For a moment, she felt like she was drowning. The current pulled her down, the water crashing over her, cold and relentless. But she held tightly to Uyi as they were swept deeper into the dark.
When she opened her eyes again, the world had changed.
She saw a wooden ceiling above her, beams curved like ribs from an ancient tree. The scent of flowers floated gently through the air—sweet, unfamiliar, calming. She turned her head to the right.
A group of people stood nearby, some armed, all watching her warily. What struck her most was their ears—long and pointed, unmistakably otherworldly.
She blinked, letting her gaze drift around the cabin. It was beautiful. Flowers grew along the walls in patterns that seemed intentional, almost sacred. Sunlight poured through the windows, illuminating the room in warm gold. It felt peaceful. Safe. But also strange.
She ignored the people around her at first. They spoke, but she couldn't understand them. Their language was fluid, melodic, and entirely alien. She averted her gaze, overwhelmed.
Then, a man stepped forward and drew his sword, leveling it at her. His voice was sharp, filled with warning. She flinched. Pain exploded in her shoulder—then her head—as memories surged back, rushing to the surface like a broken dam.
"Uyi," she muttered, her voice raw.
A fresh wave of pain slammed into her skull. And then, a voice echoed in her mind:
+"Language beatification is now active."
She blinked, startled, and looked around to see if anyone else had heard it. But no one reacted—they kept talking, unaware. The voice had been inside her mind.
And suddenly… she could understand.
It was like waking from a dream into clarity.
The man with the sword narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?" he asked, clearly annoyed by her silence.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and finally answered.
"Gilly… Gilly Asmoth," she said, her eyes drifting to the man seated beside her bed.
An older man—regal, commanding—sighed and waved his hand. Most of the crowd filtered out, leaving only four behind.
Gilly turned her attention to a young woman with striking golden hair and luminous pupils. The girl smiled at her warmly. Beside her stood a man—similar in build and face, though his hair was a different shade.
Twins, Gilly thought.
"If you're done sizing us up," the brother said dryly, "perhaps you could explain how you ended up in our lake?"
His tone was tired, underscored with concern masked by sarcasm. He sighed often—this wasn't his first crisis, clearly.
Gilly recounted what she could: the wormhole, the crash, and the darkness. She left out parts—things she wasn't ready to share. Each time she skipped a detail, the twin brother looked at her, eyes narrowing slightly, as if he knew she was holding back.
After a moment, the elderly man finally spoke.
"Ephini. Zin. What do you think?"
The twins glanced at each other, then at their father. They nodded reluctantly—but it was clear they weren't fully convinced.
"Um… would you mind telling me how I ended up here?" Gilly asked, trying to sound composed, though the innocence in her voice gave her away.
They told her she had been found unconscious in their lake, barely alive. She had been asleep for two days. The man she had been with—Uyi—was in critical condition and was being treated in a sealed ward.
But they gave her little else. No name of the place. No hint of what lay outside the cabin.
She was told to rest, to stay put for now.
As they turned to leave, Gilly called out again.
"Um… sir? Can I get your name, at least?"
The old man paused at the doorway, then smiled—a genuine, quiet smile that warmed the room like sunlight.
"Valmor."
And with that, they left her alone once more.
The next few days passed slowly.
Gilly spent her time pacing the room, trying to regain strength. On her first attempt to leave, the guards blocked her path and sent her back without a word. So she stayed inside, restless.
Ephini brought her meals, and over time, they grew close. Ephini was warm, curious, and kind—someone Gilly found easy to trust. Through their conversations, she learned that the place she was in was called Elnor, a province within the Elven Dynasty. Beyond that, Ephini offered little. Whether it was because she didn't know or wasn't allowed to say, Gilly couldn't tell.
One morning, Gilly walked up to the mirror for the first time since waking.
She screamed.
Gone was the girl she knew—black hair, dark pupils. In her place stood someone with sky-blue hair and eyes, almost glowing, almost alien. She turned away from the mirror, breathing heavily.
Later, she asked Ephini about it. The elf only offered a quiet response.
"You were already like that when I found you by the lake," she said.
At first, Gilly was unsettled by the transformation, by the reflection that didn't feel like hers. But as the days passed, she began to accept it—or at least live with it.
On the fourth day, she was finally allowed to leave the room.
The world outside was breathtaking.
She stepped out onto a balcony and realized she was in a treehouse, high above the forest floor. Dozens of similar homes were nestled among the giant trunks, connected by wooden bridges and woven vines. The city was alive—bustling with people of all kinds. Some had horns, others wings, and some tails or skin that shimmered in shades of blue, gold, or deep crimson.
She stopped to take it all in, awe written across her face.
A guard nudged her roughly. "Move."
With Ephini absent that day, the kindness she'd grown used to was gone. Silently, she followed the group as they led her down winding bridges and narrow steps, descending toward the outskirts of the city.
