Darkness again.

  But this time, it wasn’t sudden or violent.

  It was slow.

  Heavy.

  Like sinking.

  Lusei drifted in and out of sleep, floating in a sea of warmth and pain. He wasn’t sure how long he was out. Minutes? Hours? Days?

  Then, gradually, sensation returned.

  The ache in his ribs. The dull throb in his shoulder. The tight pull of fabric against wrapped wounds.

  And warmth — not from battle, not from magic, but from a blanket. A bed.

  His eyes fluttered open.

  The ceiling above him was wooden, patched with signs of age. Light filtered in through a window with cracked panes. Outside, he could hear wind rustling through grass, and faint voices in the distance. No screaming. No fire.

  Just peace.

  Lusei blinked slowly, then shifted.

  Bad idea.

  Pain flared through his chest and side, sharp and unforgiving. He let out a quiet hiss and fell back against the pillow.

  “Easy,” a voice said nearby. “You’re not built from iron.”

  Lusei turned his head.

  An older man sat nearby on a low stool — weathered hands, a tired but steady face, and eyes that had seen too many wounds.

  “You’ve been out for two days,” the man said, standing to pour water into a wooden cup. “You’re lucky your body didn’t shut down completely.”

  Lusei accepted the cup with a weak nod, but as he brought it to his lips, something caught his attention.

  His clothes.

  They were different.

  The fabric was coarser, earth-toned, not the black school uniform he was used to. A loose linen tunic wrapped over a thick bandage at his chest. The pants were simple, functional — village-made.

  “…Where’s my uniform?” he asked, brow furrowing.

  The healer chuckled softly. “Strangest thing. No one had ever seen clothes like that before — some thought it was ceremonial, maybe even magical.”

  “It’s just my school uniform,” Lusei muttered, then paused. “Kind of.”

  “It was torn to shreds,” the healer continued, “but we didn’t throw it away. A few villagers are trying to patch it up. They said if it’s what you wore into battle, it must be your battle garb.”

  Lusei blinked. That wasn’t what he’d expected. “They’re repairing it?”

  “Aye. With care, too. They think it carries meaning.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that. In his world, that uniform meant routine, exhaustion, fading into the crowd.

  Here?

  They saw it as something worth honoring.

  He looked down at the clothes he wore now. They weren’t flashy, but they were clean. They’d been made for him — or at least adjusted for him. People he didn’t know had carried his unconscious body and clothed him with care.

  Lusei looked back at the healer. “What happened? After the fight?”

  The man leaned back with a faint smile. “After you faced the warlord, they said you stayed standing for a while. Spoke to the elder like the battle hadn’t even touched you. Then, the moment the words stopped, your body just… dropped.”

  Lusei groaned. “Please don’t tell me it was dramatic.”

  “You didn’t fall,” the healer said with a smirk. “You collapsed like a tree getting cut from the base.”

  “Perfect,” Lusei sighed.

  “But no one laughed,” the man added, quieter now. “They carried you here like a sacred object. No one’s stopped guarding this door for two days.”

  The words stuck with him.

  “…Why?”

  “Because you didn’t run,” the man said simply. “And people remember that.”

  He adjusted Lusei’s blanket and nodded toward the door. “Rest a little longer. The elder wants to speak with you when you’re able.”

  Later That Day...

  Lusei walked through the quiet village, still stiff but mobile.

  The fires had long been extinguished, though the damage remained — blackened homes, shattered fences, deep scars in the earth where magic and war had torn through the streets.

  But life was returning.

  Children played cautiously near the well. Adults hauled buckets and rebuilt fences. There was laughter in the distance — cautious, but real.

  And they looked at him now — not through him, but at him. A few offered nods. Others placed hands to their hearts in silent thanks.

  One old woman handed him a piece of bread with trembling hands. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to.

  Lusei made his way to the elder’s house, where the wooden door stood open as if expecting him.

  Inside, the same elder from before sat by a long table, scrolls and maps laid out, a flickering lantern casting light on the pages.

