Between Worlds

The tavern felt half-dead.
Chairs lay toppled, splinters crunching underfoot, and a sour smell of spilled ale clung to the air. Balthan dragged a bench upright with one hand, his other holding a rag pressed to a shallow cut on his arm. Rika flitted between the tables, fussing at broken tableware even though her hands were trembling. Corin sat at the counter, elbows braced against the wood, staring at nothing. And Vesh… Vesh kept the window open, arms folded, eyes scanning the street below as though expecting another raid any minute.

None of them spoke. The silence of not knowing – not knowing where she’d gone, if she’d made it, if they’d ever see her again – weighed on them heavier than the soldiers had.

Then came the sound.
A low, steady rumble from the side yard. Not hostile – something closer to… contentment. A giant’s purr.

Balthan frowned. “That’s… Kethra.”
“She doesn’t make that sound unless she’s–” Rika stopped, blinking fast.
They looked at one another. And then, without another word, all four of them moved.

The side door creaked open to the yard, where the evening light painted long stripes of gold across the stones. There, beside the stable, stood the impossible sight.

Tia.
Alive. Whole. Kneeling with both arms stretched up, palms pressed against the scaled neck of the towering Sska’veth. Kethra leaned into her like a spoiled cat, eyes half-lidded, tail swaying slow and heavy against the ground. Tia whispered something under her breath, forehead resting against the lizard’s hide.

The group froze in the doorway.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Balthan rumbled, his voice strangely rough. His grin flickered, not cocky, but caught somewhere between relief and disbelief. “You actually made it.”

Tia startled at their voices, spinning around. For a heartbeat she just stared – eyes wide, wet at the corners. And then she laughed. It broke out of her chest raw and unsteady, the kind of laugh that only barely holds back a sob.

“Y-you’re here,” she breathed. “You’re all here. I thought the soldiers–”

Rika moved first. She crashed into Tia so fast it nearly knocked her flat, arms clutching tight around her shoulders. “Don’t you ever–ever–scare me like that again!” Her voice cracked halfway, tears streaming openly down her cheeks. She clung like she never meant to let go, rocking them both side to side. “I thought–I thought–” She couldn’t even finish.

Tia hugged back just as hard. Rika’s blond fur almost suffocating her. “I’m here. I made it back.”

Corin was next, hesitating only a moment before stepping forward. His eyes were already glassy, his jaw clenched like he didn’t want them to see how close he was to crying. But when Tia reached out a hand to him, he folded into the hug too, his forehead pressing against her shoulder. “You idiot,” he muttered, though his voice shook. “Don’t vanish on us again. Please.”

Behind them, Balthan let out a long breath through his nose. He dropped the bench he’d been holding, rubbing the back of his neck. His grin tried to return, but this time it didn’t quite mask the way his chest rose and fell too fast, too heavy. He finally stepped into the huddle, one massive arm wrapping around all three of them at once.

“Told you,” he said, though softer than usual. “Told you she’d do the right thing.”

Vesh held back the longest, watching with his arms crossed, tail twitching once against the wall. His frill was tight, his face unreadable – but when Tia met his gaze over the knot of bodies, he finally exhaled. Slowly, he approached. He placed a hand on her head, careful and steady, claws grazing lightly against her hair. A lizard’s blessing, quiet but deliberate before he gave himself to the amalgamation of a proper group hug. “Welcome back,” he said, the words heavy with more than they carried on the surface.

And then there was Kethra.
The giant reptile gave a low, rumbling huff, and before Tia could react, the beast leaned forward – pressing her massive skull into the circle of them all. The force staggered them sideways, nearly toppling everyone, but the Sska’veth didn’t care. She pressed until Tia’s arms were forced wide to brace against her snout, until Balthan was laughing, until Rika squealed in surprise.

The group dissolved into messy laughter and crying all at once, crushed together beneath the shadow of their beastly companion. Balthan finally gave up holding himself back and squeezed them tighter. Rika sobbed openly into Tia’s hair. Corin refused to lift his head, though his shoulders shook. Even Vesh allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upward, his frill fluttering faintly in what passed for a smile.

For the first time since the raid – since the temple, since the soldiers, since the rumors that had painted her a heretic – Tia felt safe. Surrounded, yes, but not by spears or suspicion. Surrounded by them.

Her family.

And for a little while, that was enough.

They didn’t go back inside right away.

The sideyard was quiet except for the slow rasp of Kethra’s breathing, the creak of her claws on the stone as she shifted her weight. Tia sat against her flank, legs drawn up to her chest, fingers tracing absent circles on the warm scales. The others gathered nearby – Balthan crouched on an overturned crate, Corin perched stiffly on the low wall, Rika leaning into Tia’s side, and Vesh standing with arms folded, always half-watchful.

