An Elf Against the World - Part 1-3

Part 1

"Fuck, are all the men here this horny?! And that's even considering I've still got my damn face!" — Aelin thought to herself, feeling the shopkeeper's gaze drilling into her chest, barely covered by the elaborate elven top. Just a few days ago, she had been an ordinary guy named Josh, obsessed with role-playing games. Now, she was standing on the grimy cobblestones of some fantasy town, looking like the heroine from a cheap fantasy novel cover.

She shot a murderous glare at the shopkeeper — a short, pudgy man with a greasy smile, blatantly ogling her figure.

— Got something to say, or are you just gonna keep staring? — her voice rang out unexpectedly clear, with a barely noticeable musical accent, which only annoyed her more.

The shopkeeper raised his hands in a placating gesture, but his eyes stayed locked on her chest.

— Uh, yeah, sure, gorgeous! — he paused, still fixated on her cleavage.

"Gorgeous? Oh, for fuck's sake..." — Aelin clenched her fists, reminding herself to stay calm. She glanced around, searching for her friend, the same nerd Josh used to be — Trevor. Or rather, now the massive, brutish hunk Martinus, nowhere to be seen in the crowd. "Where the hell is that idiot Trevor? Leaving me alone in this circus!"

— Maybe a potion for the customers? — the shopkeeper patted a wooden crate filled with tiny vials. — Works on any man, guaranteed! New here, huh? Usually, the girls from the 'Moonflower' buy in bulk right away.

Aelin froze, feeling a wave of anger burn through her.

— What?..

— Well, you're an elf, — he shrugged, as if that explained everything. — Usually, your kind... you know, for entertainment. Sorry, it's just how things work around here. But you're premium quality, I can tell, heh...

— Quality?! — her voice went up, nearly breaking into a high-pitched falsetto, and to her horror, it sounded... cute.

People started turning to look. Aelin could hear the whispers:

"An elf? Wonder which brothel she's from?"

"Look how red she is. Must be new."

— Oh, for fuck's sake... — she hissed, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into the shopkeeper's fat chest. — Listen here, you creep. I need information! What is this place?! And why the hell are you talking to me like that?!

The shopkeeper flinched, but the grin lingered — nervous, but still there. He clearly didn't know how to react.

— Whoa... Feisty one, huh? — he muttered, blinking. — I... I was just making an offer... Do you even hear yourself?

Aelin gritted her teeth.

— Yeah, I hear myself! And if you don't explain where the hell we are and what that bullshit about brothels was, I—

— Wait, wait, — he raised his hands, backing up, though his eyes kept darting back to her chest. — You're seriously not from the 'Moonflower'? Really? Come on! With that body and voice... Do you have any idea how you... sound?

Aelin froze again.

"Voice?"

Damn it, even when she was yelling, her voice still sounded sweet, almost melodic, with that stupid sing-song accent.

The crowd was pressing in tighter now, people eyeing her with far too much interest.

— Maybe she's been bought for some nobleman? — someone whispered behind her.

— Doesn't seem like it. She's way too mouthy.

— Nah, it's just part of the act. They all do this. — a third voice snorted.

— What the hell is wrong with you people?! — Aelin burst out, throwing her arms up.

At that moment, the shopkeeper leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as he whispered:

— Listen, elf. If you're new here and don't have an owner... stop shouting. The locals don't like it when your kind acts up. If you want... I could introduce you to the right people. You'd be... appreciated.

Aelin was just about to punch him when a deep, booming voice echoed through the crowd:

— What's going on here?

The crowd fell silent instantly.

Trevor.

He emerged from the mass of people, towering over everyone, looking so imposing even Aelin felt her breath catch. Shirt open, broad shoulders like carved marble, one hand gripping the haft of his axe, his dark gaze heavy and serious. The crowd quieted, watching as he approached. His eyes slowly moved from the shopkeeper to Aelin, then back again.

— I asked... what's going on here? — his voice was low, threatening.

The shopkeeper stammered, sweat beading on his forehead as he flicked nervous glances between Trevor and Aelin.

— I... uh... just a misunderstanding, sir! I didn't know she was... yours... She just started shouting, and I was, um, trying to calm her down.

— Mine? — Trevor's brow furrowed deeper.

— Well... an elf like that, out here alone, dressed like... that, and causing a scene on the market... Forgive me, sir, I thought she was from... uh... one of the pleasure houses, — the shopkeeper forced a shaky smile, but his lips twitched nervously.

Aelin felt the rage boiling up inside her again.

— Listen here, you fat bastard! — she stepped forward, jabbing a finger toward his face, but Trevor's hand closed firmly, yet gently, around her wrist, stopping her.

— Hey. Cool it, — he murmured, leaning closer. — No violence. For now.

