The village square was eerily silent, the stillness broken only by the occasional distant rustle of leaves. The villagers had retreated into their homes, shutters drawn and doors barred. The tension in the air was thick, but Evan’s grip on his sword was steady. He crouched behind a stack of barrels near the edge of the square, Lyrin at his side, her fingers glowing faintly with the soft light of her magic. Her presence was calming, her quiet confidence bolstering his own.
Alright, Evan, Alara’s voice rang in his mind, sharp and focused. They’ll be coming in pairs to cover more ground. You’ve got the advantage of surprise, but you need to stay quiet. Strike fast, strike hard. Lyrin can enhance your strength and reflexes, but don’t rely on it too much—your instincts are getting better, and you need to trust them.
Evan nodded slightly, more to himself than anyone else. He glanced at Lyrin, who was watching him closely, her violet eyes steady despite the growing tension. “You ready?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice calm but resolute. “I’ll follow your lead.”
They waited until the last pair of Irregulars entered the village from the east, their movements careful and deliberate. They were clad in dark, flexible armor that allowed them to move almost silently, their weapons gleaming faintly in the dim light. They communicated with subtle hand signals, their discipline and coordination clear even from a distance.
Evan felt the faint hum of magic as Lyrin placed her hand lightly on his arm, a surge of energy flowing through him. His muscles felt stronger, his senses sharper. He exhaled slowly, the nerves that had once plagued him in moments like this melting away.
Go for the one on the left first, Alara instructed. He’s slightly slower—an easy target. Take him out quickly, then move to the other before he can react. Lyrin should be ready to disrupt their coordination if they catch on.
Evan relayed the plan to Lyrin with a quick nod. They moved as a unit, slipping through the shadows of the alleyways as the pair of Irregulars advanced into the square. The first one paused near a stack of crates, scanning the area, while his partner moved a few paces ahead, their backs turned to each other.
Evan didn’t hesitate. He darted forward, silent and swift, his sword arcing in a clean, precise strike. The blade caught the first Irregular at the base of the neck, just above the armor, and the man crumpled soundlessly to the ground. The second Irregular turned, alerted by the faint sound of movement, but before he could raise his weapon, a thin tendril of glowing light snaked out from Lyrin’s fingers, wrapping around his legs and rooting him to the spot.
“Now!” Lyrin hissed, her voice barely audible.
Evan surged forward, his reflexes kicking in as he sidestepped the Irregular’s wild swing. He brought his sword down in a calculated arc, closing off the attack while plunging the point of his sword down into his opponent's neck. The entire exchange lasted only seconds, the silence of the village unbroken save for the faint rustle of cloth and steel.
Good, Alara said, her voice filled with approval. Quick, efficient, no wasted movement. You’re starting to think like a warrior, Evan.
Evan straightened, his breathing steady as he wiped the blade on the fallen Irregular’s tunic. He glanced at Lyrin, who was already dispelling the bindings of light she’d used. “That went well,” he said, a small, confident smile tugging at his lips.
Lyrin returned the smile, though her cheeks flushed faintly. “You moved with such precision. I... I didn’t even need to heal you.”
“Thanks,” he said, the compliment warming him in a way he hadn’t expected. “Couldn’t have done it without you, though. That binding spell was perfect.”
Her blush deepened, but she nodded, her expression proud. “We make a good team.”
Evan’s grin widened slightly, but Alara’s voice in his head interrupted the moment. Focus, lovebirds. There are still six more out there. Move the bodies out of sight and prepare for the next pair. If they notice something’s wrong, they’ll adjust their tactics—and that’s the last thing you want.
“Right,” Evan muttered, shaking off the moment as he and Lyrin worked quickly to drag the bodies behind a nearby shed. The Irregulars were heavier than they looked, but the adrenaline coursing through him—and maybe a bit of Lyrin’s magic still lingering—made the task easier.
Once the area was clear, they repositioned themselves behind a low wall near the square, waiting for the next pair to approach. Evan’s mind was sharp, his body coiled like a spring. This was different than before. He wasn’t just surviving—he was protecting, defending, fighting with purpose. And with Lyrin at his side and Alara’s voice guiding him, he felt unstoppable.
As they waited, Evan glanced at Lyrin again, her soft features illuminated by the faint glow of her magic. The bond between them was undeniable now, strengthened with each moment they fought together. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was exactly where he belonged.
The village streets were unnervingly quiet as Evan and Lyrin moved between the shadows, their steps silent, their breathing controlled. They worked seamlessly, dispatching the second pair of Irregulars just as efficiently as the first. Lyrin’s magic kept Evan’s movements sharp and precise, while Alara’s tactical advice guided him through every step. The second pair never saw them coming, their bodies slumped behind a hay cart before either could make a sound.
