I Swear I’m Still the Hero!

The journey between worlds was, as always, an utterly atrocious ordeal that Umbra would have gladly postponed for at least the next decade if circumstance had allowed it. It was no better the third time around. No matter how familiar she became with the sensation of being pulled through something that was neither space nor time but some violent stitching between the two, it never grew easier. There was no up or down within the conduit, no stable sense of self, only the crushing awareness that her body was being folded incorrectly and then forced back into shape by will alone. Light and color existed in impossible geometries around her, and even with her eyes squeezed shut as she had advised the others, she could feel it pressing against her mind like cold fingers.

When she finally burst out the other side, she was greeted first by the glorious sensation of breathable air, clean and crisp and entirely free of smog or industrial pollution, filling her lungs in a sharp, grounding rush. The second sensation was significantly less dignified, consisting of her armored form striking freshly tilled earth face first with a heavy thud that sent a small spray of dirt scattering outward.

“Pleasant trip, dearest?” Farah asked sweetly from somewhere nearby, her voice lilting with poorly concealed amusement.

Umbra groaned faintly and pushed herself up onto her hands and knees before rising to her full height, bits of dark soil clinging stubbornly to the front of her armor. She rolled her shoulders once, ensuring everything was still attached properly, and then took a long look around.

They had arrived precisely where intended: the outer stretches of her county, amid one of the many farms that quilted the land in orderly sections of green and brown. The fields stretched outward beneath a wide blue sky unmarred by contrails or distant aircraft, and the scent of turned soil mixed with growing crops created a grounding familiarity that tugged unexpectedly at her chest.

Scattered across the earth behind her were the youths, collapsed in various states of distress. Jason lay flat on his back staring at the sky as though uncertain it was real. Emily was curled on her side, breathing hard. Harry was sitting upright but looked as though he deeply regretted every life decision that had led him here. Even Samantha, stoic as she had been, was pale and unsteady.

“How long have you been waiting, love?” Umbra asked, brushing dirt from her gauntlet.

“Quarter quarter, roughly,” Farah replied, entirely unhelpful.

Umbra narrowed her eyes slightly. “I am absolutely instituting a proper metric system for time in this realm,” she muttered. “Your fractions of fractions are an abomination.”

Farah only smiled serenely.

Umbra shifted her gaze toward the distant rise where, far beyond the rolling farmland, the faint suggestion of rooftops could just be seen against the horizon. “How far are we from Newrise?”

“With them?” Farah considered, glancing at the groaning pile of humanity behind them. “About a quarter of the day on foot.”

Umbra exhaled slowly. “Excellent.”

She turned toward the group. “Up. We walk.”

A chorus of exhausted groans answered her.

“We just—” Harry began weakly, then stopped to swallow.

“It felt like being inside a blender,” Emily added miserably.

Umbra folded her arms. “You possess enhanced physiques. Your stamina exceeds that of ordinary humans by a comfortable margin. The walk will be unpleasant for perhaps half an hour, and then you will adapt.”

They did not look convinced.

Nevertheless, one by one, they dragged themselves upright, adjusting their backpacks and blinking at the unfamiliar countryside stretching around them.

Umbra began walking without further ceremony.

The earth here felt firmer beneath her boots, the air richer, the distant sounds of farmhands and livestock faint but reassuring. Home was not yet in sight, but it was near enough to feel.

Behind them, the youths trudged forward, bewildered and sore and staring at a world that had just become their new reality.

They walked for several hours beneath a pale spring sun that looked bright enough in the sky but offered very little actual warmth. A thin breeze rolled across the open fields, carrying with it the scent of damp soil and new growth, and though the land was alive with the quiet industry of planting season, the air still held the lingering chill of winter not fully willing to surrender. The road beneath their boots was little more than a packed dirt path cutting through wide stretches of farmland, bordered by neat rows of early crops and low stone fences that marked property lines older than most of the people who worked them.

The youths trudged along behind Umbra and Farah in various states of exhaustion, still recovering from the violent transition between worlds, their Earth-made shoes already collecting dust that no longer belonged to their old lives.

