Chapter 3

Right. So, one moment I’m delivering pizzas in Sydney, and the next, I’m in Narnia, teaming up with Dragon-Tumnus to escape man-eating Aslans. And these Aslans aren’t called Aslans—they’re called Groth-kin. Because, of course, that’s a better name. Oh, and let’s not forget I can speak Dra—ooft!

Rory quickly ducked behind a tent as two Groth-kin lumbered past, the stench of their mangy fur making her nose wrinkle.

Focus, Ror. These guys will tear you apart if they find you. Be stealthy. Be one with the shadows. Sneak to the fire. Toss in the pepper spray. Steal a horse. Make some noise. Simple.

She slowly lifted her head to peek around the tent, but immediately ducked back as another Groth-kin meandered by.

Oh, man. I’m going to die here. Or maybe this is all a dream. And I’ll just wake up.

She glanced around and decided it was smarter to stay hidden a little longer, tucking herself deeper behind the tent.

[Civil Skill Gained: Sneaking—Level 1]

A semi-translucent message window—almost like something out of a video game—suddenly popped up in front of Rory’s face. She stifled a gasp, staring at it in disbelief. Blinking in confusion, she tilted her head from side to side, noticing that the window followed her movements.

O-kay then. Why am I even surprised? Of course there are video game prompts in this dream world.

She waved her hands at the window dismissively, as though shooing away secondhand smoke.

Go away, you. I’ve got real world problems to deal with right now.

With that, the window blinked out of existence.

Rory watched as several more Groth-kin sauntered past before finally mustering the courage to creep closer to the fire pit. She kept one hand firmly pressed against the pocket holding her keys, ensuring they didn’t accidentally jingle and give her away.

It felt like an eternity before she finally reached the fire, her heart racing as she wondered whether the dragon-man and her straw replica had already been discovered. What would she do if they had? There was no way she could pull this escape off alone. Even if she got things moving—she’d never ridden a horse before, let alone a groxxar!

Rory crouched behind a barrel, letting out a long, quiet breath. Now wasn’t the time for second-guessing. She was where she needed to be. She was still alive, and the plan was in motion.

Carefully, she reached into her jean pocket and slowly pulled out her key chain. She unclipped the pepper spray and sonic device before slipping the rest of the keys back into her pocket. With both devices in hand, she steeled herself.

Do or die, Alden. Do or die!

Rory peeked around the barrel to make sure no one was watching. Holding her breath, she lobbed the pepper spray canister into the fire and quickly ducked behind the barrel for cover.

Nothing happened.

Crap! It’s a dud! Mum, why would you give me a shonky can of pepper spray?!

Several tense seconds passed. Rory risked another glance from behind the barrel. One of the Groth-kin sitting by the fire absentmindedly poked at it with a long stick. That’s when she heard the hissing. The Groth-kin must have heard it too, as he began prodding the fire with more curiosity.

A loud metallic pop was followed by a sudden bright flare. The Groth-kin holding the stick began hacking and wheezing as the air filled with a whitish-grey smoke that quickly spread. The others around the fire began coughing and howling in pain, doubling over or collapsing into fetal positions as they desperately rubbed at their eyes.

The commotion spread as more Groth-kin hurried over to investigate, only to fall victim to the spreading smoke themselves.

The leader of the group, a hulking figure, pointed from his tent further in the camp and barked orders, “Get some water! Douse the fire!”

Rory almost got caught up watching the chaos but quickly remembered her part of the plan. She took the chance and stealthily darted toward the hitched groxxar.

The creatures were enormous—nearly two meters tall at the shoulder, made of pure muscle, and more like athletic hippopotamuses than horses. Their skin varied in colour from grey to brown to black, and they sported protruding lower tusks, reminiscent of wild boars. They didn’t even flinch as she approached, probably because she seemed so unthreatening. Rory was starting to doubt both how effective the sonic device would be and whether she could control one of these beasts if they did spook.

There was no time to reconsider. The smoke bomb wouldn’t last long, and Eric was probably out of the cage and heading toward her—if he was still alive.

She studied the reins tying down one of the smaller groxxar and managed to untie it. Saying a quiet prayer to whatever gods were watching, she gripped the reins tightly, squatting and planting her feet as she tried to use her entire sixty-kilogram frame for leverage.

