In another place, at the same time...

Ophelia drank from the canteen she’d been lucky enough to be carrying when she was warped between worlds. It’d been refilled a few times, but they’d passed some streams. One ran by the path, so they were only a few hundred feet from it if she needed to get more. She could drink it straight, demons didn’t have to worry about sterilizing it, but elves were daintier than that, so she’d already boiled water a few times for the injured Ozzie to drink.

Off in the distance, glittering like a thousand fiery stars, was Lynndal. Breaking any of Ophelia’s expectations, it was actually a network of connected islands, floating in the fucking sky. Because that was a reasonable, normal thing that mortals made. It was connected to the ground by heavy chains and some kind of magic elevator, according to Ozzie.

The elf in question was out cold a short distance from the campfire, head resting on Ophelia’s rolled up jacket. She was sweating, but Ophelia couldn’t tell if Ozzie was overheating or was ill. It was kind of warm, sure, but Ophelia never had a good grasp on temperature when the weather was hot. At the same time, Ozzie was still wearing a ton of metal and thick cloth, sure to overheat someone even in cold weather. It couldn't be good for her, especially recovering from the injuries she was dealing with.

Ophelia sighed, set aside the canteen, and walked over to the sleeping elf. Ophelia started unfastening the armor, pulling off the shredded and mangled silver plating.

Ozzie stirred. “Wh… what are you…?” She murmured, weakly slapping at Ophelia’s hand.

“You look like you’re baking in your armor. I’m getting it off of you,” Ophelia explained as she clumsily pulled away the half-gone breastplate. “It’s warm out, and you’re near the fire…”

Ozzie made a sound somewhere between annoyance and acceptance. She sat up slowly, hissing in pain and holding her side. She slowly looked at Ophelia, eyes wet and tears cutting tracks through the blood and dirt on her cheeks. Tears from what, Ophelia wasn’t sure, but the woman had to be in a lot of pain. “Not a word to anyone,” she said, voice thick with sleep and shaky with nerves.

Ophelia nodded instantly. Secrets were sacred to her. “Of course.”

With a bit of difficulty and a lot of time, Ophelia helped Ozzie to strip off the plate armor, then pulled the remains of the chain shirt over her head, then helped her out of the heavy, thick gambeson. She was left in a snug tank-top, showing the broad tapestry of scarring on her upper body. Her whole left arm was scarred, as if burned, up to her shoulder and disappearing under her clothing. She had similar battle damage to Ophelia as well, a network of slashes and stabs visible on her other arm and her abdomen where her shirt had ridden up slightly.

She’d seen real combat. Ophelia had to reevaluate her idea of this elf.

Ozzie pulled off the armor around her hips and reached down to start prying off what remained of her leg armor. She stopped abruptly, a sharp hiss slipping from her lips. “Fuck,” she muttered, staring balefully at her leg. “I can’t bend over that much.”

“I’ve got you,” Ophelia replied, carefully undoing the fastens and peeling off the armor.

Finally, stripped out of the heat-trapping, heavy elements of her armor, Ozzie laid back again, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Are you okay?” Ophelia asked, uncertain.

“Cooler,” Ozzie said with a minute shrug. “Everything hurts. So much.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Ophelia offered a sympathetic nod even if Ozzie couldn’t see it. “You probably shouldn’t put that armor back on, it’s too heavy for you to wear in your… state.”

“We… I need to bring it, though. To my mother.” Ozzie slowly opened her eyes and lifted the hem of her shirt to wipe at her face, though she only managed to smear the dirt. “She made it for me. She would want its remnants returned.”

“I can…” Ophelia assessed the scattered pile of metal and cloth. “I can bundle it all up in the gambeson and carry it.”

“That would be grand,” Ozzie gave a weak half-smile. “I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no… no problem.” Ophelia laid out the gambeson, put the metal scrap in the center, and tied it into a bulky bundle. “Get some rest. You’re a mortal, you need it more than I do.”

