Hours passed. Or at least it felt like it.
He remained at his desk, reading and writing by the dim glow of candlelight. The steady crackle of the fire filled the silence, a stark contrast to the storm still raging inside me. His massive frame, draped in shadows, was impossibly still. The only movement came from his messy black hair falling over his eyes—those non-earthly, fiery golden eyes.
If I were just a reader, I might have enjoyed this moment, imagining him as a brooding hero in a fantasy comic. Maybe I’d be curled up with chocolate and a matcha vanilla latte, swooning over the scene.
But no.
The lingering stench of fresh blood and damp wood, the freezing air that sent relentless shivers through me, and the burning pain in my waist—all of it shattered any fantasy.
I was cold. Miserable. Exhausted.
And the worst part? I couldn’t even sleep. My thin tunic was useless against the cold, and my body ached in places I never knew could ache. I clenched my teeth, my patience wearing dangerously thin.
Does he not have a single blanket? A scrap of cloth? Anything?!
Fine. If I wanted to survive the night without freezing, I had to do something.
I shifted carefully, inching toward the edge of the bed, watching him for any reaction. Nothing. He didn’t even glance up. That was… odd.
Bracing myself, I reached for the heavy curtains surrounding the bed, hesitating for just a second before trying to push them aside. “Umm… I want a cover,” I said, my voice quiet, testing the waters.
His head jerked slightly. His golden gaze flickered to me.
Okay, he heard me. That was a start.
“I want a cover,” I repeated, louder this time.
I barely had time to process what happened next. In less than a second, he was in front of me. His hand closed over mine, his grip firm—too firm. Before I could react, he pulled me forward with such force that I lost my balance.
I braced for impact, expecting to crash onto the cold floor—but instead, I collided with something just as hard. His arm.
His forearm, to be exact. Which, by the way, felt like solid rock.
Pain shot through me. I winced, cursing my couch-potato lifestyle. Maybe if I had some muscle, this wouldn’t hurt as much.
Still gripping my wrist, he settled me on the edge of the bed and muttered something under his breath in that deep, unreadable tone. It wasn’t directed at me—it was like he was talking to himself, as if he knew I wouldn’t understand.
Except…
I did understand him.
I knew I did, back on the battlefield. But the moment I saw my own blood, the meaning of his words slipped away. Why? What had changed?
And then there was the accusation—his claim that I had seduced his men. My brain had filed that under “hilariously delusional,” but it was proof that, at least for a moment, I had understood his language.
Lost in thought, I barely noticed how close he had gotten.
He was kneeling now, his face just inches from mine. Heat radiated from him, melting away the cold in my bones. My shivers stopped. His fingers trailed over my nose, my cheek, my lips—light, curious touches, as if mapping my face for the first time.
Then his hands moved lower, gripping my shoulders, pulling me in. His breath fanned against my neck.
Is he sniffing me again?!
I doubted there was anything left to smell after last time. If anything, I probably reeked of dried sweat and regret.
Without warning, he lifted me again. I let out a startled yelp as he carried me back to the bed, laying me down with effortless ease.
I tensed. What now?
But instead of anything… questionable, he simply pulled me against him. His body was scorching compared to mine, like a human furnace. I felt the press of his muscles, the warmth of his skin—too much warmth.
His face nestled against my chest, his strong arms wrapping around me, caging me in. I barely had time to register what was happening before he squeezed me into him, like a massive predator curling into its nest.
I was the nest.
It might have looked romantic in theory, but in reality, my arms were pinned under his, quickly losing circulation.
Was this a protective instinct? A way to keep me from escaping? Or was he just that comfortable treating me like a glorified body pillow?
Either way, he wasn’t letting go.
I adjusted slightly, testing if I could move. He made a low noise in response—something between a hum and a warning growl. But he loosened his grip just enough to let me shift into a bearable position.
I stared at his face, half-buried against me. His breathing slowed, steady and deep. His eyes remained closed, but I knew he wasn’t asleep.
I swallowed hard, resigned to my fate.
I had no choice but to stay still and hope I didn’t wake up to another nightmare.
At least I wasn’t cold anymore.
For now.
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An hour later ..
I tried to move my arms.
Nope.
Still trapped.
His steel-like arms remained locked around me, refusing to budge. I exhaled sharply, trying to focus on the bright side.
I did ask for a cover, didn’t I? Well, I got one. A human, stone-heavy, furnace-hot cover. His body radiated warmth, seeping into my frozen bones, lulling me into drowsiness. Maybe, just maybe, this was it—the moment I’d finally fall asleep and wake up back in my own bed…
…
…
Hmmm… why am I cold?
