The trees behind them were still burning after they fought the wyvern. It wasn't enough to reach them, so they gathered in front of Ivan.
Eldarion's brows lifted in surprise as the battered, bloodied figure staggered upright—leaning heavily against the tree with a fresh arm that shouldn't have healed so quickly. Wobbling like a newborn fawn, barely able to keep upright, yet somehow… standing.
Then, in a motion so unexpected it cut through the haze of ash and smolder, the boy bowed.
Low. Deep. With the solemnity of a mourning priest and the humility of a servant before a king.
Eldarion blinked. Then squinted. Then grinned. "Oh-ho! Look at that," he muttered, shifting his weight off his staff. "A bow. Proper posture and everything. Who says manners are dead?"
"Well," he continued, clapping his hands together, "I suppose a thank-you like that warrants a proper charge."
He took a dramatic step forward. "Three fireballs, one barrier spell, half my beard, and all of my patience... I'd say that comes to—oh, let's call it twelve silver and a bottle of something that burns worse than dragon breath."
The boy, predictably, looked confused.
Eldarion raised a single brow in mock patience. "Oh, come now, don't play dumb. I know you've got some kind of currency in that little summoning trick of yours—pull it out of your chest like you do your thunder toys."
And then—SMACK. A hand thudded against the side of his receding head.
"Eldarion!" Elara snapped, stepping beside him with a glare that could split stone. "You old goat! Charging him after he almost died?"
Eldarion stumbled slightly from the blow, rubbing the spot with a half-hearted grumble. "Oh hush, girl. I'm only half serious."
Elara's eyes narrowed. "And which half is that, exactly?"
He threw his arms up with exaggerated offense. "The charitable half, of course! Helping the wounded is its own reward, didn't you hear me say that?" He turned back to the boy and added in a theatrical whisper, "I only charge the ones who live."
The boy, of course, stared at them with wide, uncertain eyes—no idea what was being said, yet clearly sensing the shift in energy.
And then, just as Eldarion began to wave it off and return to grumbling about his burned beard, the boy did it again—reached into himself. That strange, shimmering ripple of energy parted across his chest, and from it, he pulled a gleaming gold chain—fine links, delicate craftsmanship, polished so brightly it gleamed in the patchy sunlight.
He stepped forward, weak but deliberate, and placed it gently in Eldarion's open palm.
The old mage blinked. Then he laughed—loud and genuine, the kind of laugh that curled into his ribs and shook the ash from his lungs.
"Well then!" he said, holding the chain up like a prize. "Payment received!"
"You greedy codger!" Elara barked, smacking him again, this time on the shoulder. "He probably just gave you his most prized possession!"
"And now it's my most prized possession," Eldarion replied cheerfully, looping it around his wrist like a bracelet. "It suits me, doesn't it? Makes me look... exotic."
"You look more like a homeless old man than a wizard," she sighs, rolling her eyes. Eldarion chuckled, shaking his head in amusement at her teasing.
"And you sound jealous," Eldarion said with satisfaction.
"I could burn that thing off you," Elara retaliated, clearly pissed off by his response.
"Please do! I've already lost half my facial hair—let's balance the symmetry." Eldarion grinned, knowing he had successfully gotten under Elara's skin.
While the two bickered like lifelong rivals or old, stubborn siblings, Ivan simply watched—confused. He might not have understood a word, but they seemed to have a deep bond that surpassed their banter.
"Please, enough with the bickering," their leader Gareth interjected, trying to diffuse the tension between Elara and Eldarion despite being the youngest of the group. Gareth knew that their dynamic was a mix of competitiveness and fellowship, or even just banter, but it was important to keep it in check during their mission.
"Elara," Gareth said firmly, "can you do something to help this foreigner? You're always the one with the most patience when it comes to newcomers."
With a sigh, Elara reached into her bag, pulled out a small piece of parchment, and wrote down a few runes using her quill. "This might be embarrassing," she said to her companions.
"Just do it, Elara!" shouted the old mage, urging her to finish the task at hand. Elara hesitated for a moment before babbling in Elven slurs and continuing to put the parchment on the young man's forehead, then putting her forehead against his. The young man flinched needlessly, resisting the contact, but the elf's grip remained strong and firm. After a few moments, a bright light enveloped them both.
"There," Elara said with a satisfied smile, slightly blushing as she removed the parchment from the young man's forehead. "The spell is complete."
"My head still hurts," the young man blurted out, rubbing his temples as he tried to shake off the lingering effects of the spell.
"Young man," the leader of the party said sternly. "Can you understand us now?"
"Yes, yeah? I think," he replied, his voice sounding slightly confused. "I can understand you."
The leader nodded in approval, satisfied that the spell had worked successfully.
Ivan stole a confused glance at Elara, who was studiously avoiding eye contact. A faint blush crept up her neck, dusting her pointed ears a rosy pink.
"It seems like someone has a new best friend," the old mage rasped, his voice laced with a mischievous glint.
Elara then turned her head around, her emerald-green eyes flashing with embarrassment. "Don't be ridiculous, Eldarion!" she snapped.
Eldarion chuckled, a dry rasp escaping his lips. "Oh, come now, Elara. Don't tell me you weren't the least bit surprised by the success of the spell. Perhaps you were hoping for a more… permanent connection?"
Elara tugged at his burnt beard, pulling a scream from the mage. "Your jokes are getting far too sharp for your old bones, Eldarion!"
"Ow! Ow! Release my treasured beard, you green-clad menace! I may be old, but my wit is as sharp as ever!" Eldarion sputtered, clutching at his beard with exaggerated pain.
