Chapter 2
It's real?
Ian opened his eyes to a bold wooden roof above his head. He was lying in a bed, somewhere unfamiliar.
"W-where the hell am I…?" he mumbled groggily.
A sharp ache throbbed in his head.
"Damn it…" he whispered, looking down at his hand. It was bandaged and clean—taken care of.
"Right… the knife. Almost forgot," he said, gently tracing the bandage with his fingers.
As the door swung open, he was caught off guard, accidentally pressing the bandage and sending a surge of pain through his palm.
The nurse from earlier stepped inside. "So, you're awake. What a relief," she said.
"Oh… it's you. The girl," Ian replied, still rattled by the door's sudden motion.
"I have a name. So use it," she said, a slight pout visible.
"Your name?" Ian asked, confused. He hadn't caught it before.
"Oh. I guess you fell asleep before hearing it. I'm Charlotte. Lotte for friends. And you are?"
"Ian. My name is Ian," he replied, finally calming down, still gently holding his bandaged hand.
Charlotte nodded. "Let me look at your wound."
He offered his hand again. Charlotte carefully pressed around it, each touch deliberate.
"It's quite deep. But it'll heal unless you pick at the scab," she said after a pause. "Or… I could fix it now, if you want."
Before Ian could respond, Charlotte cupped her hands over the wound and closed her eyes.
A slight stinging pricked his palm, like needles sewing into his skin.
"What the…" he muttered, cut off by her next words.
"Shut it, boy," Charlotte replied.
Ian obeyed immediately. No arguing.
"May the power of nature grant health to this soul."
Her hands lowered to her lap, and he finally looked. The wound was gone—no scar, no mark.
"What? How'd you do that?"
"Magic," she said simply.
Ian blinked. Magic… real? He had thought it existed only in books, games, and stories.
"Magic is real?"
"Yes. Very much so. Want to know how it works?"
---
2.1 Magic
Charlotte leaned back. "Mana is limited from birth and influenced by skill, weather, even others. Use it wrong, and it'll backfire."
She paused, checking that he was following.
"Good deeds—or clever tactics—can reward you with a mana boost. That's what the goddess of Zendrya declares."
Ian nodded, hanging on her every word.
"And bad deeds?" he asked.
Charlotte sighed. "Let me speak, dumbass. Bad deeds can make spells backfire. Enough of them, and your mana becomes antimana. Forbidden magic."
"If you want more details, ask someone else. I'm just a nurse."
Ian frowned, memories tugging at the edge of his mind. "Wait… didn't you say you had kids?"
Charlotte's gaze stayed flat. "That… was a lie."
Ian blinked, exhaled a short, amused sigh, and leaned back. Silence stretched between them.
"Figures," he muttered.
"Yeah… figures," Charlotte replied, glancing at the floor.
For a moment, only their breathing filled the room. Ian shifted on the bed, and Charlotte felt the weight of unspoken words pressing against her.
"I guess that explains why you looked so calm back there," Ian said softly.
Charlotte glanced at him. "Calm? I've dealt with worse. This was just… unusual."
He chuckled. "Yeah… unusual is one way to put it. Can't believe I knocked him out with the handle, though."
"Stories tend to exaggerate," she said. "But you were quick thinking… lucky, maybe."
"Lucky, huh?" Ian muttered.
"Or just in the wrong place at the right time," Charlotte added, shrugging. "That's luck, dumbass."
Ian stood suddenly. "Well, you've treated me well enough. Thanks."
Charlotte pouted, cheeks puffed.
"Uh… what are you doing?" he asked, trying not to laugh.
"I'm pouting," she said, briefly stopping, then starting again.
"Thanks again. For the help with my hand and all," he said, smiling faintly.
"I don't have any money," he added. "But you deserve it after that magic lesson."
She smiled. "Of course you're broke. What did I expect?"
---
2.3 Outside
Ian stepped out of the clinic, the door closing with a soft thud. The sunlight felt harsh, alien, blinding him.
He raised his palm. "Fireball," he muttered. Nothing.
He kicked a loose stone. In another life, another world, it would have ignited. Now it skittered harmlessly across the cobblestones. He huffed, shoulders slumping.
