Ascension of the Outlander

The warmth of the fire did little to soothe Alex's growing unease as he sat in the corner of the tavern, nursing the cup of water the barkeep had given him. The faint hum of conversation returned, but he could feel the occasional glance sent his way, suspicion lingering in the eyes of the patrons. The world around him was foreign in every way, and his hoodie and jeans were like a beacon of his strangeness.

The tavern itself was modest but sturdy. The walls were made of roughly cut timber, reinforced with stone at the base, and the air carried the scent of roasted meat and damp wood. Wooden tables and chairs were scattered haphazardly across the room, their surfaces scratched and worn from years of use. A few oil lanterns hung from the ceiling beams, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls.

Riverend seemed like a small, working-class village. Farmers, hunters, and craftsmen, judging by the rough clothes and calloused hands of the patrons. Yet even in a place so simple, the tension in the air was unmistakable. These were people who had seen hardship, people who lived with one eye on their work and the other on the road for danger.

Alex's thoughts were interrupted by the heavy thud of boots approaching his table. He looked up to see a young woman standing over him, her green eyes sharp and curious. Her auburn hair was pulled into a loose braid, and she wore simple leather armor that had seen better days. A short sword hung at her side, its hilt worn smooth from use.

"You're the talk of the tavern," she said, her voice even but tinged with suspicion. "Strangers don't pass through Riverend often, and when they do, they don't look like you."

Alex tried to keep his expression neutral. "I'm just passing through," he said cautiously, though he had no idea where he was going or what he was doing. "I don't mean any trouble."

"Passing through," she repeated, pulling out the chair opposite him and sitting down uninvited. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "That's a convenient answer. Problem is, nobody just passes through Riverend. This village is too far from the main trade routes, and the roads aren't safe for casual travelers. So, let's try again. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

Alex hesitated, his mind racing. He couldn't tell her the truth—that he had somehow been transported from another world and had no idea how or why. Not only would it sound insane, but it might also make him a target. "I'm just… lost," he said finally. "I don't really know how I got here."

Her eyes narrowed. "Lost? In the middle of nowhere, with no supplies and no weapon? Either you're lying, or you're the most foolish man I've ever met."

Alex bristled at her tone but held his tongue. "Look, I'm not here to cause problems. I just need to get my bearings and figure out what to do next."

The woman studied him for a long moment, then leaned back in her chair. "I'm Mira," she said, her tone still guarded. "I'm with the village guard, which means it's my job to keep an eye on people like you. Strangers who can't explain themselves are usually hiding something, and Riverend doesn't take kindly to secrets."

"I'm not hiding anything," Alex said, though he knew how hollow the words sounded. Mira's expression didn't soften.

"Maybe," she said. "But you should know that this village has seen its share of trouble. Bandits, corrupt merchants, even rogue mages. We've learned to be cautious."

Alex frowned. "Rogue mages?"

Mira smirked faintly, as if amused by his ignorance. "You really are clueless, aren't you? Magic isn't just a tool in this world—it's power. The kind of power that can make you a king or get you killed. And not everyone who has it plays by the rules."

Before Alex could ask more, the tavern door burst open, and a man staggered inside, clutching his side. His face was pale, and blood seeped through his fingers where they pressed against his ribs.

"They're coming!" he gasped, his voice hoarse. "The Blackfangs are on their way!"

The room erupted into chaos. Chairs scraped against the floor as patrons leapt to their feet, shouting and cursing. Mira was already moving, her expression hardening. She grabbed the man by the arm and steadied him. "How many?" she demanded.

"Twenty, maybe more," the man rasped. "They're armed—swords, axes. They'll be here within the hour."

Mira cursed under her breath and turned to the barkeep. "Sound the bell. Get everyone to the square."

The barkeep nodded grimly and disappeared into the back room. Moments later, the sharp clang of a bell rang out, echoing through the village.

Mira turned back to Alex, her green eyes blazing. "If you're really just a lost traveler, now's the time to prove it. Are you going to stand around, or are you going to help?"

Alex's heart pounded in his chest. He had no weapon, no training, and no idea how to fight. But the desperation in Mira's voice was clear. These people were facing a threat they couldn't handle alone.

"I'll help," he said, the words spilling out before he could think better of it.

