Chapter 2

The forest is quieter now.

Compared to the sensory overload I woke up to, this feels... softer. Still eerie, but calmer. Like the world’s holding its breath.

The usual chirps and rustles are gone. No buzzing, no birdsong. Just the sound of leaves brushing overhead, and our footsteps. As though the forest itself is watching us.

Or maybe… specifically me.

Not that I’m in a position to complain anyway. I’m still trying to figure out if this is a dream, a coma, a reincarnation, or some weird flavor of afterlife.

It’s strange.

Silence like this makes you notice stuff you’d normally ignore. The way the moss squishes underfoot. How the leaves shift above. Even the quietest sounds feel loud enough to fill the whole forest.

It’s… surprisingly relaxing. Makes me want to pause and just soak it all in. Like, maybe life isn’t so bad right now.

I trail behind Leron, our path winding through towering trees and dappled sunlight. My footsteps thud softly, uneven probably due to the sweat making my toes slip on the sandals. I'm not sure if I’m walking toward salvation or a slow, axe-based death.

But I’m calm.

Curious, even.

I mean, how many people wake up in a whole new world straight out of a fantasy game?

He doesn’t talk.

Not that I’d understand him anyway. But even so, the silence between us is… weirdly comfortable. Like we’ve known each other longer than we actually have. I think he’s just that type of person.

You know the kind. You show up feeling like the odd one out in a group setting, and there’s always that one dude who throws you a lifeline without making it a big deal. Like it's his second nature.

Yup. That’s Leron alright.

Maybe I’m being naive. But if he really wanted me dead, he could’ve just left me there in the dirt.

Or worse.

Instead, he offered me mystery meat ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) and a helping hand.

That’s… reassuring.

The sun climbs higher now, golden light cutting through the canopy like warm spotlight beams. I can feel sweat gathering at the back of my neck, soaking into my already-damp hair.

Ugh.

A breeze brushes my face — cool, refreshing, alive. The air smells like pine trees, morning dew, and betrayal.

Because of course my nose decides now is the time to stage a dramatic exit.

I sneeze hard.

Leron looks.

Mortified, I pretend to study a nearby tree like it just revealed the secrets of the universe.

“Stupid... fantasy pollen.”

He gives me the side-eye.

Coolness: -1.

Ahh… nothing beats that breeze-on-your-face feeling when you’re seconds from heatstroke.

We pass under a massive tree. Its roots twist out of the ground like bones, cracked and tangled. Tiny ants scurry across one of them, dragging bits of leaf and twigs toward their nest.

“Careful, little guys,” I mutter, stepping over them probably looking like a clumsy giant dodging tiny pedestrians.

Heh. I guess ants exist in this world too, huh?

It hits me again, how vivid everything is. How weirdly real it feels.

Back in… wherever I came from, I never stopped to admire ants. Or listen to birds.

Speaking of which-

Yeah, those birds are definitely not from Earth.

One lets out a melodic, flute-like whistle that warbles unnaturally at the end. Another answers with a clicking trill that gives me goosebumps.

Mesmerizing.

Leron slows, stopping near a tall, weather-worn tree. He says something in that soft, unintelligible language, then pulls out his axe.

Ah. Wood chopping time?

I’m just hoping no creepers show up anytime soon.(ᵕ—ᴗ—)

He works with practiced ease. Clean swings. Steady rhythm. Each impact echoes through the forest like a heartbeat.

I watch for a few moments before guilt crawls in. I can’t just stand here like some useless NPC!

My eyes land on a stack of cut logs nearby, and I awkwardly make my way over, hoping I don’t trip.

They’re heavier than I expected. My lower back starts to hurt, enough to make my arms regret existing. Still, I lift a couple. I gotta contribute somehow.

One log slips and smacks my forearm. Splinters stab into my skin like tiny, spiteful needles.

“Ow-!” I grit through clenched teeth, not dropping it.

It was either that or have it crush my toes, and honestly? I’d rather not risk toe-decapitation.

If this really is a fantasy world, then splinters are the least of my concerns.

I should really get used to worse scenarios.

Leron glances at me again. His expression’s unreadable, curiosity? Concern? Maybe I’m doing it wrong. Or maybe he’s just surprised I haven’t complained yet.

Heh. I know, I know. I’m mysterious, impressive, and deeply humble. Try not to fall in love with me, Leron. I’ll break your heart.

We don’t exchange words.

But he gives me a subtle nod. Barely there. Still, it feels like I passed a test I didn’t even know I was taking.

