Captured

The first thing Melodie noticed was the smell—damp earth, fresh moss, and something sharp, like metal left out in the sun too long. It didn't make sense. The last thing she remembered was slipping, falling into that pool, and hitting her head. But when she surfaced, the cave was different. The walls had changed; the mineral-rich formations were smoother, and the air was colder.

Her fingers instinctively checked the back of her head—a deep ache, but no blood. Not a concussion, then. Her backpack was still strapped tight to her shoulders, the weight of her medic researcher's kit reassuring against her spine.

She should have been in Botswana. She was in Botswana. But then… how was it morning now? The sun was already high above the horizon, golden light filtering through the cave's entrance. The time shift was impossible.

Melodie took a slow step forward, emerging from the shadows.

And then she froze.

A child—thin, barefoot, and wild-eyed—sprinted past her, his breath ragged. Another boy followed, clutching at his torn shirt, face twisted in terror.

What the hell?

Melodie turned, her senses kicking into high alert. That's when she heard the thunder of hooves.

A herd of people—men, women, children—scattered in every direction, running for their lives. And chasing them, mounted on enormous horses, were armored warriors with nets.

Her stomach clenched. A raid. A hunt.

One of the warriors—a tall man with a long blond braid, his armor gleaming in the sunlight—held up a metal contraption shaped like a collar. He rode straight for her, barking orders in a language she'd never heard before.

Melodie's fists clenched. She spoke ten languages fluently. But this? Completely alien.

The man motioned for her to step forward. When she didn't, his blue eyes narrowed, and he dismounted, towering over her in his heavy plate armor. The white fox emblem on his chest glinted in the light.

Melodie had no idea what the hell was happening. But she knew one thing: she wasn't going down without a fight.

He reached for her wrist.

Big mistake.

She twisted sharply, using his weight against him. He stumbled. Gasps rippled through the other prisoners. The blond warrior caught himself, rage twisting his face, and barked an order.

The other riders tensed, reaching for weapons. Melodie held her stance, sweat dripping down her back.

Then—a shift. The warriors parted as another figure approached.

He was tall—at least six foot five—and dressed in polished silver armor, the same white fox emblem on his chest. But unlike the others, his helmet was different—more intricate, the shape of a fox's face, gleaming with authority.

Melodie knew instantly—he was in charge.

The moment his sharp eyes landed on her, his lip curled in disgust. Like she was something offensive. Something beneath him.

For the first time, Melodie felt it—real fear.

Because this wasn't just about survival anymore.

It was about power. About control.

And I could already tell—this man didn't like challenges to his authority.

Melodie refused to back down.

The massive warlord in front of her stood perfectly still, his strange armor gleaming under the morning sun. His stance was predatory, his presence commanding, but it was his eyes that unsettled her the most. Cold, sharp, assessing. The intricate fox-shaped helmet that covered his head only added to the intimidation.

He was studying her. Calculating. Seeing her as a challenge.

Then, he lunged.

Melodie barely dodged as a heavy wooden staff swung toward her head—a weapon designed to break bone. Instinct took over. She twisted low, kicking out at his legs in an attempt to unbalance him.

He faltered but didn't fall. Too strong. Too solid. She needed more power if she wanted to take him down.

A murmur rippled through the onlookers. They weren't used to seeing their leader struggle.

That made her smirk.

Without hesitation, she charged him.

For a fraction of a second, she caught the flicker of pure disbelief on his face. Like he couldn't comprehend that a small, unarmed woman had the audacity to attack him.

His expression shifted into 'how can this be?'

And then she drop-kicked him square in the chest.

He hit the ground hard, his helmet rolling from his head, kicking up dust as it clattered away.

Melodie landed in a crouch, her chest heaving.

The entire battlefield fell silent.

The warriors on horseback yelled in alarm, gripping their weapons. The captives stared in awe, some gasping, others shrinking back in fear.

He wasn't down for long.

Before she could react, she felt it—the heat of his body moving.

Like a jungle cat, he sprang to his feet, barking something in his strange language.

"Qui le yut."

One of his men immediately tossed him another staff.

Melodie's muscles tensed.

He charged.

The staff swept toward her legs—she leaped over it. Another strike. She dodged. Again. And again.

He was testing her now.

Adjusting to her speed.

She watched his movements, scanning for an opening—then she noticed something.

His eyes.

