Ophelia and Ozzie arrive in Lynndal.

Ophelia, with Ozzie leaning against her side, stepped onto the broad stone plinth, staring up at the underside of Lynndal’s titanic island. One of the mages to the side casted a spell of some kind, sparks trailing from their hands as they gestured and chanted, and runes lit up in blue all across the slate beneath Ophelia’s boots. The mage counted down from five, then the runes flashed, filling Ophelia’s vision with light. When it faded, she was standing in a bustling city square, people milling about, going about their day. The city around her was curving lines and golden filigree, magical architecture designed to flow and meld with itself rather than stand out.

“And so I have the questionable honor of showing you my home,” Ozzie said, holding out an arm to gesture around. “It’s pretty, and shiny, but it’s a lot of stuck-up elves and mages. Just… be ready to get looks.”

It was happening before Ozzie even said anything. People, mostly human and elven, were all staring her down. She stood out too much: too tall, muscular, scarred, dirty. She might’ve been able to blend in just a bit more with her jacket, but Ozzie was wearing it, so she stood in her t-shirt, jeans, and muddy boots, smeared with soot, dirt and blood. “Eh, they can deal. I’ve been in nicer places with way more blood on me.” She grinned as Ozzie snorted a laugh. “Where to?”

Ozzie pointed to a blue-gray spire. “That’s my mother’s tower, so we’ll go there.”

With a nod, Ophelia started walking. She braced Ozzie with a hand on her shoulder, helping her to stay standing as she limped along. Progress was slow, but the spire wasn’t too far. Ophelia guessed it’d be a half-hour walk, at worst. That was, however, a half-hour walk through crowds of busy people and staring eyes. Too many people, some brushing against Ophelia in the narrow street, making her claustrophobic even as she towered over the crowds.

It wasn’t long before whispers started. Pervasive, probing, mingling with the general bustle to occasionally reach Ophelia’s ears in broken pieces. Identifying Ozzie as “Lady Elnore’s daughter,” and “Grimm’s spawn.” Ophelia heard a slew of different words all correctly, if rudely, identifying her as a demon. The metaphorical slings and arrows didn’t bother Ophelia, not anymore, but Ozzie was visibly cringing.

“Sorry for sullying your reputation,” Ophelia muttered, head low so Ozzie could hear her better. “Once we get to your mom, we can split and never speak to each other again.”

“No, it’s not you. I couldn’t give two shits that you’re a demon. My reputation has been sullied enough by my father.” Ozzie glared at a passing onlooker, who flinched and rushed past. “I’m either a stuck-up bitch of a noble, a spoiled archmage’s daughter, or the spawn of a… heavily disliked politician. Unfortunately, people recognize me.”

“Two kinds of infamy in one place is dangerous,” Ophelia said with a laugh. “Let’s pick up the pace, yeah?”

Ozzie nodded and pulled toward an alley. Ophelia followed and let out a breath when she saw it was far less crowded. “We can cut through some alleys to get there faster,” Ozzie explained. “I used these… frequently, in my youth.”

Travel sped up somewhat as they started cutting through tight, but empty, alleyways. The path was shorter, but Ozzie was still limping heavily. They’d made it within a few hundred feet of the tower when they entered an alley with no exit.

Instead of a clear way out, the spire in sight just beyond, stood four young men, leaning against the walls of the alley and blocking the way. When Ozzie and Ophelia entered, they all stood at attention.

“What are you two beautiful outcasts doing here?” Asked one, a man with long, pointed ears and his tar-black hair in a ponytail. “Not the kind of place for people like you.”

Ophelia instantly stood in front of Ozzie. She was stronger, bigger, and less wounded - she could also take four skinny elven fucks if they decided they wanted trouble. “No one asked you, pretty boy,” Ophelia growled. She tugged on her power, ready to summon her axe.

