Chapter 5 Return to the City

Kai walked through the streets of the kingdom, having reentered through one of the outer gates. The guards let him pass without issue but lingered a moment longer on Skye, their eyes scrutinizing her in a way that made Kai’s stomach tighten. He noticed—but made sure not to show it. It was clear now. The beastfolk were treated differently here.

Even in this supposed dream escape, discrimination had wormed its way in. A bitter thought crossed his mind—if only he could have left that part behind in the real world.

He thought of those moments in his classroom, watching kids turn cruel when they sensed weakness. He remembered the administrators who turned away, choosing data and policy over people. He’d tried to protect those who couldn’t fight back. And every time, he’d paid the price.

He clenched his fists. Different world, same rot underneath.

A parade wound its way through the streets, a grand display celebrating the adventurers who had vanquished the Demon Lord. People cheered and clapped as a makeshift float—a simple horse-drawn carriage—rolled past. Atop it, the so-called heroes basked in the applause, waving, blowing kisses, and reveling in the adoration of the masses.

Kai scoffed under his breath. Hypocrites.

He glanced at Skye. “Do you miss that?” he asked. “Would you want to be—”

Before he could finish, she pulled her hood over her face and quickened her pace, brushing past him without a word.

Under her hood, Skye’s ears flattened tight against her skull. The cheers of the crowd felt like knives. Once, she’d believed that applause meant she was safe. That the world saw her as one of the heroes. Now all she heard in the roar of the crowd were echoes of her old teammates calling her worthless. A pretty pet to decorate the group.

Don’t look at them, she told herself. Don’t let them see you’re trembling.

A sudden, humiliating memory rose unbidden: the night her team threw her into a freezing river as a “joke.” She’d nearly drowned. They’d laughed until sunrise.

She felt Kai’s eyes on her, and her throat closed up. He didn’t need to know. No one did.

Kai watched her for a moment, then exhaled sharply. He didn’t need an answer.

“We’re here.”

Skye pointed toward a wrought iron-clad stone hut, thick smoke billowing from its makeshift exhaust ports. The place reeked of burning metal and soot, a blacksmith’s domain through and through.

“That’s where we... used to get our weapons,” she said, her voice quieter than usual.

Skye looked away, tracing the edge of the building with her eyes.

“I used to think the smell of the forge meant I belonged here,” she murmured. “The sparks, the noise… it made me feel like I was part of something bigger. Like I mattered.”

Her voice dropped. “But they never let me pick out my own blades. I was only allowed to carry the ones they gave me. Small, light. Easy to replace.”

Kai nodded and strode ahead, but after a few steps, he glanced over his shoulder. Skye hadn’t moved. She stood at the edge of the street, hesitating.

“Kid, you okay?” he asked. It was one of the first times he had shown genuine concern for another person since arriving in this world. Damn it, he thought. I can’t let that happen.

Skye made no reply. She simply stood there, waiting.

“I’ll be back,” Kai said with a sigh before pushing open the heavy iron door.

Inside, a cacophony of hammering, sizzling metal, and shouted orders filled the air. Smiths moved like clockwork, crafting weapons, armor, and the occasional household fixture. Heat radiated from the forges, making the air thick and stifling.

Even here, Kai noted how the workers barely glanced his way. Most were dwarves or beastfolk—thick arms, sooty faces, hair bound back with leather. Each blow of the hammer seemed to echo with centuries of tradition.

At least these people make things that last, Kai thought. Unlike a bureaucracy that only makes excuses.

Kai approached the nearest worker. “I need to speak to the owner.”

A grizzled old dwarf emerged from behind a workbench, wiping soot from his face. His beard was singed at the edges, and his eyes had the sharp glint of someone who had seen far too much.

“What do ye want, stranger? I’ve no time for idle chatter, so make it quick.”

Of course, Kai thought. What else would he expect from a blacksmith in his dreamscape?

“I need a metal barrel and a sturdy grate big enough to hold it. I need to stoke a fire underneath.”

The dwarf raised a bushy eyebrow. “Odd request, that. What exactly are ye plannin’?”

Before Kai could answer, a commotion erupted outside, loud enough to cut through even the hammering and grinding of the smithy. Shouts and jeers filled the air.

The dwarf scowled. “I think yer animal’s causin’ a scene, stranger. Best ye handle it before things get ugly.”

Kai’s hands clenched into fists.

In the real world, this would be the moment he lost his temper. This would be the moment he grabbed some idiot by the throat for standing in his way. But this wasn’t the real world. This was his world. And he wasn’t about to let that same cycle repeat itself.

Breathe. Don’t let them see it.

Kai forced himself to relax his fingers. He reminded himself of the countless times he’d stood in front of a classroom, fists balled under the desk, when parents accused him of failing their children. Those times he’d swallowed his rage.

Here… he wasn’t sure he wanted to swallow it anymore.

Without another word, he turned and stepped outside.

A small crowd had formed in the street, watching as two guards loomed over Skye. She stood still, her ears pinned back beneath her hood, fists clenched at her sides. One of the guards prodded her shoulder with the hilt of his weapon.

“What’s the matter, cat? Lost your owner?” the guard sneered. A few onlookers chuckled.

Kai’s jaw tightened. That old, familiar anger bubbled up in his chest.

He remembered students whispering “beaner” in the hallways, thinking he wouldn’t hear. He remembered a vice principal who’d once told him to “toughen up—it’s just kids being kids.”