  Later that day…

  The elder’s home was quiet.

  Lusei sat on a cushion across from the old man, the room dimly lit by a single lantern that flickered in the late afternoon light. Scrolls, old parchment, and worn tomes surrounded them, the smell of ink and dust thick in the air.

  The elder studied him for a long moment — not rudely, but like he was trying to read a book Lusei hadn’t written yet.

  “I’m glad you’re well enough to walk,” the elder said. “You’ve already done more than most warriors three times your age.”

  “I’m not a warrior,” Lusei replied automatically, but even he wasn’t sure he believed it anymore.

  The elder chuckled softly. “Perhaps not. But power doesn’t wait for permission to change a man.”

  The elder glanced at Lusei, as if weighing whether to say what came next.

  “But before I go further, tell me… where are you from, really?”

  Lusei stiffened slightly. “Why?”

  The elder smiled faintly. “Because no one here wears clothes like yours. Your boots, the stitching, even the thread — it’s not from any known land or trade route in this realm. And then there’s the magic… silver, moon-aligned, primal. Not something that just ‘shows up.’”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Lusei lowered his gaze, then exhaled.

  “I’m not from this world,” he said quietly. “I… I went to sleep in mine, and I woke up here. I don’t know why or how. But someone brought me here. Someone powerful, I think.”

  The elder leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming with interest. “Go on.”

  “There was a woman. I don’t know exactly who she was, but… she saved me. Gave me something — power, maybe. And then she… faded.”

  The elder’s brows drew together. “A woman?”

  Lusei nodded. “Her name was… Celeste. Celeste Nighthill.”

  Everything in the room seemed to still.

  The elder leaned back slowly, his breath caught in his throat. His expression shifted — not fear, but awe.

  “Repeat that name,” he said, voice low.

  “Celeste Nighthill,” Lusei said again. “She called herself an Enchantress.”

  The elder stood up and stepped back, pacing once, then twice, before turning to one of the shelves. He reached high, brushing aside a thick layer of dust from a stack of untouched books.

  From the top, he pulled down a large, leather-bound volume — its dark cover embossed with a silver crescent moon.

  He set it on the table with care.

  “This,” he said, voice reverent, “has been in my family for generations. Passed down, protected. A record of those touched by moonlight. Of the Moonborne. And the Priestess who guided them.”

  Lusei looked down at the cover.

  The moon symbol was nearly identical to the one etched into his skin.

  The elder sat again, his voice quieter now.

  “Celeste Nighthill was one of the Guardians. The Priestess of the Moon. She walked the skies when the stars still listened and brought balance to the tide of magic. But long ago… she vanished. No one knew why. No one saw her again.”

  Lusei’s mouth was dry. “And you think… she’s the one who summoned me?”

  “I don’t think,” the elder said. “You already told me she did.”

  “But why?”

  “That,” the elder admitted, “I cannot say. I am no scholar of the divine. But I know this — if the Priestess returned, even in spirit, it means something is breaking again. Something deep. Something old.”

  He opened a book from one of the shelves carefully. Inside were hand-painted illustrations, celestial diagrams, and poems written in a language Lusei couldn’t read.

  But on one of the pages, there was a full-page drawing — a woman with flowing white hair, wrapped in a robe of stars, standing beneath a silver moon.

  Even in paint, the image looked alive.

  “That’s her,” Lusei said softly.

  The elder nodded.

  “Then I fear your journey is only beginning.”

  Lusei sat in silence, eyes fixed on the illustration of Celeste — her painted form serene beneath a silver moon, a quiet echo of the real figure who had touched his life so deeply in such little time. His thoughts spiraled, tangled in questions too big to grasp. After a long pause, he finally looked up.

  “…I need to ask something.”

  The elder’s gaze met his, steady and open. “Ask.”

  “I know you can’t tell me everything — why I’m here, what Celeste truly planned… but if I’m going to survive in this world…” He exhaled, the weight of it settling in his chest. “I need to understand it. Where I am. What this place is.”

