Suddenly, she found herself in a dimly lit temple. Vines and moss draped over its stone walls, and the air felt thick—heavy with magic and history. Faint shouts and cries echoed from outside, and Iris, overcome with curiosity and dread, stepped out to see the chaos unfolding.

What she saw left her frozen in horror. The sky above was thick with smoke, flames licking at the sky. People were attacking each other, their faces twisted with rage. Strange creatures, some of them wounded, others feral, clashed in the madness. Blood stained the ground in dark pools.

In the midst of it all, the woman—the one who looked like Iris—was calmly moving through the violence. Her hands glowed with a soft, green light as she healed the wounded creatures, her touch soothing their pain.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Iris’s heart pounded as a man’s voice rang out from the chaos, “Xylia, now!”

Xylia. The name struck Iris like a bolt of lightning. She turned toward the voice and saw him—a man who looked so much like Jericho, yet nothing like him. His face was smeared with blood, and his eyes were wild with urgency. In his hand, he gripped a sword that seemed to flicker with translucence, as though made from light itself.

Xylia raised her hands, whispering an incantation in a language Iris couldn’t understand. As she did, the flowers Iris had seen earlier began to glow brighter, their light pulsing in time with her words. A protective barrier surrounded them, shimmering in the air, and the chaos outside seemed to pause, as though held in place by the magic.

Iris stood there, stunned. Fear and confusion twisted inside her, but one thought became clear as the fog of disbelief began to lift: Magic is real.

But before she could process any more, the vision shifted again.