“Out of curiosity,” Asil ventured softly, watching Geraldine place a tray of food on the bedside table, “could you tell us more about where we are?”

  The older woman offered Asil a kind smile before glancing at Abby, who lay motionless on the bed. Since the teen had finally chosen her class and succumbed to an uneasy slumber, she hadn’t stirred once. No tremors, no cries—just a deep, concerning stillness.

  “We’re in Fort Harjil, my dear,” Geraldine replied, her voice gentle, as though she worried even its vibration might disturb Abby’s fragile rest. “One of the last functioning strongholds on the border of the Dark Woods.”

  A faint crease formed on Asil’s brow. Dark Woods? The name alone conjured images of an ancient forest teeming with nightmarish creatures—no doubt dangerous if the fortress was there to guard against it. She had spent the better part of the day at Abby’s bedside, hardly touching the meals Geraldine brought. The tray of stew and bread now grew cold, and Abby’s portion remained untouched.

  “We… appreciate the kindness you’ve shown us,” Asil murmured, half to Geraldine, half to herself. “I just wish I knew how we got here… or why.”

  Geraldine’s expression softened. “It’s no trouble at all, dear. And there’s time to figure out those mysteries once your friend is stronger.”

  She drew a wooden stool closer to the bedside and sat, folding her hands in her lap. Asil sensed this was the moment the older woman had been waiting for—a chance to illuminate the fortress’s secrets.

  Geraldine explained that Fort Harjil was once one of several imposing bastions forming a defensive line against a region known as the Dark Woods—an ominous, sprawling forest said to be the final barrier between the civilized lands and the corrupted domains of an ancient enemy.

  “A few hundred years back,” Geraldine began, her tone quiet but resolute, “the Dark Lord and his demon hordes surged forth from those woods. They nearly overran the Kingdom of Durvant. The war raged, cruel and bitter, for many years.”

  Asil sat straighter, her nerves on edge. She could practically envision a mass of infernal creatures marching beneath twisted trees.

  “So the kingdom managed to fend them off?” she prompted gently.

  Geraldine nodded a flicker of pride in her eyes. “Aye. It was a bloody victory, but the Dark Lord was banished, and his armies scattered. Durvant’s forces pushed them back beyond the Dark Woods at a terrible cost. In the aftermath, these forts were built along the forest perimeter to keep watch—Fort Harjil and a handful of others, each tasked with detecting demonic stragglers still roaming the wilds.”

  She sighed softly, the corners of her mouth turning downward.

  “Of course, decades became centuries, and the demon sightings all but vanished. The kingdom’s attention drifted elsewhere. Resources dwindled. Soldiers were reassigned. Now, only a few devout families remain to garrison these once-proud strongholds. Their purpose is kept alive more by tradition than necessity.”

  Asil glanced around the modest chamber, taking in the bare stone walls and the single battered trunk at the foot of the bed. Through the window’s narrow slit, she glimpsed the fortress courtyard below—where recruits honed their swordsmanship, primarily teenage boys like Frederick.

  “So it’s basically a… skeleton crew,” Asil deduced. “Yet you’re still here, on the off chance demons resurface?”

  Geraldine acknowledged this with a tilt of her head. “Yes. My husband, Loren Dourant, oversees Fort Harjil. It’s been his family’s duty for generations. His brother, Bonvil, travels the kingdom seeking funds and new recruits, trying to revive the cause. Sometimes folk call us relics, but we see ourselves as guardians of a legacy.”

  Geraldine looked fondly at a miniature portrait propped against the wall—an older painting of two men, strongly resembling Loren but younger, each brandishing a sword before an imposing fortress gate.

  “Loren and Bonvil inherited this responsibility from their father, who inherited it from his father, and so on. We once kept two hundred soldiers here. Now…” She trailed off, pressing her lips thin. “Let’s just say we manage with the few who remain.”

  “Recruits like… Frederick,” Asil offered. She recalled the young man from her earlier spar and how he and his fellow trainees looked barely older than Abby.

