A short time before...

Ophelia’s mouth tasted like sulfur and ozone as she pushed herself to standing. Her axe was in her hand as soon as she saw movement, and she raised it, ready to block an attack with the haft, but paused, then took in her surroundings.

Trees. Forest. Green, lush, overgrown. Not familiar, but Ophelia didn’t frequent those kinds of places, so it wasn’t too odd. She did, however, notice the density of magic in the air. This was definitely the old world. Not good, she’d have monster hunters on her ass if anyone got wind of her presence. Worse, Declan probably had more resources here. Fuck.

No one else was around at a glance, so the chaos that got her here had scattered her allies, which was also bad. No Aoife to do her weird ghost magic, no Tyler to be a leader, no Torik to keep her grounded, no Jade or Isaac… she hoped they were all okay.

A pained groan got her attention, so she pivoted, lifting her axe again. She was tensed, wound like a spring to strike, and quickly found her potential target.

Ozyris Grimm, prone on the ground, shifting in pain, her silver plate armor half-missing and showing the gambeson and chain beneath. The silver plating was shredded where it had been torn apart. Half of her breastplate, one full sleeve and gauntlet, and one full leg and boot had all been ripped away somehow.

“Grimm, explain why I shouldn’t take your head off right now,” Ophelia said, lifting a foot to slam it down in the center of Ozyris’s back and pin her to the ground.

For a moment, she just groaned in reply. She planted her hands on the ground and they glowed bright white, then Ophelia couldn’t see. She felt weight shift and was briefly pushed upward. When her foot fell again, she met dirt and grass, not metal, and swore.

“I’m not your enemy,” came the raspy voice of the Grimm sister, weak and wavering. “I don’t want to fight you, Ophelia.”

Ophelia’s vision came back slowly, but when she could see again her eyes locked on Ozyris. The elf was braced against an oak tree, leaning on it with her sword piercing the trunk. Her face was streaked with dirt, blood running from her ear, eyes half-lidded, and she was favoring the side that was missing armor.

After reflecting on her own pains - a deep ache in her muscles but otherwise just dirty - Ophelia lowered her axe. “I don’t think you could.”

Ozyris sighed, her face pinched with pain. “My brother-”

“Yeah, shut it, Ozyr-”

“Ozzie,” the elf cut Ophelia off. “Please, just call me Oz or Ozzie.”

That ever-so-briefly stunned Ophelia. “Uh. Yeah, okay.”

“That aside,” Ozzie muttered, tilting her head back, “you’re correct. I have a few broken ribs, a damaged eardrum, and every muscle feels like I tore it. I couldn’t win a fight if I wanted one.” With a grunt and no small difficulty, she pulled her longsword from the tree and swung it upward at a low-hanging branch. She narrowly missed and sighed, closing her eyes.

“What are you doing?” Ophelia asked, approaching slowly and carefully.

“Can you take down that branch? I can shape it, but I need you to cut it down so I can use it as a staff.” Ozzie shifted so her back was against the tree. “I may also have a sprained ankle.”

“And why, pray tell, should I help the brother of my literal worst enemy?” Ophelia asked, but she was already calculating the swing it would take to cut down the branch. It wouldn’t need much shaping, just a trim to cut off the leaves and smaller branches.

“I think we’re near Lynndal, based on the geography of the immediate area. We can find my mother there, she can help you find and stop my brother.” Ozzie grimaced and put a hand to her side.

“...got it. Didn’t answer my question.” Ophelia lifted the axe.

“I hate him. He… well, he-” The axe met the branch, the branch fell and hit the ground in front of Ozzie. “He’s the cause of many problems. We don’t need to be friends, but I can help you. I never wanted to help him.” The elf touched her neck, where it almost looked like she had a healing burn. Then, she leaned over with a groan, picked up the branch, and started hacking away smaller branches and leaves with her sword. A moment later, she had a serviceable walking staff.

“Alright, Ozzie, lead the way.” Ophelia gestured vaguely with her axe. “I still don’t fully trust you.”

“Good. You shouldn’t.” Ozzie started walking, each step pained and deliberate. “But I can assure you that my mother will help you.”

Ophelia let that hang in the air as they walked, waiting at least a few steps before letting the questions start to spill out. “Who’s your mom? Why is she able to help? Why would she let us go after her son?”

The elf barked out a laugh, winced, and picked up the pace, leaning heavily on the branch. “My mother is Lady Farryn Elnore. Elvish archmage of the Prism College in Lynndal.” That was all Ozzie provided, which left Ophelia to mull it over.

The Prism College rang a bell, some kind of fancy wizard school. So that meant the mother of her fucking nemesis was an archmage. Terrifying, but at the same time, apparently she would help take Declan down. It wasn’t like Ophelia could do anything but trust her. If anything, maybe this Lady Farryn could help her find her friends. Find Isaac.

They walked. It was slow, painfully slow for Ophelia. She was tall, and as such had a long natural stride, so keeping a slower pace made her uncomfortable. As time stretched on, and they’d been walking long enough for the sun to dip toward the horizon, Ozzie only got slower, fatigued by her pain and exertion.

After one too many sighs of annoyance from Ophelia, Ozzie spoke up. “If you wish, you can leave me behind. I’ll be slow, but if you keep walking in this direction you’ll hit a road in… a few hours. From there, you’ll at least be on track to find civilization.”

“But I need you to get what I want,” Ophelia replied, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. She failed.

“Then deal with my injury, hellbeast,” Ozzie snapped, then winced. “Sorry, sorry, I don’t mean it. I’m just in a lot of pain. I’m as frustrated as you are.”

Ophelia bit back the insult she was going to use in reply to Ozzie’s jab and decided to be the bigger person. She considered the situation, then knelt in front of the elf. “Wrap your arms around my neck. Won’t put strain on your leg and I can carry you.”

Ozzie hesitated.

“Or I can pick you up in my arms like you’re a princess. Might be more comfortable, but also embarrassing. Your call, Oz.” Ophelia shrugged and held out her arms.

Ozzie stared, a deep fatigue in her eyes, then sighed. “Okay. Just… please don’t hurt me.” Her voice was small, her body withdrawn as she entered Ophelia’s reach.

That… hurt. Not in a personally offensive way, but it hurt for Ozzie to assume Ophelia was going to hurt her. A reasonable fear, but… Ophelia wasn’t going to kick her while she was down.

In one smooth motion, Ophelia picked Ozzie up, one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, easily holding her in a princess carry. The elf let out a startled yelp, dropping the branch, and wincing in pain, but she breathed out slowly and composed herself. Ophelia tucked her boot under the branch and kicked it up, catching it and carefully passing it to Ozzie.

Wordlessly, they kept on, but Ophelia started at a jog. She was strong, she was fit. She kept up her higher pace, heading in the direction Ozzie had indicated. Already, she felt better, ready to run straight to Lynndal, no matter how long it took.

That begged the question, what did the city of Lynndal even look like? Ophelia wasn’t terribly familiar with most mortal cities. Was it walled, like many human cities? Was it built on a mountain? Lynndal sounded more like an elvish city, and mountaintop building sounded like a dwarf thing. Maybe it was all trees and stuff. Ophelia didn’t really know any elves.

“So, what should I be-” Ophelia cut herself off as she looked down at the woman in her arms, realizing abruptly that Ozzie was out cold. Probably the fatigue of everything, if Ophelia had to guess.

For the injured woman’s sake, Ophelia stayed quiet and kept walking.