the one I was in—it just... lifted. The sound was deafening. Like the world splitting open. I remember the heat, the metal, the blast throwing me out of the turret like a ragdoll. The last thing I saw was the entire bottom of the vehicle tearing apart, flames pouring out... and Sean...” He paused, his voice breaking slightly. “Sean was in the backseat.”

Lyrelle’s expression softened, though her posture remained firm. She didn’t interrupt, letting him continue.

“After the explosion... everything was chaos. Dust, fire, screams—I didn’t know whose voice it was, just this horrible, never-ending scream. My ears were ringing so loud I couldn’t think, but that gods damned screaming but wouldn’t stop. I tried to crawl back to the wreckage, but someone—Doc, the medic—was dragging me away. I was fighting him, screaming at him to let me go. Sean, Mike, and Kai were still in there.”

Cole swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he fought to keep his composure. “I didn’t even know it was me that was screaming until later, after I woke up 47 hours later from a medically induced coma”

His breathing quickened, and his voice grew hoarse. “They didn’t make it. None of them. And I couldn’t stop it. I was supposed to be watching for that IED. It was my job, Lyrelle. Mine. And I failed.”

The silence between them was heavy, the weight of Cole’s words filling the room. His chest rose and fell as he tried to steady himself, his hands trembling slightly. Lyrelle didn’t move, her gaze steady but filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite name.

Here’s how this part of the dialogue could unfold, blending Cole’s guilt with Lyrelle’s wisdom and compassion:

Cole leaned back in his chair, his voice dropping to a near whisper, raw with emotion. “Pain... the scars... it’s what I deserve. I failed my team, I failed the convoy. Because I was complacent. Because I fucked up.” He glanced down at his trembling hands, his gaze distant. “I deserve this pain. I deserve everything I’ve got coming.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. Lyrelle regarded him for a long moment, her expression thoughtful but tinged with something gentler—empathy, perhaps.

Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but steady, like the rustling of leaves in the wind. “You carry a great burden, Cole. One that has festered in your heart like a wound left untended. But pain is not the proof of your worth. It is not a penance you must bear to balance the scales.”

Cole scoffed, shaking his head. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t there. You didn’t hear the screams, didn’t see the flames. You don’t know what it’s like to live knowing you failed the people who trusted you.”

Lyrelle’s green eyes locked onto his, piercing and unwavering. “No, I do not know your war, your world, or the weight of your loss. But I know this: clinging to pain does not honor those you lost. Carrying your guilt as a penance only blinds you to the lessons their lives taught you.”

He frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“You say you failed them,” Lyrelle continued, her tone gaining strength. “But are you failing them now by letting the pain consume you? Or could you honor their memory by using what you’ve learned, by ensuring that the sacrifices they made were not in vain?”

Cole’s gaze dropped to the table, his hands clenching into fists. Her words cut through his defenses like a blade, forcing him to confront the truth he had buried beneath layers of guilt.

“The scars you bear, both on your body and in your soul, do not make you unworthy,” Lyrelle added, her voice softening again. “They make you human. And they remind you that you survived—for a reason.”

Cole’s throat tightened, and he blinked rapidly, trying to push back the flood of emotions her words stirred. “What reason?” he whispered hoarsely.

“That is for you to discover,” Lyrelle said, her lips curving into a faint, almost sad smile. “But you cannot find it if you remain chained to the past. Pain can either define you or guide you. The choice is yours.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the room filled with the unspoken weight of their shared understanding. Lyrelle’s words lingered in the air, a fragile bridge extended toward Cole, waiting for him to take the first step.

The silence between them stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. Cole’s gaze drifted from the table to Lyrelle’s hand still resting on his. Her fingers were long and elegant, their touch light yet steady, as if she was grounding him without restraining him. Slowly, his eyes traveled up to meet hers.

Lyrelle’s green eyes shimmered in the soft light of the room, deep and vibrant like the forest canopy. For a moment, he was struck by how open they seemed—vulnerable, yet filled with an unyielding strength. The distance he’d felt between them since their first encounter seemed to melt away, replaced by an unspoken connection that neither of them dared to acknowledge aloud.

Her head tilted slightly, her expression softening. There was no judgment in her gaze now, no wall of duty or protocol. Only quiet understanding, as though she could see the fractured pieces of him he tried so desperately to hide.

Cole felt his chest tighten, his breath catching. He didn’t know why—whether it was the intensity of her gaze or the way her presence steadied him in a way nothing had in years. It wasn’t just her beauty; it was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite put into words.

Lyrelle’s lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to speak, but no words came. Instead, her hand shifted, her fingers curling gently around his. The warmth of her touch seeped into his skin, steady and sure, a silent promise that he wasn’t alone in this.

Cole’s gaze flicked to their joined hands, then back to her face. The weight of his decision, of her words, hung in the air between them, but for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel crushing. It felt... manageable.

“I’ll do it,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within him.

Lyrelle’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, her eyes never leaving his. “Good,” she said simply, her voice no louder than a whisper.

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of them, the connection between them humming quietly in the stillness. Then, as if on cue, Lyrelle released his hand and stood, her expression resuming its usual composure, though there was a warmth in her gaze that hadn’t been there before.

“Rest tonight,” she said. “You’ll need your strength.”

Cole nodded, his resolve solidifying. Whatever came next, he would face it.

Cole Bennett

Cole stood still, scanning his surroundings, his breath steady and controlled despite the growing tension in his chest. Something was off, fucking obviously. The thick, unfamiliar trees loomed around him, their branches heavy with leaves that shimmered in a way he'd never seen before. The air was strange too—damp, cool, and tinged with a faint metallic scent.

None of this was right. One minute, he’d been leaving his house to head to his favorite fly fishing spot in Norther Iowa, and the next... here he was. Wherever here was.

He adjusted his backpack, shifting the weight of his gear as his eyes swept the landscape. No sound of traffic, no familiar birdsong. Not even the distant hum of planes overhead. Just silence. Thick and unsettling.

“Where the hell am I? What the fuck just happened.” Cole muttered. He felt his chest and arms start to burn, his chest tightened, his heart started pounding, he stumbled into a near by tree dropping his pack and digging into his pockets. He pulled out a bottle and took one of the pills. He closed his eyes and started to hum. Fucking panic attacks.

It took awhile for the hydroxyzine to do its job but he felt himself slowly start to calm. The burning slowly faded from his arms and chest, breathing was becoming easier and his heart was finally starting to calm down.

Cole took a few deep breaths and let out a long breath “Fuck you body.” He muttered. He hadn’t always been like this. Once he was normal, or whatever the fuck that meant, but there was a time before all the medication and the panic attacks. Why was he like this, what was wrong with him? Had he finally lost it?

Cole smacked the side of his head “And fuck you too brain. Don’t chase the rabbit. Don’t chase the rabbit. Don’t case the rabbit.”

Cole spoke to himself “I'm going to open my eyes no matter what I see, I'm not crazy, I might need help but im not crazy. I will assess the situation, and work the problem.”

He slowly opened his eyes still seeing the forest around him. “What the fuck, I did not need this today"

Cole sat and leaned his back again the tree. The bark or wood was, unlike any other tree he had ever seen back home, the bark or wood or whatever was almost soft to the touch and smooth. He leaned back assessing his situation.

“Okay, think. I was leaving my house, I was going to go fly fishing. I opened my front door. Walked out…I walked out…then…I was here?”

Cole growled “I have to be missing something, you don’t just teleport wherever the fuck I am, okay. Assess my gear.”

Cole sat up and started going through everything he had on his person. Wallet, knife, glock 43x mos, and spare fifteen round mag. He knew he had two MREs in his bag, two bottles of water, spare flies, fly fishing Oreos with spare cord. Probably some other nonsense but that’s about it, and not knowing where he was that glock was going to be worth about fuck all if shit hit the fan. In his experience three hundred and sixty rounds went fast, thirty rounds wasn’t going to last for shit.

Cole started to look around and take in his surroundings The terrain was rougher than he was used to from home. The forest floor was uneven, littered with stones and roots that seemed to twist toward him like grasping fingers. The trees were larger than anything he’d ever seen before. Like those…what were they? Redwoods? Those giant tree in…California?

The foliage looked like something right out of a Jurassic park movie. He didn’t know where he was but it sure as shit wasn’t Iowa anymore. Cole looked around but nothing moved. No signs of wildlife, no tracks. Just that strange, oppressive quiet. The wind that slowly rustled the giant plants.

A familiar tightness started to grip his lower back. “again, fuck you body" he muttered standing up and getting his pack on, gritting his teeth against the growing pain as he adjusted his pack and picked a random direction and started to walk.

Normally this was a stupid ass decision. Les Stroud always said if you’re lost stay put, well that’s if someone knows where you might be, not if you stepped out the door of your house and were randomly teleported….wherever the hell this was. So moving and looking for civilization was going to be his best bet.

Cole talked to himself as he walked. “Well this is just fucking perfect. Lost in the asshole on who knows where, possibly crazy, definitely lost…I need to find another source of water, two bottles of water isnt going to last a day. What were those rules of three? Channel me some energy Les, Three hours without shelter, three days without water and three weeks without food?” cole muttered to himself as he kept walking thought the foliage. His training was kicking back in, he walk for a few steps, stop, listen, scan. This went on for hours until his back was on the verge of sizing up. He had to stop.

Cole found a tree and leaned against it dropping his pack and sliding down the trunk to a sitting position. He wiped away the sweat away from his brow and shook some of the sweat from his hair. He dug into his pack pulling out one of the MREs and a bottle of water. He wouldn’t eat the full MRE each one had a few different items in it. The full meal, a snack, some coffee, some had a powdered drink mix that tried to be a milkshake but was just fucking awful, and a side “dish". Then of course a treat.

Cole wished they were like the world war two rations right now that also had smokes. He could sure use one right now. He decided the snack would hold him over for now, he dug into the pack, poppy seed muffin. Well it wasn’t awful, if he was being honest he kinda liked those.

He ate in silence and washed it down with some water. After he packed everything back up he started to look around again deciding which way to go next. The tightness in his back flaired back up as he stood and started putting the pack back on. Cole just gritted his teeth and moved on.

It had been hours he was sure of it, and still nothing, the ground had started sloping upwards about two or three miles back, the trees were starting to thin and the rocks scattered throughout the forest were starting to grow thicker and larger. His back was tight and the pain had long been radiating up and down his spine.

Cole stepped on one of rocks and it rolled. It was nothing dramatic, no rock slides, no boulder rolling over his leg, it was a rock the size of a baseball, it rolled just enough to cause an involuntary reaction from his body, his back tightened to try and stabilize him from the “fall" that was never coming and that was it. His back muscles seized, the pain dropped him to his knees as he yelled. He fell to his stomach, eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched, growling against the pain.

He tried to get back up against his bodies will and the pain flared back up, his back muscles turning to molten iron rods, lights flashed in his eyes as he collapsed again.

Cole sat in the turret of the humvee, he fucking hated this job, dirt and dust rushing against his goggles, the dirt and grit forcing its was into his mouth and nose, the fifty obstructing his view, the gods damn strap he had to sit on was digging into that soft area between your ass and thighs it was fucking great.

At least being first in the convoy had its perks, he looked back over the armor plate to the humvee behind them. Jake was wearing his full baklava, goggles, and shielding his face with his arm. The dust from a vehicle in front of you really sucked. Cole looked back around and kicked the guy on his left and yelled down to him over the sound of the humvee and the wind. “Sean Switch me dude, my ass is numb and my legs arnt far behind!”

“Fuck you Cole!” Laughed Sean “You said you’d ride that bitch the whole way back for me taking your watch the other night!”

“I fucking hate you Sean! Come on Motherfucker I'm dying up he..” the roar of the humvee was suddenly          gone, the world was quiet. It was peaceful for all of the blink of an eye. Everything was in slow motion. One moment he was fucking around with Sean the next moment the humvee seemed to bulge at the bottom. The metal started to rip upward fire leaking through the tears. Then time was normal, Cole was falling toward the ground then there was darkness.

Cole opened his eyes gasping for breath, face in the dirt these fucking plants clinging around his body, he tried to move but his back was still tight. He curled into a fetal position to stretch out his back muscles. He tried to look around, it was dark. Like the middle of nowhere in Afghanistan with an overcast sky kind of dark. He couldn’t see anything.

He crawled forward trying to reach another tree to lean up against when he heard it. A faint grunt. He froze. He didn’t know what it was but he knew anything from a wild boar to a grizzly can and would be fatal. He slowly lifted his head above the foliage. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, but it was just so dark he could hardly see the plants in front of his face yet alone anything else.

But he did see something else, pairs of glowing red eyes. They slowly moved up and down as they moved silently through the brush. They else were moving as if they were searching for something….or someone. There looked to be three sets of eyes. A part of Cole wanted to call out for help, but another part of him knew it would be his death.

He reached for the glock pulling it from the holster as quietly as he could. The slight sound of metal on plastic sounded like a bomb going off. The eyes and whatever they were attached to noticed. Cole watched as all three sets of eyes snapped to him. Not to around about where he was but at HIM.

He heard whatever they were growling and speaking? It was no language he had ever heard before but it sounded like a language like they were talking to each other.