“Two more down,” Evan murmured, dragging one of the fallen Irregulars out of sight. His voice was steady, his confidence growing with each encounter. He glanced at Lyrin, who was already scanning the surroundings for any sign of the remaining enemies. Her focus was unwavering, but the faint glow of her magic made her seem otherworldly in the dim light.
“You’re doing well,” she said softly, her voice carrying a sense of pride. “Just two more pairs.”
Evan nodded, gripping his sword tighter. “Let’s finish this.”
The third pair of Irregulars were more cautious, their movements slower and more deliberate. They paused frequently, scanning the area, their weapons drawn and ready. Evan frowned, realizing this wouldn’t be as easy as the last two pairs.
They’re starting to realize something’s wrong, Alara’s voice echoed in his mind. You’ll have to adapt. They’re expecting an ambush now, which means you’ll need to be faster and smarter.
Evan relayed the plan to Lyrin with a quick hand signal, and they moved into position. But as they closed in, one of the Irregulars turned at just the wrong moment, his eyes catching a flicker of movement.
“Over there!” he barked, raising his weapon.
Evan didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, his sword connecting with the man’s weapon in a clash of steel. The other Irregular turned, rushing to his companion’s aid, but Lyrin was already moving. A bolt of light shot from her outstretched hand, striking the second Irregular and staggering him just long enough for Evan to break through the first man’s defenses.
The fight was quick but loud, the clash of steel and the Irregulars’ shouts echoing through the village streets. As the first man fell, Evan heard the heavy footfalls of the final pair rushing toward them.
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“Lyrin, get back!” he shouted, positioning himself between her and the approaching enemies.
The last two Irregulars closed in fast, their movements aggressive and coordinated. Now it was three on one.
Evan’s heart raced as the remaining Irregulars circled him, their weapons gleaming in the faint light. He adjusted his stance, his mind racing through everything Alara had taught him. Don’t let them box you in. Keep moving. Use their aggression against them.
The first Irregular, free of Lyrins spell, struck at Evan, his blade coming down in a heavy swing meant to overpower. Evan deflected the blade downwards and sidestepped, letting the man’s momentum carry him forward, and countered with a quick slash across the back of his neck. The man fell with a grunt, leaving two.
The second came at him immediately, his strikes fast and relentless. Evan parried each blow, his movements fluid and controlled. As the man overextended, Evan stepped in, driving the hilt of his sword into the Irregular’s gut before finishing him with a clean strike.
But the third was faster, already closing the distance. Evan turned just in time to block the attack, but the force of it sent him stumbling back. The Irregular pressed the advantage, his strikes coming harder and faster, and Evan felt his strength waning.
“Evan!” Lyrin’s voice rang out as a glowing barrier of light appeared between him and the Irregular, giving him a moment to recover. But the strain was evident on Lyrin’s face, and Evan knew she couldn’t maintain the spell for long.
“Hold on, Lyrin,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos. “I’ve got this.”
With a renewed surge of determination, Evan stepped forward, his movements precise and calculated. The Irregular’s attacks grew sloppy in his frustration, and Evan took advantage, disarming him with a swift strike before delivering the final blow.
The silence that followed was deafening. Evan stood there for a moment, his chest heaving, his sword dripping with blood. He turned to Lyrin, who had dropped to one knee, her hand pressed against a shallow wound on her side.
“Lyrin!” He rushed to her, kneeling beside her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice was strained. She placed her hand over the wound, and a soft glow emanated from her palm as she began to heal herself. “Just a scratch. What about you?”
Evan glanced down at the cut on his arm, the blood soaking into the fabric of his tunic. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he said with a small, reassuring smile. “You were amazing.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “You were the one fighting. I just... helped.”
“You did more than that,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
Their eyes met, the air between them charged with unspoken emotion. For a moment, the pain and exhaustion faded, replaced by the quiet connection they shared.
But Alara’s voice broke the moment. Good work, both of you. But don’t get too comfortable. Check the village and make sure the shrine is safe.
Evan exhaled, nodding. “Right. The shrine.” He offered Lyrin a hand, helping her to her feet. “Let’s finish this.”
They moved together, their steps in sync as they headed toward the center of the village. The fight was over, but the bond they’d forged in the heat of battle was stronger than ever. Vareth’s followers had underestimated them, relying on brute strength and violence, but Evan and Lyrin had proven that there was more to victory than sheer force. They were a team, and together, they were unstoppable.
The tavern was warm and lively, a stark contrast to the quiet tension that had blanketed the village earlier. The scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air, mingling with the hum of conversation and the occasional cheer of gratitude from the villagers. Evan sat at a sturdy wooden table near the hearth, his sword propped against the wall beside him. The ache in his arm from the earlier fight was dulled by the warmth of the fire and the hearty mug of ale in his hand. Across from him, Lyrin sat with her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, her cheeks faintly pink from the attention they’d been receiving.