The shopkeeper suddenly snorted. Nerves? No... it was an actual laugh, muffled behind his hand.

— Violence? Seriously, sir? Elves? Fight? They're made for... other things entirely...

Aelin felt her eye twitch.

— What the fuck did you just say?!

She lunged forward, but Trevor caught her wrist again, this time squeezing tighter.

— No. — His voice was low, a growl like a beast's warning.

The shopkeeper's laughter died instantly. He paled, backing up until he bumped into his stall.

— A-alright! I'm sorry! I was wrong! Please, just go! I won't say another word!

— Good idea, — Trevor rumbled, towering over him for a moment longer before turning, pulling Aelin away from the crowd.

— Let go of me! — she hissed as they moved a few alleys away, the noise of the market beginning to fade.

Part 2

He raised his hands in a placating gesture, frowning.

— Sorry. It's just... you really looked ready to deck that bastard.

— Because he fucking deserved it! — she threw her hands up, her voice once again ringing with that annoying, sugary tone. — Damn it, even when I'm pissed off, I sound like... — she bit her lip, cutting herself off.

Trevor nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

— Like an anime heroine? Yeah, I noticed.

Aelin let out a frustrated snort.

— We've been stuck in this goddamn place for days, and we finally get out of that shitty forest, — she clenched her fists. — I was hoping we'd get some answers here, not... all this!

She gestured back toward the market, where whispers could still be heard in the distance.

Trevor glanced back, checking to see if anyone was following them. The crowd was beginning to thin out, but the stares lingered, even as they turned a corner.

— Listen, — his voice dropped lower, though it still carried that commanding weight. — We can't keep drawing this much attention. If this world really is... well, like a game, then it has its own rules. And it seems like it's not exactly... — his gaze flicked over her before he quickly looked away. — A place where girls like you are supposed to... make a scene.

— Girls like me? — Aelin narrowed her eyes, staring him down.

Trevor opened his mouth but then hesitated, caught by her glare.

That face... Damn it. It was still Josh.

Yeah, it looked feminine now, with delicate cheekbones, large eyes, and slightly pointed ears, but there was something in her expression, in the way she furrowed her brow and glared at him so stubbornly—it was painfully familiar.

— Look... — Trevor tried to soften his voice. — I get it. This is... weird. For me too.

— Weird? — Aelin arched a brow. — Dude, you look like you're straight off a fucking Heavy Metal album cover, and I... — she waved her hand furiously at herself.

Trevor took a deep breath, turning his head as if searching for the right words.

— Listen, Ae—...Josh... — he stumbled over the name but pushed through. — We don't know how this happened. Yeah, okay, we look like our game characters. But if this is really like our campaign, then we're in a world where there could be... you know, danger. Or quests. Or who the hell knows what else.

— Quests? — Aelin squinted, folding her arms under her chest—an action that only made things worse as it emphasized her figure. — Do you even hear yourself? This isn't a game, Trevor. I have real tits!

Trevor pretended not to hear that last part, focusing on the wall to his left instead.

— That's exactly why I'm saying we need to be careful. We need to act like... — he gestured vaguely. — Like we know what we're doing.

— Do you? — her voice dropped, tension tightening each word. — And what exactly have you figured out while I was busy dealing with that fat creep?

Trevor nodded, scanning their surroundings again.

— I talked to some guards by the fountain. They said if we have a 'magical nature,' the Mage's Guild might help us. The tower's over there, see?

Aelin followed his gaze. A marble tower rose above the other buildings, a banner with a staff and book symbol waving gently in the breeze.

— Great, — she muttered, crossing her arms again. — And do you have any idea how they're gonna see me in there?

Trevor frowned, clearly not following.

— See you as what?

— As a whore, Trevor! — her voice spiked, but she caught herself, lowering it when a cloaked man across the street turned his head and lingered a little too long. — Did you see how those guys were looking at me? That fat piece of shit back there? These assholes clearly think all elves are someone's property!

Trevor clenched his jaw, visibly holding himself back.

— Hey, don't panic. — His voice dropped to a calm, steady rumble. — We'll figure this out. Just... no more fights, alright?

— Easy for you to say, — she hissed, sweeping her eyes over him. Broad, muscled, towering—he looked like a damn barbarian warlord straight out of their last campaign. — You've got no problems here.

Trevor raised a brow.

— What do you mean?

Aelin let out a bitter laugh.

— I mean you look like a sword-and-sorcery hero. Intimidating, powerful... Like that knight from our last quest, remember? Everyone here fears you.

Trevor stayed quiet, his gaze drifting back to the Mage's Guild tower.

— And me? — Aelin clenched her teeth. — I look like... — she gestured angrily at her revealing top, the bare skin of her stomach, and the stupid silver belt with swirls and gems. — Like a cheap fantasy cover girl! I can't take two steps without getting ogled like—

She cut herself off, but Trevor nodded.