She covered her ears as best she could, then pulled the pin on the sonic device like a grenade and tossed it into the midst of the groxxar.

The groxxar didn’t neigh like horses. They roared. All of them—including the one Rory held onto—rose onto their hind legs, bellowing loudly. Rory was nearly thrown into the air but was saved by a pair of large, copper-scaled hands grabbing the reins just above hers.

“Well done, Rory. We must go, now,” Eric shouted, his voice barely cutting through the high-pitched whine of the sonic alarm.

“I have your belongings,” he bellowed as he tossed Rory her delivery bag, “though I did not have time to get your armour.”

Shaking off the shock, Rory put on her bag and watched as Eric leaped onto the groxxar in a single bound. He reached down, and she took his arm, allowing herself to be hoisted onto the beast behind him.

“Hold tight!”

She wrapped her arms firmly around his waist, her eyes squeezed shut.

“The prisoners! They’re stealing a groxxar!”

And then there was only the sensation of thundering hooves and the shaking earth as Rory and Eric sped away from the chaos.

#

Rory finally opened her eyes as the groxxar began to slow, and she felt something cold and wet drip onto her forehead. She pulled her head back from where it had been resting against Eric’s back and touched her forehead.

Blood. Red blood. Dragons bleed red blood.

Rory froze as her eyes locked onto the arrow lodged in Eric’s back, just above where a human’s shoulder blade would be. He wasn’t moving. In fact, he was barely upright—slumped over the groxxar. He must have passed out ages ago, and with no direction from its rider, the groxxar had decided to stop.

No. No. No. Not again.

Heart pounding, Rory quickly scrambled off the groxxar and checked to make sure Eric was still secure on the creature’s back. She put down her delivery bag and noticed two arrows also sticking out of it. She paled thinking about how close she had come to being struck.

Focusing back on Eric, she felt an anxiety slowly start to build. What could she do? She could pull him down and try to take out the arrow—but she had no bandages, no antiseptic… no medical knowledge. And she knew from all the fantasy movies she’d ever seen that pulling the arrow out was a terrible idea if she couldn’t stop the bleeding.

It was starting to get dark, and Rory knew it wouldn’t be long before they felt the icy cold of the desert evening. She had to find some sort of shelter and get a fire going—or maybe figure out another way to stay warm. A fire might attract unwanted attention, but they couldn’t survive the night without warmth. After that… she’d need to figure out how to deal with the arrow situation.

She put her bag back on, chose a general direction, and began leading the groxxar by the reins.

I’ll save you, baba.

#

Rory checked her phone again and saw that she had been walking for just over an hour. The temperature had plummeted, and without her riding jacket, she was beginning to shiver. She glanced at Eric, who was not shivering. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow and back. The blood had dried around the wound, but the arrow was still a major concern. Rory wondered if there was anything she could do for him at this point.

