Noah barely slept. He lay on his back, staring at the uneven wooden ceiling, the faint scent of moss and lavender drifting in through the cracks.
Sleep, when it finally came, was shallow and restless. His mind replayed the night's events over and over—the clang, the shadow, the flash of a blade in the moonlight.
He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd only survived because of something he didn't fully understand.
Maybe one of his new skills had warned him, or maybe he'd just gotten lucky.
He rolled onto his side, eyes tracing the burn on his arm left by the Solumbrian. Twice now, he'd nearly died in this strange world. Back on Earth, nothing ever happened—just the dull ache of loss and the monotony of survival. Here, danger was everywhere, but at least it felt real.
He almost smiled at the thought, but quickly pushed it away. Tempting fate was never wise, especially here.
Eventually, exhaustion won out, and he drifted into a shallow sleep filled with fragmented dreams—fire, water, the feeling of being watched.
He woke to the sound of banging at his door.
"Noah! Up! Get up, now!" Valinish's voice was sharp, insistent.
Noah groaned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The room was still dim, the first hints of morning light barely filtering through the window. He stumbled to the door, pulling it open just as Valinish raised his fist to knock again.
Valinish looked tense, his usually calm face set in grim lines. "Get dressed. Chief wants to see you. Now. It's about Wiktor Dragan."
Noah nodded, quickly pulling on his patched tunic and trousers. As he laced his boots, he glanced at the window, half-expecting to see another shadow lurking in the trees. But the village was quiet, the only movement the slow drift of mist rising from the forest floor.
He stepped outside, the air cool and damp against his skin. Valinish was already striding down the path, his posture rigid with urgency.
Noah hurried after him, boots crunching on the gravel. They walked side by side through the waking village—elves moving between houses, smoke rising from the communal hearths, the low murmur of voices carrying on the breeze. There was an undercurrent of tension, a sense that something was off.
After a few moments, Noah leaned closer to Valinish, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Valinish… I need to tell you something. Something happened last night."
Valinish's eyes flicked to him, surprised. "What is it?"
Noah kept his voice low, barely above a whisper.
"Someone tried to attack me. Or maybe they were running from something, I'm not sure. It was dark. I heard a noise outside my room, went to check, and someone, someone with a sword—came out of the shadows. They were limping, bleeding. I think they'd been hurt before they got to me. They tried to swing at me, but missed. I shut the door and locked it. Didn't follow. I didn't know if it was a trap."
Valinish stopped dead in his tracks, grabbing Noah's arm and pulling him off the main path, out of earshot of the other villagers. He stared at Noah, eyes wide with shock. "You're serious? Why didn't you come get me? Or tell anyone?"
Noah shook his head, guilt prickling at the back of his neck. "I was tired. Scared. I didn't know what to do. I just… locked the door and waited."
Valinish's jaw tightened. He glanced around, making sure no one was listening. "You have to tell the chief. Now. There shouldn't be anyone inside the borders attacking people. The chief hates inside attacks more than anything—we've got enough issues coming from the outside already."
Noah nodded, his heart pounding. "I'll tell him. I promise."
2 mins later
Noah followed Valinish through the winding paths of Sylvas Reach, his nerves tightening with every step. The village was already alive with morning activity—smoke curling from hearths, the muted chatter of elves beginning their day—but for Noah, each footfall felt heavier, burdened by the memory of the night before.
Lowarion's manor rose ahead, its living wood and intricate carvings catching the soft sunlight. Valinish led him inside, where the air was cool and laced with the scent of incense and old timber. Chief Lowarion stood at the far end of the hall, his white hair falling in a silken curtain over his shoulders. Janus and Maximatron, ever watchful, flanked him.
Lowarion's gaze met Noah's as they entered. "You two," he said, voice even but carrying a note of curiosity, "I wanted to ask about your encounter with Wiktor Dragan yesterday. My guards saw you speaking in the food house. What did he want from you, Noah?"
Noah hesitated, glancing at Valinish for reassurance. He could still feel the echo of Wiktor's sharp words, the merchant's probing questions and veiled threats. But that wasn't the only thing weighing on him.
He swallowed, voice a little unsteady. "He… mostly just tried to get under my skin. Asked why I was here, made some comments about humans in Sylvas Reach. Tried to make me feel like an outsider. I think he wanted to see if I'd say something stupid in front of his men."
Lowarion nodded, his expression unreadable. "That sounds like Wiktor. He's always testing for weaknesses, looking for leverage." The chief's gaze softened just a touch. "But you handled yourself well?"
Noah nodded, but then hesitated again, a different anxiety surfacing. He looked down, then back up, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Chief, there's… something else. Something happened last night. I should have come sooner, but I wasn't sure if it was important, or if I was just overreacting."
Janus and Maximatron both turned their attention to him, eyes narrowing in concern.
Lowarion's tone grew more serious. "Go on, Noah. What happened?"
Noah took a shaky breath, forcing out the words. "I heard something outside my room. When I checked, there was someone—hurt, limping, bleeding. They had a sword. They tried to swing at me, but missed. I locked my door and waited. I didn't see where they went. I just… I didn't know what to do."
A heavy silence filled the hall. Janus and Maximatron exchanged a look, both of them instantly alert.
Lowarion's face hardened, but his voice stayed calm. "You're certain of this? Not a dream, not a trick of the night?"
Noah nodded, his hands clenched at his sides. "I'm sure. I saw the blood. I was awake."
Lowarion straightened, his presence filling the room. "Janus, Maximatron—protocol seven. Full search, starting with the garrison. No one leaves or enters Sylvas Reach until we know who this is."
Janus nodded sharply and strode from the room, already calling for his most trusted soldiers. Maximatron moved to the door as well, his voice low and commanding as he summoned the rest of the guard. Within moments, the manor was alive with purposeful movement—soldiers gathering, boots echoing on the polished floor, the tension outside now mirrored within.
Noah shifted uneasily, guilt prickling at him. "Chief… I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I just… I wasn't sure. I'm still not used to all this."
Lowarion turned to him, his gaze steady but kind. "Noah, I understand. You're new here. But next time, do not hesitate—no matter how small the worry. This is your family now. We look out for each other, and that means sharing every concern, every fear. That's how we survive."
He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "You're one of us, Noah. Remember that."
With that, Lowarion turned and strode away to oversee the search, his white hair trailing behind him like a banner. For a moment, Noah just stood there, stunned. He hadn't done anything heroic—hadn't fought, hadn't saved anyone, hadn't even acted quickly. Yet, somehow, Lowarion had called him family.
Valinish stepped up beside him, offering a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder. "He means it, you know. Here, family isn't just blood. It's trust. It's showing up, even when you're scared."