Ozzie made a sound, soft agreement, and closed her eyes again. She looked uncomfortable on the hard-packed earth, only her head cushioned. Ophelia laid down a few feet away, putting her hands behind her head and staring up at the sky. A scattering of stars lit the deep inky tapestry of the night. She could swear there used to be more stars… but it had been a while since she’d left this world. She was probably just misremembering.

After what might’ve been minutes or hours, Ozzie sighed, frustrated.

“What’s up?” Ophelia asked.

“Hurts. Can’t get back to sleep.”

“Wanna…” Ophelia stalled. “Wanna talk?”

A brief silence. “Thought you hated me.”

“Kinda do. But you refused to kill my brother. That means something.”

Ozzie laughed weakly. ”What do you want to talk about?”

“Dunno.” What did they have in common? “Declan?”

“Hah,” Ozzie half-laughed, tired and bitter. “Sure, let’s talk about my brother.”

“What did he do to you?”

Ozzie’s undamaged right hand found its way to her scarred left bicep, and she was quiet for a few beats. “Awful as it sounds, the first thing he did was be born. My dad fucked the wrong woman and out came Declan. Ruined my life and my mother’s. I can’t really blame him for that, though. That’s dad’s fault.”

“Wait, so he’s your half-brother? And younger than you?”

“Yep,” Ozzie replied, popping the ‘p.’ “Half-human, half-brother, and twice the mage I’ll ever be, because I lost that particular lottery.”

“But you-” Ophelia sat up quickly, too quick, and put a hand to her head as the lightheadedness faded. “Your mom is an archmage.”

“And he had a wealthy politician paying for lessons, and he has a higher natural affinity. My mother was working while she raised me. I didn’t have magic until I was sixteen, which, as you might imagine, made it very hard to teach me.”

Sixteen… were elves one of the peoples that aged slower, or lived at adulthood for a long time?

“As a teenager,” Ozzie continued, “it was amazing to finally get magic. But growing up all those years with magical peers was very… damaging.”

That answered Ophelia’s question. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s… not fine, but it’s not your fault. I’m just a late bloomer, and it put me behind Declan even though he’s younger.” Ozzie rubbed at her face. “How did he come to be your nemesis?”

“Hunted me and my family. Continues to. You helped him do it.” That thought struck Ophelia so sharply she didn’t process it until it had left her mouth. “Sorry, I-”

“No, that’s fair. I helped him with his bullshit as of a few months ago, when he slipped through a portal and took me with him. Searching for you. But I never wanted to hurt you.” Ozzie opened her eyes a crack. “Please, if nothing else, believe that. I never wanted… any of this.”

Ophelia sat in the uncomfortable silence for a little while, looking to the smoldering campfire after a bit, just so she didn’t have to keep looking in the unnerving yellow of Ozzie’s gaze.

“It’s nothing that different, really,” Ophelia eventually replied. “Demons get hunted all the time. No, he did one thing that, at the end of the day, can never be excused.”

Ozzie sat up slowly, brow furrowed. “What did he do to you?”

Ophelia didn’t answer. She pulled her shirt over her head, turning so her back faced Ozzie. The elf inhaled sharply.

“Gods, Ophelia, I’m so-”

“Keep it, I don’t want or need your sympathy. It was almost a decade ago.” Ophelia reached over her shoulder to touch the tough, curved scar there. “But that’s what he did to me. That’s what made him different.” She relaxed, putting her hands in her lap and looking at them. Strong, calloused, scarred, and shaking slightly.

Toned arms, one badly scarred and the other less so, looped around Ophelia’s neck. A careful, warm weight laid on her back. “I’m so sorry,” Ozzie whispered, “that my kin is a monster.”

“I don’t know what he did to you,” Ophelia replied in a similar tone, touching the heavy scarring of Ozzie’s left arm, “but if it makes you hate him too, we at least have that in common.”

After staring into the campfire until it was embers, Ophelia noticed that Ozzie was asleep again.