I followed the man, my eyes darting around as we emerged from the forest. Before us loomed a massive wall that seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions. Its weathered stones bore the marks of time, the ivy creeping along the surface telling stories of years gone by. My stomach flipped. Is that... a kingdom's wall?
The sheer size of it was intimidating. The wall wasn't just a barrier—it was a fortress, built to protect and intimidate. I swallowed hard, my mind racing. What kingdom is this?
I trailed closely behind the man, who hadn't so much as glanced back at me since our encounter in the woods. My grip on my tattered sleeve tightened. Great. I'm following a complete stranger who hasn't even introduced himself. How cool is that?
As we approached the gates, the scene grew livelier. Merchants with carts loaded with goods jostled for position in the line, their voices raised in negotiation or complaint. Families with small children clung to one another, their eyes darting warily at the guards stationed by the entrance. A pair of farmers hefted sacks of grain, grumbling about taxes. The air buzzed with activity, and I was acutely aware of how out of place I looked.
We joined the line, waiting our turn to enter. The silence between us was stifling, but I wasn't about to break it. The man—who still hadn't introduced himself—seemed to have no interest in small talk. Instead, his sharp blue eyes scanned the crowd, his posture tense but disciplined.
When it was finally our turn, we stepped forward, and I found myself face-to-face with two guards stationed at the gate. They wore simple leather armor over chainmail, swords sheathed at their hips. Their eyes flicked over the man beside me, then landed on me, narrowing suspiciously.
One of the guards stepped forward and addressed him in that strange, accented version of Kharatian I couldn't quite understand. His voice was sharp, questioning.
I strained to catch the words, and though most of them blurred together, one phrase caught my attention:
"--- Alfred Watson?! ------"
The guards bowed low, their rigid demeanor softening into something closer to respect.
Alfred Watson. That name… My heart skipped a beat. I remembered it from the history books—the vice-captain of Kricedia's royal guard. The realization hit me like a jolt. If this really was Alfred Watson, then the kingdom ahead could only be Kricedia.
So, I'd already found it. The epicenter of everything. The kingdom where history began to fall apart. But what was Alfred doing outside the kingdom walls? Didn't he have duties to attend to? The history books never mentioned him leaving the capital, let alone wandering the forests.
My gaze shifted to the imposing walls in the distance, the bustling crowd waiting to enter, and the familiar tension of a city steeped in power struggles. It was unmistakable. This was Kricedia.
As we entered, I was struck by the sheer vibrancy of the scene before me. Narrow cobblestone streets wound through the bustling market square, lined with wooden stalls overflowing with goods. Shouts of vendors hawking their wares mingled with the chatter of townsfolk and the occasional bray of a donkey. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the less pleasant scents of livestock and unwashed bodies.
Everywhere I looked, there were people—women in flowing dresses, men in tunics and breeches, children darting between stalls. And then there was me, sticking out like a sore thumb in my ripped lab coat and modern-looking pants.
I could feel their eyes on me, their whispers trailing in my wake like a low, unfamiliar hum. The accent was thick, and the words blurred together, but I caught enough to piece together the gist of their murmurs.
"Who… she?"
"Look… clothes—what… fabric that?"
"Prisoner? Vice-Captain Watson… with her!"
My cheeks burned, and I fought the urge to pull my coat tighter around me. Great. My first impression on the people of Kricedia, and I looked like some deranged traveler dragged in from the woods. Their curious stares felt like needles pricking at my already frazzled nerves.
Alfred seemed oblivious—or perhaps indifferent—to the attention we were attracting. He strode through the crowd with purpose, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. I had no idea where he was leading me, but I didn't dare ask.
The further we walked, the more the marketplace gave way to quieter streets. The buildings here were larger, sturdier, their facades adorned with ornate carvings and painted shutters. I realized with a sinking feeling that we were heading toward the heart of the city.
Finally, Alfred stopped in front of a large stone building with a heavy wooden door. He rapped sharply on the doorframe, and a moment later, it creaked open to reveal an older man dressed in a simple robe. His eyes widened slightly when he saw Alfred, then darted to me.
"—Watson," the man said, his tone questioning.