  “Exactly,” Geraldine said with a wry smile. “Poor boy. He and the other lads are mostly orphans Loren took in, plus Frederick, Bonvil’s son. They form the ragtag band that still trains daily, more out of duty than any looming war.”

  Asil’s gaze traveled back to the bed, her heart constricting at the sight of Abby’s pale face. “You mentioned we were found. In the Dark Woods?”

  Geraldine nodded. “Yes. Loren and some of the men were conducting a routine patrol at the forest’s edge. They saw you both collapsed on a small path. You seemed unharmed—just unconscious. They suspected you might’ve been travelers attacked by stray beasts or… something darker. But there wasn’t a scratch on you.”

  Asil shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. The idea of being discovered in such a place, powerless and alone, filled her with dread.

  “We weren’t traveling together; that’s the strange part,” she murmured. “I mean, Abby is from the same group I came in with—back in our world—but we got separated. Then we ended up here. Everything’s so…” She rubbed her temples, the memory of that bizarre VR-like test swirling in her mind. “Blurry.”

  Geraldine set a reassuring hand on Asil’s arm. “Try not to fret too much, dear. You’re safe here for now. Focus on resting, on helping your friend.” She nodded pointedly at Abby’s limp form. “That child’s going through something we can’t understand. But she’s in good hands with you.”

  Asil swallowed the lump in her throat and forced a small, determined smile. “Thank you. Truly. We don’t know how long we’ll stay, but… we’re grateful.”

  “You’ll stay as long as you need,” Geraldine insisted. “Though I daresay, once your friend wakes, Loren will be eager to learn more about your fighting prowess.” She looked knowingly at Asil, remembering the lightning-fast display that morning in the courtyard.

  Asil allowed herself a brief chuckle, recalling the stunned faces of Frederick and the other men. “I guess I made a bit of a spectacle,” she admitted. But then her voice darkened. “I’d rather not rely on that skill unless we have no other choice.”

  Geraldine inclined her head in understanding. “Fair enough. War or not, there’s no sense in swinging a sword if you don’t have to.”

  Silence fell between them for a moment, the stone walls echoing faintly with distant sounds of hammers on metal—perhaps the recruits practicing in the yard. Abby lay unmoving, her complexion slightly improved but still ashen.

  “At least she’s sleeping peacefully,” Asil murmured. “Better than my own experience when I first—” She stopped short, remembering how she’d thrashed and felt that surge of martial knowledge. Blade Dancer, her mind whispered.

  Geraldine patted Asil’s shoulder, then stood, smoothing her apron. “I’ll give you two some quiet. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

  Once Geraldine departed, the room grew still. Asil ran a hand over her face, absorbing all she’d learned—this Fort Harjil, designed to defend against an ancient evil now forgotten. It was nearly abandoned, yet the few who stayed did so out of a profound sense of duty. Similar to how I suddenly feel bound to protect Abby, she reflected, glancing at the slumbering teen.

  “We’ll figure out a way home,” Asil whispered to Abby and herself. “Or at least, we’ll figure out something. But first, we will need to find our families.” Asil’s mind wandered over to Jack.

  Somewhere down the hallway, the sound of metal striking metal continued—a constant reminder that this fortress still readied itself for the unknown, even if the demonic threat was old and distant. Asil settled into a chair by the bed, resolved to watch Abby for as long as it took, heart, brimming with cautious hope in a place where hope seemed in short supply.

  A gentle tug on Asil’s arm roused her from a light doze. She blinked, realizing she’d dozed off while sitting up, supporting Abby’s head. Her eyes focused on the teen, who was smiling and stretching like someone who’d just awoken from the best nap of her life.

  “You’re awake!” Asil exclaimed, relief pouring into her voice. She grasped Abby’s arm gently. “How are you feeling? You, uh… slept for ages.”

  Abby hopped off the bed and rolled her shoulders. “Honestly? I feel great. I’ve never been so nimble in my life.” There was a note of wonder in her tone.

  She promptly proved her point by somersaulting across the room—once, then twice—then shifting seamlessly into backflips that carried her past the old wooden table. Asil’s jaw dropped as Abby twisted in midair, narrowly missing the modest lamps and stacks of folded linens.