The landscape had shifted slightly—rocky outcroppings and narrow ridges dotted the area, offering places where they might hide and perhaps start a campfire, though Rory wasn’t sure she wanted to risk it. This place was completely unfamiliar. Groth-kin aside, what if there were even scarier creatures, ones drawn to fire?She was lost in these thoughts when her foot caught on something half-buried in the ground, causing her to tumble to the ground. She managed to release the reins before landing hard, falling on her side.She hissed in pain and clutched at her foot.Rory blinked in confusion as she sat up, rubbing her sore ankle. Her gaze flickered to the ground where she’d tripped. There, barely visible beneath the layer of desert sand and rock, was something metallic—a small spike, jagged at the top like it had been yanked from something.Frowning, she brushed more sand away and revealed the object—a thin, sturdy metal piton, the kind used to secure tents. Only this one was modern, not something she expected to find in this world. If she was indeed in another world, that is. But the bear and dragon men and hippo-horses were a dead giveaway, right? And the camp they had come from — that was super old-timey.She brushed at the piton. There was something stamped on it. Squinting, she read part of a barely legible printed inscription: AF–. The rest had been scratched off or worn away.Rory’s pulse quickened. AF? Air Force? It couldn’t be. Could it?She stood up, glancing at Eric slumped over the groxxar, then back down at the piton. If this was what she thought it was, then someone from her world had been here recently. But where were they now? And why would they leave something like this behind?Her heart raced with a mixture of hope and dread as her eyes scanned the horizon. The rocky ridges ahead loomed dark and foreboding in the twilight. The piton might have just been lost or discarded, but maybe… Could there be shelter nearby? People who might help?Taking a breath to steady herself, Rory pulled on the groxxar’s reins, guiding the sluggish creature toward the outcroppings. She kept glancing around, trying to stay alert. She needed to get Eric somewhere safe first. Then she could figure things out.As they rounded a rocky ridge, the shadows deepened, and something came into view—tents. A set of green, camouflaged tents, their fabric sagging and torn, some barely standing. Rory’s breath caught in her throat. Another camp. It was definitely military, and it was definitely abandoned.Her mind raced with questions. Who had been here? What drove them away? Was it the Groth-kin? Or something else?The camp was eerily quiet, the wind stirring nothing but dust. No sound of life, no footprints in the sand. It looked like whoever had been here left in a hurry—or hadn’t had a choice. Rory glanced back at Eric, then at the camp. Maybe it was dangerous, but she couldn’t leave him out here in the open any longer. If this camp was abandoned, it could at least offer shelter for the night.Carefully, she guided the groxxar toward the largest of the still-intact tents. The beast snorted in irritation but followed her lead. Eric was slumped low, barely holding on, his breathing shallow.Once they reached the tent, she slowly eased Eric off the groxxar’s back. It was a Herculean task as the dragon-man was heavy, dead weight in her arms, and by the time she had finished, she was completely spent with the effort of dragging him to the tent’s entrance — all while trying not to disturb the arrow lodged in his back. She laid him down gently, mustering the energy to roll him onto his side. His skin felt clammy to the touch, and she winced when she inspected the arrow wound up close.“Hang on, Eric,” she whispered. “I’ll figure something out.”After taking a moment to catch her breath, she meandered over to the groxxar and tied it to a nearby post. The creature huffed, settling uneasily as Rory looked around the desolate camp. Her eyes drifted to the ridges, to the crates scattered around, the torn tarps flapping gently in the wind. Who were these people? Military from her world? How did they get here? And more pressing—why had they left? Her gut told her it wasn’t voluntary.Did they get back to her world?Could she?Rory moved quickly, gathering what dry wood and brush she could find. She didn’t want to light a fire, not if it might draw attention, but Eric needed warmth, and she needed light to assess his wound. The ambient light was fading fast and it wouldn’t be long before it was pitch black.Rory knelt by the scraps of wood she had gathered, her hands trembling slightly from the cold and nerves. She had never been much of an outdoorsy person, but she’d seen enough survival shows and campfire scenes in movies to know the basics.First, she cleared a small patch of ground, pushing away loose rocks and debris. She arranged the dry brush and twigs into a small nest at the centre, careful not to scatter them too widely. Then she set the larger sticks and pieces of wood around it in a loose pyramid shape. The tinder would catch first, and if she was lucky, the rest would follow.The real challenge was lighting it. Rory rummaged through her pockets, pulling out the lighter —thank God for that. It was small and nearly out of fluid, but it would have to do.She flicked the lighter a few times, her heart skipping a beat when it sparked but didn’t catch. A few more tries and finally, a weak flame emerged. Quickly, she held it to the tinder, her breath shallow as she prayed it would catch.It took a moment, but the dry brush finally crackled to life, small orange flames licking upward. Rory carefully blew on it, feeding it oxygen until the flames grew stronger, climbing up the wood. The warmth spread almost immediately, and she sighed in relief as the fire settled into a steady, manageable burn.Her hands hovered near the flames, soaking in the heat as she glanced back at Eric. The fire was small enough not to attract attention from far away but strong enough to keep them warm through the cold desert night. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.The warmth began to wash over her like a blanket, and Rory allowed herself a brief moment of relief before her attention turned back to the camp. There was something unnerving about it—this place wasn’t just abandoned, it felt wrong, like the people who had been here had left in a hurry, or worse, had been forced to leave.She looked around at the tents again. Why would soldiers leave their gear behind? And more importantly, why was there no sign of a struggle?With the fire now steady, Rory stood and started to move cautiously through the camp. She scanned the crates, hoping to find something of use. Maybe she could find something—anything—that would help her understand what had happened here or — at the very least — to treat Eric’s arrow wound. As she stepped closer to a set of scattered crates, she noticed one that seemed relatively intact, though dust-covered. Something caught her eye inside the open crate — a red plastic case, with the logo of a faint red cross atop a white square.Rory’s breath caught. A first-aid kit? Her heart sped up with a mix of excitement and dread. If there was medical equipment inside, she might be able to help Eric. Not that she knew any first-aid. But there were always instructions on the packaging and a how-to leaflet inside, right?But it didn’t make sense. Why leave a perfectly good first-aid kit behind?She quickly popped the latches of the case and —Nothing.It was empty!”God! Just give me a break! One break!”She ran outside the tent and threw the case across the camp in frustration.CLANG!Rory stiffened and stood perfectly still for several long moments.That’s… probably not good. What did she hit?She tried to squint to see if her eyes would adjust to the darkness, desperately trying to see what she had struck with the case.Crap. That’s going to draw some attention. That was a pretty solid hit though — with any luck, I might’ve hit a water tank!Then again, with my luck, I probably hit a gigantic mine or bomb or something.Rory hesitantly pulled out her phone, fully aware of its increased value in this strange, uncharted, and possibly old-timey world. The battery was critically low, but she needed the light. She switched on the torch app and began trudging through the uneven ground, heading in the general direction where she thought the first-aid case had landed.After several meters, she spotted the bright red case lying next to a large outcropping of rock. Relieved, Rory stepped forward, but something else caught her eye—a strange glint just beyond the case, half-buried in the sand and rock.A large, round, metallic object protruded from the earth, its surface dulled by layers of desert grit and debris. What was it? Rory leaned in, brushing away some of the sand with her hand, the rough texture of metal slowly revealing itself underneath. It was large, much larger than she initially thought. The metallic surface felt cold under her fingertips despite the desert air, as if it had been dormant for a long time.Just then, her foot hit something with a soft metallic clink. Startled, she stepped back and shone the light down at the ground. There, also half-buried in the sand, was a small metal plate—no, a dog tag. Rory knelt and picked it up, holding it closer to the phone’s light. Among the faded letters and numbers, a single name stood out, embossed clearly into the metal: C. HESTON.Rory turned the tag over in her fingers, feeling a wave of unease rise in her chest. She tucked the tag into her pocket and cautiously directed her light back toward the metallic object.The more sand she brushed away, the clearer it became that this thing—whatever it was—wasn’t just a discarded piece of metal. The surface was too smooth, too curved. And as she cleared more of the debris, she realised she had only uncovered the edge of it. The rest was still buried beneath the sand, waiting.Her pulse quickened. Rory stepped back and circled the object, her torch casting long shadows over the strange, smooth surface. She placed the phone on the ground, crouched and began clearing away more sand with both hands now, uncovering more of the metallic form? What she began to uncover looked like the makings of an arm. It resembled a massive, jointed limb, its surface weathered but unmistakably not a natural formation.The desert wind howled softly as she dug deeper, uncovering grooves in the metal—elegant patterns that resembled ancient runes or circuitry. Rory’s breath caught in her throat. She had uncovered what looked like a shoulder joint, larger than her torso, attached to a wide, barrel-like torso that disappeared into the ground.Her mind raced as she stepped back again, shining her light over the slowly emerging shape. It was a machine. A colossal, humanoid machine. Rory could see it now, the contours of a massive chest plate buried deeper still, and the unmistakable shape of a face—round and featureless, save for two marbled sized dark emerald eyes —just beginning to peek through the sand.This wasn’t just a metal statue or discarded machine left behind by whatever military group had abandoned the camp. It was something more—something ancient, powerful, and forgotten. Rory’s heart pounded as she ran her fingers over the cold metal surface again, tracing the faint grooves of what looked like fingers, each one as thick as her forearm.A robot. In the desert. She had just found a robot in the desert. She cautiously lifted her fingers from the robot—the automaton—and stood back to observe.”What are you?” she muttered to no one in particular.Rory chuckled to herself. “I wish I knew more about you—about where the hell I am. This world? Draethari. Groth-kin. Groxxar. There’s already so much to be confused about… and now there’s you, tin-man.”A semi-translucent prompt window popped up in her field of vision.