The footsteps were definitely getting closer.
Alyra stood in the center of the chamber, trying very hard not to look like someone who had just been swallowed by a hole in reality five minutes ago.
Which, in fairness, was a difficult look to pull off.
The stone floor beneath her feet still hummed faintly with that strange silver-veined glow. The air felt heavy, almost like the room itself was holding its breath.
The crimson fractal on her arm pulsed once.
Warm.
Persistent.
Very much still there.
"Fantastic," she murmured under her breath.
Because if this was a dream, it was doing a remarkably convincing job.
The footsteps echoed again, louder now.
Not one person.
Several.
Alyra straightened slightly, shoulders relaxing into that calm, controlled posture she'd perfected over the years. The trick was simple if you looked like you understood what was happening, people often assumed you did.
Even when you absolutely did not.
Which was exactly her current situation.
A moment later, three figures stepped into the chamber.
They moved with the quiet efficiency of people who knew exactly where they were and what they were doing. Dark coats, high collars, boots that barely made a sound against the stone.
Uniforms, maybe.
Or something close to it.
All three of them stopped the moment they saw her.
The silence that followed was… heavy.
One of them a woman with sharp features and a braid pulled tight down her back as the first to speak.
"…That shouldn't be possible."
Well.
That was encouraging.
Alyra lifted a brow slightly.
"Glad we're all on the same page."
The woman ignored the comment entirely. Her eyes had already moved to Alyra's arm.
Which, unfortunately, was still glowing.
Subtle.
But definitely glowing.
The reaction was immediate.
The man to her left stiffened slightly, his gaze narrowing. The third guard shifted his stance, hand drifting closer to the hilt of something at his belt.
Alyra followed the movement with quiet interest.
Ah.
Weapons.
That felt about right.
"State your origin," the braided woman said.
No greeting. No explanation.
Just straight to interrogation.
Alyra considered her options.
The truth sounded insane.
A lie would probably collapse in about thirty seconds.
"…Kitchen," she said finally.
Three pairs of eyes stared at her.
She sighed softly.
"Apartment kitchen, technically," Alyra added. "There were noodles involved. Then the floor opened and here we are."
The guard on the right let out a quiet, disbelieving breath.
The braided woman, however, did not look amused.
Her gaze remained fixed on the crimson fractal spreading along Alyra's arm.
"That mark," she said slowly. "Where did you obtain it?"
"Obtain?"
Alyra glanced down at it briefly.
"I'd like to know that myself."
The mark pulsed again, almost like it resented being discussed.
The guards exchanged a look.
Not a casual one.
The kind people shared when something deeply inconvenient had just appeared in their day.
"Fracture activity was recorded less than ten minutes ago," the second guard muttered. "But there was no registered arrival."
His eyes flicked back to Alyra.
"…Until now."
Alyra resisted the urge to clap politely.
"Look, I don't know what your local travel procedures are," she said calmly, "but I assure you I didn't exactly book the trip."
Silence again.
The braided woman stepped closer.
Slow.
Careful.
Her eyes never left the mark.
"Hold out your arm."
Alyra didn't move.
Not immediately.
Trust, she'd learned, was a luxury best handed out in small portions.
"…Is that a request," she asked mildly, "or the part where things become unpleasant?"
The woman's gaze lifted to meet hers.
"Both."
Fair enough.
Alyra extended her arm.
The guard leaned closer, examining the fractal pattern as if committing every line to memory.
The longer she looked, the more the calm certainty in her expression began to shift.
Confusion first.
Then something else.
Something sharper.
"…That's not possible," she murmured.
Alyra felt a familiar thread of unease wind through her stomach.
That's twice someone's said that.
The guard's hand hovered just above the mark, not quite touching.
"You said you arrived through the fracture?"
"Yes."
"And the mark appeared before or after?"
"Before."
The woman went very still.
Behind her, the other two guards exchanged another look.
Not confusion this time.
Concern.
Which was significantly worse.
"Fractals manifest after exposure," the second guard said quietly. "Not before."
The braided woman straightened slowly.
Her eyes met Alyra's again.
The air in the chamber felt tighter somehow.
"…What exactly are you?" she asked.
Alyra blinked.
"Well," she said, "that's a slightly existential question for a Tuesday."
The guards did not smile.
Which, in hindsight, had been optimistic of her.
The braided woman turned to the others.
"Notify the upper chamber," she said quietly.
The words carried weight.
Authority.
Something about the tone made Alyra's internal alarm bells begin ringing again.
"Notify them of what?" the second guard asked.
The woman's gaze slid briefly back to Alyra.
Just for a second.
Long enough for something cold to settle in Alyra's chest.
"An anomaly."
The word hung in the air.
Anomaly.
Not traveler.
Not newcomer.
Not even problem.
Anomaly.
Alyra resisted the urge to sigh.
Great.
Exactly the label everyone hoped for when accidentally arriving in another world.
Behind the guards, the stone chamber hummed again.
The silver veins in the floor pulsed brighter.
Alyra's arm burned.
The crimson fractal flared suddenly, the glow intensifying beneath her skin.
The guards noticed immediately.
Weapons came half-drawn.
"Hold!" the braided woman snapped.
The energy faded a second later.
But the damage was done.
Every eye in the room was now fixed on Alyra.
Not curious.
Not confused.
Alert.
Alyra slowly lowered her arm.
"…So," she said lightly, "is there a welcome brochure for this place, or do we just skip straight to the suspicious interrogation part?"
No one answered.
And somewhere deep inside the quiet chamber, the silver fractures in the stone floor pulsed again.
Like the room itself had just noticed her.