Kimi shifted on the hard cave floor, trying to find a spot that wasn't digging into her back. The rough stone pressed against her skin, the damp air clinging to her dress.
The tattered pink fabric caught on a loose rock, snagging annoyingly. She sighed, frustrated, then glanced at Atherion, who sat by the small fire, his sword resting against his shoulder.
"Can I borrow your knife?" she asked, keeping her voice steady, though her mind raced with unanswered questions.
Atherion's red eyes flicked to her, unreadable. "For what?"
"This dress," she said, tugging at the long hem. "It's too much. I can't move properly, and it's slowing me down."
He studied her for a moment, his expression neutral, then unsheathed a small knife from his belt and handed it to her, hilt first.
Kimi took it carefully, making sure not to brush his fingers. She knelt, gripping the hem of the dress, and began slicing.
The fabric parted easily under the blade, and soon, she had cut it to knee-length, freeing her legs.
She trimmed the excess lace, unfastened the heavy sleeves, and tied a strip of the discarded cloth around her silvery-white hair, pulling it into a tight bun.
The weight of her new body still felt foreign, but this was a start.
Atherion watched, his expression a mix of curiosity and mild surprise.
She handed the knife back, offering a small smile. "Thanks."
"Why cut it?" he asked, returning the blade to its sheath.
"In my world, I'd wear pants," she said, gesturing to his trousers. "Easier to move. Women there have choices—emancipation, you know?"
His brow furrowed. "You're a woman in your world?"
Kimi laughed, the sound sharp in the cave's stillness. "Obviously. But we don't fuss with dresses unless we want to. Freedom is a thing there."
Atherion didn't respond right away, his gaze lingering on the altered dress, as if she had done something completely unheard of. Finally, he murmured, "Interesting."
She seized the moment. "Why did you kidnap Camelia?" Her tone was firm, testing how much he was willing to reveal.
Atherion's jaw tightened, a long pause stretching between them. The fire crackled, casting shadows across his sharp features.
"An oracle prophesied she'd be the Light," he said at last. "A force meant to control the Darkness."
Kimi tilted her head, absorbing his words. "The Light? What's that?"
"The Darkness is a corruption," he said, his voice lowering. "A shadow that twists minds, destroys lands. The Light is supposed to stop it."
She hesitated, watching the way his eyes darkened at the mention of the prophecy, as though the very idea weighed on him. "But you don't believe Camelia is the Light?"
His gaze met hers, cold and resolute. "No."
Kimi's stomach twisted. "Then why kidnap her?"
The hesitation in his face disappeared, replaced by unshaken certainty.
"To kill her," he said simply. "The prophecy threatens too much."
Her breath hitched.
"Kill..." Her voice came out uneven, barely a whisper.
She raised both hands, pointing at herself. "You were going to kill me?"
"You're not Camelia," Atherion said flatly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Not the one I sought."
She stared at him, trying to process his words.
"You really believe I'm not her?" she asked, hope flickering despite her fear.
Atherion smirked—the first real break in his cold demeanor.
"No noblewoman would butcher her dress like that," he said, amusement tugging at his lips. "Or speak the way you do."
Kimi blinked, unsure whether to be offended or relieved.
She sank back onto the makeshift mat she had crafted from the scraps of the dress, her mind racing.
Prophecies. Darkness. Assassination attempts.
This world was more dangerous than she had imagined.
Her thoughts spun in circles, but exhaustion settled over her.
She let herself drift, even as the weight of Atherion's words clung to her.
***
Morning light filtered into the cave, waking Kimi with a dull headache and aching muscles from the stone floor. She sat up slowly, her body stiff from sleeping on uneven ground.
Disoriented, she scanned the cave, taking in the remnants of their night there.
The fire had burned down to ash, the bear carcass was gone, and Atherion—along with his horse—was nowhere to be seen. Only a few pieces of roasted meat remained, skewered over the embers.
Panic surged through her chest. Had he abandoned her?
She scrambled to her feet, her breathing quickening as she searched the cave's corners, hoping for some sign of him. Finding nothing, she rushed outside.
The forest stretched endlessly around her, the trees sparse but tall, their leaves rustling in the breeze. Birds chirped from their perches, their songs blending with the distant hum of nature.
"Atherion?" she called, her voice swallowed by the woods.
She turned in a slow circle, her shortened dress making movement easier, but there were no signs of him—no hoofprints, no footprints, not even a trail to follow.
A soft thud behind her made her spin around, her heart lurching. Atherion landed lightly from a rocky ledge above the cave, his coat fluttering as he moved.
Kimi yelped, instinctively covering her mouth with her hand, relief washing over her.
"Don't do that!" she snapped, her tone sharp with lingering fear.