For a long moment, none of them spoke.

Corin broke it first, his voice pitched halfway between awe and disbelief.
“You actually… did it.” He leaned forward, eyes wide. “You left. You crossed to another world and came back. Tia, that’s– That’s not just magic. That’s–” He flung his hands wide. “That’s the kind of thing the Arcanum writes ballads about. A ‘world-bridging spell’? You pulled it off.”

Tia huffed out a shaky laugh, wiping at her eyes. “Yeah. I mean it was their scroll, but still.” Her voice caught. “Didn’t feel very heroic in the middle of it, though.”

“You kidding?” Corin said, almost grinning. “That was… damn, that was impossible. And you made it happen.”

Balthan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Impossible or not, it puts an even bigger target on her back now.” His tone was light, but his grin was tighter than usual. “The soldiers might’ve lost their chance at the plaza, but the crown? The guilds? They don’t forget things like this. The girl with a blank mark who vanishes in a blaze of light? That’ll spread faster than any rumor.”

Vesh nodded once, his tail scraping against the wall. “He’s right. You’ve humiliated them. And humiliated men with power are dangerous. The mark on your hand may be blank, it will draw more eyes. Outside of Ssarradon as well.”

Rika sniffed, scrubbing tears away with the heel of her palm. “Stop talking like that! She’s here now. She’s safe. That’s all that matters.” She curled her arm tighter around Tia’s. “I thought you were gone for good. You just– just vanished–” Her voice cracked, and she buried her face in Tia’s shoulder again. “Don’t do that to us again. Please.”

Tia rested her chin against Rika’s hair, breathing deep. She smelled like hay and smoke and soap, the real scents of this world. Her throat clenched. “I didn’t want to,” she whispered. “But I had to. It was the only way to keep them from…” She couldn’t finish the sentence – from killing her friends, from dragging them off as suspects, from breaking them apart.

Balthan’s grin faded. He watched her, eyes shadowed. “We know why you did it,” he said quietly. Rika continued for him, “and it doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to hate the risk you took.”

Tia swallowed, then forced herself to look up at all of them. “I need to tell you something. That spell. It wasn’t permanent, obviously. The spell… it was burning itself out. That’s what dragged me back here.”

Rika’s head jerked up. “W-what? You mean… it just stopped working?”

Tia nodded. Her chest ached. “I got to see them. My family. Just for a little while. And then the fire consumed the scroll whole. When it ate the parchment completely… It’s not a door I can walk through whenever I want. It was just a window.”

The words hung heavy between them. Corin’s mouth opened, then shut again. Rika’s tears started fresh. Even Balthan had no grin left, only a furrowed brow.

Then Vesh tilted his head, voice low and careful. “So you returned.”

“Of course I returned,” Tia said. Her voice came sharper than she meant. She softened it quickly. “I couldn’t just go. Not without knowing you were all safe. And…” She bit her lip. “They want to come with me. Someday. My parents, my sister – they said if there’s a way, they’d give up everything to be with me again.”

Silence. This time it was shock that held them.

“You mean–” Corin’s eyes went round. “Your family would actually leave their world? For this one?”

Tia nodded, clutching the parchment to her chest. “They don’t care about jobs or school or – any of it. They just want us together again. So… I promised I’d try. That I’d find a way to make it permanent. Not just a window. A bridge. A real one.”

Rika’s breath hitched, and then she threw her arms tighter around Tia, practically squeezing the life out of her. “That’s– That’s beautiful. Gods, Tia, you have to do it. And we’ll help you all the way through.”

Corin looked dazed, running his hands through his hair. “Bridging two worlds… that’s… that’s…” He laughed weakly, on the edge of hysteria. “That’s insane.”

“Insane,” Tia echoed. Her grin returned, but now it was wide and wolfish. “I meant every word back there. I hate this system everyone is stuck in. They painted me as a heretic, so that’s what I’ll do.”
Balthan followed up: “Exactly the kind of thing we’d follow you into.”

Tia blinked at him. “You’d… really? Even knowing what it means?”

Balthan shrugged, spreading his huge hands. “I trusted you in the plaza, didn’t I? Trusted you to do the right thing. Turns out, you did. Why stop now?”

Tia gave a dry chuckle.

Rika nodded fiercely, still clinging. “We’re with you. All the way.”

Even Vesh inclined his head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “A true bridge between worlds… If such a thing is possible, it’ll revolutionize magic arts. And it will take someone reckless enough, and stubborn enough, to force it into being.”
His gaze flicked to her.
“You fit that role better than anyone.”

