Chapter 22: Chapter 21 - Between Worlds

Milo:

I pushed Raven to go as fast as he could, the fog swallowing us up as we tore through the forest. Orla was sitting in front of me, gripping the saddle horn like her life depended on it. Her back pressed against my chest, and I could feel her shaking, but I didn’t say anything. Honestly, I was just as freaked out. With her right there in front of me, it was impossible not to feel her fear, and it wasn’t helping mine.

The cold air stung my face, and the silence of the forest was seriously getting to me. I kept my eyes on the path ahead, but my brain was all over the place. Where the hell were we? How did we even end up here? And how the hell were we gonna get out?

After what felt like forever, I slowed Raven down to a trot, listening for... something. Anything—shouts, maybe swords clashing—something to tell me if those guys were still after us. But there was nothing. Just this heavy, all-encompassing silence. We were completely lost. This forest was way bigger than I expected, and the fog was making it worse.

The quiet was really starting to mess with my head. It was like everything had stopped—no cars, no distant road noise—just dead silence. It didn’t feel right at all.

Orla started to slip to the side, her body swaying like she was about to pass out. “Hey, stay with me,” I murmured, wrapping one arm around her waist to hold her steady. She wasn’t gonna last much longer like this, I could tell.

Then, I heard it—a faint trickling sound. Water. “Wait, hang on,” I said, pulling Raven to a stop.

I strained to listen, and there it was again, water. I felt a wave of relief wash over me. At least that made some sense. I guided Raven off the path, and sure enough, we found a small clearing with a stream cutting through. The water sparkled, reflecting what little light there was.

I slid off Raven first, reaching up to help Orla down. She practically collapsed into my arms, barely able to stand.

“Easy, I got you,” I muttered, guiding her over to a dead log near the stream. She sat down, looking like she was about to pass out completely.

Raven trotted over to the stream, drinking like he hadn’t seen water in days. I glanced over at Orla—she was pale, eyelids drooping, and her head was still bleeding. My gut twisted. “You gotta stay awake, Orla,” I said, crouching down in front of her. “I know you’re tired, but you can’t sleep yet.”

She mumbled something I couldn’t make out, her head drooping to the side. “I’m so tired… I can’t…”

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“I know, but you have to fight it,” I said, glancing around. What could I do? Then I saw the stream and got an idea. I ripped off a piece of my robe and dipped it in the cold water. Then I started wiping the blood and dirt from her face as carefully as I could.

“You don’t need to do that,” she mumbled, her voice barely there.

“Shh,” I said, still dabbing at her face. “Just let me take care of you for a sec.”

As I cleaned her up, our eyes met, and for a split second, everything else disappeared. Even covered in dirt and blood, she looked beautiful, like she belonged in this weird, ancient world way more than I did. My heart did this weird flip, but I forced myself to snap out of it. This wasn’t the time for any of that.

Orla blinked, glancing down at her clothes, then back at me. “How did we end up like this? And you... what happened to your hair?”

Without waiting for an answer, she reached out and brushed her delicate fingers through my hair.

I glanced down at myself, trying to piece it all together, but no answer came. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice low. The eerie resemblance to the scenes the director had envisioned for the drama gnawed at the back of my mind. “But whatever this is, it’s real. Not a movie.” To prove it, I tugged at my hair and added, “See? All me. No extensions.”

She nodded weakly, too exhausted to keep up the conversation. She leaned against me, her head resting on my shoulder. “Just a minute,” she whispered, her voice barely hanging on.

I felt her starting to fade, and as much as I wanted to let her rest, I knew she couldn’t sleep. Not yet. “Hey, no sleeping,” I said softly, giving her a gentle shake. “You have to stay awake.”

She stirred a little, her eyes half-open but barely focused. I couldn’t help but notice the sense of closeness in that moment—the weight of her leaning on me, the warmth of her breath against my neck. It felt strangely intimate, like we were sharing something more than just survival. But I couldn’t let her pass out. Not now.

I shook her again, harder this time. “Orla, come on. You can’t fall asleep.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “I know… I’m trying.”

She sat up a little, pulling away from me. Her movements were slow and shaky as she rubbed her eyes. “I’m trying,” she repeated, sounding hoarse and barely there. She winced when her hand brushed over the spot on her head that was still fresh.

I could see how much she was struggling to keep it together. She was exhausted, barely hanging on. “I know,” I said quietly. “But you have to keep going, just a little longer. We need to figure out where the hell we are.”

Orla nodded weakly. She was trying, at least. After a few more minutes, I finished cleaning her up the best I could. The cold water helped a bit, and Raven, now finished with his drink, was grazing nearby, looking a lot better. That was one less thing to worry about.

“Alright,” I said, helping Orla back up onto Raven. “We can’t stay here. We got to keep moving.”

Once she was settled, I climbed up behind her, wrapping my arm around her to keep her steady as we started moving again.

The fog started to lift, but just barely, and the sky was growing darker. Night was closing in fast, and the thought of being stuck out here, in the middle of nowhere, sent a chill through me. We needed to find shelter, and soon.

Just as I was about to say something, I heard it—a sharp crack in the distance, like a stick snapping underfoot. Raven froze, his whole body tense.

I held my breath for a second. Heart pounding, I scanned the trees, searching for any sign of movement. The air around us felt still—too still.

But we weren’t alone.

©Sky Mincharo