Chapter 2: Captured by Paint and Spears

The early morning light filtered through the thick canopy above, bathing the village in a subdued glow. Smoke from the dying embers of the communal fire hung in the air, mixing with the earthy scent of damp leaves. Atsushi sat cross-legged outside the hut he had been assigned, tracing his fingers along the fractured device in his lap. Its sparking had ceased, but its lifeless surface mocked him with its silence. The strange hum it had emitted was now a distant memory.

He hadn’t slept much. Every time he closed his eyes, the faces of the villagers haunted him—curious, wary, and some outright hostile. His success with the elder’s wife had bought him a sliver of goodwill, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the unease that gripped him. He was an outsider in every sense, and the fragile balance could tip against him at any moment.

A rustle nearby drew his attention. A boy, no older than ten, stood a few feet away, clutching a woven basket. His face bore the same painted patterns as the others, but his wide eyes betrayed a mixture of fear and fascination. The boy extended the basket toward Atsushi, then darted away before he could say a word. Inside, there was a bowl of steaming broth and a handful of foraged berries.

“Not exactly room service,” Atsushi muttered to himself, his voice dry. Still, the gesture warmed him. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the smell of the broth reached his nose.

The village was beginning to stir. Women carried bundles of firewood, children darted between huts, and men sharpened tools. Atsushi watched from his spot, observing the rhythm of their lives. It was a world apart from the sterile efficiency of Tokyo, but there was a raw beauty to it—an unfiltered connection to the land and each other. He envied it, in a way.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the elder. The man’s presence commanded respect; the villagers parted to let him pass as he approached Atsushi.

“You did well,” the elder said, his voice measured. “My wife rests peacefully, thanks to you.”

Atsushi inclined his head slightly. “She’ll need time to recover, but she’s strong. She’ll pull through.”

The elder studied him for a moment before speaking again. “You are unlike anyone we have ever seen. Your knowledge, your tools—they are beyond us. But that makes you both a blessing and a threat.”

“I’m not here to harm anyone,” Atsushi said quickly, sensing the weight behind the words. “I just want to understand what happened and, if possible, find a way back to my world.”

The elder’s eyes narrowed. “And if that is not possible?”

Atsushi hesitated. The truth was, he hadn’t allowed himself to consider that possibility. The device was his only connection to the life he’d left behind, but it was broken, and his expertise didn’t extend to alien technology. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” he said finally.

The elder nodded, though his expression remained unreadable. “For now, you have earned a place among us. But trust must be built, not assumed. There is much work to be done.”

Later that morning, Atsushi found himself following the elder through the forest on the outskirts of the village. The path was narrow, flanked by towering trees whose roots twisted like ancient hands. The elder carried a spear, though his gait was unhurried.

“The forest provides for us,” the elder explained. “But it also tests us. Those who survive its trials earn the right to lead.”

Atsushi raised an eyebrow. “And those who don’t?”

The elder glanced at him, his expression grave. “They return to the earth.”

The trail opened into a small clearing where several villagers were gathered around a makeshift stretcher. On it lay a man, his leg wrapped in blood-soaked cloth. The metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the air. Atsushi’s stomach tightened as he approached.

“What happened?” he asked, kneeling beside the injured man.

“A boar,” one of the villagers said gruffly. “He was careless.”

The man’s face was pale, his breaths shallow. Atsushi quickly examined the wound, noting the jagged gash that ran along the man’s thigh. It was deep, dangerously close to the femoral artery. Infection was already setting in.

“He’ll need stitches,” Atsushi said, glancing up at the elder. “And something to fight the infection. Do you have any supplies?”

The elder gestured to a woman who carried a bundle of herbs. Atsushi recognized some of them from his medical training, but others were unfamiliar. He sorted through them, selecting what he needed and explaining his process as he worked.

“This will sting,” he warned the injured man before pouring a mixture of crushed herbs and water over the wound. The man grimaced but didn’t cry out.

As Atsushi stitched the wound with a needle fashioned from bone and thread made of plant fibers, he felt the villagers’ eyes on him. They watched every movement, their expressions a mix of awe and skepticism. When he finished, he cleaned the area again and wrapped it tightly.

“He’ll need rest,” Atsushi said, standing and wiping his hands on a cloth. “And keep the wound clean.”

The elder nodded, but his gaze lingered on Atsushi. “You’ve proven your skill once again. But skill without understanding is dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” Atsushi asked, frowning.

The elder didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gestured for Atsushi to follow him back toward the village. “Come. There is something you must see.”

The sun was high in the sky by the time they reached the heart of the village. The elder led Atsushi to a small hut at the edge of the settlement. Inside, the air was cool and smelled of earth and dried herbs. The elder retrieved a bundle wrapped in animal hide and unrolled it to reveal a collection of objects—metal fragments, shards of glass, and other remnants that didn’t belong in this time.

“These were found years ago,” the elder said. “Scattered across the forest. We did not understand their purpose, so we kept them hidden.”

Atsushi’s breath caught as he recognized some of the materials—refined alloys and circuit boards, technologies far beyond what should exist here. He picked up a shard of metal, its surface etched with faint markings.

“This…” he began, his voice trailing off. “This isn’t from your world.”

The elder nodded. “And yet, it is here. Just as you are. Perhaps your arrival is no accident.”

Atsushi’s mind raced. If these objects were connected to the device, it could mean he wasn’t the first to experience whatever had brought him here. The implications were staggering, but they raised more questions than answers.

“Why show me this now?” Atsushi asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

“Because the forest does not give without taking,” the elder replied. “And neither should you.”

That night, Atsushi sat alone by the fire, the weight of the day pressing on him. The fragments from the elder’s hut lay in a neat pile beside him, and the broken device rested in his lap. He turned it over in his hands, examining the cracks and sparking edges. If he could repair it, he might find a way home. But the question gnawed at him: was going home the only thing that mattered?

The stars above were cold and distant, their light untouched by the noise of civilization. For the first time in years, Atsushi felt small—not insignificant, but connected to something greater than himself. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that his presence here was no accident.

And the forest, with all its dangers and mysteries, was watching.