  “Whoa,” Asil breathed, marveling at the sheer precision Abby displayed. “You’re going to break the furniture if you’re not—”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  But Abby wasn’t done. She cartwheeled around the opposite corner, leaped off the wall in a fluid burst of parkour, and landed back on the bed with barely a whisper, sinking onto the mattress beside Asil. The bed’s flimsy frame didn’t even creak under the weight of Abby’s landing.

  “Your class?” Asil asked, though she already suspected the answer.

  Abby beamed though there was a flicker of unease beneath her smile. “Shadow Dancer.” She exhaled, letting some of her excitement fade. “I was so worried about what it’d do to me—like, physically. I didn’t want the pain you went through. And… I never asked to be part of this ‘beta test’ anyway. I wanted to stay home. Then we ended up in some Lord of the Rings knockoff.”

  Asil nodded, sharing in Abby’s frustration. “I get it. Believe me. I didn’t want you to suffer the weird… meltdown I had when I picked Blade Dancer.”

  Abby rubbed the back of her neck, her voice softening. “I guess I lucked out. Instead of agony, I fell into a dream—like training sequences in some action movie montage. One second I was sleeping, the next I was flipping and twisting like I’ve done it my whole life.” She shot Asil a sympathetic glance. “I’m sorry yours wasn’t so smooth.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Asil said, reassuringly touching Abby’s shoulder. “I’m just relieved you didn’t have to go through that. And, well… not gonna lie, I’m kind of glad I did my meltdown before seeing how easy it could be,” she joked with a wry grin.

  Abby matched her grin, eyes dancing with a new confidence. “It’s wild, Asil. A day ago, I’d never have done a single cartwheel without face-planting. Now look at me.” She gestured to the cleared space in the middle of the room.

  Eager to see the Shadow Dancer's abilities in detail, Asil pulled out her journal and flipped back to the opening pages that listed each class. She ran her finger down the columns until she found the Shadow Dancer description, then began to read aloud:

  “Shadow Meld: Blend into nearby shadows, gaining invisibility and movement speed…”

  Before Asil could finish, Abby vanished as though someone had switched off her visibility. A heartbeat later, she reappeared in the dark corner of the room where the oil lamp’s light didn’t fully reach—arms flung wide like a triumphant magician.

  “Holy—!” Asil gasped, blinking at the abruptness of Abby’s reappearance. “That’s… impressive.”

  Abby gave a showy bow and bounced back over, footsteps nearly silent. Asil cleared her throat and continued reading:

  “Backstab… deals massive critical damage to an unaware target.” She looked up, feeling a bit uneasy. “I’m guessing we won’t test that one on me, thanks.”

  Abby let out a playful snort. “Yeah, no. You’re safe, I promise.”

  Smiling despite the grim nature of a “backstab” ability, Asil continued scanning the text:

  “Ebon Echo: Create an illusory double that confuses enemies and can perform coordinated attacks…”

  Her voice trailed off when she glanced up to see two Abbys standing on opposite sides of the room, each striking nearly identical poses. Asil’s eyes widened, and she almost dropped her journal.

  “Oh my god,” Asil muttered, pressing a hand to her mouth. The illusory double vanished in a flicker of smoky darkness, and Abby cartwheeled back to Asil’s side, giggling like she’d performed a party trick.

  “Wait ’til the boys get a load of you,” Asil teased, giving Abby’s arm a gentle poke. She recalled how Frederick and the others had watched her own Blade Dancer moves with fascination. “They’re going to lose their minds seeing this.”

  Abby blushed, though her eyes gleamed with pride. “I just hope I can control it in a real fight. Dodging chairs is one thing, but I’ve never had to handle, you know… actual enemies.” Her voice grew quieter, the weight of reality pressing in.

  Asil set the journal aside and placed a comforting hand on Abby’s shoulder. “One step at a time,” she said, her tone warm yet serious. “We might be in some medieval fantasy world, but we’re still us. And we’ll figure it out together.”