Alfred said something in response, gesturing toward me again. The older man's brow furrowed as he studied me, his gaze lingering on my lab coat. He muttered something under his breath before stepping aside to let us in.
I hesitated, glancing at Alfred. He tilted his head toward the door, clearly expecting me to follow.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, with shelves lined with scrolls and books. A large wooden table sat in the center, its surface cluttered with maps and papers. It had the air of a place meant for strategy and discussion, not comfort.
The older man closed the door behind us and turned to Alfred, speaking in low, hurried tones. Alfred listened intently, his arms crossed over his chest. Every now and then, he would glance at me, his expression unreadable.
Finally, Alfred turned to me. He said something slowly, deliberately, as though trying to gauge my reaction.
I stared at him, helpless. "I… I don't understand," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
The older man raised an eyebrow, then said something to Alfred. He disappeared through a side door, leaving us alone.
Alfred sighed, running a hand through his hair. For the first time, he looked… uncertain. He pointed to himself.
"Alfred," he said, his voice firm.
I blinked. "Alfred," I repeated.
He nodded, then pointed to me, his eyebrows raised in question.
It took me a moment to realize what he was asking. "Ophelia," I said slowly, tapping my chest.
"Ophelia," he echoed, his accent thick but not unpleasant.
There was a flicker of understanding in his eyes. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
The older man returned, carrying a small bundle of cloth. He handed it to Alfred, who in turn held it out to me.
I unfolded the cloth to reveal a simple dress, the kind worn by women in the city. It wasn't fancy, but it was clean and in far better condition than my current outfit.
Alfred gestured toward the door, then mimed changing clothes.
I hesitated, my stomach twisting. But I knew he was right. If I wanted any chance of blending in here, I couldn't keep walking around in a torn lab coat and modern pants.
With a sigh, I took the dress and slipped through the door he indicated, finding myself in a small, empty room. As I changed, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being pulled deeper into something I didn't understand.
As I stepped out, the weight of the unfamiliar dress pressed on me—not physically, but emotionally. The soft fabric was leagues better than my tattered lab coat, but it felt alien against my skin. It clung too tightly in places and billowed awkwardly in others, a constant reminder that I didn't belong here. I tugged at the sleeves, trying to make peace with it, but nothing about this moment felt peaceful.
Alfred's sharp blue eyes appraised me. He nodded once, curt and matter-of-fact, before turning to the older man. They exchanged a few more words in their accented tongue, the conversation quick and clipped. Every now and then, Alfred's hand gestured subtly in my direction. Though I couldn't understand what they were saying, it didn't take much to guess—I was the subject.
The older man glanced at me again, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed and shuffled to one of the shelves lining the walls. After rummaging through a collection of scrolls, he pulled one out, his hands steady despite the tremor in his voice. He unrolled it on the central table, revealing what appeared to be a map.
Alfred stepped closer, his focus sharpening. He pointed at something on the map, his words becoming more forceful. The older man frowned, his mouth tightening, but he nodded in reluctant agreement.
I hovered by the doorway, my fingers knotting in the folds of the dress. Should I ask what they were planning? Or would that only make me seem more out of place? I bit my lip, opting for silence. Whatever this was, it was clearly important. And whatever role I was supposed to play in it, I doubted I had much say.
The conversation reached a lull, and Alfred turned to me. He beckoned with a flick of his hand, gesturing for me to approach the table. I hesitated, but his piercing gaze left little room for argument. I stepped forward, my eyes flitting to the map. It was a detailed sketch of the kingdom—Kricedia, as I'd now come to know it. The walls we'd passed through earlier were marked with thick lines, encircling what I assumed was the capital city. Beyond the walls, the map stretched outward into forests, mountains, and rivers, dotted with small villages and trade routes.
Alfred pointed to a spot near the edge of the map, just outside the capital's walls. He spoke slowly, his tone measured, as if trying to simplify his words for me. His finger traced a line leading from the forest—where we'd met—to the city gates, then further into the capital's center. He tapped a specific building marked with a symbol I didn't recognize.
"Ophelia," he said firmly, meeting my eyes.