Tia laughed weakly, though tears blurred her vision again. “Hell, you’re all ridiculous. And I love you for it.”

Kethra rumbled beside them, as if in agreement. The Sska’veth’s tongue flickered, tasting the air, before she nosed Tia’s shoulder gently.

The laughter and relief held them for a little while longer. Long enough to let the terror of the plaza fade, long enough to let the promise of something bigger root itself. But the shadow of reality crept back in with the cooling air.

“What about the law?” Corin asked at last, breaking the spell. “They let us go once, but… they can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. The guards, the crown – they’ll come for us again.”

He wasn’t wrong. Even Rika went quiet, clutching Tia’s sleeve.

Balthan sighed, stretching his massive arms above his head. “I’ve been wondering that too. No way they’re just giving up.”

But Vesh’s eyes glittered. “Unless they were told to.”

Tia frowned. “Told to?”

“The High Priest,” Vesh said simply. “He was there, wasn’t he? He saw you vanish. He knows what the people would make of it if you were executed. Perhaps he decided it was better to… let the story breathe on its own.”

Corin blinked. “You think he pulled strings for us?”

“I think,” Vesh said, “that he wants to see what you do next.”

A chill ran down Tia’s spine. She hugged her knees closer. The High Priest, watching her. The crown, humiliated. Two worlds waiting on her shoulders.

And yet – her friends pressed close, warm and real and alive. Kethra breathed slow and steady at her back, her scales solid against Tia’s arm.

For the first time, she didn’t feel crushed beneath the weight. She felt… carried.

“We’ll figure it out,” she whispered. And this time, she almost believed it.

With that they slowly stood up. Tia’s hand still clung to Kethra’s warm soft scales under her jaw. But with a last scratch, she said goodbye.

The tavern felt hollow without its usual crowd.
No dice clattering, no drunken laughter, no barkeep calling out for more ale. The raid had stripped the place of its noise, leaving overturned stools and a faint smell of trampled straw. Only one table remained set with bowls and cups, tucked near the hearth as though the rest of the room had been abandoned to dust.

“This feels strange,” Tia murmured, looking around at the empty benches. “Like… we’re sitting in a ghost of what it was.”

“That’s because we are,” Balthan said, already moving behind the counter to the kitchen. He worked a pan over low flame, the air hissing with oil. “But ghosts still get hungry.”

Soon the smell drifted across the room – sizzling meat, herbs sharp as pine, and a mellow sweetness that clung to the smoke. Tia’s stomach growled. It was just like their caravan days again, when the road had stretched ahead and Balthan had conjured warmth from whatever he had bought or collected along the way.

Vesh moved quietly beside him, slicing root-vegetables into precise, identical wedges. “You scorch it this time, bull, and I’m not eating.”

Balthan only snorted. “If I scorch it, it’s for flavor.”

Rika had plopped herself onto the nearest stool, chin in hands, eyes glossy from exhaustion but still soft as she watched them. “I don’t care if it’s burnt. As long as it’s ours.”

Tia lowered herself across from her, pulling her knees up for warmth. For the first time since the plaza, she felt the knots in her chest start to loosen.

Dinner became a rhythm. Bowls passed, spoons dipped, the crackle of fire replaced the chatter the soldiers had stolen. Tia found herself eating faster than she realized, sweetgrain mash sticking to her spoon, fish crisped on the edges melting on her tongue.

And with the food came words.

“Ellis,” Rika whispered, breaking the quiet. “Do you think… do you think they’ll punish her? For seeing us?”

Silence fell again, heavier than before. Corin clenched his spoon until his knuckles whitened. “She chose to side with us. The crown won’t forgive that.”

Vesh’s frill twitched. “Maybe. Or maybe they’ll use her as an example – parade her through the courts, condemn her in words instead of chains. Politics prefers performance to blood. Most of the time.”

Balthan grunted, chewing slowly. “She’s strong. Whatever comes, Ellis will fight through it. But don’t mistake strength for safety.”

Tia lowered her bowl. A part of her wanted to argue – to insist Ellis would find her own way. But the truth was heavier. She had no idea what awaited her friend. Only that her name now carried the same shadow as Tia’s did.

Talk drifted. Mystikos came up next, his strange grin, his cryptic riddles.

“I can’t wait to see his face when he hears where we’ve been,” Tia said, trying to smile. “The Arcanum. Actual archwizards. And they gave us a scroll.”

Corin leaned forward eagerly, eyes bright even in the dim light. “He’ll lose his mind. Probably demand to examine it first-hand.”

“He’ll scold you,” Vesh corrected. “For surviving without his help. And then scold you again for not bringing him.”

