Lady Aeternum.
Elara woke with a start, the fading light of dusk spilling into the cave's mouth. Her body ached, her wounds throbbed, and her thoughts swirled with fragments of dreams and memories she couldn't quite piece together. The air was crisp and cold, a sharp contrast to the humid oppression of the jungle she had left behind.
Her stomach growled, a hollow reminder of how long it had been since she last ate. The itch in her back had worsened, the wound still tender but strangely not as debilitating as it should have been. She shook off the remnants of sleep, forcing herself to her feet.
The silence of the mountain was eerie, broken only by the distant rustle of wind through sparse trees. She hadn't seen or heard another soul since waking in this place, and while she didn't trust her surroundings, it was better than the jungle behind her.
She stepped out of the cave cautiously, her eyes scanning the rocky terrain. The mountain loomed above her, its peak obscured by thick clouds. Something about its presence felt foreboding, as though it guarded secrets she wasn't meant to uncover.
As she began to descend, a sound caught her attention—voices, faint but unmistakable. She froze, her hand instinctively reaching for her waist instinctively. Of course, she had no actual weapon, just a knife that was good enough to cut ropes. She regretted not sharpening it before leaving the cave.
The voices grew louder, accompanied by the crunch of boots on stone.
"Spread out," a voice ordered, rough and commanding.
She frowned, the tone unfamiliar but strangely... archaic? Who even spoke like that?
Her mind raced. Were they from the group that had captured her? Had they been sent to finish the job?
One of the men stopped, his eyes scanning the area. He was tall, with a scruffy beard and a scar running down his cheek. "She's close. I can feel it."
Elara's breath hitched.
Another man, shorter but stocky, replied, "Relax, we're not here to scare her. Orders were clear—bring her back unharmed."
Unharmed? That didn't sound like something her captors would care about.
The taller man frowned. "You think she's gonna trust us looking like this? We should've gone in uniform."
The third man snorted. "Yeah, because a royal crest on our armor would've been so much better. Use your head, Lark."
They were dressed in what could only be described as medieval attire—leather armor and boots, swords strapped to their belts. Elara blinked, convinced her head injury was making her hallucinate.
The men moved closer, and she couldn't stay hidden any longer. With a deep breath, she stepped out of the shadows.
"Stop right there!" she called, her voice firm despite her pounding heart, the knife pointing at the taller man.
The men froze, startled by her sudden appearance. The tall man with a scar running down his cheek, raised his hands in a gesture of peace.
"Lady Aeternum," he said carefully, his tone oddly reverent. "We're here to escort you to safety."
Her brows furrowed. "Aeter-what? Who are you? What are you wearing?"
The man exchanged a confused glance with his companions. "We're here under the orders of His Highness. He sent us to—"
"His Highness?" Elara interrupted, her voice dripping with disbelief. "You mean, like, a prince? In this day and age?" She snorted, the absurdity of the situation momentarily overriding her fear of the unknown.
The man hesitated, keeping his eyes on the raised knife. "Yes, the Crown Prince."
Elara's head spun. Crown Prince? What is this, a fantasy novel? She rubbed her temple, trying to make sense of the strange terms and the even stranger men.
One of the others, a shorter man with a stocky build, cleared his throat. "Lady Aeternum, we've been searching for you for two days. Your knights are just down the mountain. We're here to take you to them."
Knights. Of course. Because that made so much sense.
Her stomach churned with unease, but she forced herself to remain calm. She didn't recognize the name Aeternum, and she sure as hell didn't remember any knights. But something told her to play along.
"And you expect me to just trust you?" she asked, crossing her arms, she had lowered the knife but still kept a fine grip on it.
The tall man nodded. "We understand your caution, but we're here to help. Your family's knights are waiting for you. We're only here to bring you to them."
Elara tilted her head, her mind working quickly. She had no idea who these people were or what they wanted, but she was in no position to fight them. If they were lying, she'd figure it out. The best choice for now was to find a way to tend to the stab wound on her back which was itching furiously again. She suspected that whatever made that wound had some sort of poison on it, although not deadly it must be treated before she'll have to regret it.
"Fine," she said finally, her voice laced with feigned confidence. "But I'll lead the way. And don't think for a second that I won't fight back if this is some kind of trap."
The men exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. The lady who had never shown any mistakes before was now acting really weird. Did she even know the way anymore? They were not sure but still decided to let her have her way.
"As you wish," the scarred one said with a nod.
Elara stepped forward, keeping her distance as they began their descent. Her mind raced with questions. Who were these men? What was this Crown Prince nonsense? And why did she feel like she was caught in some strange, medieval dream?
One thing was certain—she wasn't in the world she remembered.