Mira nodded curtly. "Good. Follow me."

---

The village square was a hive of activity as Alex followed Mira into the night. Men and women gathered with whatever weapons they could find—woodcutting axes, hunting bows, rusty swords. The tension was palpable, a mix of fear and determination that hung heavy in the air.

Mira moved quickly, barking orders and organizing the villagers into groups. "Archers on the rooftops! Everyone else, form a perimeter around the square. Keep the women and children in the inn—it's the sturdiest building we've got!"

As Alex watched, he couldn't help but feel a surge of respect for her. She was young—barely older than him, if at all—but she commanded the villagers with the authority of someone twice her age. They listened to her without question, their trust in her absolute.

"What can I do?" Alex asked as she passed by.

Mira glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "Can you fight?"

"No," Alex admitted, shame creeping into his voice.

"Then stay in the square and help reinforce the barricades," she said. "And if you see a chance to be useful, take it. We don't have room for dead weight."

Alex nodded and set to work, hauling barrels, crates, and anything else he could find to fortify the entrances to the square. The villagers worked alongside him, their faces grim but focused. Despite their fear, they moved with the efficiency of people who had done this before. It was a sobering thought.

As the preparations continued, Alex caught snippets of conversation from the villagers around him.

"They've been hitting the villages to the south for weeks," an older man muttered. "Burning houses, stealing everything they can carry."

"I heard they've got a mage with them," another said, his voice hushed. "A firecaster."

"Great," someone else replied bitterly. "As if bandits with swords weren't bad enough."

Alex's stomach churned. Firecasters? Bandits were terrifying enough, but magic? He had no idea what to expect.

---

The Blackfangs arrived just as the moon rose high in the sky. They came out of the darkness like shadows, their ragged cloaks and mismatched armor giving them a savage, almost animalistic appearance. At their head was a hulking man with a scar running from his temple to his jaw, his bald head gleaming in the moonlight.

"Riverend!" the man bellowed, his voice carrying across the square. "You know how this goes. Give us what we want, and we'll leave you in one piece. Resist, and we'll burn this place to the ground!"

Mira stepped forward, her sword drawn. Her voice was steady, but there was no mistaking the anger in her tone. "You'll get nothing from us, Rokan! Turn back now, or you'll regret it."

The man—Rokan, apparently—laughed, a deep, guttural sound. "Brave words for a little village girl. But we both know how this ends."

He raised his hand, and Alex's breath caught in his throat as flames sprang to life in his palm, casting an eerie orange glow across his scarred face.

"A firecaster," Alex whispered, the word foreign and terrifying on his tongue.

Mira didn't flinch. "Archers, now!"

The twang of bowstrings filled the air, and a volley of arrows rained down on the bandits. Chaos erupted as the Blackfangs charged, their weapons gleaming in the firelight. Villagers shouted and screamed, the clash of steel on steel echoing through the square.

Alex's body moved before his mind could catch up. He grabbed a length of wood from the barricade and swung it at the first bandit who breached the defenses. The man went down, more from surprise than anything else, but it was enough to give Alex a surge of adrenaline.

The battle was chaos. The villagers fought with everything they had, their desperation driving them to match the savagery of their attackers. But the bandits were stronger, better armed, and they had the firecaster.

Alex's heart pounded as he saw Rokan advancing toward Mira, flames licking at his hands. She met him head-on, her sword flashing in the firelight as she ducked and weaved around his attacks. But she was outmatched. Rokan was faster, stronger, and his magic gave him an overwhelming advantage.

Alex didn't think—he just moved. He grabbed a bucket of water from a nearby barrel and hurled it at Rokan, dousing the flames in his hands. The bandit leader snarled, turning his attention to Alex. For a moment, Alex thought he was about to die.

Then an arrow sprouted from Rokan's chest, and he fell to the ground with a thud.

The remaining bandits, seeing their leader dead, broke and ran, disappearing into the night. The villagers let out a ragged cheer, but it was short-lived. The square was littered with the wounded and the dead, and the air was thick with the smell of blood and smoke.

Mira approached Alex, her expression unreadable. "You did good," she said quietly. "But this isn't over. The Blackfangs will be back, and next time, they'll bring more than just a firecaster."

Alex swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking in. He had survived, but it was clear that survival in this world was just the beginning.