The Long Way Around

The flicker of hope guttered, then nearly died. Kaliyah’s heart sank as she traced the distant orange light back along the path her journey had taken. It lay in the exact opposite direction from her desperate climb. If her panicked, ADD-scrambled flight through the woods days ago hadn’t been so directionless, so utterly without plan… if she’d just run the same way as those terrified adventurers… she might have stumbled into that village on her first day. She might have been safe, warm, and dry instead of huddled in a dead man’s clothes, starving and hunted.

A bitter laugh, thin and whipped away by the wind, escaped her. “Unlucky stars?” she whispered to the storm. “Try a cursed constellation.”

Going back the way she came was suicide. The memory of that hulking silhouette filling the cave mouth was burned into her retinas. That path was a deathtrap, an invitation to be snatched right off the trail. No. She had to find another way.

The descent down the opposite side of the hill was a shocking, almost divine reprieve. Where her ascent had been a brutal scramble up sharp rock and mud, this side was one long, smooth, grassy slope. The rain-slicked grass became a slide, and she half-skidded, half-ran downward, putting frantic, precious distance between herself and the peak. The thought occurred to her, a flicker of cold rationality amidst the panic: Of course the monster’s den is on the hard side. Nothing gets up there easily. Nothing gets the drop on it. She was escaping down the back door, the service entrance it probably used for easy hunting.

For two days, she pushed herself, a grim determination settling over her like a second cloak. The torrential rain became her ally, washing away her scent and her footprints almost as soon as she made them. The frequent lightning flashes, though terrifying, served as brutal, strobing lanterns, illuminating the path ahead for precious seconds at a time.

Her internal world was a mess of monologue and mantra, a defense against the crushing loneliness of the forest. Sometimes the words stayed in her head, a frantic, silent commentary. Sometimes they slipped out in hushed whispers, a way to prove she still had a voice.

Just keep the light to your left. Just keep it there. Don’t wander. Don’t get distracted. Focus. For once in your life, Kaliyah, just focus.

I’m a data coordinator. Or I was. I can follow a bearing. This is just… terrestrial data. Points on a grid. I am a point moving toward another point.

Sam would be laughing her ass off. All her anime, and I’m living the gritty reboot. The isekai where the protagonist is underqualified, terrified, and smells like a wet sheep.

On the third day, the rain finally ceased. The forest steamed. And she found it again: the clearing. It was smaller than she remembered, quieter. The ground was scorched in a particular pattern, a circle of blackened grass and earth. A small trench, long since washed out by the rain, marked where the shadow-steed had fallen. There was no bones, no armor, no sign of the adventurers or their monstrous attacker. The forest had already cleaned its plate. The only evidence that any of it had happened was the psychic scar it had left on her. She hurried through, a shiver running down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

Her hunger became a sharp, constant pain. She saw creatures—giant, iridescent beetles with clicking mandibles the size of her fingers, and spindly, praying-mantis-like things that moved with a horrifying, jerky precision. She gave them a wide, careful berth.

Then, a stroke of luck. A small, fox-like creature with six legs and large, nervous ears burst from the undergrowth, startled by her approach. It dropped its catch from its mouth—a slick, silvery fish-thing with three milky eyes—and vanished back into the ferns.

Kaliyah stared at the prize. It was fresh. Her stomach clenched. The thought of making a fire, of the smell and the light attracting something worse than a quill-boar, made the decision for her.

She found a secluded spot behind a fallen log. She pulled out her rusty knife. “Thank god I tried sushi before and didn’t find it disgusting,” she muttered, a desperate pep talk. This wasn’t sushi. This was survival.

She gutted it as she had the rabbit, her hands only shaking a little. She sliced a small, trembling piece of the pale flesh. It was cold and slick. She popped it into her mouth before she could think about it.

The texture was awful. Rubbery. The taste was… faintly of mud and minerals. Not foul, but profoundly alien. Her brain recoiled. This is raw. This is a river fish-thing from another world. You’re going to get a parasite. You’re going to get sick and die alone in this forest.

She fought the rising gorge in her throat, swallowing convulsively. She focused on the memory of spicy tuna rolls, of soy sauce and wasabi, building a fantasy around the act of chewing. She ate half of it, forcing every bite down, her mind screaming louder than her taste buds just to keep the food there. The protein was a tangible wave of energy, and she stored the rest wrapped in a large leaf, a dreaded meal for later.

The journey blurred into a exhausting marathon of walking and micro-sleeps. She’d drift off while standing for a moment, leaning against a tree, vivid dreams flashing behind her eyes: the crisp feel of her prescription bottle, the warm smile of Ben across a coffee shop table, the confident handshake of the HR manager at Aethelred Tech. She’d jolt awake each time, the phantom sensations of that better tomorrow making the reality of grime, hunger, and fear even more acute.

On the afternoon of the sixth day since her summoning, the character of the forest began to change. The twisted, flesh-like trees began to thin, replaced by taller, straighter pines. The undergrowth was less dense. And then, through a final screen of branches, she saw it.

Not just the flicker of a distant fire, but the village itself.

A scatter of wooden buildings with steep, thatched roofs, nestled in a valley beside a wide, slow-moving river. A wooden palisade surrounded it, looking sturdy and reassuring. Smoke rose from several chimneys, carrying the faint, incredible scent of cooking food and wood smoke. It was half a day’s walk away, maybe less.

She stood at the tree line, her hand resting against the rough bark of a final pine, her legs trembling with a fatigue that went bone-deep. The sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple that felt almost familiar.

She had made it out of the forest. Sanctuary was in sight. But as the light began to fail, the familiar, gnawing anxiety returned. The village meant people. And she had no idea what her welcome would be.