“Hello!” the voices went silent as the eyes vanished from sight, the noise from them dropping to the ground was obviously and extremely loud. Cole dared not take his eyes off of the location where they were. “I need help, I'm lost!” Two sets of glowing red eyes popped up with a loud shrieking and screaming as the eyes grew larger coming towards him. Whatever this was, wasn’t human couldn’t be with those eyes. His training kicked in, he lined up the glock with the first set of eyes. He aimed the red dot three inches below the eyes and fired twice, he saw bright flashed of green and the set of eyes fall. He turned to second and fired twice also. That set of eyes dropped.

His heart was pounding and his chest was heaving for breath. There had been three sets of eyes right? Where was the third? There was a screech behind him, and a grip of iron on his ankle. He tried to yank his foot away or out of his boot the grip was strong. Before he could fire he felt a searing pain in his thigh, he fired at the eyes. He saw the red eyes jerk away from him then shoot right back to his face, he heard a roar from the creature, something gutteral and full of rage he fired until the eyes eyes fell away from him and glocks slide locked to the rear and clicked.

He ejected the mag and put in the spare and dropped the slide, holding the gun in front of him and trying to slide away from where he thought the creature was, it was impossible to hear anything over his own rapid breathing. He tried to calm his breathing when he felt something on the barrel of the gun, he fired once. The creatures grip stopping the glock from cycling. The hand fell away, and cole crawled away as fast as he could dragging his injured leg. The darkness made it all worse. He couldn’t see, his stupid fucking back was sizing up his leg has been, stabbed or broken or bitten or something, and he could do nothing but crawl.

He crawled until he so tired he had to stop. He tore off his jacket and shirt and wrapped the shirt around the area he had been injured, he couldn’t do anything while he couldn’t see anything, he could only hope the wound was so severe that he would die in the night. He knew he was bleeding a lot he could feel that on his jeans. He could only hope that the shirt and pressure would stop the bleeding.

He leaned back running his hand over the gun, the upper receiver was….bent? No, indented, he wrapped his hand around it. It was indented by the grip of whatever it was that grabbed it. The gun was junk he was sure of it. It had indented the slide and most likely the barrel too.

Cole threw the gun in rage toward the creature, He was tired. He really hopped it was from the adrenaline wearing off and not the blood loss. It was hard to care either way. It had always been a long time coming. He should have died sixteen years ago. His head slumped to his shoulder, his eyes slowly closed, he heard the rustling of foliage close to him there was nothing he could do. He felt his body moving then felt his head hit the dirt.

His vision began to blur, the edges of his sight darkening, Cole woke up, confused at first. The world was swimming around him, fuzzy, blurry he couldn’t focus but he felt he was laying in the dirt and sand. The ground was warm the sands heat from soaking up the suns rays all day warmed his body. There was no sound though. Everything was quiet, almost peaceful. Then he felt a hand grab his ankle and pull. He couldn’t figure out why something was pulling on him but it hurt, a lot. His whole body hurt, here was pain everywhere. His back was in the most pain he had ever felt in his life.

Cole tried to crawl away from whatever was pulling on him causing the pain. When suddenly the world was back. He was look at humvee burning, he could hear screaming, small arms fire, the loud rhythmic thump of the fifty cals and MK19s firing. Who the fuck was screaming? He looked around he was being pulled back to another humvee? Why was he out of his humvee? And who the fuck was screaming!?

That Gods damn scream just wouldn’t stop! Who the fuck was that!? Cole tried to look around as he was being dragged, he saw the burning humvee, it was practically split in half burning on both ends, bits of burning stuff laying around the scorched crater around the humvee.

Colt heard his name, and tried to look around and found a face above his. It looked familiar…he knew that face somewhere, but that gods damn screaming was so distracting! He knew that face. Kyle, right? Yeah Kyle! The medic! Doc! Cole wanted to speak but that screaming. It was everywhere. the world snapped back all at once.

The humvee, an IED, he was blown from the turret. He started to crawl back toward the burning wreckage. SEAN! KAI! MIKE!!!! He crawled and dug into the earth trying to pull himself toward the humvee but fucking Kyle wouldn’t let him go, Cole screamed, cried and fought, but kyle wouldn’t let him go. The world started to swim again. Cole felt cold, tired and weak. As he started to pass out he had one final thought. At last the screaming had finally stopped.

Cole stirred, half-aware of the world around him, his eyelids heavy and unwilling to open. His body felt like dead weight, pressed into the cold, damp earth beneath him. Every muscle ached, especially his back, which felt as if it had fused into a solid block overnight. He was shivering, his whole body twitching with the remnants of cold that had settled into his bones during the long, freezing night.

When he finally pried his eyes open, it took a moment for his surroundings to come into focus. The morning light was a dim, bluish haze filtering through the towering trees above. Cole blinked, realizing he was lying on his side, one arm trapped uncomfortably beneath him. He tried to move it, but his fingers were stiff, numbed by the cold, and the slightest shift sent a searing pain up his back.

He grit his teeth, forcing himself to sit up, but even that felt like climbing a mountain. His head swam, and for a moment, dark spots danced across his vision, a reminder of how much blood he’d lost the night before. He pressed a hand to his thigh, where the makeshift bandage clung to his skin, now stiff with dried blood. Every inch of him was either frozen stiff or throbbing, and his leg burned like fire with each small movement.

A shiver wracked his body, and he hugged his arms to his chest, his breath coming in small, fogged puffs. “Hell of a night,” he forced a small laugh, voice barely a rasp, his throat parched and raw.

He glanced at his backpack lying just out of reach, every movement an agonizing struggle to retrieve it. Finally, he managed to drag it closer and pulled out one of the water bottles. The cold liquid hit his tongue like relief and torture all at once. His body craved warmth, craved rest, but he knew he couldn’t stay here. Not like this, but first he had to know. What the hell were those things last night.

Cole’s fingers fumbled through the bag, the shakiness from the cold and blood loss making him clumsy. “C’mon, motherfucker. ” he growled to himself, steeling his resolve. He had to move, no matter how much his body protested. He slowly stood and looked around one of the creatures was only a few yards away from him, lying on its back its red eyes starring up into the forest cover above.

“Fucking….goblin?” Cole leaned against a tree building the energy to move closer to the creature.

He limped forward from tree to tree using them as support until he finally stood above the corps. It stunk, he covered his face with the crook of his arm as he look down at it. Now everyone had seen Lord of the Rings especially him, This was a fucking goblin down right out ofPeter Jacksons movies a goblin. Except this one had a neat bull hole right in its stupid fucking forehead.

It was a dark green verging on black, though cole couldn’t tell if that was how filthy the creature was or if it was the pigment of its skin, it had a head of rough looking greasy, wiry black hair on its head, a long crooked noise that ended in a point. Its mouth was partly open the inside was black and the teeth were pointed and jagged with probably every kind of mouth disease this place had.

“I've seen crackheads with a better smile” Cole muttered “smelled better too"

It was wearing leather armor that looked like it had been hand stitched together from the leather of different animals. It didn’t look like it had anything worth look at on it and its stench was awful.

Having enough Cole limped away from the stench of that thing. He made it just about as far as to where he had woken up and found a tree to sit against. He dropped the pack next to him and dug out some of the left over MRE.

He muttered to himself as he slowly ate, every bite felt like a challenge.

“Were not in Kansas anymore todo” he chewed forcing the dry rice down.

I've either lost my mind or I’m either in another world, or…time, or something. Cole looked around

He finished eating, packed everything up, and took a slow, steadying breath as he leaned his head back against the tree. This was all so far beyond anything he could wrap his mind around. Another world…? It sounded absurd, but he couldn’t deny what he’d seen. Creatures that looked like goblins straight out of a book, and this forest was like nothing he’d ever seen.

Cole pushed himself up, grimacing as his back tightened. The cold of the night and the blood loss had left him aching, weak, but staying here wasn’t an option. He needed a plan—water, shelter, and maybe, if he was lucky, some answers.

"Alright," he muttered, adjusting his pack, "time to get moving. Let’s see if I can figure out where the hell I am."

He took another dragging step forward, jaw clenched as the pain throbbed up his spine, radiating down to his hips and knees like fire eating away at him from the inside. Nothing new, he reminded himself, swallowing down the bitterness that surged up with each step. This was life now this is what life had been sense a piece of shrapnel logged itself near his spine—one foot in front of the other, no matter how much it hurt.

“Every damn day,” he muttered, almost as if reminding himself of the routine could lessen the ache. But out here, the pain felt raw, amplified by the cold bite of the morning air and the unfamiliar terrain that made his joints protest with every uneven step.

“Just keep moving, Cole. Just…keep moving. Don’t be bitch, suck it up.” The whisper was more to fill the silence than anything else, a mantra to keep him from crumbling under the weight of his own misery. He scanned the forest, hoping to catch sight of anything—a trickle of water, a break in the trees, maybe even smoke from a distant camp. But the forest stretched on, dense and endless.

He paused, after what felt like hours of walking. He wiped a shaky hand across his forehead and inhaling a deep, grounding breath. Out here, there were no soft beds, no painkillers waiting on the nightstand, no escape from this relentless ache gnawing at him. He was alone, wounded, barely clinging to any sense whatsoever.

Standing here feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t fix any of this. He pushed on determined to keep moving.

As darkness started to settle over the forest, Cole felt his back and leg throbbing with each step, pain radiating through his body. He scanned his surroundings, desperately hoping for any kind of shelter. Just up ahead, he spotted a rocky overhang jutting out from a hillside, partially concealed by vines and brush. It wasn’t much, but it would keep him out of the elements for the night.

Cole hobbled toward the overhang, gritting his teeth against the pain, and dropped his pack on the ground. He dug through the bag and found a lighter tucked into one of the pockets. "Thank the Gods for small favors," he muttered, flicking it to life. He gathered some dry leaves and twigs, coaxing a small fire to life in front of the overhang. The warmth was instant, and he leaned close, savoring it.

After arranging his things around him, Cole settled down he stared at his leg, the throbbing was only getting worse he needed to remove the makeshift bandage and see how bad it was. He carefully peeled off the makeshift bandage around his thigh. His stomach churned at the smell that started to carry from the wound. The smell of sour rot assaulted his senses. Cole slowly finished removing the bandage and looked at the sight of the jagged gash, swollen and red, caked with dried blood and dirt. He cursed softly, feeling the raw ache throb in time with his heartbeat. The skin around the wound was hot to the touch, a yellow pus was starting to leak from the ends of the gash.

He leaned back, staring into the fire, exhaustion and pain gnawing at him. He wasn’t sure what to do, none of his medical knowledge worked around infections. “Fuck" Cole growled staring into the fire. His mind racing. He thought of Rambo and cauterizing the wound, no that wouldn’t work, a burn would likely just get infected as well. Infection meant dead tissue, didn’t doctors cut or scrub that out? He couldn’t manage that on his own. Hell he couldn’t even boil his bandages to try and clean them.

He resigned himself to his fate for the night; there was nothing more he could do. Carefully, he wrapped the bandage around the wound again, wincing as he tightened it, then added more wood to the fire. The warmth felt like a small comfort against the vast, chilling night. Exhaustion pressed down on him, and the moment he closed his eyes, sleep claimed him.

The Eterna'vyrn Forest was as ancient and mysterious as the stars above, its towering trees forming a dense canopy that filtered sunlight into fractured greens and golds on the forest floor. Lyrelle Ashthorne moved with the grace of her kin, her light steps muffled by the moss-covered ground. The air was crisp and earthy, carrying the scent of pine and damp soil—but there was something sharper beneath it. Blood.

She paused, crouching low, her keen eyes scanning the forest floor. A disturbance broke the serene stillness: tracks, heavy and deliberate, cutting through the moss. Her fingers brushed the edges of the prints, larger than any she'd encountered in her patrols. They matched the ones from her training—human.

Her brow furrowed. A human this deep in Eterna'vyrn? It wasn’t unheard of in ages past, but few dared venture here now, and none had succeeded without guidance. The spacing of the steps showed exhaustion, and the uneven depth suggested injury. Whoever it was, they weren’t moving with ease.

Strange, she thought, rising fluidly and slinging her bow across her back. The trail led toward Sylvalis. That was even more strange, the city had defenses, wards to turn about any intruder away from the city. Yet this apparent human was apparently unguided, injured and stumbling toward the city.

It made no sense.

A soft breeze stirred the trees, carrying the faint scent of smoke. Her nose wrinkled. A fire had been lit recently, its acrid tang foreign in a forest that guarded its secrets fiercely. No elf would give away their position so carelessly.

Her sharp green eyes narrowed as she began to follow the trail. Her hand brushed the hilt of her sword as she moved, the stillness of the forest amplifying the rhythmic beat of her cautious footsteps.

It didn’t take long before the scent of blood was palpable. She froze at the sight of two crumpled forms lying motionless beneath the sprawling roots of an ancient tree. Goblins. Lyrelle’s lip curled in distaste. Their mangy, grotesque bodies were coated in grime, and their dark blood stained the earth. She crouched low, inspecting the wounds. Each one had been killed with precision—clean shots to the head or chest, likely projectiles, though the marks didn’t match any arrows she’d seen, there were many spells and artifacts that could cause such wounds though.

She examined the tracks again, now accompanied by faint smears of blood leading away from the scene. Whoever had killed the goblins had been injured. Lyrelle’s curiosity deepened as she continued the pursuit. Her lithe form wove through the trees, her steps guided by the faint trail of broken twigs and disturbed moss and occasional drops of blood where the human had stopped to rest. The scent of smoke grew stronger, and her sharp ears picked up the faint crackle of a fire.

