They didn’t walk out of the forest.

  They *strolled* out.

  For the first time since waking up in this world, Rell actually looked... relaxed. Cloak slung loose over one shoulder, pants patched but clean, and a few polished stones clinking in his hip pouch. He had a slight bounce in his step, hair tied back in a messy knot like he was on vacation.

  The owl fluttered beside him, just low enough to keep pace but high enough to look disapproving.

  “You’re enjoying this too much,” she muttered.

  (Rell’s thought) “What’s wrong with enjoying *not* being hunted by jungle monsters?”

  “Because now you look smug.”

  (Rell’s thought) “That’s called confidence. Try it sometime.”

  —

  They crested a ridge and caught sight of the city walls up ahead. White stone. Wide archways. Tower bells in the distance. Smoke and song leaking out of its windows like it breathed civilization.

  “Okay,” Rell said out loud, even if it just came out as a garbled mess to any locals nearby.

  The owl sighed.

  “Remember the plan: I speak. You nod. You’re cursed, I’m a highly trained tame beast with vocabulary expansion thanks to a bonding sigil.”

  (Rell’s thought) “That’s a ridiculous excuse.”

  “Got us through the last two checkpoints, didn’t it?”

  Rell grinned, flicking a small ruby-red stone between his fingers. Birthstone currency. Gifted by Umbwe — taken off the bodies of dead adventurers who’d wandered too deep into the wrong jungle.

  They had enough to last a few weeks.

  Longer if Rell stopped buying spicy meat skewers at every stand they passed.

  —

  Meanwhile, across the city…

  The chapel tower loomed. Not tall, but sharp. Like something that knew it was sacred and didn’t have to prove it.

  Inside, the pews were quiet. But the air carried whispers.

  Thessia leaned against a stained-glass column, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

  “You said transport,” she muttered. “Not chain-haul and relic cages.”

  The priest smoothed his ceremonial sleeves. “The shipment is delicate. And valuable. We’re simply ensuring peace and faith stay protected during delivery.”

  “Mm.”

  She didn’t trust them. But she trusted the coin.

  And the coin was heavy.

  —

  You heard her first — a dry step on ancient tile and a confident shift of weight, like someone used to walking through fire.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  She smelled of heat and dust — sun-baked leather, scorched steel, and sweat earned through combat, not fear.

  She stepped into the light of the stained-glass window:

  A toned frame wrapped in cracked bronze plating and sand-stained wraps. Faded cuts marked her skin — not because she couldn't avoid them, but because she didn’t care if they came.

  Her hair fell wild and loose, dark waves tamed by a thin white scarf. A crescent blade rested in one hand, glinting like a warning. Her belt jingled with blue gems and desert coins, worn proudly beside sun-bleached patterns on a pale cloak that draped over her like a banner.

  Her smirk was confident — not because she wanted to prove something, but because she already knew her worth.

  The guards didn’t salute.

  They stepped back.

  Thessia. Mercenary royalty. The best adventurer west of the Scorched Wall. When she walked in, rooms adjusted.

  She didn’t like this place. But the job was big. And the pay was bigger.

  —

  Back underground, prayers weren’t whispered — they were commanded.

  A circle of robed priests stood in the dim light of a crystal brazier, chanting in a language the gods themselves had buried. At their feet, a massive iron-bound crate pulsed faintly, wrapped in binding chains carved with artifact runes.

  “The creature resists,” one priest muttered.

  “It will obey,” said the High Voice. “It has no choice. The seal was crafted from the bones of its kin.”

  Across the chamber, two elves trembled in a side cage — one with blood trickling from her temple, the other shielding her eyes from the light as her body flickered with cursed glyphs trying to activate.

  “Not this batch,” another priest said. “Too much resistance.”

  “Then discard them. We have new inventory arriving soon.”

  Before the order could echo, the cage door shattered.

  One of the elves had already moved — kicked the hinges loose with desperate force, using the shattered collar link as a shiv. The other followed, limping hard but not hesitating.

  Sirens didn’t sound. There were no alarms.

  Because no one was supposed to survive down here.

  Just as the guards reached for their weapons, a low growl vibrated through the floor.

  The crate pulsed again — this time, the runes cracked.

  Something inside was waking up.