  The elder nodded slowly and closed the book with care, as if sealing away something sacred.

  “Then let’s begin where all understanding starts,” he said, rising and walking over to the large map spread across the table. “The name of this world is Aetherra.”

  Lusei repeated it under his breath. “Aetherra…”

  The elder’s weathered finger traced the map’s worn surface. “And this continent — the land beneath your feet — is called Valemere. It’s the largest of the known realms, a place of ancient bloodlines, long-forgotten magic, and kingdoms built atop kingdoms. Some say even the land itself remembers.”

  He gestured to a forested region framed by rivers and ridged with mountain lines.

  “This village rests on the western edge of Elaris. Once a proud kingdom, now held together more by stubborn memory than true unity. We are what remains of a fractured rule.”

  His hand drifted eastward, beyond a jagged red border scorched onto the parchment.

  “And here lies Draven. An empire forged in war, ruled by ambition. They expand without mercy — their sights set westward. On us.”

  Lusei’s brow creased. “That’s why your village was attacked?”

  The elder’s voice dropped. “Elaris has few standing armies left. We defend ourselves. Or we fall. Towns like ours are unguarded — seen as pawns to pressure or conquer.”

  Lusei’s jaw tightened. “So the warriors who came here… they were Draven’s?”

  “No,” the elder said grimly. “Worse. Hired blades. A mercenary band from the tribe of Korr’dan — of the Varnak race. Nomadic, bred for violence. Not loyal to any kingdom. Just gold.”

  Lusei’s fists clenched at his sides. “So your home… your people… were just a warning shot.”

  “A demonstration,” the elder agreed. “To remind Elaris how easily it bleeds.”

  He turned back to the map, tracing faint outlines of distant symbols and names.

  “But Valemere holds more than armies and borders. Magic breathes through this land — old, wild, and structured. There are factions who wield it like scholars, like warriors, like kings. Covens. Orders. Academies. Each with their own laws, their own reach.”

  Lusei tilted his head. “Then… when that warrior called me an Enchanter…”

  The elder nodded. “He recognized the shape of your power. Enchanters are known here — spellcasters who draw from within. Their will shapes their magic. Your moonlight? It might be a form of it. Or it might be something rarer. Something forgotten.”

  Lusei leaned in. “And those who fight without magic?”

  “We call them Bladesworn,” the elder said. “Masters of the physical form. Strength, speed, skill. They rely on nothing but steel, instinct, and tradition. Many are born into warrior clans. Others are made through pain.”

  Lusei’s gaze dropped back to the map, eyes scanning the kingdoms, the borders, the blood-soaked history woven into every inch of parchment.

  “So this world…” he murmured, “it’s filled with warriors, magic, war… Guardians…”

  “And now it holds you,” the elder said, turning to face him fully. “A Moonborne — a name not spoken in generations. A sign of change, whether we are ready for it or not.”

  Lusei’s hand drifted to the glowing mark on his forearm. It pulsed gently, quietly, like a voice waiting to be heard.

  “Then I guess I need to learn fast,” he said. “Because whatever brought me here… it’s only just begun.”

  Lusei’s gaze lingered on the glowing mark along his arm, then lifted to meet the elder’s.

  “If the Moonborne were real… and Celeste was one of the Guardians, there has to be more. Somewhere.”

  He paused.

  “I need to learn everything I can about them — about her. About what she gave me. Where should I even start?”

  The elder exhaled and shook his head slowly.

  “I wish I could tell you more. But the Moonborne are legends now, Lusei. Their names have faded into story, their deeds passed down like myth. In this age… very few even believe they were real. Let alone know anything useful.”

  Lusei’s shoulders lowered slightly. “So no one here… knows what I am?”

  “Not in this village,” the elder said. “But if there’s knowledge still preserved — writings, histories, records of the old bloodlines — you’ll find it in Elaren, the capital of Elaris.”