Valmor led the way.
Eventually, they reached a shed tucked between the roots of two massive trees. It looked ordinary enough—quiet, weathered, forgotten. Valmor opened the door and stepped inside. Gilly followed, and the guards closed the door behind them, remaining outside.
She trailed Valmor through the narrow entrance hall into a quiet inner chamber.
Ephini and Zin were already there.
Ephini smiled at her, though there was tension in her eyes. Gilly started to smile back—until she turned and saw what they had brought her to see.
Uyi.
He was chained to a bed.
One arm was bound in thick leather restraints. His body was still, unmoving—his skin pale except for patches of murky black that crept up his neck like a spreading sickness. His chest rose and fell slowly, the only sign that he was alive.
Her heart dropped.
He looked worse than when she last saw him. Worse than any nightmare.
Gilly took a step forward, her voice caught in her throat.
"What… what happened to him?" she whispered.
She tried to run to him.
But the moment she took a step, something cold pressed against her neck—Zin's blade.
She froze, heart hammering.
Turning to Ephini for help, Gilly found no comfort in her expression. The warmth was gone. Her hand now gripped a staff that pulsed with glowing light, its tip humming with restrained magic. From behind, a crushing force settled over her—pressure, heavy and oppressive.
She collapsed to her knees.
A voice, sharp and cold as ice, echoed from the shadows behind her.
"Who are you? And what business do you have with the people of Elnor?"
Her lungs struggled to draw breath. The truth she had been hiding burned behind her teeth.
"Gilly... Asmoth..." she gasped, trying to stay composed, but her voice trembled.
A sneer from above.
"Lies," the voice spat. "You brought a Corrupted, appeared in our lake—which flows from the Mountain of Giants—and you expect me to believe you?"
The blade nicked her neck.
A line of blood ran down her skin.
"Corrup...ted? Mountain... of giants? River... I don't understand..." she choked out, mind racing.
The pressure intensified.
It crushed her to the ground.
Valmor stepped forward. His eyes, usually calm, now burned with golden fury.
"Swear on your name," he growled, "that you have no ties to those bastards."
His voice was thunder, each word shaking the room like distant tremors.
Ephini hesitated. She wanted to speak, to step in—but she couldn't defy the town head. Not here. Not now.
Gilly's thoughts spun wildly. There was no more room for secrets. If she wanted to survive—if she wanted to protect Uyi—she had to speak.
"Giant... centipede..." she croaked, barely holding on. "Team member... all dead…"
Then the darkness took her.
Her body slumped forward, unconscious before she hit the floor.
Ephini rushed to catch her.
Zin stood still, stunned. Moments ago, he was sure she was lying. But now, watching her broken and bleeding, he saw no room for deception.
Valmor turned to him, eyes demanding confirmation.
Zin shook his head. "She's not lying."
Valmor sighed, heavy and tired.
"This is going to be a headache…"
He turned away, cloak sweeping behind him.
Ephini cradled Gilly in her arms, a silent prayer forming on her lips as she followed them out of the room—carrying a mystery far deeper than any of them had prepared for
When she opened her eyes again, it was night.
The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the carved wooden panels, painting pale patterns across the room. She blinked, disoriented. Her body felt weak—too weak. She tried to stand, but her legs buckled beneath her, sending her crashing to the floor.
They shook uncontrollably.
A deep part of her—a primal instinct—screamed that she had narrowly escaped death. The memory returned, vivid and sharp: swords, glowing eyes, pain, fear.
"Monsters…" she whispered, then slapped a hand over her mouth, afraid someone might hear.
She thought about running.
Just breaking the window, climbing down the tree, vanishing into the forest. But then came the memory of her arrival—cold, chaos, and blood. Her stomach turned. She shook her head. No escape.
For a fleeting moment, she considered something darker.
What if I just… ended it?
But the image of Uyi, chained and half-consumed by corruption, burned through her despair. She couldn't leave him—not like that. Not alone.
The door creaked open.
Ephini. She stood there with a gentle smile and a tray of food. But Gilly's body moved on instinct—retreating. She crawled backward until her spine pressed against the wooden wall, eyes wide, hands trembling. Her gaze stayed fixed on the floor, never meeting Ephini's.
The elf's smile faltered.
She wanted to speak, to offer comfort—but the fear radiating from Gilly stopped her. Wordlessly, she set the tray on the bed and quietly stepped out, closing the door behind her.
Silence returned.
It became her world. For what felt like days, she sat in the quiet, praying for sunlight. The shadows whispered. Her thoughts screamed. There was no clock, no rhythm—just the ache of her thoughts and the weight of dread.
Time blurred.
And finally—after what must have been a hundred hours, or so it felt—dawn came.
The golden light spilled in through the wooden cracks, warm and alive. And in that warmth, for the first time since the encounter, Gilly fell asleep.
Exhausted. Numb. Broken.
But still alive.