It was not long before they encountered the first local.

A farmer, broad-shouldered and sun-browned despite the season, was tending to a pair of draft beasts in a nearby field when he happened to glance toward the road. His eyes passed over the group once, then snapped back sharply. He froze, squinting as though doubting his own sight, and then abruptly abandoned his tools and began hurrying toward them at a half-run.

When he drew close enough to see clearly, he let out a sharp breath that sounded almost like a sob and dropped straight to his knees in the dirt before them.

“My lady!” he cried, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re alive! We were told—you were taken from us! I feared the worst!”

He bowed low, his forehead nearly touching the ground.

Umbra paused and stepped forward, then slowly crouched down so she was closer to his level, though even then she still towered over him. Her expression shifted seamlessly into the calm, reassuring mask of nobility she had worn countless times before, composed and steady and faintly warm.

“Rise, good sir,” she said gently. “Did you truly believe that the Witch could hold me forever?”

“N-no, my lady!” he stammered quickly, lifting his head but not quite daring to stand yet. “Of course not! No evil could keep you!”

Umbra allowed a small, confident smile to grace her features. “I am home now,” she said, her voice carrying easily on the breeze. “And I do not intend to leave again any time soon.”

The farmer’s shoulders visibly relaxed at that, relief washing across his face.

Then, as though the thought had only just occurred to her, Umbra tilted her head slightly. “Tell me, how has life fared in my absence?”

The man hesitated. “Oh, uh… very well, my lady. The harvest was steady. The roads have remained safe.” He swallowed. “The taxes did rise somewhat, but we were told it was for reconstruction and fortifications. We were happy to give what we could.”

Umbra’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, her smile faltering imperceptably. “Have they indeed?” she murmured. “I see.”

She rose back to her full height in one smooth motion. “Continue your good work. Your diligence honors this land.”

“O-of course, my lady,” the farmer replied fervently, finally scrambling to his feet before bowing deeply once more.

Umbra gave a small gesture for the group to continue walking.

As they moved farther along the road and deeper into her territory, word seemed to travel faster than they did. More farmers emerged from fields and barns, some calling out in disbelief, others rushing forward with expressions of awe and gratitude. A few brought offerings without being asked—bundles of fresh vegetables, small sacks of grain, strips of carefully cured meat wrapped in cloth. Others simply fell to their knees as the first had done, murmuring thanks or blessings under their breath.

The teens exchanged uneasy glances at the displays of reverence, clearly unaccustomed to such treatment, but Umbra accepted it with composed familiarity. She offered measured words, brief reassurances, and the occasional faint smile, never lingering too long yet never appearing dismissive.

Gradually, the farmland began to thin out, the wide open fields giving way to more structured land, with fenced pastures and storage barns growing more frequent as they approached civilization proper. In the distance, the town finally came into view, though it was not the soft, open settlement the youths might have expected. A tall stone wall encircled it entirely, sturdy and practical, built from heavy gray blocks that had clearly been reinforced more than once over the years. Watchtowers stood at measured intervals along the perimeter, their silhouettes stark against the afternoon sky, and pennants bearing Umbra’s crest stirred restlessly in the breeze.

The opened main gate was a solid thing of dark timber banded with iron, large enough to admit supply wagons but sturdy enough to withstand something far worse than bandits. Even from this distance, they could see the faint glint of well equipped armored figures stationed along the battlements, crossbows resting at the ready in that cautious way of people who had learned not to take peace for granted.

She had always preferred the precision and reliability of well-trained elite soldiers over the crude strategy of throwing frightened commoners into battle as little more than living barriers. In her mind, wars were won through discipline, planning, and strength properly honed, not through wasting the lives of farmers who had never asked to hold a spear.

As they drew nearer to the town gates, the quiet murmur that had followed them along the road began to swell into something louder and more animated. People along the outer paths paused in their work, straightening from carts and crates and half-mended fences to stare. A woman carrying a basket nearly dropped it outright when she caught sight of Umbra’s unmistakable silhouette.

