She turned away briefly, her boots crunching over gravel and overgrown weeds. Yet something in her gut told her not to leave. Then the figure’s voice cut through the hush:
“Wait.”
A tremor ran down Asil’s spine. Glancing back, she narrowed her eyes at the silhouette behind the vine-encrusted bars. Its presence—both unearthly and oddly compelling—made her heart pound. Even the night itself seemed to wait with bated breath.
“Your scent…” the figure rasped, each word sounding as though dragged from a well of shadows. “It’s familiar. Come closer, child. Let me see you.”
Every instinct screamed danger, but Asil found herself drawn toward the gate, transfixed. Cressa stepped forward, resting a protective hand on Asil’s shoulder; Asil gently patted it, signaling she’d be careful. She took a small step closer—close enough for the figure to see her under the star light but still out of easy reach.
The figure moved, slow and deliberately, revealing just enough to show it was human-like yet overshadowed by something far more powerful. “Who are you?” it asked a soft hiss that set Asil’s nerves on edge.
“Asil,” she answered, trying to keep her voice steady despite the knot of fear coiled in her chest.
At that, the figure flinched, its voice turning harsh: “Outworlder!”
The sudden outcry made Cressa and Frederick advance, weapons raised. Asil stopped them with a swift hand signal. The figure’s fierce outburst unnerved her, but a flicker of pure emotion behind that cry intrigued her. Anger? Recognition? Something else?
After a tense moment, the figure stepped closer to the gate, pressing an arm through the bars. Vines rustled and fell away, revealing a slender, well-manicured hand—nails painted midnight black. The stark contrast between this elegant limb and the decaying fort was jarring.
Asil hesitated, fighting down a surge of panic when the woman’s hand brushed against her cheek. The contact was oddly gentle, a faint whisper of power that made Asil’s pulse stutter. “I knew you,” the figure murmured, the words hovering between statement and question. “Asil,” she repeated as though testing the name’s taste.
Something inside Asil twisted with a mix of dread and curiosity. This being felt impossibly ancient—like a root of the severed Source itself. She swallowed, head pounding. “Yes,” she breathed, uncertain how to respond.
“Are you with any others?” The tone was almost tender, sending a prickling sensation down Asil’s neck.
Asil instantly realized the question wasn’t about her companions—Cressa, Frederick, Gideon, or Eamon. This stranger asked about others like Asil, other “outworlders.” She opened her mouth to deny it—Abby deserved protection. Yet, inexplicably, the truth slipped out: “Yes… Abby.”
The woman recoiled at the name, yanking her hand back as if scorched by raw flame. Yet she didn’t retreat entirely into the darkness. Instead, she repeated “Abby” in a voice trembling with—was it reverence or remorse?
Asil felt an aching pressure in her chest. She wanted to demand answers—who was this woman? What was Fort Warren harboring? But before she could form coherent words, the figure’s hand came forward again, this time pressing against Asil’s chest. The touch was no longer gentle but assessing as if measuring Asil’s soul.
“You’re not ready,” the woman murmured, her voice cold. “Return when you are.”
Then, with languid grace, she withdrew her hand and stepped back. Asil broke from her stupor, leaning against the gate. “What is this place?” she demanded, anxiety sharpening her tone.
The figure paused, a half-turn of her silhouette the only indication she was still there. Her final whisper carried on the still air like a distant echo:
“Shadow Realm…”
And just like that, she vanished into the pitch-black confines of the fort, leaving Asil reeling. Cressa and Frederick closed in; their faces mirror images of shock.
None of them spoke. The hush around Fort Warren seemed more profound than before, as though the entire forest held its breath to avoid drawing the woman’s attention again. Heart pounding, Asil took a shaky step back from the bars. Whatever lurking power had spoken to her was beyond normal magic or demon threat. It radiated a timeless, alien aura—one that recognized Asil’s outworlder nature and, more disturbingly, acknowledged Abby.
Cressa reached out to steady Asil. “We… should we go after her?” she asked, voice hushed.
Asil shook her head, releasing a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “We’d stand no chance if something that ancient wanted us gone,” she muttered. “Let’s get back. We’ll decide what to do come daylight.”
Wordlessly, Frederick nodded. Together, they turned away from the gate, tension crawling along their spines. The figure’s voice—Shadow Realm—continued to echo in Asil’s mind. She led the group back along the overgrown path, each footstep feeling strangely hollow in the silent night. Dawn would bring new decisions, but for now, the name lingered in her thoughts like a dark omen: Shadow Realm…
The team regrouped by the abandoned guard tower, their faces drawn and pale in the aftermath of that unsettling encounter at Fort Warren’s gate. A thin veil of clouds drifted across the moon, deepening the night’s already somber air. Instinctively, they moved into a small clearing nearby, setting up a makeshift camp in silence.