We keep moving.

The trees begin to thin, light spilling more freely through the gaps. The sounds shift, less chirping, more distant bustle.

By late afternoon, the village comes into view.

Roofs peek out from a patchwork of leafy treetops, chimneys puffing lazy spirals of smoke that drift softly against the deepening blue sky. Weathered wooden fences trace the edges of tidy gardens, while winding dirt paths weave between cozy cottages nestled like forgotten treasures among the greenery.

A village.

Tucked snugly between thick, towering woods on one side and open, sun-drenched fields on the other, it looks like something straight out of an RPG loading screen, warm, inviting, and alive with quiet charm.

Movement fills the scene. Barefoot children dart through the sunbeams, their laughter carried on the breeze. Adults carry baskets brimming with fresh produce, their faces calm but busy. Nearby, someone struggles to keep up with a giant, feathery creature, definitely not a chicken, but trying really hard to convince me otherwise.

My steps slow.

Leron stops beside me.

He says something I don’t catch, gesturing toward the village ahead and I take a deep breath.

First contact with civilization.

I don’t know who I am. I don’t know where I am. I don’t even know if I belong here.

But I made it this far.

And I’m not alone.

I glance at Leron.

He nods, slow and steady.
Then continues forward.

And I follow.

As we get closer, a few villagers glance over at us. Some stop what they’re doing, giving me that “Who’s this guy?” look.

Leron talks quickly with a middle-aged woman carrying a woven basket full of… something. Fruit? Bread? No idea. She shoots me a quick look, says nothing, then turns back to him.

And then- oh great, kids.

They swarm around me like a pack of curious puppies. Some babble excitedly in their language, others just stare wide-eyed. A few glance sideways, maybe a little wary. It’s a mixed bag of curiosity and caution.

I start to panic, smile awkwardly, and try not to totally freak out.

He steps forward, tone steady, likely telling the kids, “Alright, settle down, he’s on the verge of collapsing.”

The kids back off… a bit.

He motions for me to follow again, and we head toward what looks like some kind of communal storage spot. We drop off the logs, and a few villagers — people who clearly know Leron — wave or stop to chat with him.

They sneak glances my way, sometimes tossing questions at Leron. He just flashes that easygoing smile and answers like it’s no big deal.

Yeah.

He’s definitely that guy. The kind you trust to help old ladies across the street and somehow make it look effortless.

Yup. Leron’s a certified good dude.

Lucky me.

We continue through the village until we reach a more distinct house, bigger, sturdier, with a carved post by the door and wind chimes softly jingling in the breeze.

Leron knocks.

A woman’s voice answers from within. A few muffled words are exchanged, nothing I understand and then the door opens.

She greets us with a calm, measured smile, maybe in her early thirties, though there’s something timeless about her. Her black hair falls just to her shoulders, soft bangs framing a face that’s both elegant and mature. Her eyes, deep and black like polished obsidian, hold a quiet intensity, like she’s seen more than she lets on. Her lips carry a subtle tint of pink, natural but enough to catch the light.

She wears a simple, well-fitted dress in muted earth tones—nothing flashy, but it suits her perfectly, blending with the rustic warmth of the room. The fabric looks soft, worn just enough to feel lived-in but cared for. Around her neck hangs a delicate pendant, small and unassuming, but somehow commanding attention.

She steps aside and opens the door, motioning us inside with calm authority. The room is cozy and softly lit, simple but tidy. The way she holds herself, there’s no doubt she’s someone used to being listened to.

As we step in, an uneasy feeling settles in my gut, like something bad’s about to go down.

Before I can even think more, a deep, commanding voice echoes from the back of the room.

“Leron, ██ █?”

The rest of the words melt into static in my brain, garbled, unfamiliar. I only catch his name. Just “Leron.” It’s like hearing someone talk through water.

I turn toward the source: a broad-shouldered man standing near a heavy wooden table. The kind of presence that quiets a room. His face is weathered, jaw tight, and his eyes—sharp, watchful, tired. Like someone who hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in a while.

Scattered across the table in front of him are stacks of worn papers, faded maps, and a few crude sketches. Names scribbled in neat but hurried handwriting. Faces drawn with shaky lines, probably by children. I don’t need a translator to know what they are, missing people.

His eyes lock onto me. Then flick to Leron.

The air tightens.

Like I said something wrong, or broke a rule I didn’t know existed.

The conversation starts calmly enough, but it quickly takes a turn. The man’s voice rises, each word sharper than the last. His brows knit together, anger flashing behind his eyes like a storm rolling in fast.