“She’s back!” someone shouted from somewhere behind them, the words carrying quickly. “The hero is back!”

The cry spread faster than fire through dry straw. Heads turned. More voices joined in. Some waved hesitantly, as if still unsure whether what they were seeing was real.

By the time they reached the massive wooden gates, a small cluster of townsfolk had gathered at a cautious distance, watching with wide, hopeful eyes.

The guards stationed at the entrance initially stared as though their minds refused to process what stood before them. One blinked. The other leaned forward slightly, squinting beneath his helmet. Then recognition struck both of them at once. They snapped upright, fists striking their breastplates in a crisp salute.

“Welcome back, your ladyship!” one called, his voice ringing with a mixture of discipline and barely contained relief.

Umbra regarded them with calm composure, though there was the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes. She offered them a serene smile, the kind that reassured without diminishing authority.

“It is good to be back,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying just enough for the gathered crowd to hear. “You have all done well in my absence.”

By the time they finally reached the outer gates of her estate complex, Umbra felt as though the weight of the past decade had chosen that exact moment to settle fully onto her shoulders. The long walk, the endless greetings, the careful composure she had maintained for hours, all of it combined into a deep, bone-level exhaustion that no amount of pride could disguise. If someone had told her she could sleep uninterrupted for an entire year and no catastrophe would occur in her absence, she believed she might have accepted without hesitation.

The crowds had only thickened the closer they drew to the heart of the capital town. What had begun as scattered farmers along the road had grown into clusters of townsfolk lining the streets, pressing close but never quite daring to touch. They called her name, some openly weeping, others laughing in disbelief, and more than once progress slowed to nearly a halt because someone insisted on kneeling directly in her path. Guards had to gently usher people aside so Umbra and her party could continue forward at all. It was not hostility that blocked the way, but overwhelming devotion, and in its own fashion that was just as difficult to navigate.

Still, they persevered step by step, until the tall wrought-iron gates of her estate swung open and admitted them into the quieter inner grounds. The noise of the town dulled behind thick stone walls and trimmed hedges, replaced with the ordered calm of courtyards and polished pathways. Servants had already assembled in neat lines, bowing deeply as their lady had finally returned.

The teens, each wide-eyed and clearly unsure what to do with themselves, were quickly but respectfully escorted away and each assigned a guest chamber within the estate’s east wing. The rooms were spacious, furnished with carved wardrobes, writing desks, and large canopied beds that looked far softer than anything they had slept on in recent memory. To their visible confusion, each of them was also introduced to a personal attendant whose sole responsibility was to see to their comfort, even if they couldn’t understand each other yet.

Umbra had plans for them, though she did not voice them immediately. In time, she would arrange proper lessons so they could learn the local language and start to integrate. If any showed particular promise or ambition, she would see them sent to the Royal Academy in the Queendom’s capital, where nobles and gifted commoners alike were refined into administrators, scholars, and officers. There would be a role for each of them somewhere within her territory. She would make certain of it.

There was, as always, an endless list of matters awaiting her attention. Reports to review, advisors to meet, policies to adjust now that she had firsthand knowledge of how things had shifted in her absence. However, before any of that could begin, there was one thing she wanted more than strategy or reform.

Triumvirate-blessed Rest.

She had spent ten relentless years locked in conflict with the Witch of the Void, years defined by campaigns, sleepless nights in war tents, and the constant calculation of how to protect her people at the lowest possible cost. And when she had not been waging war, she had been drafting reforms, negotiating trade agreements, restructuring taxes, and pushing stubborn nobles toward improvements they did not always appreciate. She had poured herself into doing good so completely that she scarcely remembered what it felt like to simply exist without purpose.

The bath alone felt like a luxury beyond measure. The estate’s private bathing chamber held a sunken stone pool large enough to accommodate her size comfortably, with room to spare, filled with steaming water scented faintly with herbs. She sank into it with a long breath she had not realized she was holding, allowing the heat to ease the tension knotted through her muscles. Dirt, sweat, and the last traces of another world were washed away.