Tia laughed – a thin, shaky sound, but laughter all the same.

By the time the bowls were half-empty and the fire was dimming, the talk turned heavier again. Futures. What lay past tomorrow.

“They’ll keep hunting us,” Balthan said, blunt as always. “Taverns raided, roads watched. We won’t have peace again.”

“Then we don’t look for peace,” Tia answered quietly. Her hands curled around the warm wood of her bowl. “We look for change. The system broke the second I stepped into this world. It has to. And if it takes me… finding another spell, something stronger, to prove that destiny isn’t rigid, then I’ll do it.”

Corin’s gaze softened. “You’d try again? Even after today?”

“I have to.” She swallowed. “I saw my family. I can’t just let that be the last time. They want to be with me. And maybe… maybe the only way to make that possible is to break everything holding this world in place. Fate. Marks. Crowns. All of it.”

The table went quiet. Then Rika reached across, taking her hand. Her palm was warm, sticky with mash, trembling. “Then we’ll help you. Every step.”

Balthan grinned, tusks catching the firelight. “Didn’t doubt it for a second.”

Vesh allowed himself the smallest nod, his frill flattening again as though hiding approval.

Tia looked around the table – at all of them, worn, tired, bruised, but still here. Her throat thickened. Whatever came next, she wouldn’t face it alone.

For the first time that day, she let herself believe they might win.

The tavern’s fire had burned down to coals by the time they finally pushed themselves away from the table. Bowls sat stacked in a lazy pile, half-cleaned, spoons clinking whenever someone shifted. No one had the heart to wash them.

They climbed the stairs in a slow procession, their feet dragging on the worn steps. The tavern above was as silent as the hall below, shutters barred, streets outside muffled by midnight. Tia trailed behind, feeling the weight of every creak in the wood, every shadow stretching across the landing.

Their room was just as they’d left it, though the soldiers had clearly rifled through things – blankets tossed aside, packs half-open, a chair knocked over. Corin righted it without a word. Rika went immediately to the window, tugging at the latch to check it hadn’t been broken. Balthan lit the stub of a candle, flame flickering as he set it on the floorboards.

No one talked much as they readied for bed. Clothes stacked in the corner. Boots kicked off. Vesh, ever methodical, shook out his bedroll before lying down on it, frill twitching once before stilling. Rika crawled under her blanket, cocooning herself like a child, only her head peeking out. Balthan stretched out on the pallet nearest the door, arms folded across his chest like a sentinel. Corin claimed the far cot next to Rika’s, setting his red tome within easy reach before rolling onto his side.

Tia sat last, easing onto her own thin mattress, watching them. Her strange little family – mismatched, rough around the edges, but hers.

The room smelled faintly of woodsmoke and the stew Balthan had cooked, lingering warmth pressed into the floorboards. She let herself breathe it in. This wasn’t her home, not like the dining room she had just left, but it was still a home.

Her mind, though, wouldn’t still.

Images turned over and over like pages in a storm. Her mother’s smile through tears, her father’s steady hand on her shoulder, her sister’s cracked voice trying to keep her cool and failing. The way the parchment had burned no matter what they did, and the weight of her last words before light tore her away.

Then her gaze shifted to the ones around her now – Balthan’s quiet strength, Vesh’s sharp gaze, Rika’s open heart, Corin’s stubborn resolve. She could still feel their arms around her from earlier, the shock and joy when she reappeared. Both families etched into her chest, pulling in different directions but somehow not breaking her apart.

No – she wouldn’t let them.

She thought of Ellis too, dragged back to the Crown’s side in chains of duty or law, her fate uncertain. She thought of Mystikos, likely pacing some candlelit room, ready to lose his mind when he learned what they’d done without him. She thought of Corin’s looming knighthood, that gilded cage he’d one day be called back into.

It all spun together, a tangle of questions and promises. None of it had answers yet. But maybe that was fine. Tonight wasn’t for answers. Tonight was for breathing. For resting in the presence of those she still had.

Tia lay down, pulling the thin blanket up to her chin. The candle flickered low, then guttered out, leaving only the faint blue glow of the arch outside the window. Shadows softened, the steady sound of her companions’ breaths filling the quiet.

Her eyes stung, but she didn’t cry. Not now. Not when the fire in her chest burned too bright to let her collapse. She would find another way back. Not just to visit, but to stay. To make the impossible permanent. To break the system that told her who she was supposed to be, and replace it with the life she wanted – one where she could have both families, both homes, and finally do what she loved without chains.

Sleep pressed in at the edges of her thoughts. She let it, holding tight to that single determination like a lantern.

For now, I am still here. With them. And that’s enough.