Tovik clapped Alrik on the back so hard he stumbled forward two steps, barely catching himself before face-planting into the grass.
"Good instincts," Tovik said, a rare grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And good timing."
Alrik gave a mock salute, wincing. "Thanks. I think I lost three health points just from that."
A few scattered chuckles broke out around the clearing. The tension from the battle was finally starting to crack, replaced by a lighter, almost disbelieving energy. Beastfolk were slumping down near the fire, tending minor wounds, laughing in short bursts like they couldn't quite believe it was over.
"You didn’t just fight," Fauna said, her soft voice cutting through the chatter as she approached. The green-haired deer-woman inclined her head toward them, her antlers catching the firelight. "You saved this village."
Erynne flushed, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. She opened her mouth to deflect — to say they'd just been trying not to die — but Alrik beat her to it.
"Team effort," he said, flashing his usual grin. "Especially the murder cats."
Trouble, perched smugly atop a fallen log, flicked her tail as if to say obviously.
Tovik called a few of the younger beastfolk over, and soon everyone was moving across the clearing, gathering what the Blightbuns had left behind.
Erynne and Alrik wandered with the others, nudging aside tufts of disturbed grass and piles of ash. Most of what they found were minor scraps—cracked monster claws, a few faded crystals, broken teeth. Things that, Luma explained, would be burned to prevent any lingering blight from spreading.
It wasn’t until they reached the place where the Boss Blightbun had fallen that they found something different.
A small, dark crystal lay nestled in the churned earth. It pulsed faintly with a sickly red light, almost like it was breathing.
Alrik squinted down at it. "...So. We fought a rabbit kaiju and we get... a rock?"
Erynne knelt cautiously, examining it without touching. "It’s... pretty?" she offered, dubiously.
Choom sniffed once, sneezed dramatically, and turned his back on it. Some of the beastfolk approached warily.
Tovik’s expression was unreadable. "I’ve never seen a core quite like that."
Alrik grinned suddenly. "Hey. Wait. I have one dumb skill that's finally gonna earn its keep."
He wiggled his fingers over the stone. "Rock Identifier: Activate!"
For a second, nothing happened—then a small glowing screen popped up in front of him.
[Blight-Touched Core]
A rare magical crystal formed when natural energy is corrupted by blight. Can be purified into a Pure Core, a powerful catalyst for advanced magical crafting, barrier spells, or purification rituals. Handle with care.
Alrik whooped. "Okay! I officially take back every bad thing I said about my skills."
Erynne laughed, feeling some of the lingering exhaustion in her shoulders ease.
"Turns out you're the MVP of shiny rocks."
"Respect the geology," Alrik said, solemn as a priest. Choom meowed disdainfully, clearly unimpressed.
Tovik leaned closer, frowning thoughtfully. "If it can be purified, it could fortify our defenses. Or buy supplies we can’t grow ourselves."
Luma let out a low whistle. "That’s worth more than a season’s worth of harvest." The villagers exchanged glances, murmuring softly among themselves.
"Us?" she blurted, blinking. "But... you're the ones who’ve been protecting the village. We just—"
"You did what we couldn't," Tovik said simply. "Take it."
Alrik glanced at her, then shrugged with a crooked smile. "Man, my loot luck IRL is way better than it ever was in any game."
Erynne laughed under her breath and reached out, carefully accepting the cloth-wrapped core with both hands. She tucked the wrapped core carefully into her spatial storage, still feeling a little dazed.
Around them, beastfolk were finishing the grim task of stacking the tainted remains into a neat, if grotesque, pile a short distance from the fire.
Fauna stepped up beside her, brushing a strand of green hair from her face. "We usually burn it," she said softly. "Fire cleanses most blight, if it's strong enough. Ordinary flame struggles with it... but you might have better luck."
Erynne blinked. "You want me to...?"
Fauna smiled. "You have the light. It's fitting."
Alrik gave her an encouraging nudge. "C'mon. You’ve already nuked half the rabbits. What’s one more pile?"
Erynne swallowed her nerves and approached the heap. In the dark, it looked like a mound of nightmares — broken, twitching, half-dissolved things. She tightened her grip on her staff, planted her feet, and took a deep breath.
"Radiant Lance," she said clearly.
The staff warmed under her fingers, and a tight, focused beam of golden light lanced out, striking the center of the pile.
The tainted material hissed and buckled, steam and black smoke pouring upward. The dark crystals cracked and shattered, the corrupted fluff igniting in bursts of angry red flame.
Within seconds, the pile was nothing but a heap of harmless ash.
The village glowed in the firelight.
Music and laughter mingled under the stars as beastfolk passed bowls of stew and roasted meat, voices rising in easy conversation for the first time in what must have been weeks.
Someone tapped out a rhythm on a hollowed drum. Another strummed a three-stringed lute with a cheerful stubbornness that made up for its missing notes.
Tovik leaned back against a log, his heavy arms crossed loosely, his axe finally set aside.
"We were stretched thin," he said, voice rough but steady. "The Blightbuns weren't just a nuisance anymore. They were hunting us. Pushing closer every night."
Fauna nodded, blossoms in her hair catching the firelight like tiny stars. "The little ones couldn't play outside anymore. No one could sleep without a blade nearby."
"We were surviving," Luma added, her fox tail flicking lazily against the ground, "but just barely."
Tovik's gaze swept the fire, pausing on Erynne and Alrik. "You gave us back breathing room. Maybe more than that."
Erynne felt herself flushing again under the sudden, sincere weight of their attention. She glanced at Alrik, who gave an exaggerated shrug like of course we saved the day, but there was real warmth under the joke.
Choom yowled dramatically from where he sprawled next to the fire, demanding more ear scratches. Mischief was curled up in the lap of a young beastfolk woman with raccoon-marked eyes, while Trouble prowled smugly through a pile of offered scraps.