Afterward, dressed not in armor or formal regalia but in loose, comfortable attire suited only for the privacy of her chambers, she made her way to her bedroom.

Farah was already there, reclining atop the broad bed that had been custom built to accommodate Umbra’s stature without compromise. The sight of her waiting there, relaxed and radiant in the soft lamplight, loosened something in Umbra’s chest that even victory had not managed to touch.

“It is done,” Umbra groaned as she lowered herself onto the mattress beside her. “I can finally breathe.”

“You can,” Farah replied warmly, leaning close enough to press a gentle kiss to her lips.

Umbra exhaled slowly, staring up at the canopy above them. “I have spent so long fighting that I scarcely remember how to be idle. Even now, as exhausted as I am, part of me is already searching for the next problem to solve. I know I should rest, yet I feel restless all the same.”

Farah regarded her with knowing amusement. “Would it help, dearest, if I insisted you remain here and do nothing for a while?”

Umbra huffed a small laugh. “If I am being entirely honest, that may be the wisest course. I do not trust myself not to summon a council meeting before dawn.” She turned her head slightly. “Perhaps I should occupy myself with something harmless instead. Writing, maybe.”

“Oh?” Farah asked, clearly intrigued.

“Mmm,” Umbra murmured thoughtfully. “Perhaps I could record our journey. From the day I first arrived in this world, through every campaign, until the Witch finally fell. A proper account, rather than the exaggerated tales the bards insist on spreading.”

“That would certainly circulate among the nobles,” Farah observed.

Umbra’s lips curved into a sly smile. “And if I were to include, in meticulous detail, the structure of my estate management and the reforms that proved most successful, it might encourage others to adopt similar methods. Imagine it, an entire generation of nobles competing to improve the lives of their citizens simply to match my example.”

Farah raised a brow. “You are describing administrative reform disguised as leisure.”

“Well, writing is work,” Umbra admitted, shifting slightly closer. “But it is the sort of work one may do while comfortably seated, which already makes it far more appealing than war.”

“Maybe,” Farah said after a while, her voice soft and thoughtful as though she had been turning the idea over in her mind for some time, “we could take a trip to the coast. We scarcely had the chance to do so before everything descended into chaos.”

Umbra let out a low hum of consideration, her fingers lazily tracing idle patterns against the fabric of the blankets as she imagined it. Endless water stretching toward the horizon, salt carried on the wind, cliffs battered by waves that had never known war or politics or ambition. It was a strangely peaceful image.

“I would not be averse,” Umbra replied at length, her tone calm but genuine. “It has been… a very long time since I allowed myself to travel without purpose. Not worrying about inspections, treaties, or marching banners. Just the sea.”

Farah smiled faintly at that, clearly pleased by the lack of resistance.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the sort that only existed between people who did not feel pressured to fill every moment with words. The room was warm, lit only by low lamps and the fading glow of evening beyond the curtains. For the first time in years, there was nothing to attend to, just quiet.

After a few minutes, Farah shifted slightly closer, the movement subtle but deliberate.

“What about,” she began carefully, “a family? I know we are ageless and there is no urgency pressing upon us the way there is for mortals, but perhaps we could consider it. Someday. It would be good to have an heir.”

Umbra turned her head to look at her fully, studying her expression not with suspicion, but with something far softer. The suggestion did not shock her. It simply settled into place like a thought that had always been there, waiting for voice.

“Yes,” Umbra said slowly, and there was no hesitation in the sincerity of it. “I would love that. I truly would. But perhaps we allow ourselves a few years first. Time to breathe and exist without crisis.”

Farah nodded immediately. “Of course. There is no rush, especially not for us.”

Umbra reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together, her large claw dwarfing the angel’s hand.

“I love you more than the world itself,” Umbra said quietly.

Farah’s answering smile was warm and unguarded. “You, dearest, are my heart.”

For once, Umbra allowed herself to believe that the world could wait, and though she might take a rest for a while, she was still the hero after all.