A soft laugh drew his eyes. A girl in a long cloak walked nearby, her stride confident, eyes sharp. She smirked. "First day in Zendrya?"
Ian flushed. "Uh… yeah. Something like that." He shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling like the awkward outsider he was.
The girl tilted her head. "Don't worry. You'll sink or swim fast. Most newcomers don't last a week."
Ian grimaced. "Right… well, I'm… trying."
A stray cat darted past, hissing. Ian jumped back and tripped slightly over his own feet. The girl chuckled again. Ian muttered under his breath, kicking another rock.
He stared at his palm, silently willing it to work, then sighed.
"W-what's so funny?" he stammered.
The girl stepped from the shadows, hood still hiding her face. She shook her head, snickering. "I'm laughing at you, dumbass."
Ian blinked. First Charlotte, now this alley girl. He didn't think he'd been called that much in one day.
He sighed, shifting on the uneven rubble to avoid falling again.
"What do you want?" he asked, trying for a clever comeback.
"Nothing," she yawned. "Just bored."
"Wait—wait—wait… you're just bored?" Ian scowled. His usual quips had disappeared somewhere into the abyss of his brain.
She kicked a stone casually. "Eh, I'll leave you alone," she sighed. "Guess you're too boring anyway."
She vanished into the alley, leaving Ian like a stalactite in an empty cave.
Silence. He began walking again, like before he was brought here.
Buildings passed, immaculate and brick-lined. Walls everywhere. Occasionally, a town square appeared, vendors under colorful tents.
"Where the hell am I?" he muttered.
In Ian's head, it was all a dream. One he'd wake from any second—but awakening never came.
Sunlight bounced off a window into his eyes, and he squinted, disoriented.
The rubble crunched beneath his feet, each step heavier than the last.
"Ian…" a voice called.
He froze. His name. Repeated.
He looked around, confused. No source.
A warmth washed over him, soft as a mother's embrace. But commanding. A subtle dread lingered. He felt watched—not from this world, but another perspective, another dimension entirely.
"Ian…" the voice called.
After a moment, he realized it wasn't coming from around him—it was inside him.
"That's me…" he whispered, hands trembling. "Who are you?"
There was no answer. Nothing. An illusion? Or perhaps a delusion?
"Am I… losing my mind? Or was that real?" Ian muttered, doubting his own senses.
Lost in thought, he didn't notice the sun setting. Darkness spread quickly, swallowing the faint glow of houses and shops.
Looking at his hands, he could barely make out their shapes—the tips and edges fading into the shadows.
"That was fast…" he murmured to himself. The darkness hid him completely, leaving his words to vanish into the empty street.
Ian's eyes darted to a point on the wall next to him—seeing an ingrained statue of a winged lady wielding a sword. It was carved neatly, like it could wake up any second.
The eyes looked almost lifelike—as if tracking his every move subconsciously.
"It's the little things," he muttered sarcastically under his breath, looking at the craft once more before walking off.
He didn't think much of it at the time—preferring to stay dry through the night and find some form of shelter or cover in case of rain.
Ian roughly scanned the limited view every so often, looking for unique details like the statue—and possible roofs—ones that were sturdy and easy to move.
He settled on an alley that was covered by a house roof. It was warm—warmer than on the street.
He was forced to lie on the ground. Not the most comfortable—but there was no other option.
---
2.5
Ian woke up many times that night, twisting and turning like dough. It hurt to sleep on the uneven cobblestone, and the hard rubble dug into his body.
It finally turned day, the sun brighter than he remembered, finally showing itself.
Ian stood up quickly to stretch his back—aching more than ever.
"Damn it… that wasn't the best night I've had…" Ian whispered to himself.
Feeling a sudden chill from the alleyway opening knocked him fully awake.
With a soft shiver, he stepped out of the alley—almost run over by a carriage just as he emerged.
Ian cursed once again under his breath, reminded of the time he was hit by a truck.
He stepped back into the alleyway—stumbling against the cold wall beside him.
"Hey, kid." A sharp voice called out.
Ian looked around, still a little dazed from the carriage.
