I slam into the ground, the impact so harsh that for a second I can't breathe. The sudden silence after the Rift Storm's roar is almost more jarring than the storm itself—like the world has been muted, leaving only the echo of my ragged heartbeat.
My ears still ring from the tumultuous magic that hurled me across realms. The last thing I recall is Luke reaching for me, desperation on his face, and then… everything vanishing in chaos.
Pain explodes in my ribs when I finally manage to drag a gulp of air into my lungs. Trying to lift my head sends a sharp jolt through my neck, and I feel a throbbing ache building in my chest. My left leg pulses, maybe broken, and a sticky warmth trickles down my temple.
A detached part of me notes that my hair is damp with my own blood. Yet I'm still clutching Luke's baseball cap as though it's the only solid anchor in this unfamiliar world.
A fresh wave of heartache rushes in. I'd planned to tell Luke everything—how my gratitude had blossomed into genuine love, how I was ready to vow my future to him on our wedding day. How I find his reactions, his actions, and efforts for me endearing.
I want to be in his arms again...
But the Rift Storm tore us apart before I could speak those words. My chest squeezes at the memory of his warm smile. If he's landed somewhere else, does he know I'm still alive?
Blinking back tears, I force myself to take in my surroundings: a crumbling temple reclaimed by nature, columns muffled by thick moss, and broken arches overhead revealing a hazy sky.
The damp air smells of rotting leaves and something electric, old magic, maybe. Each breath tugs a stabbing ache in my side.
I grit my teeth and press my trembling palms into the mossy ground, leaves and grit scraping my skin. When I push myself onto one elbow, vertigo slams into me, black spots bloom at the edges of my vision.
I swallow hard against a surge of nausea—if there are predators, I can't afford to alert them with screams.
A rustling sound—footsteps—breaks the hush. My pulse pounds so fiercely that it almost drowns everything else.
I want to crawl behind a fallen pillar, but I can't make my limbs obey. Another bolt of pain ripples through my leg, forcing me to stifle a whimper.
A figure emerges from between the ancient trunks, a man with silver threaded through his dark hair and faint lines creasing his brow. He moves with easy confidence, as though the forest itself acknowledges him.
His skin holds an eerie sheen under the dim light, and his eyes, flickering with faint embers, remind me of a perpetual sunset captured in irises. Despite his apparent age, he moves with calm assurance, as though the forest bends to him.
A strangled attempt at a scream catches in my throat. He studies me in silence, his expression measuring as if concluding I pose no threat.
Then he lowers into a crouch. His hood shifts just enough for me to see the weathered planes of his face and the faint concern etched there.
"S-stay back," I rasp, voice trembling from both agony and fear.
He tilts his head. His voice resonates softly yet firmly, with a lilt that suggests an old, musical dialect. "Be still. You're wounded."
What startles me is that I understand him. It's not any language I know, but each syllable arrives in perfect Korean. My mind reels. How…? Where am I? Did the storm fling me to Valeraine or some other realm?
I try to speak, "How—? Wh-where—?" but he cuts me off by shrugging off an extra cloak and draping it over my torn shirt. Sparks leap between his fingertips and my exposed skin.
I recoil too late—a ferocious jolt of electricity rips through me, wringing a ragged scream from my throat. My nerves blaze in agony.
By the time the shock subsides, my vision is blurred with tears. I can't stop shaking, fresh blood trickling from my temple as my head throbs.
Yet the worst bleeding from a nasty wound seems to have clotted, revealing faintly glowing, lightning-like scars branching across my skin.
"I can't heal deeper wounds or fractures," he says, voice laced with regret. "My healing magic has its limits." He notices Luke's cap still clutched at my ribs, and something flickers in his eyes before he meets my gaze again.
"I am Malchior. The tool pinned to my cloak allows me to speak any mortal tongue." He touches a small bronze disc glowing with etched runes.
My mind spins, half delirious. "A… a tool?" I mumble.
He nods. "A universal translator. The Rift Storm must have brought you here. You're the one who bears lightning-scarred flesh, exactly as the heretics prophesied."
Heretics? Lightning-scarred? Confusion battles the pain throbbing through my ribs and leg, and the warm trickle on my temple.
My thoughts are a dizzy swirl of half-remembered rumors about magical storms, comedic mishaps in Seoul, and now… this?
He shifts closer, eyes drifting to a second deep slash on my forearm. Sparks gather again at his fingertips, but panic seizes me.
"Stop—I…" My voice breaks, tears slipping down my cheeks. "I just want to find Luke. W-we… we were about to marry," I stammer, emotion forcing its way out.
"I can't be stuck here. I have to get back. I need to… I never told him…" Fresh sobs cut off my words, a swirl of heartbreak and physical torment.
Malchior's features soften. He exhales like gathering all his patience to speak gently.
Malchior's expression gentles. "You're not even in shape to stand, let alone travel. If you truly wish to see your betrothed again, allow me to seal the worst of your wounds. Liora, a healer in the nearest village, can handle the rest." He glances at my twisted leg and the blood tangled in my hair.
"You'll need far more thorough care than I can provide."
It's irrational to trust him, but I'm too hurt to refuse. My head spins, another wave of dizziness making me sway.