They lit a small fire, a feeble beacon in the oppressive darkness. Its flickering glow did little to ease the tension. Asil sat closest to the flames, her sword resting across her knees. Abby joined her, settling so their shoulders touched. Even that slight contact felt comforting after the confrontation with the mysterious woman.
“What happened back there?” Abby asked, voice hushed. “Who was that… person?”
Asil let out a slow breath, her eyes fixed on the dancing embers. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But she knew things—about us and the Shadow Realm.”
Abby’s brow furrowed. “Shadow Realm? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Keeping her eyes on the flames, Asil explained. “In SR3—the game—there was a Shadow Realm you entered at Level 10. It acted like a separate reality layered over the normal world. Harder enemies, rarer loot—like advanced dungeons.”
Abby blinked. “So… an entire dimension?”
“Exactly,” Asil said, nodding. “And it wasn’t just a game mechanic, either. The lore claimed it was a real place of concentrated magic and darkness. That figure at the gate—she insisted we’re not ready to face it.” Her tone turned grim. “And I believe her. She also seemed to imply Fort Warren is some sort of entry point.”
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Abby ran a hand through her hair. “You think she meant we have to, what, reach Level 10 in this world? So it’s basically locked behind a threshold, like the game?”
“That’s my best guess,” Asil answered, shooting her a tired half-smile. “We might need more levels, more power. No sense diving into something that in SR3 was infamous for slaughtering under-leveled players.”
Abby sighed, rolling a stiff shoulder from the day’s earlier battles. “Fantastic—just what we need,” she muttered darkly. “Another looming threat.”
A faint glimmer of amusement crossed Asil’s face. “We’ll manage,” she said firmly. “We’ll train, keep leveling up. But Fort Warren… we can’t ignore it for now. Something about that place is important, and it’s tied to the Shadow Realm.” A mixture of nervous excitement brightened her expression, tempered by the knowledge that the real-life version of SR3’s most dangerous domain might be far worse than any game scenario.
They lapsed into a pensive silence, the crackling fire the only sound in the starless gloom. Eventually, Abby spoke again, voice subdued. “That woman… the way she said my name. You think she knew me? Or recognized me?”
A fleeting shiver traced Asil’s spine. “I don’t know,” she admitted, gaze flicking to the perimeter of their small campsite. “But she definitely has some connection to outworlders—us. If she really recognized your name…” She trailed off, exhaling. “We have to tread carefully.”
As the night wore on, the group divided their watch shifts in near-silence. Despite exhaustion, sleep came only grudgingly, haunted by the memory of that figure’s cryptic warning.
Dawn arrived cloud-shrouded but no less welcome. They packed quickly, each weighed by the previous night’s encounter. Asil shouldered her gear, determined to lead them away from Fort Warren for now. Her sword hung at her side, a reminder of the gate’s occupant who’d brushed her cheek as though testing her worth.
“We’ll head south,” Asil declared, voice calm yet firm. “We’re not strong enough for that place right now. Once we’ve leveled up… maybe we’ll come back.”
No one argued. Even Frederick kept uncharacteristically quiet, though he shot occasional glances at the towering fort behind them. The forest was quiet—too quiet. It felt as though the land itself observed them leaving, withholding comment.
After roughly an hour’s travel through overgrown paths, the hush shattered. Grunts, snarls, and the snap of branches drifted through the trees. Asil stiffened, raising a hand. She signaled for her team to spread out and proceed in stealth, each footstep carefully placed on soft ground.
Pushing aside a leafy branch, they glimpsed five goblins wrestling with a large wolf. The creature’s fur was matted with blood, ropes cutting into its flanks. It thrashed and snapped, desperate to break free. The goblins shouted in guttural tones, brandishing crude clubs and daggers while trying to pin the wolf down.
Asil crouched behind a gnarled bush, scanning the clearing. Her silent gestures directed Cressa and Frederick to the flanks, Gideon to find a vantage for archery, and Abby to stay near her. Each understood weapons at the ready.
“What’s the plan?” Abby whispered, daggers glinting softly in the slanted sunlight.
Asil’s lips curved into a determined smile. “Swift and quiet,” she murmured. “We take them out before they can call for help.” She paused, glancing at the wolf. “And we free that poor beast.”
The group nodded, tension pulsing as they slid into position. Asil let out a breath, raising a silent count with her fingers—three, two, one…
Goblin (Level 5)
Goblin (Level 5)
Goblin (Level 5)
Goblin (Level 5)
Goblin (Level 6)
They shared tense glances. Cressa, Frederick, Gideon, and Eamon stood ready at their sides. The five goblins—busily tormenting a bound wolf—were too absorbed in their rough handling to notice the approaching party. With a final round of silent signals, each member singled out a target:
Asil locked eyes on the Level 6 goblin.
Abby and Cressa each took on a Level 5.
Frederick and Gideon claimed the remaining two.
Eamon hung back, prepared to lend healing or support if the situation got messy.
