Hours passed.

  The sky changed without asking them to.

  By the time the sun reached its zenith, the desert ceased to be scenery and became executioner.

  The sand burned like red-hot iron. The air shimmered. Each breath scraped Yoshida’s throat like ground glass.

  He still lay beside Rose in that endless ocean of gold.

  He tried to move.

  His arms shook violently, betraying him. His legs answered with humiliating clumsiness, as if this new body had not yet accepted him as its owner.

  “Damn it…!” His voice cracked.

  He pushed against the sand with his elbows.

  Collapsed.

  Tried again.

  His face hit the scorching ground. The smell of heated dust flooded his nose, and his skin felt as though it were blistering.

  His lips were split. His tongue swollen and dry. Swallowing hurt.

  The desert made no sound.

  It simply consumed.

  For the first time since opening his eyes in this world, Yoshida thought he might die.

  Not fighting.

  Not protecting anyone.

  Not facing a worthy enemy.

  Just slowly reduced to bones beneath an indifferent sky.

  Not even here… can I protect her.

  The thought cut deeper than the heat.

  “Rose… wake up!”

  No response.

  A gust of wind swept across them, lifting sand that began to cover her legs grain by grain, as if the desert itself sought to claim her before any beast could.

  Then he heard it.

  A meow.

  Not soft.

  Low. Resonant. Ancient.

  Yoshida forced his head up.

  The creature stood there.

  Imposing beneath the merciless sun. Its long shadow stretched across the sand, swallowing Rose’s body in silent threat.

  Its golden eyes showed no obvious hunger.

  But neither did they show mercy.

  It stepped forward.

  Yoshida tried to shout before it happened.

  The air betrayed him.

  The great cat lowered its head.

  Opened its jaws.

  Its fangs brushed the fabric at Rose’s shoulder.

  And then it took her.

  Firmly.

  Not tearing.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Gripping with instinctive precision, adjusting her weight with unsettling care. But from where Yoshida lay, all he saw was a mouth closing around the only person who had given meaning to his second chance.

  “No…”

  The sound died in his throat.

  He forced himself upright.

  Managed to sit.

  The world spun violently.

  “LET HER GO!”

  The words tore out of him, closer to a roar than human speech.

  The creature was already running.

  Sand exploded beneath its paws.

  Rose hung limp between its jaws.

  And then they vanished beyond the dunes.

  The silence that followed was worse than the wind.

  Yoshida tried to stand.

  His legs buckled.

  He fell to his knees.

  Then forward.

  The impact was dull and final.

  He didn’t move.

  His mind began conjuring images he didn’t want to see.

  Fangs.

  Torn flesh.

  Dark blood soaking into sand.

  The crunch of bone beneath crushing jaws.

  “No… no… no…”

  He dragged himself toward the black sword and pulled it close with trembling hands.

  The blade should have been searing beneath the sun.

  But when he touched it, he felt something else.

  Not heat.

  Something denser. Heavier. As if the darkness trapped within the metal absorbed part of the day’s fire.

  He clutched it to his chest.

  As though he could still protect something.

  The sun felt higher.

  Crueler.

  “DAMN IT! DAMN IT!”

  His tears offered no relief. They evaporated before they could fall.

  He wasn’t crying like a warrior.

  He was crying like someone who had just lost everything again.

  Helpless.

  Too late.

  The wind shifted.

  Another meow.

  Closer.

  Yoshida lifted his head, dread and hope colliding in his chest.

  The creature had returned.

  Its jaws were clean.

  No blood.

  But his mind no longer trusted what it saw.

  It approached slowly.

  Stopped before him.

  Watched him.

  Those vertical pupils held no hostility.

  They reflected something he could not name.

  Not hunger.

  Not curiosity.

  Recognition.

  He tried to rise with the sword.

  He meant to strike.

  To drive it through.

  To reclaim something—even if only a body.

  His fingers refused.

  His body finally gave in.

  Darkness crept along the edges of his vision.

  The sword slipped partially beneath his chest.

  The great cat lowered its head.

  Gripped him by the torn fabric of his uniform.

  And dragged him.

  The friction shredded his black jacket. The cloth tore with a dry rip and remained behind, spread across the sand like shed skin.

  A school uniform from another world.

  A relic that did not belong in that desert.

  The sun was sinking when Yoshida’s consciousness finally went dark.

  The thunder of a hundred horses shattered the stillness of dusk.

  Armed riders crested the horizon like a tide of steel.

  They halted where the sand had been disturbed.

  Where something had happened.

  A tall man with black hair dismounted first. His presence commanded attention even before he spoke. In his hand he carried a golden spear whose brilliance rivaled the dying sun.

  He planted it in the sand and removed his helmet.

  Ken.

  His eyes swept the terrain with military precision.

  He saw the drag marks.

  Crouched.

  Picked up the torn black jacket.

  Examined it carefully.

  “…What is this?”

  The fabric was strange. The cut belonged to no known kingdom. The metal buttons were too uniform—too precise to be handcrafted.

  “That’s no army attire,” one knight muttered.

  “Nor any guild I know,” another added.

  Ken narrowed his eyes.

  “The sword fell here… and something took them.”

  One of the riders spat into the sand.

  “This desert crawls with beasts. If they were devoured, it saves us the trouble.”

  Ken didn’t answer immediately.

  He studied the tracks.

  Two bodies dragged.

  No blood.

  “No,” he said at last. “If something took them… it wasn’t random.”

  Silence fell.

  Behind him, a knight in a red cloak stepped forward.

  “Allow me to remind you, young lord,” he said coolly, “the knights of Milbur do not answer to Warwick. We ride under orders from the Grand Lord—nothing more.”

  The tension thickened.

  Ken met his gaze.

  “This concerns more than Warwick. If what fell from the sky is who we believe it is… none of our kingdoms are safe.”

  The wind moved between them.

  “Split up,” Ken ordered. “Fan formation. Track anything that still breathes.”

  Horses snorted.

  Steel shifted.

  The desert filled with noise once more.

  Hunters.

  Searching for something not yet dead.

  Darkness.

  A soft meow.

  Yoshida opened his eyes.

  No burning sun.

  No searing wind.

  Stone.

  Cool air.

  Shadows.

  He was inside a cave.

  He jolted upright, heart hammering.

  And saw her.

  The creature sat before him.

  Watching.

  But it was not alone.

  Small dark bodies squirmed beneath her belly. Clumsy kittens nursing with soft, rhythmic sounds.

  The silence was no longer a threat.

  It was shelter.

  Yoshida blinked.

  Turned his head in sudden panic.

  Rose lay nearby, on cooler sand.

  Breathing evenly.

  Unharmed.

  Alive.

  The crushing weight in his chest shattered.

  Air rushed back into his lungs.

  He looked at the great cat again.

  It had never been hunger.

  It was instinct.

  Protection.

  She had moved her young to safety.

  And she had taken them along.

  Because something in him…

  Had been recognized.

  Yoshida swallowed.

  His voice was low. Quiet.

  “Thank you…”

  The cat watched him a moment longer.

  Then slowly closed her eyes.

  And meowed.

  Not reverent.

  Not submissive.

  Simply… aware.

  Outside, the desert remained an enemy.

  But within that cave, for the first time since noon, fear did not reign.

  Silence did.

  And the faint, almost imperceptible sensation—

  That the world had begun to shift around someone who still did not know who he truly was.