Even if I don’t understand the language, I can feel the frustration, the warning in his tone. Whatever he’s saying, it’s clear I’ve kicked over a hornet’s nest just by existing.

Leron says something calm, steady, but firmer than I’ve ever heard him. Whatever it is, it’s not a casual explanation. It sounds like he's vouching for me.

The man — who I’m guessing is the village chief — doesn’t look convinced. His arms fold across his chest. He fires back with a short reply, clipped and sharp. His tone isn’t loud, but it has weight. The kind that carries authority without needing to shout.

Every now and then, his gaze flicks to me. Measuring. Judging. Like he’s trying to decide whether I’m a harmless stray… or a ticking bomb.

I glance at the papers on the table again. Missing people. Disappearances. Yeah. Great. Definitely not suspicious timing.

The woman from earlier stands nearby, watching the exchange. Her posture is calm, but her eyes betray concern. When the chief’s voice rises a notch, she steps forward and places a gentle hand on his arm, murmuring something too soft for me to catch.

He doesn’t yell, but he does pull away slightly. His jaw clenches. He’s not happy.

Leron stays calm through it all, though I notice a tension in his stance now. He’s not arguing, he’s defending. Quietly. Firmly. The kind of way that says, I know what I’m doing. Trust me.

Eventually, after what feels like forever, the chief exhales through his nose and waves a hand dismissively. The conversation’s over. For now.

The woman disappears into another room, returning a minute later with a folded blanket and what looks like a simple set of clothes. She hands them to Leron, who then offers them to me with a nod.

She motions for me to follow her.

I glance at Leron. He nods too, like everything’s fine. But I can still feel the heat of the chief’s glare on my back as I leave the room.

The woman leads me down a narrow hallway, the wooden floor creaking beneath our steps. She doesn’t say a word, just walks with that same graceful calm she greeted us with. I try not to fidget. Or trip. Or breathe too loud.

We stop in front of a door. She opens it gently and steps aside, letting me peek in.

It’s small but clean. There's a low bed with a thin mattress-

Oh god, wait. Is that gonna even hold me?

A small wooden stool sits in the corner, plain and sturdy.

As I step in, she follows behind, carrying a small wooden tray. She sets it gently on the stool: a ceramic cup, a plate with a chunk of soft white cheese, a slice of fruit, and a thick piece of rustic bread, still warm. It ain't much, but it's honest work. My stomach growls so loud it might’ve just introduced itself.

She catches the sound, offers a polite smile and then quietly steps back out. The door closes with a soft click.

I stand there in silence for a second. Listening.

Nothing.

Then a muffled voice somewhere in the house. Probably Leron, getting chewed out by the broad-shouldered guy in charge.

I glance around the room again. The walls feel... closer than they did a second ago. Like the space is shrinking with every passing thought.

I sit on the bed. It's firmer than it looks.

I look at the food.

I look at the door.

I look at the food again.

And somewhere, in the back of my mind, a stupid little voice whispers,
What if this is, like… the pre-meal?
Like they’re fattening me up before the main course.

I sigh, rubbing my face.

"Okay. Chill. They’re not cannibals. Probably."

I mean, if they wanted to eat me, they wouldn’t bother fattening me up, I’m already plenty chunky, heh.

The bread’s warm and soft, probably just pulled from the oven. That’s a good sign, right? Cannibals don’t serve warm bread. Probably.

I eat in small bites, just in case it’s poisoned. (It’s not. It’s pretty good.)

When I’m done, I lie back on the bed and stare at the wooden beams above me. My mind keeps trying to make sense of everything. The forest. The mist. The stares. The argument. The files. The tension in Leron’s voice. The chief’s glare.

And now I’m here. In a stranger’s home. In a world I don’t know. Wearing borrowed clothes. On a bed that doesn’t belong to me.

I’ve woken up in this strange world, and it still doesn’t feel real. But somehow, I’m still here. Still standing.

I exhale slowly.
I’m safe. For now.

My eyes grow heavy.

And sleep takes me before my thoughts can spiral any deeper.

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Elsewhere, a thick mist curls like smoke through the village streets, swallowing rooftops and fences in a ghostly embrace.

From within the haze, low growls and rustling footsteps echo, beasts stirring, drawn by something unseen.

A woman’s voice cuts through the stillness, barely more than a breath on the night air.

"It's been found."

Eyes snap open in the shadows. Sharp, cold, unblinking, watching, waiting.