I blinked, unsure how to respond. Did he want me to go there? Stay there? I couldn't tell. My lack of understanding must have shown because he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
The older man muttered something under his breath, earning a sharp glance from Alfred. Then he stepped closer to me, his movements careful and deliberate. He pointed at the same symbol on the map, then gestured toward the door, mimicking the motion of walking.
"Go?" I asked tentatively.
Alfred nodded. He tapped the map again, his voice firm but not unkind. "Ophelia. There."
I swallowed hard, a knot forming in my stomach. I wasn't sure why they wanted me to go there—or even what "there" was—but I nodded all the same. It wasn't like I had much choice. I was at their mercy, and until I could figure out how to navigate this strange world, I'd have to play along.
The older man handed me a small pouch, its weight suggesting it held coins. He said something to Alfred, who nodded in response before turning to me. "Safe," he said, his voice carrying a tone of reassurance—or perhaps warning.
Safe. That single word echoed in my mind as I followed Alfred back into the bustling streets of the city. Was it a promise? A command? Or just a fleeting attempt to ease my nerves? Whatever it was, it did little to calm me.
The marketplace was just as chaotic as before, though this time, the stares and whispers seemed even more pronounced. Dressed in local attire, I blended in slightly better, but the curious glances lingered. It wasn't just my presence that drew attention—it was Alfred's. His reputation, whatever it was, seemed to carry weight here. People stepped aside as we passed, their hushed voices filled with a mixture of awe and apprehension.
We reached a quieter street lined with modest buildings. Alfred stopped in front of a two-story structure with a wooden sign hanging above the door. The sign bore an emblem that matched the one on the map—a crescent moon cradling a star. It appeared we had reached our destination, an inn.
He pushed the door open, motioning for me to step inside. I hesitated, casting a glance over my shoulder. Was he coming with me? But his stance made it clear—this was as far as he would go.
"Ophelia," he said again, his tone final. Then, with a brief nod, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me standing alone on the threshold.
I stepped inside, the door creaking shut behind me. The interior was dimly lit, with shelves of books and strange artifacts filling the space. A faint smell of incense hung in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of old wood.
A woman appeared from behind the counter, her sharp eyes sweeping over me with an assessing glance. She was older, her silver-streaked hair pulled back into a loose braid, and her posture carried an air of quiet authority. Her gaze lingered on the unfamiliar fabric of my dress and the worn edges of my shoes before settling on my face.
She spoke, her voice low and steady, but the words were difficult to parse, thick with the same accent I'd heard from Alfred and the guards.
I hesitated, the unfamiliar syllables slipping past me like water. My confusion must have shown, because the woman's brows furrowed slightly, and she adjusted her tone. "Who are you?" she asked again, slower this time. Her accent was still present, but her words were clearer, more deliberate.
"Ophelia," I replied, my voice trembling slightly as I spoke my name.
Her eyes narrowed. "You're not from around here."
I shook my head, unsure how much to reveal. "I… I don't know where I'm from," I admitted. It wasn't entirely a lie—I wasn't sure how to explain that I wasn't supposed to exist in this time.
She studied me for a moment longer, her gaze sharp but not unkind. Then she sighed, the tension in her shoulders softening slightly. "Well, you're here now. That's what matters," she said, her words more fluid now, though still carrying traces of her accent. She gestured for me to follow her, stepping out from behind the counter.
"This way," she said, her voice quieter now, as though testing whether I could still follow her speech.
I trailed behind her into a small room at the back. "You'll stay here for now," she said, pointing to the modest furnishings inside—a narrow bed, a washbasin, and a small table. "Rest. Clean yourself up." Her words were simple, easy to understand. "We'll talk more later."
I nodded, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly as her tone shifted from stern to practical. The room was simple but comfortable, a far cry from the chaos of the forest—or the strange, suffocating tension of Alfred's presence.
As I settled onto the bed, my mind raced with questions. Why had Alfred brought me here? What did he expect me to do? And what role did this woman play in it all?
The faint sounds of the city filtered in through the thin glass window, mingling with the unfamiliar accents that seemed to echo in my head. Somewhere out there, in the heart of Kricedia, lay the answers I needed.
For now, all I could do was wait—and hope the woman's deliberate words, her careful adjustments, meant she would help me piece together this period of time