As dusk fell, the trail led her to a small clearing. A human figure lay slumped near a modest campfire beneath a rocky overhang. His face was pale, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Sweat glistened on his brow, and his bandaged leg rested awkwardly to one side. Lyrelle approached cautiously, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword. The flickering firelight illuminated his features—rough, weathered, and marked with lines of hardship. He looked strong, but he was clearly in pain, his back stiff against the rock wall behind him.

Lyrelle crouched at the edge of the clearing, watching him intently. The small knife he clutched onto was strange unlike any she had seen before. As the hours passed, she remained hidden, keeping a silent vigil. Deciding what to do with this human. Elves needed little sleep, and she spent the night observing him, studying his movements and the occasional mutterings that escaped his lips. It was familiar, the language of the humans that she had been taught. It was strange to hear it from the actual source though.

Lyrelle crept silently toward the human as the night deepened, her steps just outside the glow of the firelight. She crouched low, studying him with sharp, watchful eyes. The acrid stench of rot wafted from the makeshift bandage wrapped around his leg, mingling with the metallic tang of dried blood. His sweat-drenched hair clung to his forehead, and his body trembled intermittently, likely from fever. She noted his shallow breaths and the unnatural flush to his skin—signs of a body struggling against its limits.

Hours passed as she kept her vigil. The human's feverish shivers came and went, his face occasionally tightening in pain. Then, without warning, his body jerked violently. His breathing turned erratic, a strangled cry escaping his lips.

“No! Let me go! No!” His words tore through the silence, hoarse and raw with desperation. He clawed at the air, his trembling hands reaching for something—or someone—unseen.

Lyrelle rose instinctively, her movements fluid as a cat's. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword, the weapon halfway drawn before she realized the human wasn’t awake. He was locked in a battle against invisible tormentors.

Her grip on the sword slackened, and she eased it back into the scabbard. She had seen this before—the Scars of Memory, as the elders called it. The ghosts of war, lingering long after the battles had ended. In soldiers who had survived the Great War, it manifested in nights of anguished cries and frantic movements, haunted by horrors that refused to fade.

Lyrelle’s sharp features softened as she watched him thrash and fight against phantoms. His cries fractured the stillness of the forest, echoing pain that felt far too human.

Then, just as suddenly, it ended. His body slumped against the rock, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. The firelight danced over his pale, sweat-slicked face, and he fell still, the exhaustion of his battle dragging him back into uneasy sleep.

Lyrelle retreated further into the shadows, her mind racing. Whoever this man was, he was no simple wanderer. His wounds, his scars, and now this—he was a warrior, one who had faced horrors she could scarcely imagine. Yet somehow, he had passed through the wards surrounding Eterna’vyrn, a feat that should have been impossible.

The council would demand answers. Tomorrow, she would bring him to Sylvalis.

For now, she kept her watch, letting the weary stranger rest. Tomorrow would not be kind to him.

Morning arrived in a haze of muted light and searing pain. Cole's body burned with fever, every muscle and joint aching as if he’d been hit by a truck. The world around him was distorted, spinning in slow, nauseating waves. He blinked, his vision swimming, trying to make sense of the figure looming just beyond the firelight.

A voice. It was faint at first, a murmur cutting through the fog. Then it sharpened, clear and commanding, though the words were foreign and incomprehensible. Cole groaned, his head lolling to one side as he squinted at the figure. It was tall, slim, and wreathed in the dappled shadows of the forest. The voice came again, firmer now, insistent. Was it asking something? Demanding?

His chest tightened as fragments of the night before crashed into his mind—those glowing red eyes, the screeching cries, the feel of blood soaking his hands. His grip tightened instinctively around the pocket knife still clutched in his palm. Monsters. It had to be more of those monsters.

With a guttural growl, Cole lashed out, swinging the blade wildly in front of him. His vision blurred, but he heard the sound of movement—light footsteps retreating, just out of reach. He struggled to rise, but his legs refused to obey, his body trembling from fever and exhaustion.

"Stay back!" he rasped, his voice cracking. The figure moved closer again, the same unfamiliar words spilling forth in a controlled, even tone. It was calm, deliberate—but it only fueled his panic. His heart thundered in his chest as he slashed again, his movements growing weaker with every swing.

Then he heard it—a voice. Feminine. The tone shifted, softening like the edge of a blade sheathed. The words were still foreign, but the cadence... it wasn’t hostile. It wasn’t a monster.

Cole’s vision flickered, and for a moment, he thought he saw a face. High cheekbones, piercing green eyes, and a calm, steady expression. The voice came again, quieter now, almost soothing. His grip on the knife faltered.

The adrenaline drained from him in a rush, and his body went limp. The knife fell from his hand, clattering against the stones. His vision darkened, the figure still standing over him, framed by the morning light.

"Not a monster," he muttered, his voice slurring as his head lolled to the side. The warmth of the fever overtook him, dragging him back into unconsciousness.

Got it, here's a revised version that better meshes with Cole's hazy perspective and doesn't repeat prior information unnecessarily:

Lyrelle stood a cautious distance away, watching the human stir in fevered confusion. The infection had clearly taken hold, his face flushed and his body trembling as he wrestled with something unseen. She had observed his restless night, the way he fought specters of his past in his dreams, and now it seemed the fever had dragged him into a waking nightmare.

She approached slowly, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword, ready to defend herself if necessary. The morning light painted the clearing in muted hues, but her sharp eyes never left the human’s erratic movements. As she stepped closer, she called out to him in a steady, commanding voice. “Human. Be still.”

At first, he didn’t respond, his glassy eyes blinking slowly as if trying to focus on something beyond her. Then, as her shadow fell across him, his body tensed. Panic overtook his features. His hand darted for the small blade at his side—a strange and crude weapon, she noted—and swung it wildly, the motion clumsy but driven by desperation.

Lyrelle stepped back smoothly, avoiding the swipe with practiced ease. “Calm yourself,” she said, her tone firm but calm, though she doubted he understood her words. His breathing quickened, and his eyes darted around the clearing, unfocused and filled with fear. His lips moved, forming words she couldn’t understand, but their tone spoke of panic and defiance.

He lunged forward, or tried to, but his injured leg betrayed him. The motion sent him sprawling back against the rock, his chest heaving. Lyrelle’s hand tightened briefly on her sword, but she didn’t draw it. This human was no threat—at least, not in this condition. Still, his desperation made him unpredictable.

The human thrashed weakly, his hand clutching the knife as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. “Stay back!” he rasped, his voice hoarse and trembling. Lyrelle tilted her head, the words unfamiliar but filled with intent. She spoke again, softer now, trying to convey reassurance. “I mean no harm.”

Her words seemed to cut through his haze, if only for a moment. His wild gaze met hers, and for a brief instant, she saw something in his eyes—a warrior’s resolve, buried beneath the fever and fear. But the moment passed, and his strength failed him. The blade slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground as his head slumped forward.

Lyrelle hesitated, her sharp ears catching the faint, strained breaths escaping his lips. He muttered something, too quiet for her to hear, and then he was still. She stepped closer, crouching beside him with a watchful gaze. His face, though lined with pain, bore the unmistakable mark of someone who had fought and suffered.

Yet now he was broken, vulnerable. Her brow furrowed as she took in his injuries. The makeshift bandage on his leg was poorly tied, and the wound beneath it reeked of infection. She had no skill in healing, but even to her untrained eye, it was clear he wouldn’t last long without aid.

Lyrelle straightened, her gaze lingering on the unconscious human. The trail back to Sylvalis was clear in her mind, but the decision to follow it with him in tow was not so simple. Her duty was to the city and its safety, and bringing a human this close to their borders was not a matter to take lightly. Yet leaving him here, defenseless and fever-stricken, felt... wrong.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, resolve hardening. She had to bring him back. If not for the sake of the man himself, then for the council. He was closer to Sylvalis than any human in centuries, bypassing defenses meant to be impenetrable. The Verdant Sovereign and the elders would demand answers.

Taking a steadying breath, Lyrelle crouched down beside him. With strength that belied her lithe frame, she lifted the human onto her shoulders in a fluid motion. He was heavy, his body slack and fever-warm against her back, but her training as a pathfinder had prepared her for burdens far greater than this.

Without another glance at the clearing, Lyrelle turned and began the journey back toward the hidden city, her footsteps as sure and silent as the forest that closed in around her.

Cole’s head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, every thought sluggish and distorted. His body was a patchwork of aches, the sharp pain in his leg radiating through him like fire. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open, his vision swimming. Sunlight filtered in through an intricate lattice of carved wood above him, casting geometric patterns on a ceiling that seemed almost alive.

Where the hell was he?

He groaned, trying to sit up, but his back screamed in protest, and his thigh sent a jolt of searing pain up his body. He collapsed back with a frustrated growl. The surface beneath him wasn’t like any mattress he’d ever known—it was firm but somehow soft, as though nature itself had formed it just right.

Blinking to clear his vision, Cole scanned his surroundings. The room was unreal, walls of polished wood and stone blending seamlessly with the flowing patterns of living plants. It was like something out of a dream—or a movie he’d watched a hundred times.

"Rivendell?" he muttered under his breath, the thought making him chuckle weakly.

The air was crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of pine and flowers. But something darker lingered beneath it—a metallic tang that sent a shiver of dread through him. He turned his head, wincing, head swimming with a wave a nausea washing over him.

Footsteps, soft and deliberate, drew his attention. A figure stepped into the room, her movements so fluid it was almost unnatural, like she was a part of the very air. Her long brown hair was braided neatly, strands falling in perfect harmony as if each had been placed with purpose. Her pointed ears peeked elegantly from beneath the braids, a subtle reminder of her inhuman grace.

Her face was a masterpiece of symmetry and refinement, with high cheekbones, a slender nose, and full lips that seemed to naturally rest in an expression of quiet confidence. Her sharp green eyes, bright and piercing, glinted with intelligence and purpose, holding his gaze like a predator sizing up its prey. They seemed to cut through the haze clouding his mind.

Her skin was smooth and unblemished, the color of warm ivory, faintly aglow in the soft light of the room. She wore garments of flowing fabric, delicately woven with intricate patterns that seemed to shift as the light caught them. Every inch of her radiated elegance, as though she were carved from the essence of beauty itself.

Cole blinked, unsure if it was the fever or her sheer presence that made it hard to breathe. She was stunning in a way that felt almost unreal, an ethereal figure that could only exist in dreams—or nightmares, depending on her intent.

"You’re awake," she said, her voice melodic but edged with caution.

Cole tried to push himself up again, groaning as the room spun. "Who...Where am I?" His voice was hoarse, and the effort of speaking made his head pound.

"You are in Sylvalis," she said simply, crossing her arms. "The city of the elves."

Cole blinked. "Elves? Oh, what the hell is going on." He let out a dry laugh, though it quickly dissolved into a pained cough.

The elf didn’t react, her expression unreadable. She stepped closer, her gaze flicking to his bandaged leg. "I found you deep in Eterna'vyrn, close to the city’s wards. Your condition was critical. Without intervention, you would be dead."

Her words were matter-of-fact, but Cole bristled at the implication. "I didn’t ask for your help," he snapped, his voice rasping.

Her brows arched slightly. "And yet you are alive because of it."

Cole opened his mouth to retort, but another wave of dizziness hit him, and he slumped back against the bed. His breathing was shallow, his head swimming.

"You are infected," she continued, her tone calm but firm. "The wound on your leg was deep, and the infection had already spread. It was too dangerous to use a healing potion; such magic can accelerate the spread of rot in tainted wounds. Instead, we treated you the traditional way—herbs, salves, and rest."

"Potions? Like...magic?" His laugh was hollow, tinged with disbelief. "Yeah, sure, why not? Next you’ll tell me you’ve got dragons in your backyard too."

Lyrelle raised a brow, unamused. "If we did, they would be better company than you."

"Well...thanks for the heads-up before you dragged me here," he muttered, his defiance dimmed by his obvious weakness.

Lyrelle’s eyes narrowed. "Had I left you there, you would have succumbed to the fever within hours. Perhaps you should reflect on that and be grateful."

Cole glared at her, his teeth clenched against the pain radiating from his leg. "Why’d you even bother? What do you want from me?"

Her expression softened slightly, though her tone remained measured. "You were closer to Sylvalis than any human has been in centuries. The council will want answers. It is not my place to decide your fate, but I could not let you die without understanding why you were here."

Cole laughed bitterly, the sound dry and hollow. "Council? My fate? I don’t even know where the hell I am, let alone why. I’m not your enemy. I’m just...lost."

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she spoke again. "Perhaps. But you trespassed in our sacred forest, and there will be consequences."

He stared at her, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface. But his strength was ebbing fast, his body trembling with fever. "Yeah, well...fuck your consequences," he mumbled, his eyelids growing heavy. "I shouldn’t even be here."

Lyrelle tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "That we agree upon. Rest. You will need your strength when you face the council."

As she turned to leave, Cole’s voice stopped her. "Hey...what’s your name?"

She paused, glancing over her shoulder. "Lyrelle Ashthorne."

"Right. Well, I'm Cole, Lyrelle," he muttered before the darkness pulled him under once more.

Cole woke to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the intricate latticework of the ceiling above him. For the first time since his ordeal began, the relentless heat of the fever was gone. His body still ached, and his leg throbbed with a dull, persistent pain, but the fog clouding his mind had lifted. He blinked, groaning as he tried to sit up. Every muscle protested, and the effort left him gasping for air.

“Damn,” he muttered, leaning back against the raised cushion that served as a headrest. His stomach growled audibly, reminding him he hadn’t eaten much in days.