It wasn’t just kids. It was everyone who thought cruelty was harmless.

Not here. Not now.

He stepped forward, forcing himself to keep his voice light. “There you are,” he said, placing a hand on Skye’s shoulder. “Didn’t I tell you to wait inside?”

Skye nearly flinched from his touch. But she forced herself to stay still, trembling only slightly beneath his hand. Something in Kai’s calm voice held her there, a thin thread of safety she didn’t dare pull away from.

The guards turned to him, their sneers faltering.

“You know this one?” one asked.

“Of course,” Kai replied smoothly. His grip on Skye’s shoulder tightened slightly. “She’s with me. Now, if we’re done here, we’ll be on our way.”

The guards exchanged looks but seemed unwilling to escalate things further. One scoffed. “Keep your pet on a leash next time.”

Kai didn’t respond. He simply turned and walked away, keeping a firm hand on Skye’s shoulder until they were well clear of the crowd.

“You okay?” he muttered once they reached a quieter street.

Skye hesitated before answering, her voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Kai sighed. “Yeah. I did.”

She looked at him then, studying his face as if seeing him for the first time.

Skye swallowed hard. “If you keep doing that… they’re going to come after you, too.”

Kai shrugged. “I’ve been hunted before.”

“Why risk it?” she whispered.

He met her eyes. “Because someone should.”

For a moment, her eyes shone as if she wanted to say more. Instead, she dropped her gaze to the street, a quiet, bitter smile tugging at her lips.

Kai shoved his hands into his coat pockets and looked away. Damn it. He was getting involved again.

Kai exhaled sharply.

Now what? The blacksmith wasn’t an option anymore, and finding someone else to fulfill his order seemed like a hassle. But this was his world—his imagination, his rules. Surely, if he wanted something to happen, he could will it into existence.

That’s how things worked in dreams, right?

Back in the real world, Kai had often imagined himself as the hero of his own stories. It was his escape from a life that felt… wasted. A life where the only real choices left seemed to be either starting over or ending it entirely. This dream—this world—was a second chance. If he could keep it going, he would.

He thought of the stories he’d once scribbled in the margins of his lesson plans, pages torn from a spiral notebook stained with coffee rings. Heroes who fought for the voiceless. Adventures where he wasn’t powerless.

He’d never thought he’d actually get the chance to be one.

As he walked, he caught his reflection in the glass of a shop window. His face stared back at him, that of a man in his mid-forties, though his heart clung stubbornly to the naive ambition of his nineteen-year-old self. At least here, he still had his hair.

In the real world, it had thinned, receded—another cruel reminder of time slipping through his fingers. His dwindling looks, his dead-end life, his nonexistent love life… It all crushed him. He had thought about leaving it behind permanently more times than he cared to admit. But his Catholic upbringing had drilled one thing into him—suicide was a sin. If he couldn’t bring himself to do it, he’d at least prayed that God would take him instead.

No such luck.

He felt eyes on him.

“There’s another place we could go,” Skye said hesitantly.

Kai turned to her.

“But… it’s in the beastfolk district,” she added. “No human ever wants to go there. Much less buy anything.”

She looked away, as if regretting the suggestion.

Kai studied her for a moment before speaking.

“Let’s go,” he said simply. “I’ll follow you.”

Skye blinked. She hadn’t expected him to agree so easily. Everyone else recoiled at the mention of the beastfolk district—too dirty, too dangerous, too… other.

“It’s… not pretty,” she said.

Kai tilted his head. “Neither am I.”

A small, surprised laugh slipped from Skye’s lips, vanishing almost as quickly as it came.

Skye blinked, caught off guard. Then, quickly, she adjusted her posture, as if embarrassed. She turned and walked ahead.

As they made their way through the streets, a group of young noblemen laughed among themselves. They stood outside a lavish café, their expensive coats draped over their shoulders in that effortless way that screamed privilege. They weren’t doing anything at first—just drinking, talking, enjoying their comfortable lives.

Then one of them threw a piece of bread. It struck a beastfolk woman on the shoulder. Another followed, this time aimed at a young boy gripping his mother’s hand. The mother flinched but kept walking, her head down.

Skye’s ears twitched, but she remained steadfast.

Kai clenched his fists.

Now he understood. Now he saw why she didn’t pledge loyalty to the adventurers. Why would she? They had never protected her. They had emotionally—and likely physically—abused her.

Skye swallowed hard, her claws flexing at her sides. She felt Kai’s heat beside her, like a wall holding back a tide. Part of her wanted him to keep walking, to leave it alone. Another part of her—a part she thought she’d buried—wanted him to tear these men apart.

He knew that feeling.

He had been gaslit before. He had been hit before. And somehow, he had always been the one to take the blame. His wife had said she was afraid. She had said it was self-defense. As if that made it okay.

He’d once stood in a kitchen as his wife screamed at him, accusing him of things he hadn’t done, her hands red where she’d struck him. He’d stared at the tiles, counting the cracks, trying not to shout back.

Never again.

A pebble sailed through the air.

Then another.

And another.

The thugs had moved on from food to rocks.

Kai watched as a particularly large one hurtled toward the beastfolk child.

Before it could land, Kai stepped forward and took the hit instead.

Skye’s breath caught. She’d seen humans turn away a thousand times. Never step forward.