I groaned, stretching out an arm in search of my fluffy blanket.
Pain.
A deep, aching soreness spread through my limbs as I tried to move. Ugh. Why did I feel like I’d been through a full-body workout?
Fine. Maybe I kicked my blanket off the bed. It happens. I reached blindly for the edge of the mattress, but… where was it? I stretched my other arm, wincing at the soreness, but there was still no edge. No frame. No soft cotton sheets.
A slow, creeping dread crawled up my spine.
I wasn’t in my bed, was I?
My eyes snapped open.
Dim, grayish daylight filtered through the heavy fabric of a tent. There was no bright morning sun. No familiar ceiling. Just the overwhelming scent of old wood, burning fire, and something earthy—something that clawed its way down my throat as if eager to claim my lungs.
I gagged.
No. No, no, no, NO!
Panic surged through me. I shot upright in bed, my head spinning.
“This is not happening,” I muttered, shaking my head. My voice grew louder. “I quit! This story sucks! I want to change it now! This is not what I meant when I said I wanted a fresh start! This is nottttt—”
The sharp rustling of paper cut through my outburst.
I froze.
Slowly, I turned my head.
The commander was staring at me, his golden eyes wide in shock. A single sheet of parchment dangled from his fingers, momentarily forgotten.
He pointed at me and barked something in his language—an order, from the tone of it.
I ignored him.
My breath hitched. My hands trembled. My mind raced as a horrifying realization settled in.
“This isn’t a dream,” I whispered, voice hollow. “I was really in another dimension. And I might be stuck here…”
My gaze locked onto his, mirroring his shock. My voice cracked as I spoke the final, crushing word.
“…Forever.”
Tears welled up and spilled over, hot and endless. My chest tightened, the weight of reality pressing down, suffocating me.
I want to go home.
I curled forward, covering my face with my hands. My sore arms screamed in protest, sending fresh waves of pain through my body. It only made me sob harder.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care if he was going to kill me. I didn’t care if this was some brutal, war-torn world where I was just a prisoner. I just wanted out.
Through my hiccuping sobs, I barely registered the movement in front of me.
Then—
A deep, rough voice cut through the heavy silence.
“Can you understand me?”
I stiffened, my breath hitching mid-sob.
Slowly, I looked up.
The commander was standing now, his expression unreadable.
For a long, stretched-out moment, we simply stared at each other. His gaze flickered—calculating, distant. Then, abruptly, he turned toward the entrance of the tent and called out in his language. A voice responded from outside.
My stomach twisted.
Was he summoning someone?
No. His posture shifted, his movements suddenly precise, practiced. I watched in stunned silence as he reached for his armor, methodically fastening each piece in place. His expression was eerily calm, as if this were just another ordinary morning.
My throat tightened.
He was preparing for battle.
I swallowed hard. “A-are you… going back to fight?”
He didn’t look at me. Maybe he couldn’t understand me. But then… hadn’t he understood me earlier? He had asked me a question.
Surprisingly, he simply nodded, his fingers securing the last strap of his chest plate.
“We have to take down the capital”
he said, his tone almost casual.
“Only then can we return victorious to Ojan.”
Relief flooded through me—not because I wanted to know more, but because he had answered me. He understood me. That meant I had at least one shred of connection to this place, a way to navigate this nightmare. A way to figure out what was happening. And maybe… maybe even a way home.
I barely registered the name of the place.
My insides turned to ice. “W-what about me?” My voice wavered. “Where… where am I supposed to go?”
Finally, he turned to face me.
His golden eyes were empty. Cold. Unmoved.
“You’re our prisoner,” he said flatly. “You won’t be going anywhere.”
I remembered the knights who had tried to grab me—even with him standing right there. My stomach twisted.
“Will you leave me here alone?” I asked.
He didn’t even look at me. “If you try to escape, my guards will behead you the moment you step outside this tent.”
Then, without another word, he walked out.
My jaw dropped.
What the hell?!
I thought we had something—even if it was just the world’s most uncomfortable, weirdly intimate night!
He used me as a human pillow for god’s sake! Shouldn’t that count for something? Wasn’t this the part where he was supposed to fall for me like in those comics I read?
But no.
No romance. No tenderness. Just beheading if I dared to set foot outside.
Great. Wonderful. Perfect. A fantastic start to my next crying session.
Later
The troops left for battle.
And me? I wasn’t just stuck in his tent.
I was locked inside a wooden cage.
Yup. That’s right. A literal cage. Because apparently, being treated like a prisoner wasn’t degrading enough—I had to be treated like a damn animal.
I wondered where they’d put the key.
What if it was with the commander, and he died in battle, leaving me to rot here in this cage?