"Come," he said, ignoring her outburst. "We're washing up." He gestured toward a narrow path leading deeper into the trees.
Kimi hesitated, watching him carefully, still unsettled by the sudden disappearance. Then, reluctantly, she followed, her relief tempered by wariness.
The forest felt different now—not dangerous, but overwhelming. The chirping birds, the squirrels darting through branches, the crunch of leaves underfoot—it was all too real for something she was still struggling to believe.
Atherion led her to a small, clear stream. The water glimmered in the morning sun, running smooth over polished stones.
He pointed to it, then sat against a nearby tree, turning his back to give her some privacy.
Grateful for the gesture, Kimi knelt by the water, splashing her face, the cold biting against her skin. She scrubbed her arms, trying to rid herself of the grime from sleeping on the cave floor.
Without soap or a toothbrush, it felt incomplete, but the simple act cleared her head.
She returned to Atherion, drying her hands on the hem of her dress.
"What's your name?" he asked abruptly, standing.
"Kimi," she replied instinctively, but immediately noticed the way his brow furrowed.
"What?" she asked, shifting under his sharp gaze.
"That name won't do here," he said, rubbing his chin as if deep in thought. "It's too foreign. You'll draw attention."
Her shoulders slumped at the realization. "So, what? I use Camelia?"
He nodded. "It's safer. Blend in, or you won't survive."
Kimi—now Camelia—sighed, staring down at the water, but didn't argue. He was right. If she was stuck in this world, she needed to adapt, whether she liked it or not. She had already lost her clothes, her hair, and her familiar surroundings—what was one more thing?
"Fine," she muttered, accepting the new identity, even as she struggled to grasp what that truly meant.
***
For two days, they remained in the cave, with Atherion teaching Camelia the basics of Calonia. The language, thankfully, was the same as hers, though the accent was formal, almost archaic, making certain words sound stiff and old-fashioned.
He described Calonia's geography—a vast kingdom filled with dense forests, towering mountains, and fortified cities protected by high stone walls.
He spoke of the noble houses, including the Valois family, which Camelia supposedly belonged to. According to him, the real Camelia was spoiled and vain, a sheltered duke's daughter who wouldn't last a single day outside the comforts of her estate.
His disdain was obvious, though he dodged her attempts to learn more about himself, refusing to answer questions about his past or his true motives.
On the third morning, Atherion whistled for his horse, a sleek black stallion named Storm. The animal responded immediately, trotting toward them with silent obedience.
"We need clothes for you," he said, his eyes scanning her torn and dirt-streaked dress. "That won't do."
Camelia looked down at her outfit, noting the stains and frayed edges. It was a mess.
The once-elegant fabric had barely survived days in the wild. She reached for the jeweled brooch and rings fastened to the dress, unclasping them before handing them to Atherion.
"Sell these," she said simply. "For clothes and food."
He took the jewelry without hesitation, his expression unreadable, but nodded in agreement.
They mounted Storm, with Atherion's arms steady around her as he guided the stallion forward. The journey took three days, winding through thick woods and unfamiliar terrain.
Atherion navigated expertly, keeping them away from unseen dangers—growls in the distance, shifting shadows between the trees, and signs of movement that hinted at predators watching from afar.
They stopped only to eat and sleep beneath the stars, Camelia forced to adjust to the lack of modern comforts. The cold nights made her miss blankets, proper beds, and the simplicity of hot running water.
She did what she could—washing her face in streams when they found them, relying on firelight to keep warm, and eating whatever food Atherion provided without complaint.
On the third day, they arrived at a bustling town, the sudden activity overwhelming after the quiet of their travels. The cobblestone streets were lined with timber-framed houses, their uneven rooftops giving the town a distinct, rugged charm.
The market was a whirlwind of noise and movement. Vendors shouted their prices, calling out to potential buyers.
Stalls overflowed with vegetables, cured meats, leather goods, and livestock, while the air hung thick with the mingling scents of manure, overripe fruit, and freshly baked bread.
Camelia stared, wide-eyed, as if she had stepped into a history book. The medieval setting was breathtaking but raw, the reality of life here unlike anything she had imagined.
There were no modern conveniences, only the crude, everyday dealings of merchants, traders, and common folk.
Atherion pulled her forward, leading her toward a clothier's stall, ignoring her lingering curiosity about everything around them.
Her eyes darted from the hanging garments to the worn wooden counters stacked with folded linen and wool. The shopkeeper greeted them, his practiced smile hiding a keen awareness of wealth and status.
Camelia forced herself to focus, though unease still lingered in her chest. This was the first real step toward blending in, toward surviving in a world she wasn't supposed to belong to.