Chapter 2 – Solitude, and a New Friend

I hit the ground hard.

Not pain—shock.

Cold soil presses against my cheek, damp with fallen leaves. The smell hits next. Wet wood. Moss. Old earth. A forest that has existed long before anyone cared enough to name it.

That old man really did it.

He actually threw me out of nowhere.

No warning. No explanation.

Kinda like those Star Wars scenes—Emperor Palpatine, Darth Vader, lightning everywhere. Very dramatic. Very rude.

I roll onto my back and stare up at the canopy. Towering trees blot out the sky, their branches tangled like veins. Wind whispers through them, low and constant.

No voices.
No magic circles.
No heroes.

Just me.

“…Yeah,” I mutter. “Figures.”

Panic tries to crawl in—but it doesn’t get far.

Because this isn’t the first time I’ve been alone.

My uncle’s voice slips into my head, calm and annoyingly steady.

“Randy. When things go wrong, don’t rush.
Take a knee.
Assess your surroundings.”

I exhale and kneel.

Slowly.

Forest. Dense. Old growth.
Game trails—humanoid footprints, faint but real.
Water nearby. I can hear it.
No immediate signs of predators.

Good.

I unshoulder my sling bag.

Still here.

That alone feels like a small miracle.

I inventory everything.

Knife—metal, sharp.
Lighter.
Torchlight.
Compass.
Lifestraw.
First-aid kit.
Light snacks.
Odds and ends Uncle insisted I carry “just in case.”

I nod to myself.

I can survive the night.

First priority: water and food.
Second: shelter.
Third: don’t die doing something stupid.

I follow the sound of running water and find a shallow river. Clear. Cold. Alive.

I drink through the lifestraw and wait.

Nothing happens.

“Good.”

Using flexible weeds and fiber vines, I twist a crude fishing line. A branch becomes a rod. I crush a fruit I don’t recognize and taste it carefully, letting it sit on my tongue.

Bitter—but not numbing.

Not poison.

Uncle drilled this into me too. Small exposure first. Let the body warn you.

I cast the line.

Something bites.

I pull up a fish-like creature, silver-blue scales flashing weakly. It looks like a cross between salmon and carp—wrong in several ways, but edible enough.

“Sorry, buddy.”

Dusk creeps in.

I decide to camp here.

Fire first.
Shelter second.
Weapons third.

I work fast, but careful.

A bow from bent wood and tensioned fiber.
Arrows carved from bamboo, tips hardened in flame.
A slingshot molded perfectly to my palm.

Armor comes next—layered bark, woven vines. Crude, but it’ll stop scratches and glancing blows.

Uncle always said:

“You don’t need perfect. You need enough.”

I find bamboo.

Actual bamboo.

Of course there’s bamboo. There’s always bamboo.

From it, I make containers, arrow shafts, and a rough bokken. A bamboo sword won’t cut—but it’ll break bones.

I catch my reflection in the river.

Bark armor. Bamboo blade. Messy hair.

“…I look like a damn low-budget samurai.”

Stone tools come last.

River stones chipped patiently into edges. One lashed into a branch becomes a stone axe. Another, carefully shaped, becomes a backup blade.

I set traps. Noise alarms. A perimeter.

Only then do I sit.

The compass spins.

Constantly.

“…That’s not good.”

This place is messing with magnetism—or something worse. Figures. Even here, Uncle’s warnings hold up.

I tuck it away and glance at the sky. Moon position. Star drift.

Sundial it is.

The fire crackles.

Fatigue hits hard.

For the first time since being banished, I let myself breathe.

“…Thanks, Uncle.”

I’m half-asleep when—

“Randy! Randy!!”

I jerk awake, knife already in hand.

The jewel Luna gave me glows faintly.

“…Yeah?” I answer, grudgingly.

Her voice comes through clearly, like a phone pressed to my ear.

“You’re alive! Thank the gods!”

“Barely. Your kingdom’s sorcerer has some loose screws in his head.”

“…Loose… screws?” She pauses. “Please place the jewel on the ground.”

“…Okay.”

I set it down.

Light bends.

A shimmering image forms—a miniature projection of her.

“Hologram,” I mutter. “We call this a hologram where I’m from.”

“Interesting. Let me see your surroundings.”

Her ears twitch as she scans the forest.

“Oh… I have located you.”

The air distorts.

And then—

She’s there.

Luna.

Moonlight outlines her ears, her tail swaying slowly behind her. She looks unreal against the dark forest.

“They do not remember you,” she says quietly.

“…Yeah. That was… somewhat expected.”

“Not even the teacher you saved.”

“…Figures.”

She surveys my camp.

Weapons. Traps. Fire.

“…You adapted quickly.”

“Habit.”

We talk.

About Earth.
About Mana.

She explains the prophecy. The Demon Lord. The reason my classmates were summoned.

Champions.

They were chosen.

I wasn’t.

“Guess I was extra baggage,” I say.

She doesn’t deny it.

She explains the races—Hume, Elves, Dwarves, Fairies, Beast-men.

“Beast-men rank low,” she says. “Lower than Hume.”

I snort. “Guess we’re both invisible.”

She hesitates.

Then nods.

She tells me she was adopted by the Queen. The last survivor of a destroyed clan.

No drama. No emotion.

Silence settles between us.

Suddenly, she pulls me away from the fire.

“Train with me.”

“…Now?”

“Yes.”

Her rapier flashes.

I swing clumsily. She disarms me instantly.

Uncle’s voice echoes again.

“Never fight where you’re weak.
Fight where you’re good.”

I fire the slingshot.

She blocks it effortlessly.

I smirk. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Mistake.

She sees perfectly in the dark.

Cat eyes.

“…Right. Forgot about that.”

I’m on the ground before I blink.

“Ow…”

“You are not serious,” she says.

“I hate fighting.”

“And this world does not care.”

I hesitate. My imagination runs wild for half a second.

“…I thought cat folk ended sentences with ‘nya’.”

She stares.

“…Explain.”

“I read it.”

I strike a cat pose.

Her expression goes flat.

“…Earthling imagination is deeply strange.”

She looks at me like I just crawled out of a sewer.

I clear my throat. “Anyway. Just thought I’d mention the dialect.”

Pain explodes.

Low blow.

Direct hit.

I collapse, ears ringing.

“That,” she snaps, “is fantasy nonsense.”

“…I may never have children.”

“You deserved that.”

Fair.

No pain, no gain.

This feels more like no pain, no descendants.

Before leaving, she hands me a pouch.

Bronze. Silver. Gold.

“Barter still exists,” she explains. “But money simplifies matters.”

She gives me a map—and a different compass.

“This one uses mana. It will guide you.”

“…Why are you helping me?”

She looks up at the sky.

“I do not know,” she says. “But you are the only one who looks at me normally.”

“…Low standards.”

She steps closer—just enough that I notice.

Just enough that it matters.

“Coincidences do not happen without reason, Randy.”

Then she’s gone.

I walk.

My stomach growls.

Alone—but not helpless.
Not chosen.
Not special.

But still standing.

“…Damn it,” I mutter. “I forgot to eat.”

And with that, I head toward the village.