It was—Erynne realized, unexpectedly—peaceful.
As the night deepened and the plates were scraped clean, the conversation began to shift.
It was an older beastfolk man—broad-shouldered and hunched slightly with age, with thick, curling ram horns—who spoke first.
"The Blightbuns are gone," he said, voice low and rumbling. "But the humans... they never really stop hunting us, do they?"
The easy warmth around the fire dimmed, like a candle guttering in a draft.
Fauna’s voice floated gently across the space, soft but certain. "Humans see difference. They fear it. Sometimes they attack first and ask questions never."
"They call us monsters," Luma said, her mouth twisting. "We bleed the same, but to them, we’re just another bounty waiting to happen."
Erynne tightened her grip around her bowl, feeling the ripple of unease run through the gathering.
Luma's sharp gold eyes flicked toward her and Alrik, a teasing glint returning. "Maybe you two could waltz into a human town without getting a spear to the face."
Erynne and Alrik had traded a glance.
Not a yes. Not a no.
Just a silent understanding that... maybe.
As the celebration wound down and the fire sank into glowing coals, the younger beastfolk began drifting out of the shadows.
Wide-eyed children peeked from behind logs and tents, curiosity outweighing shyness. They were all different shapes—fox tails, rabbit ears, spotted fur peeking from under rough linen tunics—but they moved with a lightness, a wary grace.
Erynne smiled at the sight, her chest tightening in a way she hadn't expected.
One of the smaller ones—a girl with short, dusty hair and oversized mouse-like ears—crept a little too close to the cats.
Storm, ever the drama queen, flicked her tail and hissed automatically, sending the little girl stumbling back with a squeak.
Before the awkwardness could bloom into fear, Erynne crouched low, resting her arms casually on her knees, and offered a crooked smile.
"Don't worry," she said lightly, voice warm and confident. "They only bite the bad guys."
The little girl blinked—then let out a small, hiccupping giggle, the sound bright and wild and real.
A few other children giggled too, emboldened, edging closer to the cats with cautious hands and wide grins.
Alrik, lounging nearby with a lazy grin, threw Erynne a thumbs-up behind his mug.
Erynne just shook her head fondly, feeling something shift quietly inside her.
Maybe she hadn't come here to fight. Maybe she hadn't even come here by choice.
But if she was here—if she could help build something better for these kids, for these people— maybe that was worth fighting for.
The fire had burned down to a bed of glowing embers, casting a low, steady warmth across the clearing.
Most of the village was asleep now—soft breathing, occasional murmurs from dreamers, the rhythmic flick of tails as beastfolk shifted under their blankets.
Erynne sat with her back against a smooth log, a worn blanket draped around her shoulders. Trouble was curled up like a smug, fuzzy heater against her side. Mischief and Storm had claimed a nearby patch of moss, purring in their sleep.
Across from her, Alrik sprawled on his bedroll, one arm behind his head, his hoodie somehow still immaculate despite the chaos of the day.
For a long moment, they just breathed the night air in silence.
Then Erynne spoke, her voice low. "I used to think I was okay being alone."
Alrik tilted his head, waiting.
She toyed with a loose thread on the blanket.
"Working from home... living with the cats... most of my life happening through a screen. It felt normal. Comfortable, even."
She gave a short, soft laugh. "I didn't realize how small my world had gotten until now."
Alrik smiled faintly, the firelight flickering across his face. "Yeah. Comfort zones are sneaky like that."
He shifted, propping himself up a little on his elbows. "This definitely beats waiting for the Jimmy John's printer to spit out an order and dodging traffic with sandwiches strapped to my back."
Erynne snorted quietly. "You did always treat deliveries like they were secret missions."
Alrik grinned, unrepentant. "Speed is life." The smile faded slightly, replaced by something softer. He stared up at the stars for a long second, then said, "Timing's not too bad, though."
Erynne glanced over.
"Chalen's getting some help right now," Alrik said, his voice steady but a little quieter. "And Mom's taking care of Dash."
Erynne let the words settle between them—unspoken relief, unspoken guilt, unspoken hope.
Another quiet moment stretched between them, filled only by the crackle of the fire and the soft thud of a cat's tail against moss.
Then Erynne chuckled under her breath. "Funny. We hadn't seen each other in person for what... three years?"
Alrik gave a low laugh. "And when we finally do... it’s because we got yoinked into another world."
She smiled, shaking her head. "Figures."
They shared an easy laugh, the kind only siblings who truly understood each other could share—the kind that carried comfort even when everything else felt foreign.
Erynne stretched out her legs, feeling the pleasant soreness in her muscles, the strange new strength in her arms.
"I think... I feel better," she said slowly. "Even just after leveling up once. My joints don’t ache the same way. My stamina’s better."
Alrik grinned, kicking at a stray rock with his boot. "Maybe this world has better patch notes."
Erynne smiled, but it tugged something bittersweet in her chest. "I already miss pizza," she admitted. "And soft beds. And fast internet."
Alrik groaned. "God, same. And biking. And my computer. And..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "A lot of things."
"But..." Erynne said, staring up at the foreign constellations glittering above them, "I don't think I fit back there anymore. Not completely."
Alrik was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded, just once. "Yeah. Me neither."
They didn't say we're stuck here.
They didn't say we have to make the best of it.
But the silent agreement hung between them anyway:
If we're here... let's make it matter.
Erynne hugged her blanket a little tighter and gazed at the stars, her voice soft and sure. "Let's build something better."
Alrik smiled lazily, settling deeper into his bedroll. "Only if I get to name the first tavern."
Erynne laughed, low and real. "Deal."
TO BE CONTINUED...