“Cool it, hellbeast,” the man said, hand landing on a sword at his belt. He drew it slightly and Ophelia could smell the blessed silver from ten paces. “Fuck off. We don’t care about you.”

In quick succession, starting with their frontman, each of their eyes flashed blue.

Ophelia flicked her wrist and the familiar weight of her axe landed in her grip, the onyx blade scraping off the ground and spraying sparks. “Step off, twink, or this goes between your eyes.”

Now, he drew his sword. It was only a shortsword, but the holy energy washing off of its solid silver blade made Ophelia nauseous instantly. “There are four of us, demon, but only one of you, and the girl you’re protecting isn’t gonna be much help.”

“If you’re working for Declan, I can pay you double his rate,” Ozzie called. Ophelia glanced over her shoulder to see flame gathering in Ozzie’s left palm, forming a bolt that she gripped with scarred fingers.

“Not the pay, girlie,” said the frontman again, walking even closer. Ophelia reflexively snarled and felt her bones creak as she started to shift in response to the holy weapon. She **** her body to obey, stubbornly remaining mostly-human, even as spines threatened to sprout from her spine. “Even if we were dealing with Declan, it wouldn’t be about money. He’s got more to offer than that. He even said I could keep this sword.”

The other three started to approach, drawing mundane daggers. They weren’t a very big threat to Ophelia, but if she grappled with the first guy and they got to Ozzie… shit.

Ophelia threw her axe at the man with the holy sword, and it at least caused him to stagger, but he managed to avoid the blade. He lunged and Ophelia grabbed his sword before it could hit center mass. It seared into her skin, gouging her palm, but she ripped it from his grip - he really wasn’t too strong - and she pitched it over her shoulder. Before the man could even swear, she hammered a smoking fist into his chest and he went down, tumbling down the alley.

Ophelia leapt at the other three. They tried to cut her with their daggers, but the dull steel couldn’t do nearly the same amount of damage as silver once her hide started to thicken in response. Three wild swings, and three downed foes.

Ophelia stood, panting, among the four **** elves, reeling in her rage before her demonic features properly took hold.

She distantly noticed the holy energy fading, and looked around. Ozzie was holding the shortsword in its lead-lined sheath, looking at Ophelia.

“Are you okay?” Ozzie asked, approaching slowly.

“Just a few cuts,” Ophelia replied, flexing her wounded hand. It was going to scar, but so be it.

“Not the cuts.” Ozzie reached up and touched Ophelia’s face. “You’re crying.”

Ophelia touched her own cheek, and her fingers came away wet. “Must be… the holy sword. It’s been a long time since someone got me with one. Weird effects every time.”

Without a moment to compose herself, she heard footsteps. Not boots - more like heels clacking on the cobbles. Three clacks per pace… someone with a walking aid. A staff? A-

“Mother,” Ozzie sighed, a mix of relief and apprehension.

“Oz, I thought they chased you out of this city.”

A striking elvish woman turned the corner, in a flowing green dress and with a staff in hand. She bore a notable resemblance to Ozzie, with a bare hint of wrinkles on an otherwise flawless countenance. Her high heels were loud on the cobblestones, her pace languid as she stepped over the **** bodies.

“I think we should make haste, before these… thugs… wake. I think it’s time for us to convene in my tower, wouldn’t you two agree?” The older elf smiled warmly, her eyes finally landing on Ophelia.

Ozzie didn’t respond, instead lunging forward. She stumbled halfway to her goal, but the older elf easily knelt and caught her in an embrace. “I missed you, mom.”

Ozzie’s mother kissed her on the head. “I missed you too, Oz.”

The two embraced for a few long moments, each passing second making Ophelia more and more uncomfortable, awkward, and nervous that more foes were going to show up. After a bit, Ozzie’s mother looked up at Ophelia. Her eyes flashed ruby red, and she smiled.

“It seems we’ll have an esteemed guest,” she said, pulling back from Ozzie. “Tell me, miss Ophelia Brimcaste, do you like tea?”