The color was like nothing she'd ever seen before. Light tan, like sunlit wheat, but when the light hit them at a certain angle, she saw flecks of ice blue, making them almost crystalline.

And then his ears.

Long. Pointed.

A chill shot down her spine.

What the hell is he?

Her mind raced, flicking between the captured humans and the warriors. The people running from the raid were human. But these warriors?

They weren't.

Her moment of distraction cost her.

The wooden staff slammed into her throat.

Pain exploded in her windpipe. Her hands flew to her neck as she dropped to her knees, gasping for air.

A sharp command rang out.

Before she could react, a thick bag was yanked over her head, plunging her into darkness.

Her wrists were bound.

She wasn't unconscious, but she might as well have been. No vision. No direction. Just her mind racing.

Breathe. Focus. Track everything.

Through the bag's fabric, she listened. The creak of wooden wheels. The clinking of armor. The distinct scent of sweat, leather, and damp earth. There was a slight gap in the stitching of the bag—just enough for her to see the faintest glimpses. Dust rising from the ground. The blurred motion of horses walking beside her.

Every detail mattered. Every detail would help her find her way back when she escaped.

And she would escape.

The rattling halt of the carriage jolted her back to the present.

She was dragged forward, shoved out of the cart. More voices. More words she didn't understand.

Her jaw clenched. I don't know this language.

Then—a small voice in front of her.

"Want bag off, miss?"

She flinched.

A child.

Melodie gave a sharp nod.

Fumbling fingers tugged at the bag, struggling for a few moments before finally pulling it free. Light flooded her vision, and she squinted, her eyes adjusting.

The first thing she saw was a large hut, built from straw and wood. Smoke curled from an open fire in the center. Groups of human prisoners huddled together—some crying, some whispering, others lying motionless in defeat.

Melodie turned her attention to her rescuer.

A black-haired girl, no older than eight, stared at her with huge brown eyes, her face streaked with dirt.

"Thank you," Melodie muttered. She lifted her wrists, still tied together. "Can you cut these off?"

The girl blinked. "What is?"

Melodie sighed, gesturing to the bindings on her hands.

The girl frowned, then ran off to a man—her father?—and returned with a crude knife. After a few careful tugs, the bindings snapped.

"Free, free now," the child said, grinning.

Melodie rubbed her wrists, shaking off the numbness. "Thanks, kid. I owe you."

Now freed, she analyzed her surroundings.

The entrance of the hut was guarded by four warriors. The moment she moved toward them, they stiffened, their hands twitching toward their weapons.

She raised her chin, standing tall. They aren't used to people fighting back.

Good.

She took a step forward. "I am MAJOR Melodie Jaxxon, an officer in the United States Army. Take me to your commander."

The guards exchanged glances. Then mocking smirks spread across their faces. One of them mimicked her tone, repeating gibberish in her accent.

They laughed.

A sharp voice beside her. "They no speak our tongue."

Melodie almost jumped.

Jesus. This kid.

"You startled me," she muttered, glancing down. "What language do they speak?"

The girl frowned. "Awyan."

Melodie's stomach twisted. She had never heard of that language before. Not even close.

Her patience snapped.

"I want to see your commander!" she demanded.

No response.

Two of the guards grabbed her arms. Bad move.

Melodie twisted, maneuvering her legs over their arms and breaking free. Another one lunged at her—she back-kicked him straight in the gut. He collapsed, howling.

She spun, her elbow connecting with another's jaw. He stumbled.

Then—ironclad arms locked around her from behind.

A deep voice barked an order.

The warriors around her froze.

She didn't have to look to know.

Him.

The fox-helmeted warlord.

His grip was like iron, his breathing steady and unbothered, as if she hadn't just taken down half his guards.

He turned her sharply to face him, his furious eyes scanning her.

Then—he grabbed her jaw, prying her mouth open.

She bit him.

He growled, shoving her away.

Immediately, she was collared and chained to a post. The guards spat foreign slurs at her as they kicked dust in her face.

Melodie sucked in a breath.

Then—small hands touched her arm.

The little girl stared at her, rubbing her skin.

"Your skin… very dark," she whispered, staring at her own hand in confusion.

Melodie frowned. "Yeah, kid. People have dark skin."

The child tilted her head.

"Some dark like sand. None dark like the night sky."

Melodie stilled.

Where the hell am I?