The Original Realm

Luke's breath came in short bursts as he pushed himself to keep up with the elf girl darting through the bustling streets ahead. Her golden hair flashed in and out of view like a wisp, slipping between carts and weaving past vendors with practiced ease.

"How is she so fast?" he muttered, his frustration growing.

Dodging around a fruit cart, he nearly toppled over an elderly dwarf who let out a string of curses. The girl glanced back over her shoulder, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. It was clear she wasn't just running; she was enjoying herself.

"Alright, no more playing around," Luke growled. He focused his energy inward, summoning the strange but growingly familiar sensation of Advent. As the power surged through his body, it concentrated in his legs, a faint warmth spreading like an electric current.

The world around him seemed to slow as his body surged forward, his steps longer and lighter. In seconds, he was closing the distance between them.

The girl's eyes widened in surprise when she glanced back and saw how quickly he was gaining ground. With a fluid motion, she reached for the small quiver at her side and nocked an arrow to her bow.

"Oh, come on, you're pulling out a bow now?" Luke called out, incredulous.

She didn't answer, releasing the arrow with a sharp twang.

Luke flinched, expecting to feel the arrow whizz past him—or worse, hit him—but it didn't. The arrow sailed wide, disappearing into the chaos of the market. He smirked, about to call her out on her poor aim, when he heard a faint ping.

The arrow ricocheted off a brass lantern, bounced off a hanging pan, then struck a metal beam before slicing through the rope holding up a large wooden sign.

Luke barely had time to look up before the sign came crashing down, slamming squarely into his face.

The impact knocked him backward, sending him sprawling onto the cobblestone street. He groaned, blinking away stars as a nearby merchant rushed over, his face a mask of fury.

"Do you have any idea how much that sign cost?" the merchant bellowed, gesturing wildly to the shattered pieces. "You're paying for that, you clumsy oaf!"

Luke sat up, rubbing his aching forehead. "I didn't—she—" He gestured vaguely toward the direction the girl had fled, but the merchant wasn't having it.

"I don't care who did what! You broke my sign!"

Luke barely heard him. His focus had shifted entirely, his gaze locked on the fleeing figure of the elf girl as she disappeared around a corner. Ignoring the merchant's continued tirade, he scrambled to his feet and took off again.

The crowded streets began to thin as he ran, the vibrant shops and stalls giving way to worn buildings and shadowy alleys. The air grew heavier, carrying a faint but distinct smell of decay and damp earth.

Luke's eyes narrowed as realization dawned. She was heading into the slums.

"Why would she go there?" he murmured to himself, his pace slowing slightly as he approached the edge of the bustling marketplace.

The lively energy of the city seemed to fade behind him as he stepped into a darker, quieter part of Sylvera. His instincts prickled with unease, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was getting closer to something important.

As he stood at the edge of the slums, he glanced around, catching sight of her golden hair disappearing down a narrow alley.

Gripping his pouchless belt, Luke took a deep breath and followed her into the shadows, determined to get his money back—and some answers.