With a shaky nod, I relent. Malchior lifts a small vial from his satchel—amber liquid shimmering inside—and dabs it onto a clean cloth. His ember-bright eyes flick with pity at the blood crusting my temple.
He shakes his head gently. "Your head's bleeding as well. Let me see." He dabs a cloth with the amber liquid and carefully presses it to my temple. A sting flares, and held tightly to Luke's cap.
He applies the liquid to my head wound, and I grit my teeth at the sting. "We recognized the storm's signs," he explains softly.
"Legends speak of a stranger bearing lightning-scar flesh at the crossing of realms. Perhaps that's you, perhaps not." He gently pours the ointment or whatever it is to the other visible wounds.
"Either way, I can't let you bleed to death since I found you and I can't turn a blind eye to someone who needs my help." he continues as he sets aside the bottle and hover his hand to me.
His chanting voice resonates like distant thunder, unleashing another surge of energy through me. It's less of a violent lightning strike this time, more of a grinding pulse that still hurts enough to tear a groan from my throat.
Slowly, fresh, faintly glowing scars form over my shoulder and up my neck. True enough, I thought I was just hallucinating due to the pain earlier before he applied a first aid treatment, but I noticed it too. Wounds turned into scars and faintly glowed.
And now, at least the bleeding near my temple eases.
I clutch Luke's cap to my chest, tears slipping freely. Pain radiates from every nerve, but the deeper ache is the thought I might never see him again.
Malchior finishes tending superficial wounds with ointment. "I can only seal so much," he warns.
"Your leg is broken, and your head's likely injured beyond my skill. Once we settle, Liora can set your bones. After that, you can decide how to pursue your friend." I started to cry after hearing his words, reminding me of my parents I left in Korea.
"But, you have to be fully recovered before I allow that since I will be responsible if anything happens to you." He resembles my Dad when I was injured in my childhood.
But... Shivers rock me—between talk of heretics, a savage storm, and these bizarre, lightning-like scars, I can't hold myself together. Another bout of dizziness drags me to the edge of unconsciousness.
Malchior stoops beside me. "I'll carry you. But you must stay awake as best you can." He turns, lowering himself further so I can grip his shoulders from behind. The movement sends agony flaring through my body, but there's no other way.
With surprising gentleness, Malchior threads an arm behind my shoulders and the other beneath my knees, lifting me off the mossy ground instead of carrying me on his back, but it's not possible due to the wounds I have on my forearm and ribs. A flare of pain rips through my chest at the motion, and I gasp, tears falling faster.
"You don't understand," I sob. "We were about to be married. I never got to… Luke… I have to get back to him. I can't d-die here." I tried to keep my eyes open, but slowly, it's getting heavier as time passed by. Is it really the end for me? For us?
"I may not know your bond, but regret can wound the spirit as surely as any blade. If fate is kind, you will have your chance." Malchior's voice is quiet, yet comforting.
I cling tighter to his cloak, burying my face against his shoulder as he straightens. The runic clasp near his throat pulses faintly, bridging our words.
Each step he takes jars my broken leg. I bite back cries, focusing on the warmth of the cloak and the smell of wood and moss. Everything..... it hurts....
All I can think of right at this moment is his nonchalantly handsome face. My soon-to-be husband... But, will we be able to meet and get married?
We leave the temple courtyard, picking our way past collapsed arches and moss-laden pillars. Each breath rattles my ribs. The forest hush presses close, disturbed only by the trickle of water somewhere and an occasional rustle of leaves.
In my mind, I see comedic mishaps with Luke, Amiel, and I-seo back in Seoul, so trivial compared to this.
"Don't let go," Malchior says, adjusting my weight carefully. "The path can be treacherous, especially in your condition."
I nod blearily, forcing my eyes open despite the pulsing agony.
"Luke," I whisper, fighting the urge to close my eyes. "Please… be searching for me."
My heart feels heavier than any wound. We were so close to sealing our future, only for the storm to tear us apart.
Malchior seems to notice the tremor in my breathing. "Don't move," he murmurs.
"We'll reach the village soon. Then you can rest, and we'll see what can be done about these scars." He glances back at my arm, where faint, branching marks glow softly.
A rumble of thunder echoes overhead, and I flinch on his back. I don't know if it's Rift energy or just local weather. I only know I won't let go of Luke's cap.
We descend a gentle slope, and wavering torchlight gleams through the trees. My heart lurches with hope—people, maybe a path home.
"There," Malchior mutters, nodding at the lights. "Liora's clinic is near the central fire pit. It seems that you can't walk, so I'll just carry you until we reach her clinic."
Dark outlines of rustic buildings come into view, lit by dim flames. The scent of woodsmoke mingles with the quiet murmur of voices.
It's nothing like neon Insadong, but a thin thread of relief battles my exhaustion. My eyelids grow heavy under the weight of so much pain.
"Not yet," Malchior warns, shifting me slightly to keep me upright. "Try not to sleep until Liora examines you. Keep talking if you must."
I attempt compliance, but blackness envelops my vision. My last coherent impression is crossing a rough wooden threshold, warmth spilling from a fire within, and the startled exclamations of the villagers. Luke's cap remains pressed against me, a fragile tether to the life we were about to share.
Then oblivion claims me. I surrender to it, trusting Malchior's sure-footed steps will carry me to whatever awaits.
End of Chapter 24