Me?

  “Me?...” I repeated slowly.

  He nodded.

  "In all the memories I see you were never there." His small hand lifted, pointing directly at me.

  “....But now you're here."

  My stomach dropped.

  "I don't understand."

  Emil also shook his head. “Me too…”

  He paused, his small hands tightening on the wooden horse. "But if there's anything—or anyone—who might change the future of the world..."

  He looked directly at me.

  "Perhaps it's you."

  The weight of those words settled over me as I stared at him, at this small child who'd just placed the fate of the world on my shoulders with the casual certainty of prophecy.

  I wanted to laugh. To tell him he was wrong, that I was nobody special, just someone who'd stumbled into this world by accident.

  But the words wouldn't come.

  Because deep down, in the part of me that felt the wild power burning in my chest, I wondered if he might be right.

  "I..." I tried to say something but the words stuck in my throat, refusing to form.

  I fell silent.

  Was he right?

  Is this why I found myself in this world?

  Is this my purpose?

  I... I'm not so sure.

  The room had gone quiet. Too quiet. I could feel everyone's eyes on me now.

  All of them were waiting for me to say something, to confirm or deny what the child had just suggested.

  But how could I confirm anything when I barely understood it myself?

  None of it made sense.

  I wasn't supposed to be here. That much I'd known from the beginning.

  But I'd been trying not to think about it. Trying to just survive, to build a life, to figure out my abilities one day at a time without questioning the bigger picture.

  Now Emil was forcing me to look at that picture. And it was terrifying.

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  What if he was right? What if my presence here was meant to change something fundamental about the future? What if everything—the wild power, the monster creation, even my strange transplantation into this world—was leading toward this moment?

  But what if he was wrong? What if I was just a fluke, a cosmic accident with no greater purpose? What if he was a traumatized child with broken visions, grasping at hope where none existed?

  How was I supposed to know the difference?

  "It's late," Roslyn said finally, her voice cutting through the silence. "We should all rest. It's been a long day."

  I barely registered the words.

  "The prince needs sleep," Mikel added, though his eyes lingered on me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "We can continue this discussion tomorrow."

  Alfern shifted the satchel on his shoulder. "We'll return in the morning. To discuss the route, the supplies."

  The knights were making their exit, I realized distantly. Giving us all space to process what had been said.

  Emil looked like he wanted to protest, but Jorik's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "They're right. You need rest."

  "But—"

  "Tomorrow," Jorik said firmly. "Whatever we decide, we can decide tomorrow."

  Emil subsided, though his blue eyes remained fixed on me for a moment longer.

  Then Jorik was guiding him toward the small bedroom, the knights filed out through the back entrance, disappearing into the darkness as silently as they'd arrived.

  And then I was alone.

  The clinic felt too large suddenly, the silence oppressive. I stood in the middle of the room, my arms wrapped around myself, trying to hold together thoughts that kept fragmenting and scattering.

  The fate of the world.

  That's what Emil was suggesting. That somehow, some way, I was connected to preventing an apocalypse I hadn't even known was coming until today.

  It was absurd. Impossible. I was a web designer from another world who'd been dropped into a fantasy world without warning or explanation. I had no training, no preparation, no idea what I was doing half the time.

  How could someone like me possibly matter in the grand scheme of things?

  But then I thought about the wild power in my chest

  I thought back to that first moment, waking up in this world.

  The ability to create monsters from nothing.

  An ability no one else in this world seemed to possess, that shouldn't exist according to everything they knew about magic.

  It was always there now, a constant presence, drawn by whatever force made me what I was.

  What if Emil was right? What if I was supposed to build an army? What if the reason I could create monsters was because the world would need them to fight back against whatever was coming through that tear in the sky?

  But the thought of it—of accumulating enough power to create creatures strong enough to face an apocalypse—made my stomach turn. How long would that take? How much wild energy would I need to gather?

  And what would I become in the process?

  The dream flashed through my mind unbidden. No- a nightmare.

  Was that my future? If I kept creating monsters, kept accumulating power, kept walking this path—would I lose myself entirely? Would I become that hollow thing from my nightmare, unable to feel anything beyond the pull of wild energy and the satisfaction of a successful creation?

  I didn't want that.

  I didn't want to become a monster myself just to fight other monsters.

  But what choice did I have? Emil was telling me the world would end. That creatures would pour through tears in the sky and destroy everything. And somehow, I was supposed to make a difference.

  I didn't want that. I didn't want to carry that weight.

  But I also couldn't unhear what Emil had said. Couldn't pretend I didn't know about the sky tearing open, about the creatures that would come, about the world ending in fire.

  If I had even the smallest chance of changing that outcome, didn't I have a responsibility to try?

  The question sat heavy in my chest, right alongside the wild power that pulsed there with every heartbeat.

  How could I do that without becoming exactly what I feared?

  I didn't know.

  I didn't know anything anymore.

  The sound of the bell tower ringing cut through my thoughts.

  One toll. Then another. Then another, rapid and urgent. The alarm bell.

  My head snapped up, pulse suddenly racing. That wasn't the normal evening chime.

  Shouts erupted from the street below. People running. Steel clashing against steel somewhere in the distance.

  The town was under attack.