Miles's breath hitched as the figure moved from the dappled shadows into clearer view. She stepped with a fluid precision he'd never seen in any human—each motion quiet, intentional, balanced. Her bare feet barely disturbed the sand.
Sunlight broke across her features as she drew closer.
An elf.
Not the fantasy-costume kind. Not cosplay. This woman looked carved from something ancient and patient—cheekbones sharp, jawline graceful, ears long and tapering elegantly through pale hair the color of moonlit silver. She wore light, fitted armor softened by leather at the joints, green-gray fabrics blending almost perfectly with the foliage behind her. A bow rested in one hand, unstrung but ready in a heartbeat. A quiver hung at her hip, each arrow perfectly uniform.
Her eyes—an unsettling, luminous gold—fixed on him with a hunter's caution.
Miles swallowed. Hard.
She lifted one palm slowly, fingers slightly spread in a gesture that felt half-greeting, half-warning.
"Do not move," she said.
Her voice was calm. Smooth. But like a river flowing above sharp stones.
Miles froze on instinct. "I—I'm not… I'm not dangerous."
Her gaze swept him head to toe with clinical sharpness. She didn't look convinced, but she didn't nock an arrow either. That felt like a small win.
She stopped about ten paces away—close enough for him to see delicate patterns etched across her vambraces, far enough that she could vanish into the trees in a blink if she chose.
She angled her chin, studying him with open caution. "You are not of this coastline."
Miles blinked. "…No. Definitely not."
"Your steps are clumsy," she continued. "Your scent unfamiliar. Your arrival… sudden."
He tensed at the phrasing. "You saw me arrive?"
"Felt it," she corrected. "A disturbance. Like the sea inhaling too deeply."
He had no idea what that meant, but the weight in her tone made him believe she wasn't exaggerating.
The two of them stood in silence as the wind brushed over the sand, carrying the faint scents of salt and flowers. The elf's expression finally softened—just barely.
"I am Lysara," she said. "Ranger of the Seaward Glades."
Miles tried not to stare, tried not to look as overwhelmed as he felt. "Uh… I'm Miles."
Her brow arched. "A short name."
"It's what I've got."
Lysara stepped closer, the sand whispering under her feet. Miles tried not to back up, but his body wanted distance from anything with that level of precision.
Her eyes flicked past him, landing briefly on the half-buried metal disc he had uncovered. Something in her posture tightened—almost imperceptibly. A wrinkle in the air.
"You touched that," she said.
It wasn't a question.
Miles's stomach dropped. "I—I didn't know what it was."
"You should be grateful it still slumbers." Her golden eyes narrowed. "These relics are not meant for hands without training."
Relics.
The word thudded in his mind.
"I wasn't trying to break anything," he said, lifting his palms in surrender.
Lysara exhaled through her nose, a restrained sigh. "If it had been active, your body would have been ash drifting across the tide."
Miles decided that was information he absolutely did not need and yet could not stop thinking about.
"Good thing it wasn't," he muttered shakily.
A faint, almost amused breath left her—not quite laughter, but not far either. "Indeed."
Her bow lowered a fraction.
Then her eyes flicked past his shoulder—sharp, focused.
Miles stiffened. "What? What is it?"
Lysara lifted one finger to her lips in a soft but firm gesture. The tension rolling off her was immediate and palpable; she shifted into a stance so fluid, he almost missed the movement.
Miles followed her gaze.
At first, he saw nothing—just the shimmering waves and glowing reefs beneath the water.
Then the sand near the treeline shifted.
Once.
Twice.
Something small darted between shadows—fast, low to the ground.
"Stay behind me," Lysara murmured.
Miles didn't argue. He stepped closer to her, heart hammering.
The creature emerged—like a fox sculpted from translucent blue and white crystal, its body refracting sunlight into fractal patterns. Its paws left no prints. Its eyes gleamed with eerie intelligence.
It tilted its head at the two of them and chirped softly—a sound like glass tapping under water.
Miles whispered, "Is that… dangerous?"
Lysara didn't lower her guard. "Not unless provoked."