"Yes?" Ian replied.
There was no answer—only the slight clicks of footsteps on cobblestone approaching from within the alley.
He looked up to see a familiar face reveal itself through the gloom.
Charlotte. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her familiar brown hair, calm but sharp eyes, and the way she carried herself.
"Charlotte," he breathed, a small smile tugging at his lips.
She nodded, a faint smile on her face. "Good to see you again, Ian."
Ian stumbled slightly and stopped, brushing imaginary dust from his sweater. He stepped closer, squinting. "Well… we met not that long ago," he said, trying to sound casual.
Charlotte rolled her eyes, arms crossed, lips twitching in a half-smile. "Shut up, dumbass. I was trying to be deep," she snapped, though the corners of her mouth betrayed amusement.
"Don't you mean dramatic?" Ian countered, letting out a nervous chuckle.
"I said shut up, dumbass," she muttered, glancing away for a moment. Then, eyes narrowing, she asked, "Seriously… did you actually sleep here? On the ground?"
Ian shifted his weight, scratching the back of his neck. He knew any explanation would earn him a scolding, but he also didn't want to hide anything. "Yeah… about that," he said quietly, eyes flicking toward the uneven cobblestones behind him.
Charlotte stepped closer, studying him, a faint grin tugging at her lips. "Figures… you'd pick the hardest way to survive."
Ian shrugged, a sheepish smile appearing. "Hey… I'm adaptable?"
She snorted. "Adaptable, huh? That's one way to put it. You're ridiculous, you know that?"
Ian leaned a little closer with a sly grin. "Hey, one's charm isn't reflected in a mirror. But it shines in the eyes of the lucky."
Charlotte just sighed. "See? Ridiculous you are…"
They just stood there, looking at eachother.
"So...how'd you know i was here?" Ian asked. A slight confused tone, though he wouldn't admit it.
"Look around idiot. You're right in front of my clinic." Charlotte answered, thinking he was joking.
Ian looked around, seeing Charlotte's clinic—Bsically 15 meters from where he slept. "Oh. Figures."
"Figures." Charlotte replied again.
"So what do you want?" Ian asked. He was holding in laughter for some reason, trying not to create any more awkward silence.
"I have some time off. Wanna go eat something? I mean, you DID save my life after all." Charlotte answers.
Ian perks up at the mention of food. "Yes." He answers quickly over his stomach growling.
"Idiot." Charlotte says, once again without reason.
"Come on then—stop standing there like some statue," Charlotte said.
Memories of the statue from last night flooded Ian's mind, but he knew Charlotte would just laugh if he mentioned it.
"Alright," he muttered.
As they walked, Ian stumbled on the uneven cobblestones—and even before Charlotte could ask if he was okay, he bounced back to his feet.
"Uh… okay…?" Charlotte said, her voice tinged with confusion.
Ian, however, could only hope no one else had seen him.
They walked in silence for a moment, the sounds of the waking city filling the space between them. Ian kept stealing glances at Charlotte—her confident stride, the way her hair caught the sunlight, and the faint smirk that seemed to never leave her face.
"So… you live around here?" he asked, trying to make conversation.
"Yeah. Clinic's been in my family for a few generations. I know this part of the city like the back of my hand." She gave him a sidelong glance. "Don't get lost, idiot."
"I… won't," Ian said, a small smile tugging at his lips.
They reached a small food stall at the edge of the square. The vendor waved cheerfully. Charlotte leaned closer and whispered, "Trust me. They make the best meat pies in town."
Ian's eyes widened. "Meat pies? You mean… food that's actually warm and filling?"
Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Yes, genius. Just order one before you drool all over the stall."
He chuckled nervously and handed over a coin. "One… meat pie, please."
Charlotte leaned against the stall, watching him with an amused expression. "You know, you really are ridiculous."
"Hey," Ian said, taking the pie, "ridiculous can be charming."
She shook her head, but her smirk softened into a grin. "Sure, sure. Let's eat before you make a bigger fool of yourself."
As they sat on a nearby bench, sharing the warm food, Ian felt a little… lighter. Maybe Zendrya wasn't so bad after all—at least when Charlotte was around.