A wry smile played on Ivan's lips as he watched the elf and the mage bicker like old rivals. The human warrior, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed by the chaos. He stepped closer, heavy boots crunching softly over the scattered leaves.
"Ignore them," the warrior said, voice low and gravelly. He nodded toward the mage. "That's Eldarion." Then to the elf, "And that's Elara. They've been at each other's throats for nearly four months now. Honestly, I'm convinced it's just their way of bonding."
Ivan blinked. "…Wait. Are you saying that's, like, flirting?"
The warrior grinned. "Kinda. I was joking. Mostly, who knows? It's a weird world."
Ivan chuckled, eyebrows raised. "Not sure that's the mental image I needed—an old man and an elf in a shouting match as foreplay."
Gareth laughed—a hearty, unbothered sound. "You'll get used to it. Arguing isn't exactly a cultural thing here... just something those two are extremely good at."
He extended his fist toward Ivan. "In Spei, we greet newcomers with our fists. It's an old warrior's gesture—whether friend or foe."
Ivan, still smiling, bumped fists without hesitation. "Ivan. And… cool. I honestly didn't expect a fist bump after almost dying next to that deagon." He pointed toward the massive, motionless body nearby.
"That?" Eldarion chimed in, finally wriggling free of Elara's grip. "That's not a dragon, lad. It's a wyvern—a lesser cousin. Two legs, wings for arms, and far less clever than a true dragon."
He brushed ash from his robes and smirked. "You'll want to remember that, And get used to surprises while you're at it. Around here, even elves can be as dangerous as goblins when they're angry."
Right on cue, Elara swatted at him again. He ducked just in time, laughing as he retreated behind Gareth. The wyvern's corpse still smoked behind them, its lifeless form draped over the scorched clearing like a warning. The battle had ended, but the party hadn't really settled. Not yet.
Elara was muttering under her breath, still red around the ears, while Eldarion poked at the wyvern's carcass with his staff like a child testing if the monster would jump back to life.
Somewhere between the two of them, Gareth stood with his arms crossed, one brow twitching as their antics escalated again. And then—he snapped.
"Enough!" Gareth's voice boomed across the clearing like a war horn. Making Eldarion flinch mid-poke, and Elara as she's about to open her mouth, even Ivan straightened slightly, noticing the change in atmosphere. Gareth's eyes blazed with authority as he commanded.
Gareth, clearly done with all of it, rubbed his temples like a man far older than his age, despite being the youngest of his party. "Now, everyone—gather up." He pointed to a fallen log near the edge of the clearing. "We're doing this like grown adults. Sit. Or at least stand still."
There were a few exchanged glances and some grumbles, but slowly, the party shuffled together. Elara crossed her arms and leaned on a tree. Eldarion perched on the log. The warrior stood to the side, arms folded, impassive as ever. Ivan stood last, still unsure if this was some serious meeting or just another one of the leader's lectures that tended to go on for longer than necessary.
Gareth looked at Ivan, his expression softening. "Alright. Let's take this seriously." His tone dropped to something calm and sincere. "We just saved your life, And I think you saved ours, in some strange way, by distracting that wyvern long enough for us to flank it."
Gareth held up a hand to silence the mage before continuing. "we've seen too many strange things today to just let it go without questions. is there something you're hiding?" The weapon you used, The way you pulled it out of your chest, and The fact that you were alone in the forest without even a parent around to explain it all. We need answers, Ivan."
He met Ivan's eyes, earnest. And asked, "Who are you, And why are you here?"
The others stayed quiet—for once. Even Eldarion's smirk faded. Ivan looked around, uncertain, then down at his hands. The forest was quiet now, just the wind threading through the leaves.
He let out a slow breath. "It's... more complicated than that."
"We've plenty of time," Gareth said simply. "My party will be establishing a camp here to salvage any valuable items from the wyvern and to provide evidence for our evaluation as class B adventurers."
The smell of burning wood still lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of damp leaves and smoke. The group sat in a loose circle now, the mood more subdued than before. Ivan stood, fingers fidgeting against the hem of his torn tunic. The silence stretched uncomfortably as all eyes remained on him—waiting.
He hesitated, then gave a nervous laugh. "Okay. So... You're really not going to believe me."
Eldarion raised a brow, leaning back against the log like a man settling in for a good story. "Try us," he said, his tone surprisingly gentle despite the usual mischief in his voice.
Ivan looked at him—then at Elara, then at Gareth. The warrior. Even the quiet forest seemed to listen. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright. I... blew my cover saving you guys, so maybe it's fair if I ask something in return."
He paused. "Please don't tell anyone about what I can do. Not yet. I want to live in this world as... just a runaway. Some orphan kid who got lucky. That's the story I want people to believe."
Gareth leaned forward, brows furrowed. "Why?"
"Because," Ivan said, his voice quiet now, cringing from what he's about to say, "I'm not from this world."
Everyone fell silent , absorbing Ivan's words. The realization of his otherworldly origins hung heavy in the air, leaving Gareth and the others speechless. They exchanged knowing glances, understanding the weight of Ivan's request for secrecy.
"I come from a world known as earth, a place with no magic, No wyverns, No spell-things, or some real mages to make life simpler. Just buildings, machines, and... people. Lots of them. Busy, noisy, always looking down at these glowing rectangles in their hands." he pulled a phone out of his pocket and waved it in his hand.
"Kid," Gareth said, putting his hand on his forehead as if he had a headache, "You're not making any sense. You're going to need more explaining than just talking." he continued, "this world is called earth. "