The creature sniffed the air toward Miles. Its crystalline fur rippled with faint light.
Lysara extended a hand—not touching the creature, but offering space. "Hush, little shardling. He is a stranger, but not an enemy."
The shardling blinked, let out a soft chiming trill, and bounded away up the beach, scattering motes of refracted light.
Miles let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "It's… beautiful."
Lysara glanced at him with something like approval. "Most from beyond do not see beauty first. They see threat."
He shrugged helplessly. "I'm terrified too. Just… multitasking."
A soft exhale—almost a laugh. "Perhaps you will live longer than most arrivals."
"Arrivals," he echoed. "So… people appear here? From other worlds?"
Lysara stiffened. "I did not say other worlds."
"You said arrivals."
"And I meant it."
He hesitated. "Has anyone ever arrived the way I did? Through a… tear? Or… whatever that was?"
Her expression shifted—caution layered beneath caution.
"That depends," she said. "How much of that… event do you remember?"
Miles swallowed. "All of it."
Lysara did not look pleased. She stepped closer, enough that he could see the faint tracing of pale runes on her skin—ink or natural? He couldn't tell.
"Your aura is unsettled," she said quietly. "As if something tried to bind to you and failed."
Miles's blood chilled. "The System."
Lysara's brows drew together. "System?"
"You don't… know what it is?"
"I know of no such entity." Her tone was flat—it wasn't a lie.
Miles ran a shaky hand through his hair. "It appeared as text. In front of me. Floating. Like… an interface."
Lysara stared for several long seconds.
Then: "Show me."
Miles blinked. "How? I don't control it. It just shows up when it wants to—"
A flicker cut him off.
The System shimmered into existence between them, text glitching at the edges.
[Warning: Unauthorized Presence Detected]
[Local Entity Threat Level: MODERATE]
[Suggesting Evasion]
Lysara's eyes widened slightly—not in fear, but in the focused, deadly calm of a hunter spotting something rare.
She stepped around Miles, inspecting the projection from different angles. "This… is not magic."
"No," Miles murmured. "It feels like… technology. But wrong."
The System pulsed sharply, almost aggressively.
[Classification Error]
[Entity Unable to Perceive System-Sanctioned Roles]
[User Status: Exposed]
Lysara straightened, expression turning icy. "It speaks in riddles."
"Yeah," Miles muttered. "It does that."
She took two deliberate steps back, reassessing him completely. "Miles… whatever follows you is not of this world."
"I figured."
"And it marks you as… nobody?"
Miles winced. "Thanks for bringing that up."
"This is not an insult," she said seriously. "It is a category. A dangerous one."
He stared at her. "Dangerous to who?"
"To you," she said. "And to anything that wishes to claim you."
Claim.
The word sparked a cold twist in his gut.
"The System said I have to survive one cycle," he said. "But I don't even know what that means."
Lysara's gaze sharpened. "A cycle is a day."
Miles's heart dropped.
"So I have twenty-four hours to survive in a world I don't understand, with a broken system and… relics that turn people to ash?"
She nodded once. "Yes."
He rubbed his face. "Great. Awesome. Perfect."
Lysara watched him for a long moment. Then—unexpectedly—she lowered her bow and extended her hand. Not to shake. Not to pull him somewhere. Just offering it, palm up.
Calm. Wary. But not unfriendly.
"I cannot guide you through all the Glades," she said. "But I can help you take your first steps. Strangers who fall from the sky rarely survive alone."
Miles hesitated.
Trusting anyone here felt reckless.
But being alone felt worse.
He placed his hand lightly in hers.
Her grip was cool. Steady. Stronger than she looked.
"Come," she said. "There is shelter inland before nightfall."
He nodded.
And as he followed her across the sand into the treeline, the System flickered one last time in his vision.
[Cycle 1 — Survival In Progress]
[Warning: Tracking Signal Active]
[Multiple Entities Notified]
Miles's heart pounded.
Lysara paused, looking back at him.
"Are you well?"
"…No," he whispered. "But I'm coming."
They stepped into the forest together.
Whatever was watching him…
Was already following.