  Lusei repeated the name quietly. “Elaren…”

  “It’s the heart of the kingdom,” the elder continued. “Where the high libraries sit. Where the magical factions gather, and where the kingdom’s last great archives are kept. If anything remains about the Moonborne… it would be there.”

  Lusei looked toward the window, the golden light of late afternoon spilling into the room.

  “And how far is Elaren from here?”

  The elder pointed to the map. “It’s several days’ journey east — through forest, over the southern ridge, and across the wide river known as the Silvermere. With no delays, maybe five days on foot. Longer if you’re cautious. Bandits and beasts still wander those roads.”

  Lusei nodded slowly, processing it all.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but clear. He stood up, slightly stiff but steady, and bowed politely. “For your help… and for trusting me.”

  The elder stood as well, offering a small but respectful bow of his own. “No. It is I who should thank you. For saving this village — for giving hope when we had none.”

  He walked toward the doorway, then turned back, voice warm but firm.

  “As a gesture of gratitude, allow us to help you prepare for your journey. Food, clothing, supplies. Whatever you might need. It may not be much, but we will give it freely.”

  Lusei blinked, surprised for a moment — then nodded with quiet humility.

  “I’d be honored. Thank you.”

  Another day passed.

  The village was quieter now — not because of fear, but healing. The fires had long gone out, the ruins had been cleared, and in place of grief, a new kind of silence had settled.

  Hope.

  Lusei stood near the village gates, tightening the straps on the new outfit the villagers had prepared for him. It was simple, but sharp — built for movement, stitched with care and made to last.

  A dark tunic of charcoal gray beneath a fitted leather vest, reinforced at the shoulders with light plating. Black trousers tucked into sturdy boots wrapped in faded cloth for grip. Around his waist, a double-strap belt with pouches and a place for a dagger or scroll.

  Over it all, a flowing black cloak with a deep hood — the inner lining embroidered faintly with silver thread, tracing moon-shaped patterns like a hidden blessing. When the wind caught it, it flared just enough to make him look like a shadow given form.

  Lusei glanced down at himself, tugging the cloak into place.

  “It’s perfect,” he said. “Comfortable, too. Easy to move in.”

  The elder smiled beside him. “I’m glad. The villagers worked through the night to finish it. Said it felt right that you wear something made by the hands you protected.”

  He gestured toward the satchel hanging at Lusei’s side. “Your supplies — food, a waterskin, salve, flint, and a map. It’s not much, but it’ll carry you to Elaren.”

  Lusei bowed his head. “Thank you. Really. I mean it.”

  The elder gave a small bow in return. “It’s the least we could do. You didn’t just fight for us — you gave us back our lives.”

  Lusei paused. “I just realized… I never got your name.”

  The elder blinked, then chuckled. “And I never asked for yours, did I? How strange. We’ve spoken of the world, the stars, and magic… and forgot the simplest thing.”

  He placed a hand to his chest.

  “My name is Havel.”

  Lusei smiled, nodding. “Lusei.”

  Havel’s smile deepened. “Then go with the blessing of Elaris, Lusei. May the moon keep your path clear.”

  Just then, small footsteps hurried through the dirt.

  The little girl from before ran up to Lusei, a carved shape clutched tightly in her hands. She stopped in front of him, shy but smiling, and held it out.

  It was a small wooden token — shaped like a crescent moon, polished smooth, a thin leather string tied through it.

  “I made this,” she said quietly. “For you.”

  Lusei crouched, accepting it gently. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “My name is Nira,” the girl added, voice a little stronger now. “So you don’t forget.”

  Lusei smiled softly and tied the moon token to his belt.

  “I won’t,” he said. “I’ll remember you. Always.”

  He stood tall again and turned toward the road — the forest stretching ahead, and far beyond it, a city filled with answers.

  Without another word, he raised the hood of his cloak, letting the shadow fall over his eyes, and stepped out of the village.

  And so, under a foreign sky, with a shadowed moon on his back, Lusei took his first step into the unknown.