The villagers had insisted the pair rest and eat, their gratitude pouring out in the form of food, drink, and endless thanks. One older man had clasped Evan’s hand earlier, his voice thick with emotion as he said, “You saved us. All of us. We’ll not forget this kindness.” Evan wasn’t used to this kind of praise, but he’d nodded politely, feeling a strange sense of fulfillment he hadn’t expected.
Lyrin had been quieter than usual, her gaze often darting to Evan and then away again, as if she had something on her mind but couldn’t quite bring herself to say it. Finally, as the villagers began to settle into their own conversations, she glanced up at him, her violet eyes shimmering in the firelight.
“Evan,” she began softly, her voice hesitant but warm, “I was wondering... would you stay? Just for a little while longer?”
Evan raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Stay here? You mean, not go back right away?”
Alara spoke quietly in Evan’s head. Of course she wants you to stay. Get all cosy. Maybe get laid.
Evan nearly spat in his drink, but Lyrin didn’t notice his reaction, intent on her drink for now.
She nodded, her fingers tightening slightly around her cup. “Last time, you left so quickly. I know you have responsibilities on your world, but... I thought maybe, just this once, you could stay. At least until you’ve rested.”
He glanced at his watch, the digital numbers glowing faintly in the dim light. It read 4:13 AM. “Huh,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Feels like a lifetime ago you woke me up, mostly naked, mind you, to drag me through a portal. But it’s only been... a few hours?”
Lyrin’s cheeks turned a deep crimson, and she ducked her head, clearly flustered. “I-I wasn’t... I didn’t mean to... It was urgent!” she stammered, her words tumbling over each other.
Evan chuckled, holding up a hand to calm her. “Relax, Lyrin. I’m not complaining. Just making an observation.” He took another sip of his ale, then set the mug down, his expression growing more thoughtful. “But if I’m going to go back and function like a normal person, I’m going to need more than coffee to get through the day. Seralith did something last time—revitalized me, I guess. Can you... do the same thing?”
Lyrin hesitated, her hands stilling on her cup. “I can,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “It won’t be as strong as Seralith’s blessing, but I can help. It should be enough to make you feel rested.”
Evan studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll stay. But only if you promise not to let me fall asleep at this table.”
Lyrin’s lips curved into a shy smile, her relief evident. “I promise.”
Alara spoke again with a chuckle. Yeah, no falling asleep before taking her upstairs. I’ll shush now and leave you two alone.
The hours passed in a pleasant blur. Plates of food were brought to their table—stews, fresh bread, even a slice of spiced cake that Evan swore was the best thing he’d ever tasted. The villagers continued to thank them, some lingering to chat about the shrine, the village, or the fight. Evan found himself relaxing more than he had in weeks, the weight of his usual worries feeling distant in the cozy atmosphere.
At some point, Lyrin shifted closer to him, her shoulder brushing against his. She didn’t say anything, but the gesture was unmistakable. When he glanced at her, she was staring into the fire, her expression soft and content. Without thinking, he lifted an arm and draped it across the back of her chair. She leaned into him almost immediately, her head resting gently against his shoulder.
“You know,” he said after a while, his voice low, “this isn’t half bad. If you’d told me a few weeks ago I’d be sitting in a fantasy tavern with an elf priestess after fighting off assassins, I’d have laughed in your face. But here we are.”
Lyrin chuckled softly, the sound warm and light. “I wouldn’t have believed it either,” she admitted. “But... I’m glad you’re here.”
Her words hung in the air, and Evan felt a strange warmth bloom in his chest. He turned his head slightly, looking down at her. She tilted her face up, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade. Then, before he could say or do anything, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his.
It was a soft, tentative kiss, but it sent a jolt through him nonetheless. He froze for half a second, caught off guard, but then his instincts kicked in. He leaned into the kiss, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder as he deepened it just slightly, letting her set the pace.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were bright red, and she looked anywhere but at him. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Hey,” he interrupted gently, catching her gaze. “Don’t apologize. That was... nice.”
Her lips parted in surprise, and then she smiled—a genuine, radiant smile that made her violet eyes sparkle. “Really?”
“Really,” he said, settling back against the chair and pulling her closer. She nestled against him, her head resting on his chest this time, and he felt her relax completely.
For the first time, they sat in comfortable silence, the crackling fire and the faint hum of the tavern around them. Evan knew he’d have to go back soon—back to Earth, back to work, back to the grind. But for now, he was content to stay right here, with Lyrin in his arms and the strange, magical world of Velanthor welcoming him like he belonged.
And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to think he did.
