The Traveling Heir

He had reached for it because there had been nothing else to reach for.

Now he stood in an American city beneath a storm that seemed determined to drown him.

A siren wailed somewhere nearby. Blue and red light flashed across the wet buildings.

Demitry turned in a slow circle. “Back,” he said. “Take me back.”

The silver window appeared again, hovering at eye level.

CURRENT FILM WORLD: UNKNOWN AMERICAN FEATURE RETURN CONDITION: SURVIVE INITIAL SCENARIO LANGUAGE SUPPORT: INACTIVE TRUST ACQUISITION: LOCKED

The words were written in English.

He could recognize some of them. Not enough.

“Return,” he said, pointing at the window. “Home.”

The system did not answer.

A man in a dark jacket ran out of the alley behind him. He carried a pistol.

Demitry froze.

The man shouted something. His face was pale, his mouth wide with panic. He pointed toward the alley, then toward Demitry, then waved both hands.

“Move! Move!”

Demitry heard the urgency, but not the meaning.

The man grabbed his sleeve.

Demitry tore away on instinct. The man stumbled, cursed, and raised the pistol.

A gunshot cracked through the rain.

Demitry dropped.

The bullet struck a metal sign behind him. Sparks burst into the darkness. People screamed. A woman ran from a shop entrance, clutching a paper bag to her chest. Somewhere, glass shattered.

The man with the pistol stared at Demitry.

“Are you with them?” he yelled.

Demitry crawled backward. “No. No, I don’t understand.”

The man’s expression twisted with fear. He looked over his shoulder.

Three black cars turned onto the street.

Their headlights washed the rain white.

The gunman seized Demitry by the collar and dragged him toward the alley. Demitry struck at his hand, but the stranger was stronger. His shoes slid on the pavement as he was pulled through a gap between two buildings.

“Listen to me,” the man snapped. “If they catch us, we’re dead.”

Demitry understood only one word.

“Dead?”

“Yes!” The man shoved him against the brick wall. “Dead!”

The black cars stopped at the mouth of the alley. Doors opened. Men stepped out wearing dark coats. One of them lifted a weapon.

The stranger pressed a finger to his lips.

Demitry’s lungs strained. Rainwater dripped from his hair down his neck. He could feel the rough brick against his back and the stranger’s hand clamped over his mouth.

A beam of light swept through the alley.

Demitry’s body wanted to run. His mind wanted to ask questions. Neither choice seemed useful.

The light passed over them.

The men outside spoke in quick, hard English. The sounds blurred together. Demitry caught only pieces.

“...saw him...”

“...alley...”

“...check the buildings...”

The stranger slowly lowered his hand.

“Stay quiet,” he breathed.

Demitry nodded because nodding was safer than speaking.

The system window flickered above them.

TRUST LEVEL: 7% TARGET: UNKNOWN MALE SKILL REWARD: UNAVAILABLE TALENT REWARD: UNAVAILABLE

Demitry stared at the numbers.

Trust.

The stranger noticed his gaze and followed it upward. His eyes widened.

“What the hell is that?”

Demitry reached toward the window. His fingers passed through the silver light.

The stranger grabbed his wrist. “What are you doing?”

“System,” Demitry said.

“What system?”

Demitry pointed at the words. “Trust. Help. Reward.”

The stranger’s face hardened. “You’re one of them.”

“No!”

The man shoved him away.

Outside, a door slammed. Footsteps entered the alley.

The stranger looked toward the sound, then back at Demitry. His fear was becoming anger.

“You brought them here.”

Demitry shook his head. “No. I come... I come from - ”

He stopped. The sentence had broken apart before reaching his tongue.

From Hogwarts, he thought.

From another world.

From a life that had ended and begun again.

None of those words would help.

The stranger drew a small knife. “Tell me who you are.”

“Demitry.”

“Who sent you?”

“Demitry.”

“That’s your name?”

“Yes.”

The footsteps came closer.

The stranger cursed under his breath. He seized Demitry’s shoulder and pointed toward a rusted fire escape. “Climb.”

Demitry stared at him.

“Up!” The stranger jabbed the knife toward the ladder. “Up!”

This word he understood.

He reached for the lowest rung. It was slick with rain. His foot slipped, and the metal struck his shin. Pain flashed up his leg.

The stranger pushed him from behind. “Go!”

Demitry climbed.

A shot thundered below.

The stranger jerked and fell against the wall.

Demitry looked down. Blood spread across the man’s sleeve.

“Come!” Demitry shouted.

The stranger glared up at him. “Keep climbing!”

Demitry climbed faster. The fire escape shook beneath his weight. Rain made every rung treacherous, and the city opened below him in a maze of streets, flashing signs, and moving headlights.

Another shot struck the railing.

He hauled himself onto the first landing.

The stranger followed, one hand pressed to his arm. He moved with grim determination, climbing despite the blood soaking his jacket.

Demitry reached for him.

The stranger slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Help you.”

“You’ll help me by not slowing me down.”

Demitry swallowed his anger. The stranger’s words were sharp, but he had not left him below. That meant something.

At the second landing, they crossed through an unlocked window into a dark apartment. The room smelled of dust and old cooking oil. A television glowed without sound, showing a woman speaking beneath a strip of white text.

Demitry crouched beside the wall.

The stranger locked the window and pulled the curtains shut. Then he sank onto the floor, breathing through his teeth.

“Bullet went through,” he muttered.

Demitry understood enough.

He knelt beside him. “Show.”