I hadn’t even finished my second sobbing session yet.
Outside, the terrifying cheers of the soldiers rumbled like a storm, shaking the very ground beneath me. The cage rattled with the force of their shouts, making my skin crawl.
I buried myself deeper into the thick fabric that covered me, clutching the small flask of water I’d been given.
My plan?
Sleep. Sleep and pray to whatever higher power existed that I wake up back home.
?
Claudius Ojan
As Claudius stepped out of the tent, he caught sight of the large wooden cage being carried inside.
He exhaled sharply. Good.
He had ordered a wooden one instead of iron. She was far too fragile for iron bars—her body wouldn’t withstand it.
Not that she realized the truth.
The cage wasn’t to keep her locked in.
It was to keep others out.
He had made an example of every soldier who had dared to reach for her. The punishments had been swift, brutal, and public. No one would make that mistake again.
Still, he couldn’t be too careful.
Claudius felt his ears warm as an unwelcome thought intruded—he felt damn good today. Strong. Focused. More well-rested than he had been since the war began.
And he knew why.
Last night, for the first time in years, he had slept deeply.
The memory flickered, unbidden. The softness of her body pressed against his. The rhythmic beat of her heart beneath his ear. The strange, unfamiliar sensation of warmth that had settled in his chest.
Damn it.
He clenched his jaw.
Men grew weak when deprived for too long. And after years away from home, even the women there were not as soft as she was.
He pushed the thought away as his second-in-command approached, handing him the key to her cage with a small nod.
“She’s inside. Being watched.”
Claudius took the key without a word.
He gripped the reins of his horse and swung himself into the saddle.
The army awaited his command.
He let out a slow breath, then raised his voice to the troops.
“This is our last battle! Tonight, we drink in Sojun’s capital! And tomorrow—” His golden eyes gleamed as he pulled his sword free. “We return to Ojan with victory!”
A deafening roar of approval shook the valley as thousands of voices answered his call.
And with that, they rode into war.
How Do I Find My Way Home?
It’s been three days since he left me.
Three days of staring at the same wooden bars, the same dimly lit tent, the same bowl of suspicious-looking food I refuse to touch.
Three days, and I still haven’t figured out how to get back to my world.
I’ve tried everything.
Sleeping—so much that the guards started poking me with a stick to check if I was still alive.
Bleeding—maybe the blood had been the trigger? Nope.
Nothing works.
I’m starving, but there’s no way in hell I’m eating whatever that mystery meat is. My stomach is modern—it can’t handle medieval bacteria. One bite and I’ll probably drop dead before I even find a way home.
The water tastes weird too. I sip it just to exist.
Honestly? Best diet I’ve ever been on.
At this rate, my curves have enough fat reserves to keep me going for at least another month.
But the worst part?
I’ve stopped trying to escape.
Instead… I find myself waiting for him.
That terrifying, infuriating, beautiful failure of a hero.
At least if he were here, I’d be out of this damn cage. I could ask him about their food—specifically if they ever use spices, because everything here smells like boiled regret.
Not that it matters. I haven’t eaten meat in two years. And I am not starting now with a mystery corpse.
?
Day Four
I wake up staring at the ceiling of my cage.
My body aches from sleeping in this cramped position. My head is heavy.
Someone enters the tent.
I assume it’s the bearded guard again. He’s been the only one who actually seems concerned about my well-being. Lately, he’s been desperate to get me to eat, practically begging me with his eyes every time he brings food.
I pull the cover off my head, ready to give him my daily shake of refusal.
But—
It’s not him.
A different man stands there.
He’s wearing unfamiliar clothes, not like the commander’s knights. The fabric is sleeker, the cut different.
The smile on his face makes my skin crawl.
Something is wrong.
I shuffle back against the bars, but he moves fast—too fast.
Before I can react, his hand clamps around my ankle.
A sharp crack of pain shoots up my leg.
His grip is too strong.
I feel my bone nearly snap.
I let out a strangled gasp, trying to yank myself free—
And then suddenly…
I am free.
Just like that.
My leg slips loose, but—his hand is still gripping me.
It takes my brain a second to process what I’m seeing.
His hand.
Detached from his forearm.
Still locked around my ankle.
The cage is covered in blood.
My stomach flips, horror surging through me. I jerk my head up—
And see him.
My guard.
The bearded one.
The only one who was ever kind to me.
He stands there, panting, sword dripping with fresh blood.
His eyes lock onto mine for a single, fleeting second.
Then—
He turns the blade on himself.
And plunges it into his own chest.
The world tilts.
The last thing I see before my vision goes dark—
Is the look in his eyes.
And then—
Nothing.
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