Before he could dwell on his hunger, the door creaked open, and Lyrelle entered with her usual silent grace. She carried a tray laden with food and drink in one hand and a crutch in the other. Her sharp green eyes immediately locked onto him, scanning him with the same piercing intensity as before.

“You look better,” she said simply, setting the tray down on the table beside him. “The fever has broken, though you are still far from healed.”

“Yeah, I feel like I got run over by a freight train,” Cole muttered, rubbing his face. “So you here to interrogate me?

“No, its not my place. I have plenty of questions but that’s for the council to ask you first"

He glanced at the tray, the sight of the food drawing his full attention. The arrangement was almost too perfect—fresh bread, slices of fruit, and a steaming bowl of what looked like soup. A tall cup of clear water sat alongside it. “Is this...all for me?”

Lyrelle arched a brow. “Who else would it be for?”

Cole let out a weak chuckle, reaching for the bread. “Fair point.”

As he ate, Lyrelle stood nearby, her posture relaxed but her gaze ever-watchful. Once he finished half the tray and leaned back with a satisfied groan, she stepped forward and offered him the crutch.

“You will need this,” she said. “Today, you are to appear before the council.”

Cole frowned, taking the crutch and testing it against the floor. “The council? Let me guess—they’re not happy about me crashing their secret forest club?”

Lyrelle’s expression remained neutral, though her lips twitched slightly, almost imperceptibly. “You were found within the Eterna'vyrn, closer to Sylvalis than any human has been in centuries. They will want to know how and why you are here. Their patience is limited, and their trust is not easily earned.”

Cole sighed, adjusting the crutch under his arm. “Great. Can’t wait to get interrogated by a bunch of pointy-eared judges. Anything else I should know?”

Lyrelle ignored his sarcasm and stepped closer, her tone shifting to one of instruction. “When you stand before the council, show respect. Bow your head when addressed and speak only when spoken to. Do not raise your voice or interrupt. They will not tolerate insolence.”

Cole gave her a sideways glance. “So basically, ‘Yes, sir. No, sir.’ Got it.”

“They are not your superiors, human, but they hold the power to decide your fate,” Lyrelle said coolly. “It would be wise to remember that.”

Cole rolled his eyes but nodded. “Fine. Be respectful, keep my mouth shut. Anything else?”

“Yes,” she said, gesturing toward the door. “First, you need to bathe. You reek.”

Cole blinked, caught off guard. “Wow, okay. Way to sugarcoat it.”

“It is not a personal insult,” Lyrelle said, her expression unreadable. “Your condition has left you... less than presentable. The council will expect you to appear clean and composed. I have arranged for a bath to be prepared for you. Follow me.”

Cole sighed, gritting his teeth against the ache in his leg as he stood. He leaned heavily on the crutch she’d brought earlier, wobbling slightly as he adjusted to the unfamiliar weight distribution. Lyrelle didn’t offer a hand, merely watching him with that same calm intensity, as if assessing whether he could manage on his own.

“This council of yours better be worth all this effort,” Cole muttered under his breath, shuffling after her as she led him through the winding halls of Sylvalis. The intricate architecture blurred in his peripheral vision, though the faint scent of flowers and the cool touch of the stone beneath his feet were impossible to ignore.

They entered a smaller chamber connected to what appeared to be an open courtyard. Steam rose from a sunken stone bath, the water shimmering with a faint blue light that seemed almost magical. Surrounding the bath were intricately carved wooden screens adorned with nature motifs, offering a semblance of privacy.

Cole glanced at the bath, then back at Lyrelle. “Right. Thanks for the help. I’ll, uh... take it from here.”

Lyrelle crossed her arms, her stance as unyielding as her gaze. “No.”

“No?” Cole echoed, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean, no?”

“You are still an intruder,” she said matter-of-factly. “You will not be left unguarded for even a moment.”

Cole stared at her, incredulous. “Lady, I’m about as threatening as a wounded puppy right now. I can barely walk, let alone limp up behind you and attack you.”

Her expression didn’t change. “I do not underestimate strangers, especially ones who somehow bypassed our wards. You may not look dangerous, but appearances are often deceiving.”

He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine, but can you at least turn around? I’m not exactly comfortable with an audience.”

Her lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, though it was hard to tell if it was amusement or irritation. “Turning my back to you would be foolish. A warrior—even a wounded one—can still be dangerous. Besides are all you humans this shy about the flesh?”

Cole let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “You’re kidding, right? Look at me. I can’t even bend down to untie my boot without this stupid crutch. If I was gonna attack you, don’t you think I’d have done it already? Or ya know…tried and failed im sure”

Lyrelle didn’t respond immediately, her sharp green eyes fixed on him as though weighing his words. Before she could reply, there was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” she called, her tone sharp but controlled.

Another elf stepped inside, carrying a neatly folded set of clothing. His features were as refined as Lyrelle’s, though his demeanor was far more subdued. He inclined his head toward her, sparing Cole only a brief, disapproving glance as he placed the garments on a nearby bench.

“The council has approved these for the human,” the elf said curtly before departing as silently as he had arrived.

Lyrelle turned back to Cole, her expression as unreadable as ever. “Very well. I will face the door and remain there. But do not mistake this for trust.”

Cole raised his hands in mock surrender, muttering, “Yeah, wouldn’t dream of it.”

With a fluid motion, Lyrelle turned her back to him, standing at the doorway with her arms crossed. Her stance was rigid, her head held high, like a sentry on watch.

Cole sighed, slowly removing his clothing. He tried to look at the wound but it was bound in bandages and he didn’t want to mess with those, he slowly limped toward the bath leaning on the crutch for support. Each motion sent jolts of pain radiating from his leg and back. “Most awkward bath of my life,” he muttered under his breath, eyeing the shimmering water with a mix of suspicion and longing.

He leaned on the edge of the bath, testing the depth with his hand. The heat rising from the water promised some relief, but he couldn’t tell how deep it was. Cole hesitated, his body protesting with every movement. Lowering himself into the bath was going to be a challenge.

Gripping the edge tightly, he swung his good leg over, but as he tried to lower himself, his back seized up, muscles locking in painful spasms. The motion sent a sharp, white-hot pain shooting through his body, and he let out an involuntary shout. His injured leg, already unstable, gave out completely, and he pitched forward into the bath.

The water swallowed him in an instant, the unexpected depth catching him off guard. His arms flailed, trying to find purchase, but his coordination was a mess from the pain and feverish exhaustion. The bath was deeper than he’d expected—more of a small pool than a tub.

Before he could react, a pair of strong hands wrapped around him, pulling him upward with surprising strength. Spluttering, Cole surfaced, clutching onto the edge of the bath with one hand and grabbing onto Lyrelle’s shoulder with the other. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, water dripping from his face. His injured leg throbbed, and his back screamed in protest as he ground his teeth, seething in pain.

Cole didn’t immediately process her words, his focus locked on the overwhelming pain and his desperation to stabilize himself. He let out a guttural groan, his grip tightening on the edge of the bath. “Just... just give me a second!” he managed, his voice a low growl of frustration and pain.

Lyrelle’s expression was a mix of irritation and faint concern as she steadied him, her hands firm but measured. “You are reckless,” she muttered, her sharp green eyes scanning him.

Cole growled in response, his frustration evident as he released her and half-climbed out of the tub, his movements unsteady. Any thoughts of modesty had long since vanished in the haze of pain and exertion. He slumped onto the edge, panting heavily, his hands braced against the smooth stone.

Lyrelle remained in the water, her clothing clinging to her slender frame as she moved a few feet away to give him space. Her sharp gaze lingered on him, taking in the lines of his body as the morning sunlight streamed softly through the room’s carved wooden lattice. What first caught her attention were the scars.

A long, jagged scar ran from the middle of his back down to the left side, crossing over his buttocks and trailing down the back of his thigh. Even in the soft morning light, she could see the uneven texture of the scar tissue, a deep reminder of a wound that had once been grievous. As her eyes traveled further, she noticed smaller scars peppering his calves, the faint outline of old lacerations and punctures stark against his skin.

Her brow furrowed in confusion and unease. Scars like these were a rarity in her world. Injuries, even mortal ones, were healed with potions or magic, leaving little more than faint marks at worst. The only scars she’d ever seen were on warriors who had been wounded by cursed weapons or infected by the Blight—injuries that resisted even the strongest magic. But these? They were numerous and lacked any signs of magical interference. They were...mundane, yet horrifying in their permanence.

She found herself staring, taken aback by the brutal evidence of his survival. Each scar told a story, though she could only guess at the details. The long scar on his back might have been from a blade, but the irregular ones on his calves...they were unlike anything she had seen before. Her sharp green eyes softened, and for the first time, she saw the human not as a potential threat but as a man who had endured far more than most.

How could someone bear so many injuries and still move? And what kind of world left wounds like this untreated?

Lyrelle’s gaze lingered on his broad shoulders as they rose and fell with his labored breathing. There was strength in his frame, but it was worn, like a blade used past its prime. The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

She spoke softly, her voice almost hesitant. “These scars...they are unlike anything I have ever seen. How is it that they remain? Did your healers not treat you?”

Cole shifted slightly, his body tense as if the question was a burden he didn’t want to carry. “Not everything can be fixed,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “Sometimes you just...deal with it.”

Lyrelle frowned. That concept was entirely foreign to her. In her world, pain was a temporary inconvenience, not something one carried for years—or a lifetime. Her thoughts lingered on his words as she watched him regain some semblance of composure, her curiosity and unease growing with every passing moment.

Lyrelle lingered in the water, a few feet from Cole, her gaze fixed on his back as he leaned heavily against the smooth stone ledge. The bath’s depth kept her afloat, the water lapping gently at her shoulders as she treaded silently, her sharp eyes tracing the network of scars etched across his skin.

Her duty demanded vigilance, to guard him and ensure he posed no threat to Sylvalis. But as her gaze lingered, curiosity gnawed at her resolve.

She shifted slightly, the ripples of her movement reaching him as she treaded closer. Her curiosity warred with her sense of responsibility. She was his guardian, not his confidant, yet the questions burned in her mind. Finally, she let herself drift nearer, close enough to speak without raising her voice.

“Where do you come from?” she asked, her tone neutral but weighted with genuine curiosity. The question broke the silence between them like a ripple breaking still water.

Cole stiffened but didn’t turn, his shoulders visibly tightening.

“What kind of place leaves its people so wounded and scarred?” Lyrelle pressed, her voice soft but steady. Her emerald eyes remained locked on his marred skin, the faint glow of early morning light catching the raised ridges and deep lines carved into his flesh.

The human didn’t answer immediately, but the way his hands tightened into fists against the stone told her her words had struck something raw.

Finally, she treaded closer, her movements slow and deliberate. The bath’s warmth enveloped her as she swam up beside him, her fingers lightly brushing the stone as she steadied herself near his shoulder. She tilted her head, letting her piercing gaze rest upon his face.

“Your body tells a story of great pain,” she said, quieter now.

For a moment, he was silent, his breath steady but labored. Lyrelle searched his expression, noting the hard lines of his jaw, the distant flicker in his eyes, as though he was replaying memories too painful to fully confront.

“Iowa. United States. Earth, to be specific,” Cole finally said, his voice quiet but steady.

Lyrelle tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing. “Iowa. Earth,” she repeated, as if testing the unfamiliar words for the first time. Her voice was tinged with curiosity, but her gaze remained fixed on him, waiting for more.

Cole let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, doesn’t sound like it rings any bells, huh?”

She shook her head slowly, her wet hair catching the soft light filtering into the bath. “No. Your words are foreign to me. They hold no meaning.” Her tone softened just slightly. “But you carry the weight of a life that has not been kind.”

He didn’t meet her eyes, instead looking down at his scarred hands resting on the edge of the bath. “The doctors back home… they did what they could,” he said, his voice low. “They patched me up, got me walking again. But there’s only so much they can fix. Some wounds just… stay with you.”

Lyrelle’s eyes flicked over his back again, her brows knitting together. She knew nothing of these “doctors” he spoke of, but his words carried the weight of resignation, the acceptance of someone who had been forced to endure more than he could repair. She found herself wanting to ask more but hesitated, feeling the vulnerability in his words.

“How did you come to be in our forest?” she asked instead, her tone softer now, lacking the suspicion that had previously laced her voice.

Cole leaned his head back against the stone, exhaling heavily. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his tone carrying equal parts frustration and confusion. “One second, I was stepping out my front door. I was going fishing. The next… I was there. In your forest. Like I got ripped out of one world and dumped into another.”

Lyrelle studied him closely, her green eyes searching his face for any sign of deception. There was none—just exhaustion and bewilderment. Her initial wariness began to waver. He wasn’t a threat; he was lost, alone, and hurt, in a world he couldn’t possibly understand.

“You truly do not know how you arrived here,” she said, more to herself than to him. “That is... troubling.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Cole muttered, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “And then I get jumped by those goblins—or whatever the hell they were—and the next thing I know, I’m waking up here. Not exactly how I planned to spend my day.”

Lyrelle’s lips pressed into a thin line. “The creatures you call goblins… they are a scourge on this forest. It is rare for them to be so close to Sylvalis. If they were pursuing you…” She trailed off, her brows drawing together in thought.

Cole glanced at her, catching the shift in her tone. “Look, I don’t know why they came after me, or why I ended up here. But I wasn’t looking for trouble. I was just… trying to survive.”

