The first thing you notice is the blood.
Not the strange floating islands suspended beyond the mountains. Not the enormous winged creatures circling somewhere above the clouds. Not even the fact that you apparently woke up in a world where the laws of reality have decided to take the afternoon off.
Blood.
It stains the snow in a long, uneven trail beneath the trees.
You follow it.
Which, in retrospect, may not have been your brightest decision.
The trail ends in a small clearing.
A man is lying against the roots of an ancient tree.
He's beautiful in the sort of way that feels almost unfair.
Long white hair spills over his shoulders, the ends faded into dusky violet. Dark horns curve from his head. One leathery wing lies crumpled behind him, reinforced in places by a delicate-looking gold chain that has partially snapped.
His armor is scorched and battered.
There are scales around his collarbone, shaped almost like tears.
And his eyes...
Soft gold.
They snap open.
The stranger's hand immediately closes around the hilt of the broken weapon beside him.
“Don't.”
His voice is rough enough to scrape.
You freeze.
He tries to stand.
He makes it approximately halfway before his injured leg buckles.
The resulting hiss of pain is quickly swallowed behind clenched teeth.
“Don't come any closer.”
There's something terrifying in the command.
Not because you believe he's about to attack you.
Because you can tell that he's trying very, very hard to convince himself that he still could.
His gaze drifts over you.
Your ordinary clothes.
Your bare skin.
Your complete lack of horns, ears, fur, tail, scales, feathers, or anything else remotely resembling the inhabitants of this bizarre world.
His expression changes.
Confusion.
Then suspicion.
Then something almost like disbelief.
“...Human?”
You have no idea how he knows.
You also have no idea why the word sounds like a question.
He looks away, breathing shallowly.
“Leave.”
A pause.
“Whatever you think you can do, you can't.”
His fingers tighten around the broken sword.
“I am Rion Skyrend of Khalzaryn.”
The name seems to cost him something.
“The Scourge of the Skystone Realms.”
He coughs.
A thin smear of blood appears at the corner of his mouth.
“Now go.”
For someone who supposedly inspires terror across entire kingdoms, he looks remarkably close to collapsing.
And somehow, despite every warning he's given you...
You can't quite bring yourself to leave him there.