— Yeah, it sucks. But listen, we don't know the rules of this world yet. We need to get to that tower. Otherwise...

— Otherwise what? — she interrupted, voice sharp. — We get stuck here while I turn into the local attraction? No thanks! Damn it, back in the forest when we first got here, I thought things couldn't get worse... but now—

She took a step back, fists trembling as the emotions surged again.

— At least there, no one was staring at me like a piece of meat!

Trevor exhaled heavily.

— I get it, Josh... I mean, Aelin...

— Don't call me that! — she snapped, cutting him off with a sharp wave of her hand. — I don't even know who I am anymore!

Trevor dragged a hand down his face, clearly trying to keep his patience.

— Fine, — he said more quietly. — Look, I'm just trying to keep us safe, okay? I don't know what the hell this place is either. Yeah, I look like fucking Conan the Barbarian... and maybe... maybe I kinda like it.

Aelin snorted.

— Oh, no shit?!

— But that doesn't mean I want you to feel like... this, — he gestured vaguely at her, deliberately avoiding eye contact with her overly revealing outfit. — We'll find a way to fix this. But we have to stick together, alright?

She stared at him for a long moment, breathing hard, before finally giving a reluctant nod.

— Fine. Let's just... go to that damn tower. But if one more asshole tries to touch me, I swear—

— You'll deck him?

— Hell yes.

— Good.

They stepped back into the crowded streets, the stares continuing but dulling slightly under Trevor's looming presence. And despite her frustration, Aelin couldn't deny that with him beside her in this strange world, she felt... just a little safer.

Part 3

The warm wind gently stirred Aelin’s dark hair as she stood at the edge of the hill, watching Martinus fight off a group of bandits below. His movements were powerful and precise, each swing of his axe slicing through the air with terrifying force.

— Why… why him, not me?.. — Aelin said it aloud, more to herself than to her companion, but her bodyguard, standing beside her, still snorted without taking his eyes off the clearing below.

— Because you’re an elf — you don’t belong here at all, — he spat contemptuously, gaze still locked on the battle.

Aelin slowly turned her head toward him. Her eyes narrowed.

— Say that again, — her voice was quiet, but there was a sharp tension in it, blade-like, along with that maddeningly sultry undertone she still hadn’t gotten used to — the one that always ruined the mood when she wanted to sound fierce.

— You heard me just fine, — the man frowned, stepping slightly back from the edge. — I’m not here to stroke your ears. I got paid to escort you. Nothing more.

— We paid you—

— That giant down there paid me, not you, — the blond interrupted Aelin with a smirk, adjusting his cloak. — So don’t act like you’re in charge.

— You fucking... — she stepped toward him, fists clenched, — ...bastard. If it weren’t for me—

But he just shrugged, looking past her shoulder — to where Martinus, like some epic hero, was gutting enemies with a single swing of his axe. The whole field below seemed like a cruel reminder of how useless she’d become.

— If it weren’t for you, — he muttered at last, — we’d be at the western gates by now. Every time you scream in a tavern, every shitshow with a shopkeeper, every time you butt into conversations without knowing the context — it all slows us down. You’re dragging the group. You don’t even fight.

— Oh yeah? And who healed your sorry ass? — Aelin glared up at him again, trying to still look strong. — Want me to remind you how you were bleeding out in the K’Ragi dungeons, and no one could save you — except me? — her voice grew quieter, lips trembling like she was barely holding back a scream. Even now, behind that flashy, half-cocky appearance, the same fury burned in her eyes. But she sounded more like a spoiled princess than the nerd Josh used to be.

The bodyguard snorted in disdain.

— Don’t flatter yourself. You just pressed up against me like some camp whore. I would’ve made it out without you.

Aelin felt her face flush hot with blood, even stronger now, and she turned away. Damn this body, she would’ve screamed if she hadn’t already done it a million times before. As if it wasn’t enough that she belonged to a race — no, a caste — that no one took seriously. One that, nine times out of ten, ended up working in brothels. But no — when they found the stone that unlocked powers and Josh inside Aelin finally saw a sliver of hope, she rushed to it without hesitation. The stone lit up — soft, enveloping light, like it was inviting her… or recognizing her. And then the flash, the warmth, and a voice — foreign, but piercing straight into her mind:

‘Gift. Eln’ria. Kisser of life. The goddess’s touch. Woman’s flesh, feeding with power, granting healing to the living.’

— What? — Aelin had jerked back then, recoiling from the stone like from a bite. — Hey! What the fuck is this…

But the mages only exchanged glances — until then, they had stood watching her with contempt, afraid she'd defile the sacred stone. But nothing happened, and in that moment, the elder — tall, with graying temples and a chain on his robe — sighed:

— You are truly blessed with uniqueness. I’ve read about this gift in ancient scrolls. The embrace of the goddess and the kisses of healing, — the mage spoke with reverence, as if he didn’t notice how Aelin’s face was slowly losing all color. — It’s an incredibly rare ability. Among elves, it appears once in a century. A power no human woman could ever possess.