The team struck with practiced efficiency. Asil lunged in first, unleashing Whirling Slash, her sword flashing under the dappled daylight. The Level 6 goblin bellowed as the blade tore through its defense in a single fluid sweep, toppling it in a shower of dust and spilled lifeblood.
Nearby, Abby weaved between the shadows of thick foliage, her Backstab ability finding a crucial opening. Her goblin let out a strangled cry before crumpling, felled by a critical strike. In parallel, Cressa slammed her mace into the temple of another shrieking foe, bone and brain matter smashing beneath the iron’s weight.
Across the clearing, Gideon fired a volley of arrows, each shot precise. One goblin clutched at an arrow buried in its throat, collapsing with a gurgle, while the second took an arrow to the heart, never finishing its startled grunt. Frederick, though relatively new to large-scale combat, maintained calm focus, delivering quick, clean sword slashes to help incapacitate the wounded adversaries Gideon’s shots had destabilized.
When the last goblin thudded to the ground, the forest fell silent once again—save for the heavy breathing of the victorious party. Abby’s journal pulsed with a triumphant hum, and she grinned upon reading her new status: Level 4. The others also scanned their journals, nodding as they absorbed the fresh experience gains.
No one had time to celebrate. A large, bloodied wolf, still tied to a tree, snarled and snapped at anyone who inched near. Its fur clumped with dried gore, eyes alight with fear and defiance. Forming a loose semi-circle around the beast, the group lowered their weapons but stayed alert.
Asil carefully stepped forward, raising one hand in a calming gesture. “Back off,” she instructed gently, glancing over her shoulder at the others. “Let me handle this.”
Strangely, she felt no dread—only a quiet determination to help the trapped creature. Just the night before, she’d confronted a mysterious figure at Fort Warren, heart pounding with uncertainty. Now, a peaceful clarity guided her steps.
“Easy now…” Asil murmured, inching closer. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
The wolf hissed and lunged, canines glinting, but Asil pulled back deftly, refusing to retreat. “You’re safe,” she repeated, voice calm. This time, the wolf merely bared its teeth in warning before sniffing her outstretched hand. The growling ebbed into a soft whimper.
With a gentle motion, Asil knelt, letting the creature press its muzzle to her palm. In seconds, it was licking her arms, tail thumping weakly on the ground. Asil exhaled a small laugh. “Good girl,” she said, finding the ropes and trying to loosen them.
They were knotted tight. Abby—dagger already in hand—crept behind the wolf, carefully slicing the ropes away. Though the beast tensed at first, it relaxed once it realized Abby posed no threat. Freed at last, the wolf sprang upright, dancing around the clearing with renewed energy. It snarled at each fallen goblin as if double-checking they were truly dead, then tentatively returned to sniff at the party.
Frederick attempted a pat on the wolf’s head. She jumped away warily, ears flattening.
“She’s just frightened,” Asil reassured him, though her voice held relief. “She’ll come around.”
Eamon moved in next, a small healing kit in hand. The wolf jerked, snarling reflexively near his arm, but Asil intervened firmly:
“He’s a friend. It’s alright.”
Sensing Asil’s calm presence, the wolf huffed, relaxing by degrees. She allowed Eamon to smear healing salve on her wounds. Abby helped apply makeshift bandages. Throughout the process, the wolf trembled less, eventually licking Eamon’s hand in thanks. Freed from her binds and pain, she bounded a few steps away, barking softly as if to test her restored mobility.
Abby tossed the wolf some spare meat rations, eliciting a grateful wag and a wet lick on her hand. Then the wolf whined contentedly at Asil’s feet, letting the swordswoman cradle her head. “Good girl,” Asil murmured again, feeling a swell of affection for the battered but valiant creature.
When they finally resumed their trek, the wolf loped after them. Her tail swished happily each time Asil glanced back. It was a rare burst of joy in an otherwise grim journey.
As they broke for camp that evening, the wolf lingered near Asil, curling up at her side as if a part of the party. Abby watched with a half-smile, crossing her arms.
“Looks like we have a new friend,” Abby joked, voice laced with amusement.
Asil nodded, stroking the wolf’s matted fur. “Yes.” She paused, a name bubbling up in her mind. “Welcome to the team, Lucia.”
The wolf perked her ears at the sound as though recognizing her new identity. Abby beamed, giving Lucia a scratch behind the ears. The group settled down, letting a small fire crackle at the camp’s center. For a moment, it felt oddly peaceful, the day’s perils receding into the hush of night.
Lucia dozed at Asil’s feet, her head occasionally lifting to sniff the air whenever an owl hooted in the trees. The star-laced sky felt friendlier than usual, the presence of their new companion a reminder that hope could flourish even amidst the darkness of goblin battles and the looming shadow of Fort Warren.
Asil went to sleep, her thoughts wandering to Jack, wondering what shenanigans he was getting himself into, hoping he was safe.