Her gaze softened slightly at his words. There was a raw honesty in his voice, a vulnerability that chipped away at the walls she’d carefully built. She let out a small sigh, her posture relaxing ever so slightly as she drifted closer in the water, her curiosity and empathy overriding her sense of duty.

“You have endured much,” she said quietly. “There are few of us here who can relate to that kind of lingering pain"

Cole raised an eyebrow at her, a hint of his usual sharpness returning. “You’ve got scars like these hiding under all that armor and silk?”

Lyrelle’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile before her usual composure returned. “Not in body. But the scars of duty… they are not so different.” Her voice was measured, but there was a trace of understanding beneath her words.

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension between them easing slightly. For the first time, Lyrelle saw the human not as a potential threat, but as someone who had been thrust into a world as foreign to him as he was to her. And for the first time, Cole saw the elf not as a captor, but as someone willing, perhaps even eager, to understand him.

In one fluid motion, Lyrelle pulled herself from the water and stood dripping at the edge of the bath. She pointed to the corners of the tub, her movements graceful but firm. “Each of the corners has a seat that will support you,” she said. Then, with a glance down at her own soaked form, she motioned to herself. “I’m going to send the healer in. Her name is Elaris—she’s the one who’s tended to you, so treat her with respect. She’ll need to examine and rewrap your wound. I’m going to change.”

Without waiting for a response, Lyrelle turned toward the door, leaving a trail of water behind her.

“Just like that, you’re leaving me alone now?” Cole called after her, his voice laced with both amusement and skepticism.

Without breaking stride, she tossed back over her shoulder, “Like you said, you’re a wounded puppy.”

Cole smirked, leaning back against the edge of the tub. “You just wanted to see me naked,” he quipped, then in a more serious tone added “Thank you, for helping me.”

For the briefest moment, he thought he saw her step falter—but it was so quick, he doubted it had actually happened. What he couldn’t see, however, was the faint smile curling at the edges of her lips as she disappeared through the doorway.

Lyrelle returned to the bathing chamber, her hair now pulled back into a single braid and her clothes dry and pristine, a contrast to the waterlogged image she had left behind. She stepped lightly into the hallway, her keen ears catching the soft rustling of fabric and the faint sound of footsteps. The healer, Elaris, emerged from the chamber, her expression calm but contemplative.

“How is he?” Lyrelle asked, her voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

Elaris inclined her head slightly, glancing over her shoulder at the closed door before replying. “He is stubborn,” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “But that is to be expected, given his condition. His fever has broken, and the infection has been slowed. However, those wounds...” She trailed off, her brow furrowing. “They run deep, both on his body and his spirit.”

Lyrelle crossed her arms, leaning against the smooth wooden wall as she considered the healer's words. “You’ve tended to many injuries before. Can he be healed?”

Elaris hesitated, her gaze falling briefly to the polished floor before meeting Lyrelle’s. “Yes. But it will not be an easy path.” She gestured lightly with her hands, as if searching for the right words. “The wounds have lingered for so long they have scarred over in ways unnatural to us. Healing potions, as you know, are not meant for such...neglected injuries. They must be reopened—cut anew—to allow the potion to reach the deepest parts of the damage.”

Lyrelle’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. “That sounds...barbaric.”

“It is,” Elaris admitted, her tone measured but firm. “But without it, his body will continue to degrade. He mentioned—reluctantly—that a piece of metal remains lodged near his spine, a remnant of some past injury. That alone causes him constant pain. The scars bind his muscles and ligaments in ways that restrict his movement. If we do nothing, he will be crippled in time. However, the process of mending will be excruciating.”

Lyrelle exhaled softly, her gaze drifting to the door of the chamber. “He seems resilient. Do you think he can endure it?”

Elaris tilted her head thoughtfully, her tone softening. “Yes. He has endured worse, I think. There is resilience in him, buried beneath layers of defiance. He even thanked me, begrudgingly, this time.”

Lyrelle arched a brow at that. “Seems to be a lot of that going around lately"

The healer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Still, I would not push him until after the council meeting. His fate must be decided before we speak of treatment.”

Lyrelle’s jaw tightened at the thought but she gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Elaris. I will speak with him once the council has given their judgment.”

Elaris inclined her head in farewell and made her way down the corridor, leaving Lyrelle lingering a moment longer. Finally, she straightened her posture, steeling herself as she opened the door and stepped inside.

Lyrelle entered the chamber, her footsteps soft but deliberate. Her sharp green eyes immediately found him, standing near the bed as he adjusted the clasp of the cloak draped over his shoulders. She froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sight. The human scrubbed clean and dressed in elven attire was...unexpected.

“Well,” she said after a pause, her voice carrying a note of surprise. “You almost look presentable.”

Cole turned at her words, raising a brow as he glanced down at himself. “Almost?” he repeated, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Lyrelle tilted her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “It’s an improvement. You looked like a bedraggled stray before. Now, at least, you resemble something civilized.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he smoothed the front of the tunic. “I’ll take it as a compliment. Honestly, this is...incredible. The material, the fit—it’s like it was made for me.” He tugged lightly at the sleeves, the soft fabric conforming perfectly to his arms. “Back home, anything this nice would cost a fortune—and it probably wouldn’t even be this comfortable.”

Lyrelle crossed her arms, leaning lightly against the doorframe as she watched him. “Elven craftsmanship is unparalleled. Every piece you wear was tailored to fit you perfectly the moment you put it on.”

“No kidding.” Cole turned, catching his reflection in a polished silver mirror mounted on the wall. His brow furrowed as he examined himself. “It’s...strange, seeing myself like this. I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything this...fancy.”

Lyrelle arched a brow, stepping further into the room. “Fancy?” She gestured lightly toward his attire. “This is practical by our standards. It’s hardly ceremonial.”

Cole scoffed, running a hand over the embroidered patterns on his sleeve. “Practical, huh? You elves have a pretty high bar for practicality.”

Lyrelle’s gaze softened slightly as she studied him. Cleaned up, dressed properly, and standing tall despite his lingering injuries, he looked...different. She pushed the thought aside quickly, her tone shifting to one of authority.

“You’re expected to face the council soon,” she reminded him. “You should be prepared—for their scrutiny and their questions.”

Cole’s expression sobered at her words. He adjusted the clasp of the cloak again, his movements slower, more deliberate. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess I should get ready for whatever’s coming.”

Lyrelle watched him for a moment longer before nodding. “Follow me. It’s time.”

The walk to the council hall was both surreal and nerve-wracking. Cole followed Lyrelle through a series of winding corridors, each more intricate and breathtaking than the last. The wood and stone of the structure seemed alive, the walls flowing and arching in ways that defied logic. Natural light poured through impossibly high windows, dappled with the greens and golds of the forest canopy outside. It felt less like a building and more like a sacred grove frozen in time.

Lyrelle walked ahead, her steps confident and unhurried, but Cole could barely keep his eyes on the path. Every detail called out for his attention: the carved vines that twisted seamlessly into the pillars, the glowing crystals embedded in the walls that cast a soft, ethereal light, and the faint, melodic hum that seemed to emanate from the very air around him.

"Eyes forward, human," Lyrelle said, glancing back over her shoulder with a faint smirk. "You'll have time to admire the architecture later—if the council permits it."

Cole snorted softly, though he couldn’t hide the awe in his voice. "This place... it’s like something out of a dream. How is it even possible?"

Lyrelle’s smirk softened into a faint smile. "The Eterna'vyrn Forest and Sylvalis are one. The city is grown, not built. Every beam, every arch, is alive and in harmony with the land. It is a reflection of our people."

“Grown,” Cole repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “Back home, we’d chop trees down to build something like this. Guess that wouldn’t fly here.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, her expression unreadable. "Indeed not."

They rounded a final corner, and the corridor opened into a grand hall that stole the breath from Cole’s lungs. The council chamber.

Massive trunks of ancient trees rose into the vaulted ceiling, their branches spreading wide to form natural arches that interwove like fingers clasped in prayer. Veins of golden light pulsed faintly through the wood, as if the trees themselves carried the lifeblood of the forest. The floor was smooth stone, polished to a mirror-like finish that reflected the glowing branches above.

At the far end of the hall stood the council dais, a semi-circular platform of carved wood and stone. Behind it rose an enormous tree that seemed to be the heart of the chamber, its trunk adorned with glowing runes and its roots spilling outward like a protective embrace.

Seated upon the dais were the council elders, each exuding a presence so commanding that Cole felt like an intruder in a sacred space. At the center, elevated above the rest, sat the Verdant Sovereign, their gaze piercing and inscrutable.

Cole hesitated at the threshold, his usual sarcasm and bravado suddenly muted by the weight of the moment. "This is... something else," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

Lyrelle stepped beside him, her expression neutral but her tone firm. "You are about to stand before the wisest and most powerful of my people. Remember what I told you, and choose your words carefully."

Cole swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah. Got it.”

"Good," she said, her voice softer now. "And Cole?"

He glanced at her, his face betraying the tension he felt.

"Stand tall."

With that, she gestured for him to step forward, and together they approached the council dais.

The chamber remained silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the distant canopy, as the Sovereign’s gaze settled on Cole. Their calm but commanding tone broke the stillness.

“Before we proceed, it is only proper that you are introduced to those who will deliberate on your fate,” the Verdant Sovereign began, their piercing eyes fixed on him. “Listen well, human, for each elder seated before you speaks with the authority of millennia and carries the wisdom of our people.”

The first to speak was the silver-haired elder to the Sovereign’s left. Their presence radiated calm authority. “I am Aelindar Nightshade, Keeper of Lore and Guardian of Histories. It is my duty to preserve the truth of our past and ensure our decisions align with the lessons of our ancestors. I will hear your story and judge its truth against the records of our kind.”

Cole nodded stiffly, unsure of how to respond, but the elder’s intense gaze lingered, making him feel like every detail of his soul was being scrutinized.

Next, the sharp-eyed elf with fiery auburn hair spoke. Their voice was laced with an edge of severity. “I am Caelthas Emberthorn, Watcher of the Eternal Glade and Defender of our Borders. My role is to protect the sanctity of Eterna’vyrn and our people’s sovereignty. You stand accused of breaching the wards that guard our sacred home. That alone makes your presence a threat.”

Cole’s throat tightened as Caelthas’s words cut like a blade, but he forced himself to meet their gaze.

A third elder, her hair a cascade of gold and her expression serene, stepped forward. Her soft voice was deceptively gentle. “I am Sylara Dawnmere, Keeper of the Eternal Bloom and Speaker for Nature’s Will. It is my task to ensure that all things within our forest—living and otherwise—remain in harmony. Your presence here disturbs that balance, human, and I will see that it is restored.”

Cole shifted uncomfortably under her tranquil yet accusing stare, realizing just how unwelcome his intrusion into their forest truly was.

To her right sat a somber elder with storm-gray hair and deep lines etched into his features. His voice carried the weight of age and caution. “I am Thalorien Duskwatch, Arbiter of Wisdom and Counselor to the Sovereign. It is my duty to weigh facts and guide this council in the pursuit of fairness. Your arrival raises questions, many of which I doubt you can answer. But answer them you must.”

A final figure, younger in appearance but no less formidable, spoke last. His hair was dark as midnight, and his emerald eyes shimmered with an unnerving intensity. “I am Valtheris Moonshade, Keeper of the Arcane Veil. I protect the sanctity of our magic and its secrets. Your presence is a disruption, one that may have far-reaching consequences. I will ensure those consequences are contained.”

Cole glanced around at the assembled council, his pulse quickening. Each elder’s introduction weighed heavier on him, their titles and roles painting a picture of authority and power unlike anything he had faced before.

The Sovereign’s voice drew his attention again, steady and unyielding. “These are the voices of Sylvalis, those who stand as stewards of our people and guardians of our home. Speak truthfully, human, for their patience is not infinite, and their judgment will determine your fate.”

Cole swallowed hard, feeling every pair of eyes on him as he dipped his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment. “Understood,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady.

The Sovereign nodded, and the introductions ceased. For a brief moment, the chamber was silent once more, the weight of the council’s presence palpable.

A faint shimmer of magic rippled through the air as Aelindar’s hand, resting on the table before him, began to glow with a soft golden light. His expression was calm, but his eyes glinted with sharp focus.

“What’s that?” Cole asked, his voice laced with suspicion as he gestured toward the glow.

“I am using the Voice of Truth,” Aelindar replied smoothly. “A gift of my station, ensuring that no falsehoods can take root in this chamber. Be assured, it will reveal any lies you speak.”

“Now,” Aelindar began, leaning forward slightly, “state your name, your origin, your purpose, and your class and level.”

Cole blinked, his confusion palpable. “Class? What do you mean, class? Like... social class?”

The council exchanged glances, some annoyed, others intrigued. Sylara Dawnmere tilted her head, her curiosity evident. “No, not your station in society. Your class as a warrior, mage, or otherwise. What skills do you possess? What role do you fulfill?”

“Your class and level,” Caelthas repeated, his voice sharp with authority. “Every being has one, human. Surely even your kind are not so ignorant as to lack this basic knowledge.”

Cole hesitated, his confusion plain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Class? Level? I don’t have one.”

The room remained silent, the council members’ expressions unreadable, but the faint flicker of surprise in a few gazes told him his words had not gone unnoticed. The Sovereign inclined their head slightly, prompting him to continue.

“I… I don’t know how I got here,” Cole admitted, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “One moment I was at home, stepping out my front door, and the next… I was in your forest. I didn’t mean to trespass. I didn’t even know where I was.”