  Abby’s face reflected both excitement and trepidation. “I guess it’s kinda cool… terrifying, but cool. Especially since I never wanted to be here in the first place. At least now I’m not helpless.”

  Asil nodded, recalling her sense of empowerment after mastering even the basics of her Blade Dancer stance. “Exactly. If we must be stuck here, we might as well give ourselves the best shot at staying alive. And if Shadow Dancer means you can vanish and double yourself, that’s a big advantage.”

  “All I need now is a sweet cloak,” Abby joked, tugging at the hem of her rumpled tunic. “Maybe some black leather armor or something? Gotta embrace the vibe.”

  They shared a laugh, the atmosphere in the cramped room lightening. Despite the uncertainties of this strange realm, the two of them now carried formidable abilities—and a renewed sense of hope. Asil felt genuine relief seeing Abby’s easy grin, a stark contrast to the pain and fear of the day before.

  “Still,” Asil added after a beat, “let’s not start flipping off any castle towers. I’d like us both in one piece.”

  Abby raised her hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no promises,” she teased, though her eyes sparkled with the mischief of someone who’d just discovered a world of possibilities.

  The courtyard was already alive with the clatter of wooden practice swords and the low rumble of men’s banter when Asil and Abby stepped outside. Four muscular young men, stripped to the waist under the rising sun, turned almost in unison at the women’s approach. In their eagerness to greet the newcomers, two tripped over each other’s feet, stumbling to regain composure.

  Frederick, the oldest of the group and seemingly their ringleader, deftly sidestepped his clumsier comrades. He moved in smoothly, aiming to take Asil’s hand in a gallant gesture.

  “Morning, princess,” he said with a roguish grin, reaching for her fingers.

  But Asil had grown more confident around this crowd. Instead of offering her hand, she slipped both behind her back, giving a polite but firm sidestep that left Frederick momentarily blinking. Abby, standing beside her, stifled a giggle at his flustered expression.

  “Excuse me,” Asil murmured, her tone courteous. Then she angled away to approach Loren Dourant, who stood near the courtyard’s periphery with arms folded across his chest, face set in an ever-present scowl.

  Frederick pivoted swiftly, pretending that Abby had been his real target all along. The younger teen, still basking in her newfound Shadow Dancer skills, blushed under the attention of four strapping young men. Their excited chatter and compliments on her acrobatic feats made her grin from ear to ear.

  Meanwhile, Loren regarded Asil with a gruff, measured stare. It was impossible to ignore how his biceps flexed beneath rolled-up sleeves—this man, though older, was formidable. Asil had come to appreciate that kind of silent authority in the short time she’d been at Fort Harjil.

  “Letting your boys socialize?” she asked with a mischievous glint, watching the scene where Abby reveled in a flurry of greetings and wide-eyed admiration.

  Loren grunted. “Slackers, the lot of ’em,” he growled in that gravelly tone, though he made no move to interrupt. “But aye, I suppose they can use the distraction. ‘Sides the traveling merchant now and then, they rarely see new faces. You ladies have been… good for morale.”

  A corner of Asil’s mouth quirked in a smirk. “You’re just saying that now that you’ve seen me, I can handle a sword.”

  Loren’s scowl deepened—though Asil detected the faintest spark of amusement in his eyes. “Not gonna lie, lass. It’s a breath of fresh air having someone else with some skill, but let’s not pat ourselves on the back too soon.” He inclined his head toward her. “This place isn’t exactly brimming with Master Swordsmen. A few fancy moves can get you far here, but be careful. Overconfidence kills.”

  “Point taken,” Asil said. She tilted her head, watching his stance. “From what I can see, you’re doing an admirable job molding these boys into men. I wouldn’t mind testing my mettle—’ er, my ‘dance’—against yours.”

  Loren’s brow arched. “You may be good, but don’t get cocky.”

  “Don’t mistake my eagerness for arrogance, Sir Dourant,” Asil replied, this time with a respectful dip of her head. Her eyes flickered with genuine admiration. “I want to see what I can do, but I hold no illusions of besting a veteran like you.”