The stranger hesitated.

“Show me.”

Perhaps it was the tone. Perhaps it was the fact that Demitry had climbed back for him. The man unbuttoned his jacket.

The wound was a deep cut along the upper arm, bleeding steadily.

Demitry tore a strip from the inside of his shirt and wrapped it around the injury. His fingers remembered how to tie a firm knot, though he did not remember learning. The stranger watched him with narrowed eyes.

“You military?”

Demitry shook his head.

“Doctor?”

“No.”

“Then where did you learn that?”

Demitry looked at the system.

TRUST LEVEL: 18%

The number had risen.

He understood then. The stranger did not trust him, not truly, but enough to accept his help. The system measured it.

“What is your name?” Demitry asked.

The stranger stared at him.

“Name,” Demitry repeated, touching his chest. “Demitry.”

After a moment, the man pressed his good hand against himself.

“Jack.”

“Jack,” Demitry said.

Jack nodded once. “You’re not with them?”

“No.”

“Where did you come from?”

Demitry pointed toward the window, toward the rain and the city beyond it.

“Not here.”

Jack gave a humorless laugh. “That much is obvious.”

The television suddenly filled the room with a shrill emergency tone. Jack turned toward it. A photograph appeared on the screen: a young man with a scar beside his eye.

The caption crawled beneath him.

Demitry could not read it.

Jack swore. “They’re locking down the district.”

He rose too quickly and nearly fell.

Demitry caught him.

Jack’s weight crashed against his shoulder. For one second, both men stood frozen.

Then Jack said, “There’s a safe house two blocks east.”

Demitry understood safe.

“Safe,” he repeated.

“Yes. Safe house. We go now.”

The system appeared again.

TRUST LEVEL: 31%

Demitry looked toward the door.

Jack followed his gaze. “The police will be watching the main road. We use the rooftops.”

“Rooftop?”

Jack pointed upward.

Demitry nodded.

They slipped into the hallway. The apartment building groaned around them, pipes knocking inside the walls. Somewhere below, boots struck the stairs.

Jack moved toward a narrow door at the end of the corridor.

A voice called from the stairwell.

“Police! Open your doors!”

Demitry stopped.

Jack gripped his knife. “Don’t answer.”

Another voice shouted, “We know you’re in there!”

Demitry’s pulse raced. He understood those words. He understood enough.

The door at the end of the hall opened onto a stairwell leading upward. Jack pushed through, and they climbed.

The roof access door was chained.

Jack tugged at it. His injured arm trembled.

“Locked,” he said.

Demitry stepped beside him. He studied the chain, the old padlock, the rusted hinges. His hands moved before he had time to think. He twisted the chain around the railing, braced one foot against the wall, and pulled with all his strength.

The padlock snapped.

Jack stared.

The system flashed.

TRUST LEVEL: 50% THRESHOLD REACHED SKILL ACQUIRED: JACK’S ESCAPE SKILLS

Heat spread through Demitry’s fingers.

Suddenly he understood the roof access door - the weak hinge, the safest angle, the way to move without making it swing too far. He knew how to judge a lock by sound. He knew where cameras would likely be placed and how to keep his face from their view.

The knowledge was not a memory. It was instinct, sharp and immediate.

Jack whispered, “How did you do that?”

Demitry pushed the door open. “Run.”

They emerged onto the roof.

Wind struck them hard. Rain lashed Demitry’s face, and the city stretched in every direction, vast and hostile. Sirens moved below like hunting animals.

Jack pointed across a narrow gap to the next building.

“Jump.”

Demitry looked at the distance.

“Jump!” Jack shouted.

Demitry ran.

His shoes struck the ledge, and he leapt. For one terrible instant, there was only rain beneath him. Then his hands caught the opposite roof. Pain tore through his shoulders. He dragged himself up.

Jack landed beside him a moment later, rolling onto his back.

Demitry reached for him again.

This time Jack accepted the hand.

They crossed three rooftops while the police searched the buildings behind them. At the final gap, Jack stopped before a brick wall with a faded blue door.

He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked it.

“Inside,” he said.

Demitry stepped through first.

The room beyond was small, dry, and dark. A mattress lay on the floor beside a table stacked with canned food. Jack shut the door and leaned against it.

For several seconds, neither man spoke.

Then the system appeared between them.

TRUST LEVEL: 52% SKILL REWARD GRANTED TALENT REWARD REQUIRES TRUST ABOVE 80%

Demitry stared at the words.

He had crossed the threshold.

Something had changed inside him. The city no longer felt like an endless blur. He could map the rooftops in his mind. He could hear the difference between a distant siren and one turning toward them. He could see three exits from the room.

But he still could not read the television.

Jack lowered himself onto the mattress. “You saved my life.”

Demitry looked at him.

Jack tapped his chest. “You. Saved. Me.”

The words were clear.

Demitry touched his own chest. “Demitry.”

“Demitry,” Jack said. “All right.”

The system pulsed once.

RETURN CONDITION UPDATED: SURVIVE FILM SCENARIO CURRENT STATUS: STRANDED LANGUAGE SUPPORT: INACTIVE

Demitry’s relief vanished.

“Stranded,” he whispered.

Jack frowned. “What?”

Demitry looked toward the sealed door, the rain trembling against the tiny window, and the unreadable city beyond it.

He had found shelter.

He had gained a skill.

He had survived the first danger.

But home remained somewhere outside this world, and every sign, warning, and answer was still locked behind a language he could barely speak.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters in the full book.