Caelthas narrowed his eyes. “You claim ignorance, yet your actions suggest otherwise. You carried weapons into our forest, killed creatures within its bounds, and evaded our wards.”

Cole clenched his fists, his voice rising despite himself. “What was I supposed to do? Those…goblins, or whatever they were, attacked me! I defended myself! And your wards? I didn’t even know they existed!”

“Enough,” the Sovereign said, their voice calm but commanding, silencing the exchange. “You claim to be a stranger, unknowing and unwilling. Yet you stand here before us, alive, beyond barriers designed to thwart even the most cunning intruders. Your words will be tested, human, and the truth of your presence revealed.”

The council continued their questioning, probing into his world, his knowledge, and the strange absence of a class or level. As the interrogation deepened, the council turned their focus to Earth.

Sylara asked softly, “What is this... Earth? How does your kind live, if you lack magic and the harmony it brings?”

Cole struggled to find the words. “We... we don’t have magic. We use technology—machines and tools—to build cities, to heal, to fight. It’s... complicated.”

Valtheris frowned, his emerald eyes narrowing. “A world bereft of magic, yet you survive and thrive? How?”

Cole exhaled sharply, frustrated by the weight of their disbelief. “Because we have to. It’s not perfect, and yeah, it’s messy, but it works. We make it work.”

The council members exchanged glances, their voices dropping into quiet deliberation among themselves, as though Cole wasn’t even there.

“A world without magic would be fragile,” Sylara murmured. “Yet they endure. Fascinating.”

“Perhaps their technology compensates,” Valtheris suggested. “Though it seems an inefficient substitute.”

“It raises questions,” Thalorien added. “If he comes from such a place, how did he survive the journey? And why now?”

The Sovereign’s gaze returned to Cole, unyielding as ever. “These questions will be answered in time, but your presence here cannot be dismissed as mere happenstance. Speak plainly, human. Do you bring with you any knowledge or power that might threaten the balance of our world?”

Cole shook his head, the weight of their scrutiny pressing down on him. “No. I’m just... a guy trying to survive. That’s it.”

The golden light from Aelindar’s hand remained steady, affirming his words.

The room fell into a tense silence as the council absorbed his words. The notion of someone existing outside the framework of their world was as alien to them as Cole’s situation was to him. Aelindar’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If he has no class and no level, he is as a newborn in our world—defenseless and ignorant.”

“Perhaps it is sheer luck,” Caelthas muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.

“Or perhaps,” Sylara mused, her expression softening, “his world has forced him to adapt in ways we cannot yet comprehend.”

The Sovereign raised a hand, quieting the murmurs. Their gaze fixed on Cole, their expression unreadable. “Your confusion appears genuine, and your ignorance of our systems lends weight to your claims. However, it leaves us with more questions than answers. A being without a class, without a level, surviving in the Eterna’vyrn Forest... It is unprecedented.”

Cole ran a hand through his hair, the tension and confusion evident in his movements. “Yeah, well, welcome to my world,” he muttered under his breath.

A faint ripple of amusement crossed Sylara’s lips, but she remained silent as the Sovereign leaned forward. “This matter is far from resolved. If you truly lack a class, your survival here will be a challenge. You will be tested in ways you cannot yet imagine. But this is not a trial for the council to decide. Your intentions here must first be understood.”

Their voice softened, though it carried no less authority. “You claim ignorance of how you arrived. You claim no intent to harm. But ignorance does not erase the disruption you bring. Now, speak. What do you wish to accomplish here, should you be allowed to remain?”

Cole rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the assembled council as their expectant silence stretched on. He exhaled sharply through his nose and muttered, “Not being killed would be a good start.”

A faint ripple of amusement crossed Sylara’s lips, though she quickly masked it, while Caelthas frowned deeply. The Sovereign’s expression remained unreadable, their piercing gaze urging him to continue.

“But,” Cole continued, his tone softening, “I get that’s not enough. Look, I don’t know what I can offer you. My knowledge—military tactics, survival skills—they’re probably useless to you. I mean, I’m sitting here trying to wrap my head around magic potions and glowing truth hands.” He gestured vaguely toward Aelindar. “So yeah, not sure my expertise is gonna blow anyone’s mind here.”

The council remained quiet, their stares weighing on him. Cole ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I don’t have a way home. Hell, I don’t even know if I can get home. And honestly…” He hesitated, his voice faltering before picking up again. “I didn’t really have much waiting for me back there anyway.”

A brief silence followed his words, the weight of his admission settling in the room. Even Caelthas seemed momentarily taken aback, his fiery expression tempered.

“So, I’ll do whatever you recommend,” Cole said, his voice firm. “If that means helping your people in whatever way I can, then fine. I’ll do it. If you want me gone, I’ll go. I’m just trying to survive and figure this out as I go.”

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as he finished. “But if I stay, I’ll pull my weight. I don’t expect handouts.”

The Sovereign inclined their head slightly, their sharp gaze studying him as though trying to discern the true measure of the man before them. For a long moment, the council remained silent, their collective expressions unreadable.

Then Aelindar spoke, his tone calm and measured. “He speaks plainly, with no falsehoods.” The golden glow around his hand faded as he relaxed it onto the table.

“He offers little,” Caelthas said sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Knowledge we have no use for, no connection to this world, and no class or level. What possible value could he bring to our people?”

Sylara tilted her head, her serene expression thoughtful. “Perhaps the value lies not in what he brings but in what he represents. A being outside the bounds of our understanding, yet surviving despite the odds. There is potential there, even if it is yet untapped.”

“Potential?” Caelthas snorted. “Or liability? If his presence invites danger, are we prepared to bear the consequences of that risk?”

“Risk is always present in the unknown,” Thalorien interjected, his voice calm but firm. “But dismissing him outright without understanding his purpose here may be shortsighted. There is much we do not know—about him and the circumstances of his arrival.”

Valtheris leaned forward slightly, his emerald eyes gleaming with intensity. “Agreed. His world, his lack of class and level, his immunity to the wards—all of this suggests forces beyond our comprehension. That alone warrants careful consideration.”

The Sovereign's piercing gaze swept across the council before resting once more on Cole. They raised a hand, quieting the murmurs and refocusing the conversation. “His lack of class and level is indeed troubling,” the Sovereign began, their voice calm yet weighted with significance. “But it also presents an opportunity. A blank slate is rare in any world. He has the potential to be shaped, guided—perhaps even weaponized.”

Cole’s brow furrowed at the word, unease flickering across his face. “Weaponized?” he muttered under his breath, his voice too low to carry beyond the table.

Thalorien folded his hands, his expression thoughtful. “Consider this: his immunity to the wards, his survival in Eterna’vyrn despite lacking a class or level—it suggests adaptability. If such an individual can grow into this world’s systems, gain levels and a class, his lack of ties to any faction or kingdom beyond these woods could be an asset. He could be molded to serve our interests.”

“Trained to deal with threats beyond the forest,” Valtheris interjected, his tone measured but sharp. “The Blight’s return is inevitable. Our scouts have reported signs of its corruption spreading in isolated pockets. A champion outside of our traditional ranks could confront these dangers directly, without exposing our own forces to unnecessary risk.”

Sylara turned her serene gaze toward Valtheris. “You propose to mold him into a tool, but what guarantee do we have that he will remain loyal? His presence here was not by his own design. His allegiance lies only with survival, not with our people.”

“That,” Caelthas said curtly, “is precisely why we should send him from our forest. The more he learns of our ways, the greater the risk he poses. He has proven resilient, but his ignorance of our world may yet bring harm to us.”

“Then bind him,” Aelindar suggested, his voice calm and unwavering. “A binding oath can ensure his silence. Should he betray the sanctity of Sylvalis or the Eterna’vyrn Forest, the consequences will be immediate and absolute. Such a safeguard would allow us to guide him without fear of betrayal.”

Cole’s head snapped up at that, his unease deepening. “Wait—what the hell is a binding oath?”

“It is a magical contract,” Aelindar explained, his tone as though speaking to a child. “One that ensures your word is kept. Should you attempt to reveal the location of our city or bring intention harm to our people, the magic would... end your life.”

Cole glared at him, his fists clenched. “You’re talking about putting a leash on me.”

“A leash is necessary for a wild beast that roams unchecked,” Caelthas shot back, his tone biting. “You have no standing here, no trust, and no place among us. Yet we offer you the chance to prove yourself. Do not squander it with indignation.”

The Sovereign raised a hand again, silencing the brewing argument. Their voice cut through the tension like a blade. “This human is an anomaly. His presence disrupts the natural order of Eterna’vyrn, yet it may also herald something greater. It is not for us to dismiss his arrival lightly. If he is to remain, he will train under our guidance and learn the ways of this world. If he cannot be trained—if he proves unwilling or unfit—we will send him from the forest.”

They turned their sharp gaze to Cole, whose expression was a mix of wariness and defiance. “Do you understand what is being offered to you, human? This is not a matter of debate. You will abide by the terms we set, or you will leave this forest forever.”

Cole hesitated, his jaw tightening. “And if I leave? What then? You said your wards keep people out. What’s stopping them from keeping me in?”

Lyrelle, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. “You made it past the wards once, likely by chance or sheer ignorance. But to leave, you will be escorted to the edges of the forest. Any attempt to return would be seen as an act of aggression.”

The Sovereign’s voice softened, though it carried no less authority. “This is your choice. Train under us, with a binding oath to protect the sanctity of our forest, or leave now and fend for yourself beyond these woods.”

Cole’s gaze flicked between the council members, their expressions ranging from cold to curious. He was trapped, and they all knew it. “And if I take the oath and fail your training?” he asked, his voice rough.

Thalorien answered, his tone grave. “Then you will be sent beyond our borders, your oath intact. You will live, but you will never return to Sylvalis.”

For a moment, Cole said nothing. The room fell into a tense silence as the council awaited his response. Finally, he exhaled sharply and nodded. “Fine. I’ll take your damn oath. I’ll train, I’ll learn, whatever. But let’s be clear—this doesn’t make me your puppet.”

Caelthas opened his mouth to retort, but the Sovereign silenced him with a glance. “Your defiance is noted, human. Perhaps it will serve you well in the trials to come.”

They turned to Lyrelle. “Escort him to the binding chamber. The oath will be administered there. From this point forward, he is your charge. See to it that he is prepared for what lies ahead.”

Lyrelle inclined her head, though her sharp gaze flicked toward Cole, her lips pressing into a thin line. “As you command, Sovereign.”

As she stepped forward, Cole felt a weight settle over him, heavier than any pack he’d ever carried.

Cole followed Lyrelle through the labyrinthine halls of Sylvalis, the intricate beauty of the elven architecture lost on him in the moment. His jaw was tight, his steps heavy despite the pain in his leg. The gravity of the council’s ultimatum weighed on him like lead. He was no stranger to tough choices, but this one felt different—alien, literally.

Lyrelle walked ahead, her posture rigid. She hadn’t spoken a word since they left the council chamber, her silence only deepening the pit in his stomach. Finally, he couldn’t hold back.

“So... this binding oath,” he said, his voice laced with bitterness. “What does that even look like? Do I sign something in blood? Shake hands with a glowing tree?”

Lyrelle glanced over her shoulder, her sharp green eyes narrowing. “This is not a jest, Cole. The oath is a sacred magic, woven into your very essence. It will bind you to your word. If you violate it, the magic will claim your life.”

“Yeah, you mentioned the ‘death’ part,” Cole muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just trying to get a feel for the process here.”

Lyrelle stopped abruptly, turning to face him. “You will swear the oath in the presence of the Verdant Sovereign and the council’s chosen enchanter. The magic requires your willing participation. Once spoken, the words cannot be undone. Do you understand that?”

Cole stared at her, his expression hard. “Yeah, I get it. Don’t screw up, or I’m dead. Pretty straightforward.”

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, searching for something in his face, then she turned and resumed walking. “Good.”

They entered a smaller chamber, its walls adorned with glowing runes that pulsed faintly, illuminating the room in soft, golden light. At the center stood a pedestal of carved stone, its surface etched with intricate patterns that seemed to hum with latent energy. The Verdant Sovereign awaited them, the former standing serene and unyielding.

Valtheris stepped forward, his emerald eyes glinting. “You understand what is about to occur, human?”

“I understand that if I break your rules, I die,” Cole said flatly. “Got it.”

The Verdant Sovereign stepped forward, their expression calm but commanding, as the runes on the pedestal glowed faintly with golden light. The air in the chamber grew still, heavy with magic and unspoken meaning.

“Cole Bennett,” the Sovereign began, their voice steady, “you stand here not only as an intruder but as a being of unknown origin. Your presence here disrupts the balance of our realm, and yet you have been given the chance to live among us. But this gift is not without its conditions.”

Cole glanced down at the pedestal, the glowing runes reflecting off his weathered face. “Yeah, I get that. Don’t betray the city, don’t spill your secrets, or I’m done for.”

The Sovereign’s sharp gaze held his. “It is more than that. This is not a punishment, Cole. It is a promise—between you and our people.”

Valtheris Moonshade stepped forward, his emerald eyes gleaming as he added, “It is a binding agreement, woven with magic to ensure its sanctity. If you betray it, the consequences will be swift, but it is not designed to kill you without cause. It will weigh your intent and your actions.”

Lyrelle, standing beside Cole, glanced at him. Her expression was firm, but there was a hint of reassurance in her tone. “This oath is a measure of trust. It allows you to walk freely among us but holds you accountable for your words and deeds. It binds you to honor, not to fear.”