  Loren offered a curt nod, then uncrossed his arms. “That’s a wiser attitude than most. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

  He strode toward the weapon rack, a modest wooden frame supporting practice swords—some carved wood, others dulled steel. Without looking, Loren snatched one of the wooden blades and tossed another in Asil’s direction. She caught it quickly, feeling the weight, grip, and handle rough against her palm.

  A hush fell across the courtyard as word spread that Loren intended to spar with Asil. Frederick and his friends abandoned their playful flirtations, hurrying over to watch. Even Abby paused mid-somersault to see how Asil would fare against the fortress’s seasoned instructor.

  “Circle up, boys—and girl,” Loren barked, motioning them back. They formed a loose ring, giving the two combatants enough space.

  Asil squared her shoulders, inhaling to steady her pulse. This time, she didn’t hold back the Blade Dancer’s stance she’d grown comfortable with. Her muscles coiled, ready to explode into graceful motion.

  Loren’s first swipes were almost casual, gently testing her reflexes. Yet each blow came faster than any Frederick had landed, forcing Asil to focus. She met each strike with a clean parry, the wooden swords clicking rapidly. A subtle ripple of approval flickered in Loren’s stern gaze.

  Gradually, his blows came harder, his footwork more precise. Asil’s chest tightened with excitement as she realized he was stepping up to match her skill level. She countered one thrust with a glancing block, pivoted on her heel, and launched a quick feint that nearly nicked Loren’s rib.

  “Don’t hold back, lass,” Loren growled, eyes narrowing. “Show me what that ‘dance’ can really do.”

  Taking him at his word, Asil leaned into her newly honed instincts. Her movements became smoother, almost rhythmic—like a choreographed routine. Each slash and parry flowed into the next, her feet light upon the dirt. The crowd of onlookers muttered in awe, especially Frederick, who’d never seen Loren work this much to keep up.

  For his part, Loren kept his expression carefully neutral, but Asil could sense the subtle intensification of his attacks. His eyebrows were damp with sweat. Their blades whirred and cracked against each other in quick succession until Asil felt her stamina begin to flag.

  Finally, with a respectful nod, Asil bowed a few steps back, lowering her wooden sword. “I concede,” she panted, chest heaving. “You’re beyond me. For now, anyway.”

  Applause erupted from the sidelines—Frederick and his comrades clapped and cheered, peppering Asil with rapid-fire questions. Abby grinned, arms folded, pride shining in her eyes. Even Loren’s stony visage relaxed a fraction, though he kept his arms folded to maintain his aloof aura.

  “Enough gawking,” Loren snapped. His voice cut through the courtyard chatter like a whip. “Line up, all of you!”

  The four young men instantly snapped to attention, Abby included—caught off guard by Loren’s sudden drill sergeant persona. Asil smirked, stepping out of the ring to let the master continue his training.

  With that, Loren turned to Asil, giving her a curt nod. If there was a compliment behind his silence, Asil supposed that was as close as she’d get. Still, the slight lift of his brow hinted at a hushed respect.

  Asil slipped away from the courtyard, heart still thrumming with the adrenaline rush. She ignored the dryness in her mouth—Geraldine’s bread and stew from earlier was a distant memory. Stopping at the door that led to the kitchens, she exhaled deeply, letting the tension dissolve from her limbs.

  I need better clothes, she thought, glancing down at the plain skirt and blouse she’d been wearing for chores. It was high time she found a practical tunic, pants, and perhaps sturdy boots if she could manage—no sense wearing housemaid attire when she might have to fight again.

  Before heading inside, she cast a glance over her shoulder. Abby flashed her a grin from across the courtyard, mid-conversation with Frederick and the other recruits. Asil gave a thumbs-up, silently grateful her friend had recovered so well from the class selection ordeal.

  “All right,” she murmured, stepping into the dim corridor. “Time to get serious about this world… and find the others.”

  Abby’s family and Jack —drifted through her mind, kindling a fresh spark of determination. She would train, gather information, and do whatever it took to reunite her scattered companions and safely bring them home if there was a way back. And if there wasn’t? She’d carve out a place for them here.