[Would you like to spend an ability point on Lorekeeper?]Rory jerked in surprise. She stilled herself and studied the prompt this time.What are you? A video game prompt?She stood silently and contemplated for several long moments before finally nodding.Alright, let’s try it.”Yes, spend an ability point on Lorekeeper.”The prompt window disappeared and was replaced by four others in quick succession.[Civil Skill Gained: Lorekeeper — Level 1][You have one talent, two ability, and two skill points left to allocate.][Codex Unlocked][You have found Guardian Automaton.Item Type: Legendary.Condition: Inoperative.]Rory took a few steps back, stunned by the sudden barrage of information.Is that all it takes? I can just wish for powers in this world?She paused, then raised both hands toward the automaton.”I wish I knew how to fix you.”On cue, another prompt appeared.[Would you like to spend one talent point on the talent “Machinist” or one skill point on the class “Artificer”?]”Class?” Rory muttered quietly. “Like RPG video game classes?”She drew in a quick breath, realisation hitting , and she immediately ran to the tent where Eric lay. She knelt over him and raised both hands above him, just as she had with the automaton.”I—I wish I could heal you.”[Would you like to spend one skill point on the class “Healer”?]”Yes!” she yelled at the prompt window.[New Class Unlocked: Healer (Level 1)][You have one talent, two ability, and one skill point left to allocate.][Please choose two from the following skills:Minor Cure Wounds — Restores a small amount of health to a single target, healing minor injuries like cuts, lesions, and bruises.Minor Cure Disease — Cures early-stage or minor diseases and ailments, such as fevers or infections.Rejuvenating Touch — A short-range ability that slightly restores stamina or energy to a target, relieving fatigue.Protective Aura — A weak defensive spell that grants slight resistance to physical or magical attacks for a short time, ideal for protecting a wounded ally.Bless — Grants a temporary boost to an ally’s morale, increasing their accuracy and resistance to status effects.]”Cure wounds and cure disease!” Rory blurted out hurriedly.[Skills Acquired: Minor Cure Wounds, Minor Cure Disease]A sensation swept over Rory, as if the world around her were rushing by faster and faster. Her vision became blurred, everything rushed by, and then suddenly filled with light. In moments, her mind reconciled concepts about how the body heals and fights diseases, and then, suddenly, she was back. Standing exactly where she had been before. The world hadn’t moved, but… she knew.She looked at Eric, who she had turned so that he was lying face down, and grasped the arrow with her right hand. She hovered her left hand close to the wound without touching it and inhaled deeply.This is it.Rory yanked the arrow from Eric’s back. He awoke, howling in agony, before quickly fading back into unconsciousness. She tossed the arrow aside in the same motion and brought both hands together above the wound, which was rapidly filling with blood. A golden glow emitted from her palms, growing in intensity until it was nearly blinding. Rory felt energy ebbing from her as the light poured out. She likened it to the immediate and tiring crash that occurred when the effects of caffeine wore off—except it was a quadruple shot of espresso she was crashing from.After a few seconds, which felt like an eternity to Rory, the light began to rapidly fade back into her palms. When it subsided, she tentatively kept her hands hovering above the wound—unsure of whether the skill had worked the way she imagined. Slowly, she began to part her hands to take a look, dread twisting her stomach and anxiety causing her body to shake involuntarily.It had closed! The wound had closed! Even the blood was gone. It looked like there had never been a wound there at all. Relief washed over her, and she went to shake Eric awake to tell him the good news—when she noticed his forehead was still covered with beads of sweat. Were dragon-folk warm-blooded? Irrelevant. His breathing was still laboured and raspy. Eric had a fever. Rory would need to deal with it immediately.She brought her hands back over the Draethari, this time hovering one hand over his head and the other near his torso. A less brilliant, yet soothing green light gently emitted from her palms. More energy left her, but she saw that Eric’s breathing was easing, and his body began to visibly relax. Rory finally lowered her hands as the emerald glow faded, her eyes and shoulders growing heavy with weariness.

“Wicked,” she quietly announced before collapsing backward next to Eric. As the world began to fade to dark, Rory turned her head to try to look at the dragon-man, who stirred. She smiled to herself, and the world went black.