— You… you mean I… heal when I… hug someone? — her voice trembled, and even now, it sounded too soft, too melodic.

— And kiss, — the mage nodded with a faint smile. — Contact through the lips is especially powerful. The healing is instant — it restores vitality and can even prevent death.

It seemed to Aelin she had already endured every humiliation this strange world could throw at her. But in that moment, she realized it had all just been the beginning. Because then came the first time. The first time she — Josh, still him inside, the guy who lived for raids and Friday nights with beer and pizza — kissed an almost-dead warrior. Not because she wanted to. But because otherwise, he would’ve died. Because that’s how her “goddess-given ability” worked.

— Kiss him, — the mage said calmly, barely glancing at the soldier sprawled out on the stones.

— What?! — Aelin recoiled, pressing her hands to her breasts. — You… you’re serious?!

— Or he dies.

And she kissed him. Like in slow motion — leaning down, teeth clenched, touching the lips of a stranger whose body was already starting to grow cold. A wave of magic surged through her — soft, but warm, and far too intimate. She felt the power gather low in her belly, then burst out through her lips with heat — like it wasn’t her giving, but him taking. And when the man suddenly gasped, life flooding back into him, Aelin jerked away, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide with horror.

Three months had passed since then.

Now she stood at the edge of the forest, watching Martinus tear through yet another gang of cutthroats. Her top hugged her breasts tightly, thin straps rubbing against her skin, while the bodyguard’s gaze — that same blond bastard in a robe — was just as mocking and scornful as ever.

— You really are weird, — he muttered, letting his eyes slide over her body. — Your race was made for… touching. And you act like you don’t even like hugging men.

Aelin bit her lip for a moment, knowing she was on the verge of snapping again, but desperate not to — knowing it was pointless. Her lips, by the way, were full and glossy — even without makeup, they looked like she’d just stepped out of a steamy romance scene. She hated it. Hated how her face now worked against her. And hated how everyone, absolutely everyone, kept reminding her of what she was — like it was humanity’s one true purpose.

— Maybe you should just shut the fuck up, — she muttered through her teeth, without turning around.

— Everything in this world should be in its rightful place. Your ability — it’s a blatant sin, — he said coldly, almost lazily, like he was reading some boring paragraph from a religious tract.

Aelin just sighed. Enough. That holy preacher bullshit again. She made a mental note to tell Martinus that in the next town, they needed to replace her bodyguard — good thing they had the money. Well, Martinus had the money, to be exact — the same Martinus who had just finished off the last enemy and now turned toward them, covered in bruises, wounds, and scratches.

She didn’t even get a chance to speak before the blond next to her smirked:

— Go on, healer. Your little barbarian over there looks like he needs some of your… kisses.

Aelin slowly turned her head toward him. Her eyes weren’t just annoyed — in that moment, she looked at him like she was imagining ripping his tongue out by the root. But instead, she only whispered:

— One more word, and I’ll make you pray you were born in this body.

He just snorted.

She started down the slope, each step heavy with pain — not physical, but deeper. Psychological. Like she had been clinging all this time to the idea that she could still be herself — Josh, the guy, the person... And now — just a female body, an elven face, a figure built to drive men crazy. And the power. The power she hated. The power they kept using.

Martinus was standing, leaning on his axe, blood dripping from his shoulder. His chest heaved, breathing rough. He saw her and gave a small nod, almost apologetically — as if saying sorry for asking again. For making her do it again.

She walked closer.

— Well, — he exhaled, — don’t just stand there, goddess of life. Took a sword to the liver. Or maybe it was a halberd. Who cares. Look at that damn hole.

Aelin bit her lip, barely suppressing the tremble. She stepped in. Felt the heat of his body, the scent of metal, sweat, blood. Her fingers touched his chest — her hand was shaking. He didn’t say a word. Just looked at her.

And then, for the who-knows-how-many time in the past three months, she closed her eyes, rose up on her toes and… kissed him.

Softly. Briefly. Lips to lips. And in that moment, she felt the heat rise from within, as if everything low in her belly was twisting into a knot, and then — a surge. Light, magic, as if he was drinking in her energy, breathing it in.

Martinus inhaled sharply, his shoulders straightened, and the wound vanished.

He looked at her with gratitude. And something else. Too focused. Too attentive.

— Thanks, — he breathed.

Aelin stepped back and turned away. Covered her mouth with her hand. Lowered her gaze.

— Don’t mention it... — she whispered, quietly. And thought, ‘When did this become normal?’