(time traveler)

I was lying on the cold ground, wrists bound tight, every inch of me aching. They’d found me in the woods, these monks in red robes, calling me “Fae”—whatever that meant. I’d tried to tell them they were wrong, but they just questioned me harder, demanding to know where some “rebellion camp” was. I had no answers, and now, alone in the dark, I tried to calm the pain, hoping this was all some horrible dream.

The tent flap opened

The Weeping Monk entered the tent and looked down at the girl bound on the ground, bruised and tense. They’d found her alone in the woods, claiming she was Fae, yet she’d given them nothing.

I crouched, my gaze steady on her face, searching for any sign of deceit.

“They say you’re Fae,” I said, my voice cold. “Where is the camp?”