The Sovereign nodded, gesturing to the pedestal. “Place your hand here, and we will begin.”

Cole hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward, resting his hand on the cool stone. The runes flared softly, a faint hum filling the air as the magic came to life.

“Repeat after me,” the Sovereign intoned, their voice resonating with authority.

“I, Cole Bennett,” they began, and Cole repeated, his voice steady.

“Swear to hold sacred the location, safety, and secrets of Sylvalis and its people.”

Cole’s voice wavered slightly but grew stronger. “I swear to hold sacred the location, safety, and secrets of Sylvalis and its people.”

“I vow to act with integrity, to bring no harm to the Eterna’vyrn Forest or those who dwell within.”

Cole’s brow furrowed, but he echoed the words. “I vow to act with integrity, to bring no harm to the Eterna’vyrn Forest or those who dwell within.”

“And should I falter,” the Sovereign continued, “I will accept the judgment of the magic and the will of this council.”

Cole hesitated, his mouth dry. “And should I falter... I will accept the judgment of the magic and the will of this council.”

“By your own words and your promise, you bind yourself to the safety and secrecy of Sylvalis and its people. Do you accept this burden willingly, Cole Bennett?”

Cole glanced at Lyrelle standing to his side. She gave him a subtle nod, her expression unreadable. He exhaled deeply, forcing his shoulders back. “Yes, I accept.”

The Sovereign’s voice echoed through the chamber, carrying a power that made the very air hum. “Then by the sanctity of this forest, the balance of this world, and the will of the council, you are bound.”

Cole winced as the glow beneath his palm intensified, a golden light flaring to life and crawling up his arm. It moved like liquid fire, flowing over his skin in intricate, deliberate paths. The sensation wasn’t painful—it was warm, almost like sunlight on a summer day—but it was entirely foreign, making the hairs on his neck stand on end.

The tendrils of light spiraled up his forearm, weaving themselves into complex, fluid patterns. The symbols were angular yet elegant, with sharp edges that melted into smooth curves, creating an intricate design that seemed to shift subtly when viewed from different angles. Each rune seemed alive, pulsating faintly as if breathing along with him.

Cole’s breath hitched as the light coiled around his elbow and began to solidify, its brilliance dimming until the glow faded completely, leaving the marks etched deep into his skin. The runes shimmered faintly under the room’s light, the golden lines catching the faintest glimmer as he turned his arm. They looked like tattoos but carried an otherworldly quality that no ink could replicate—lines that seemed both ancient and impossibly precise.

The patterns covered the length of his forearm, starting just below his wrist and wrapping upward toward his elbow. Vines intertwined with jagged symbols, each rune carrying a sense of purpose that resonated deep within him. Despite their intricacy, the designs didn’t feel chaotic; they were orderly, intentional, like a language he couldn’t understand but felt in his bones.

Cole stared at the markings, his chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. The warmth lingered, a faint hum of energy beneath his skin, as though the runes were alive and tethered to something greater than himself.

“What... the hell is this?” he muttered, his voice hushed, his fingers brushing over the marks. The surface of his skin felt smooth, as if the runes had always been a part of him, yet they were alien and new.

The faint hum of the runes echoed in his ears, a steady rhythm that seemed to match the beating of his heart. For a moment, Cole could do nothing but stare, the weight of the moment sinking in as the golden marks gleamed faintly in the dim chamber.

The warmth of the runes began to settle, leaving a faint tingling sensation in Cole’s arm. Just as he let out a shaky breath, a calm, neutral voice resonated clearly in his mind, cutting through the silence like a blade.

"Level up. New class obtained: Oathbound. Oathbound, Level 1.

New skill obtained: Oathkeeper's Mark.

New skill obtained: Verdant Resolve.

New skill obtained: Unyielding Bond."

Cole’s head snapped up, his eyes darting to Lyrelle and the Sovereign. “Did... did you hear that?” he asked, his voice sharp and uncertain.

Lyrelle frowned slightly, her green eyes narrowing. “Hear what?” she asked, her tone cautious but curious.

“That... voice,” Cole said, gesturing to his head. “It—it said I leveled up. Something about a new class—Oathbound—and skills. Oathkeeper’s Mark, Verdant Resolve, Unyielding Bond. You didn’t hear it?”

The room fell silent after Cole’s words, the faint hum of the runes on his arm the only sound. Lyrelle and the Sovereign exchanged a meaningful look, their gazes speaking volumes without a single word being uttered. Lyrelle’s brow furrowed slightly, her green eyes filled with thought, while the Sovereign’s expression remained calm but subtly intrigued.

The Sovereign inclined their head slightly, breaking the silence. “That explains it,” he said, his voice steady and resonant. “You are capable of gaining a class and levels. It is a sign that this world has begun to accept you.”

Cole blinked, his confusion evident. “So... that’s a good thing, right?”

The Sovereign’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Indeed, it is. It means you have potential—a chance to grow, to adapt, to survive.”

Cole glanced down at the glowing runes, still faintly pulsing on his arm. “Yeah, great. Potential,” he muttered under his breath, the weight of the moment pressing on him.

The Sovereign straightened, his piercing gaze meeting Coles. “Congratulations, Cole Bennett. You have taken your first step in this world.

The Sovereign’s piercing gaze lingered on Cole for a moment before they spoke, their tone steady and decisive. “Your path is set, and the oath is sealed. There is no more to be done here.”

Cole shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the Sovereign and Lyrelle. “Wait... so what now? What do these runes mean? What’s this class? What am I supposed to do?”

The Sovereign raised a hand, silencing his stream of questions. “Your questions will be answered, but not here. Lyrelle Ashthorne has been charged with your instruction. She will guide you, explain what you must know, and prepare you for what lies ahead.”

Lyrelle inclined her head respectfully. “I understand, Verdant Sovereign. He will learn what is required.”

The Sovereign’s gaze softened slightly, though their words still carried the weight of authority. “Learn quickly, Cole Bennett. The oath binds you, but it is your choices that will shape the path ahead.”

Cole glanced at Lyrelle, then back at the Sovereign, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “Right. Got it,” he muttered, his voice subdued.

With a final nod, the Sovereign turned and exited the chamber, leaving Lyrelle and Cole alone in the quiet space, the echoes of the binding magic still lingering in the air.

Cole adjusted his crutch, wincing as he hobbled alongside Lyrelle down the intricately carved corridor. The soft echo of their footsteps filled the otherwise quiet space. Every step sent a dull ache radiating through his leg, but he gritted his teeth and pushed forward. Lyrelle walked a few paces ahead, her movements fluid and precise, though her pace was deliberately slower than usual.

“Alright,” Cole started, his voice breaking the silence. “What’s the deal with this ‘Oathbound’ thing? Is it, like, a class or a title or something? And these skills—what do they even do?”

Lyrelle glanced over her shoulder, her expression calm but firm. “Wait until we arrive.”

Cole frowned. “Seriously? I’ve got glowing runes on my arm and a voice in my head telling me I leveled up, and you expect me to just... walk in silence?”

“Yes,” she replied without breaking stride, her tone polite but final. “All your questions will be answered in due time. For now, focus on walking.”

Cole let out a frustrated huff, adjusting his grip on the crutch. “You know, this ‘mysterious elf’ thing is getting old. A little heads-up would be nice.”

Lyrelle stopped abruptly, turning to face him. Her green eyes softened slightly, though her stance remained composed. “Cole, I understand your frustration, but there is much to explain, and this is neither the time nor the place. Your leg is still healing, and the last thing we need is for you to injure yourself further by rushing. Be patient.”

Her tone, though firm, lacked any trace of condescension. Cole sighed, feeling a bit sheepish under her steady gaze. “Fine. But you’d better have answers when we get there.”

Lyrelle nodded once, a faint curve of amusement tugging at her lips. “I will. Now, let’s keep moving.”

She resumed her pace, and Cole followed, muttering under his breath. The intricately carved walls of the passage seemed to stretch endlessly, their beauty lost on him as his mind buzzed with questions. Where were they going? What was he supposed to do now?

He tightened his grip on the crutch and trudged forward, determined to get to the bottom of it all—even if it meant enduring a little more elven patience along the way.

Cole stopped in front of the elegant structure nestled into the base of the towering tree. His eyes traced the seamless blend of wood and stone, the intricate carvings of vines and leaves adorning the exterior. The soft light filtering through the grove gave the place an almost ethereal glow.

“This is where I’m supposed to stay?” Cole asked, leaning on his crutch and squinting at the home.

“Yes,” Lyrelle said simply, stepping forward and pushing the door open. “Come.”

Cole hesitated before following her inside, his eyes immediately scanning the space. The interior was warm and inviting, with smooth wooden walls that curved naturally, as if the home had grown into shape. Light streamed through arched windows, casting patterns of leaves on the polished floor. Shelves filled with books and scrolls lined one wall, and a low table surrounded by cushions sat near a softly glowing hearth.

“It looks…” Cole trailed off, his gaze flicking to the personal touches scattered throughout—an intricately woven tapestry, a vase of freshly cut flowers, and what looked like a set of finely crafted bows and quivers hanging on one wall. “It looks occupied.”

“It is,” Lyrelle replied, glancing over her shoulder at him as she moved deeper into the home. “By me.”

Cole paused, frowning slightly. “Wait—you live here?”

“Yes,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. She gestured for him to follow as she ascended a narrow staircase. “Your room is upstairs.”

Cole followed, adjusting his crutch as he made his way up. “Feels a little strange sharing a space with someone I just met.”

Lyrelle stopped at the top of the stairs, turning to face him with a calm expression. “It is not strange. It is practical. You are my charge, and it is my responsibility to ensure your safety and progress. This arrangement will suffice.”

Cole glanced around before nodding, though he still seemed unsure. Lyrelle opened a door on the left and gestured for him to enter. “This is where you will stay.”

Stepping into the room, Cole glanced around. It was a modest but comfortable space, with a single bed framed in dark wood, a small desk positioned near a window overlooking the grove, and a tall wardrobe in the corner. The bed was neatly made, the linens soft and inviting.

“It’s... nice,” Cole admitted, running a hand over the desk. Then he glanced back at her. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Good,” she said simply. “Now, come. There’s more to discuss.”

Without waiting for a response, Lyrelle turned and began descending the stairs. Cole followed her, careful with his crutch as he navigated the narrow steps. His leg throbbed with each movement, but he forced himself to keep pace.

The main floor of the home was spacious yet cozy, with the central hearth providing a soft, steady glow. Lyrelle gestured toward a cluster of low cushions arranged near a long wooden table. Books and scrolls were neatly stacked on one side, and a few potted plants adorned the room, their vibrant greenery adding to the natural elegance of the space.

“This is where we’ll speak,” she said, sitting gracefully on one of the cushions and gesturing for Cole to do the same.

Cole lowered himself slowly onto a cushion, wincing as he adjusted his leg. He glanced around the room again, taking in the serene atmosphere, the faint crackle of the hearth, and the subtle scent of herbs in the air.

Lyrelle sat across from Cole, her posture straight and composed as she studied him for a long moment. The flickering light of the hearth cast soft shadows across her face, but her expression remained neutral.

“I will explain everything to you now,” she began, her tone calm but firm. “I ask that you remain silent until I finish. You may ask your questions once I am done.”

Cole opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it again, nodding begrudgingly. He shifted in his seat, leaning back slightly to listen.

Lyrelle continued. “Classes are not unique to you, Cole. They are not something you are born with, nor are they tied to lineage or heritage. Classes are earned. They are bestowed by the world itself when an individual’s actions, choices, and experiences align with a specific path. They represent your skills, your potential, and your growth.”

She gestured slightly, her tone taking on a measured cadence. “Some classes are common—Warrior, Mage, Hunter. Others are more specialized or rare, combining traits of two or more disciplines. For instance, a Paladin is both a Knight and a Priest, bound by faith and combat. And then there are hybrid classes, such as Spellsword, blending magic with martial prowess. The world adapts to you as you adapt to it.”

She paused, giving him a moment to absorb her words before continuing. “Your class, Oathbound, is not unique but uncommon. It reflects the nature of your binding and the choices you have made—both willingly and unwillingly. It is tied to your oath to this city and the runes that mark you.”

Lyrelle stood gracefully and walked over to a tall shelf carved seamlessly into the wall. From it, she retrieved a leather-bound book, its cover adorned with intricate etchings of vines and stars. The binding glimmered faintly in the firelight as she set it on the table between them.

“This book,” she said, resting her hand on its cover, “is a compendium of every known class, skill, and ability cataloged by the elves. It is common among my people but rare and highly coveted by others. Within it, you will find an explanation for the skills granted to you and their potential uses.”

Cole’s curiosity piqued as he eyed the book. “That’s… a hell of a lot of knowledge,” he muttered.

Lyrelle shot him a sharp look, reminding him to remain silent, and flipped the book open with practiced ease. She skimmed the pages until she found the section she was looking for, her finger tracing the delicate script.

“The first skill you were granted,” she said, her voice steady, “is Oathkeeper’s Mark. It signifies your bond to the oath and allows you to sense when it is threatened. If the oath is at risk of being broken, whether by your actions or external forces, the mark will alert you. This skill ensures you remain steadfast in your promise.”

Cole shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the glowing runes on his arm. “Great. A magical conscience,” he muttered under his breath.

Ignoring him, Lyrelle continued. “The second skill, Verdant Resolve, draws upon the power of nature itself to bolster your endurance and resistance. It grants you increased fortitude in both body and spirit, especially when defending the forest or fulfilling your oath.”

“And finally, Unyielding Bond,” she said, turning the page, “creates a link between you and those you are sworn to protect. This bond can strengthen your allies in times of need, enhancing their resolve and ensuring their survival. It is a skill of unity, emphasizing the importance of trust and loyalty.”

She closed the book softly, her green eyes meeting his. “These skills are not just tools. They are responsibilities. They reflect the weight of your oath and the expectations placed upon you.”

Lyrelle leaned forward slightly, her expression shifting from neutral to solemn. The firelight flickered, casting soft shadows across her face as she folded her hands on the table before her.

“Cole,” she began, her voice steady but with a softness that hinted at the gravity of her words, “we need to have a serious conversation. I won’t sugarcoat this, and it might be difficult for you to hear. But it’s necessary.”

Cole straightened slightly in his chair, his brow furrowing. “Alright,” he said cautiously. “I’m listening.”

Lyrelle’s gaze held his, unwavering. “You’ve taken an oath, and with that oath comes responsibility—not just to Sylvalis, but to yourself. The training you will undertake will demand much from you. Strength, discipline, adaptability. Your skills—your class—require a body capable of supporting them. And right now...” She paused, her words measured. “Your body is a liability.”

Cole’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his fingers twitching as though wanting to interrupt.

She continued, her tone softening slightly. “Earlier, I spoke with Elaris, the healer who has tended to you. She explained that the injuries you carry—those scars, the metal near your spine, the damage to your muscles and ligaments—are not just reminders of your past. They are impediments to your future.”

Cole’s eyes flicked downward, his hands tightening into fists. “I’ve been dealing with it just fine,” he muttered.

“You’ve endured,” Lyrelle agreed, her voice steady. “And I respect that. But enduring is not the same as thriving. If you continue as you are, your body will fail you. Your pain will worsen, and your ability to train or fight will diminish.”

Her green eyes softened, and she leaned back slightly, her voice taking on a more personal tone. “Elaris believes your condition can be mended. But the process will not be easy, and it will not be painless.”

Cole’s gaze snapped up to meet hers, his expression guarded. “What do you mean, ‘mended’?”

Lyrelle sighed, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. “Your wounds—particularly the shrapnel and the scar tissue—would need to be reopened. Healing potions cannot mend what has already been sealed and scarred over. The damaged tissue would need to be exposed, allowing the potion to work on the deeper injuries.”

His face twisted in a mix of disbelief and discomfort. “You’re talking about cutting me open. Again.”

“Yes,” Lyrelle said bluntly, though her tone lacked the usual harshness. “It would be painful, but it would give you the chance to reclaim the strength your body has lost. To move without constant pain. To train without limitations.”

Cole exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face with one hand. “And what if I say no? What if I don’t want to be... ‘mended’?”

“why would you not wish to have the wounds healed" Lyrelle asked

“It's complicated" cole muttered looking at the floor.

Lyrelle’s gaze sharpened, her green eyes narrowing as she studied him. “What is so complicated, Cole?” she asked, her tone firm but lacking hostility. “Why would you not want to heal? To rid yourself of pain and regain what you have lost?”

Cole shifted uncomfortably, his hands clenching into fists. His eyes dropped to the floor, avoiding her piercing stare. “It’s just... not that simple,” he muttered, his voice low and uneven.

Lyrelle tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “I do not understand,” she pressed, her voice quieter now but no less insistent. “Why do you hesitate? Why refuse something that could help you?”

Cole’s jaw tightened, and he inhaled deeply through his nose, his chest rising and falling as if battling some internal war. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, the words faltering before they could form.

“Cole,” Lyrelle said again, softer this time. “Tell me. Why is it so difficult?”

He sat frozen for a moment, tension radiating from him like a coiled spring. Then, with a shaky exhale, he dropped his head into his hands, his voice barely above a whisper. “You wouldn’t understand…”

Lyrelle didn’t look away, her silence a steady presence, pressing without words. She slowly, hesitantly reached her hand across the table they were at. Gently resting her hand upon coles, feeling the rough texture of his hands the strength lying dormant below.

Finally, Cole let out a deep sigh, the sound heavy with resignation.

Cole sat in silence for a long moment, his hands still covering his face. The room felt unbearably quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves from the wind outside. Finally, he dropped his hands, his eyes fixed on the grain of the wooden table between them.

“Alright,” he began, his voice low and hoarse. “If you’re going to get it, I guess I need to start from the beginning.”

Lyrelle nodded once, her sharp green eyes locked on him, her hand still resting lightly on his as though silently encouraging him to continue.

“You asked why it’s complicated,” Cole said, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “It’s because it’s not just about me. It’s about them.”

“Them?” Lyrelle echoed softly.

“My team,” Cole said, the words catching slightly in his throat. “My... brothers. Not by blood, but by everything else that matters.”

Lyrelle’s gaze softened, her curiosity tempered by a growing understanding that whatever he was about to say carried immense weight. She remained silent, letting him take his time.

“Back home, we use these vehicles called humvees,” Cole began, his tone steady, though his eyes remained fixed on the table. “They’re... well, think of them as carriages, but covered in armor. They’re made to carry soldiers through dangerous places. The turret—it’s like a mounted weapon on top—sticks out, and it’s the gunner’s job to stand up there, exposed, to keep everyone safe.”

Lyrelle tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing as she tried to visualize what he described. “Exposed? Why?”

“Because someone has to,” Cole said simply, his voice tinged with bitterness. “The turret gunner’s job is to be the eyes and ears of the vehicle. You’re up there, looking for anything that might be a threat. Snipers, ambushes, and... IEDs.”

He paused, glancing at her. “IEDs—improvised explosive devices. Bombs. Hidden in the ground, on the side of the road, anywhere you wouldn’t think to look. They’re designed to rip apart vehicles like humvees. Kill everyone inside.”

Lyrelle’s eyes widened slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “And you were... this gunner?”

“Yeah,” Cole said, nodding slowly. “That was my job that day. I asked a buddy to take my night shift so I... so I could play a game with the rest of the squad. Stupid card game. We stayed up late, joking, drinking cheap coffee from the mess. He took my shift so I could sit in and blow off steam.”

He paused, his fingers tapping against the table before stilling entirely. His throat tightened as he continued. “The next day, I told him I’d take turret to even things out. He wasn’t gonna argue—nobody wants to ride turret unless they have to. Ass on that strap, bouncing with every bump, your legs going numb. But I figured it was fair, y’know? It was my turn.”

He glanced up at Lyrelle, who was watching him intently, her lips slightly parted as if she were about to say something but thought better of it.

Cole let out a humorless laugh, leaning back in his chair. “Halfway through the convoy, my ass was numb as hell, the strap cutting into that spot between your legs. I was shouting down to Sean—he was sitting in the back left seat—begging him to swap places with me.”

He mimicked the motion, lightly kicking the underside of the table. “‘C’mon, man,’ I yelled. ‘Just give me ten minutes in the seat. My ass is dying up here!’” His voice softened as he dropped his gaze. “And he just laughed. ‘No way, Cole,’ he told me. ‘You asked for this.’”

Cole’s voice faltered as he stared at the woodgrain of the table.

Cole’s hand unconsciously curled into a fist, his nails digging into his palm as he began speaking again, his voice distant, as if he were being pulled back to that day.

“It happened so fast. One moment, I was yelling at Sean, trying to make him laugh, trying to distract myself from the heat, the dust, and the endless goddamn noise. The next moment...” His voice faltered, his breath catching as his eyes stared past Lyrelle, unfocused. “The next moment, the world went quiet. Not peaceful quiet, but the kind of silence that screams something’s wrong.”

Lyrelle leaned forward slightly, her green eyes intent, not interrupting.

“I saw it... just a flash of movement on the road. A glint of something—metal—half-buried in the dirt. But by the time I processed it, it was already too late.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “An IED.”

Lyrelle frowned slightly. “IED?”

“Improvised Explosive Device,” Cole explained, his words clipped. “A bomb hidden on the side of the road or buried beneath it. The enemy used them to... catch us off guard, destroy vehicles, kill soldiers. They’re hell.”

He inhaled sharply, his hands trembling. “The humvee—the one I was in—it just... lifted. The sound was deafening. Like the world splitting open. I remember the heat, the metal, the blast throwing me out of the turret like a ragdoll. The last thing I saw was the entire bottom of the vehicle tearing apart, flames pouring out... and Sean...” He paused, his voice breaking slightly. “Sean was in the backseat.”

Lyrelle’s expression softened, though her posture remained firm. She didn’t interrupt, letting him continue.

“After the explosion... everything was chaos. Dust, fire, screams—I didn’t know whose voice it was, just this horrible, never-ending scream. My ears were ringing so loud I couldn’t think, but that gods damned screaming but wouldn’t stop. I tried to crawl back to the wreckage, but someone—Doc, the medic—was dragging me away. I was fighting him, screaming at him to let me go. Sean, Mike, and Kai were still in there.”

Cole swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he fought to keep his composure. “I didn’t even know it was me that was screaming until later, after I woke up 47 hours later from a medically induced coma”

His breathing quickened, and his voice grew hoarse. “They didn’t make it. None of them. And I couldn’t stop it. I was supposed to be watching for that IED. It was my job, Lyrelle. Mine. And I failed.”

The silence between them was heavy, the weight of Cole’s words filling the room. His chest rose and fell as he tried to steady himself, his hands trembling slightly. Lyrelle didn’t move, her gaze steady but filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite name.

Here’s how this part of the dialogue could unfold, blending Cole’s guilt with Lyrelle’s wisdom and compassion:

Cole leaned back in his chair, his voice dropping to a near whisper, raw with emotion. “Pain... the scars... it’s what I deserve. I failed my team, I failed the convoy. Because I was complacent. Because I fucked up.” He glanced down at his trembling hands, his gaze distant. “I deserve this pain. I deserve everything I’ve got coming.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. Lyrelle regarded him for a long moment, her expression thoughtful but tinged with something gentler—empathy, perhaps.

Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but steady, like the rustling of leaves in the wind. “You carry a great burden, Cole. One that has festered in your heart like a wound left untended. But pain is not the proof of your worth. It is not a penance you must bear to balance the scales.”

Cole scoffed, shaking his head. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t there. You didn’t hear the screams, didn’t see the flames. You don’t know what it’s like to live knowing you failed the people who trusted you.”

Lyrelle’s green eyes locked onto his, piercing and unwavering. “No, I do not know your war, your world, or the weight of your loss. But I know this: clinging to pain does not honor those you lost. Carrying your guilt as a penance only blinds you to the lessons their lives taught you.”

He frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“You say you failed them,” Lyrelle continued, her tone gaining strength. “But are you failing them now by letting the pain consume you? Or could you honor their memory by using what you’ve learned, by ensuring that the sacrifices they made were not in vain?”

Cole’s gaze dropped to the table, his hands clenching into fists. Her words cut through his defenses like a blade, forcing him to confront the truth he had buried beneath layers of guilt.

“The scars you bear, both on your body and in your soul, do not make you unworthy,” Lyrelle added, her voice softening again. “They make you human. And they remind you that you survived—for a reason.”

Cole’s throat tightened, and he blinked rapidly, trying to push back the flood of emotions her words stirred. “What reason?” he whispered hoarsely.

“That is for you to discover,” Lyrelle said, her lips curving into a faint, almost sad smile. “But you cannot find it if you remain chained to the past. Pain can either define you or guide you. The choice is yours.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the room filled with the unspoken weight of their shared understanding. Lyrelle’s words lingered in the air, a fragile bridge extended toward Cole, waiting for him to take the first step.

The silence between them stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. Cole’s gaze drifted from the table to Lyrelle’s hand still resting on his. Her fingers were long and elegant, their touch light yet steady, as if she was grounding him without restraining him. Slowly, his eyes traveled up to meet hers.

Lyrelle’s green eyes shimmered in the soft light of the room, deep and vibrant like the forest canopy. For a moment, he was struck by how open they seemed—vulnerable, yet filled with an unyielding strength. The distance he’d felt between them since their first encounter seemed to melt away, replaced by an unspoken connection that neither of them dared to acknowledge aloud.

Her head tilted slightly, her expression softening. There was no judgment in her gaze now, no wall of duty or protocol. Only quiet understanding, as though she could see the fractured pieces of him he tried so desperately to hide.

Cole felt his chest tighten, his breath catching. He didn’t know why—whether it was the intensity of her gaze or the way her presence steadied him in a way nothing had in years. It wasn’t just her beauty; it was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite put into words.

Lyrelle’s lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to speak, but no words came. Instead, her hand shifted, her fingers curling gently around his. The warmth of her touch seeped into his skin, steady and sure, a silent promise that he wasn’t alone in this.

Cole’s gaze flicked to their joined hands, then back to her face. The weight of his decision, of her words, hung in the air between them, but for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel crushing. It felt... manageable.

“I’ll do it,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within him.

Lyrelle’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, her eyes never leaving his. “Good,” she said simply, her voice no louder than a whisper.

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of them, the connection between them humming quietly in the stillness. Then, as if on cue, Lyrelle released his hand and stood, her expression resuming its usual composure, though there was a warmth in her gaze that hadn’t been there before.

“Rest tonight,” she said. “You’ll need your strength.”

Cole nodded, his resolve solidifying. Whatever came next, he would face it.