Well, Heron wasn’t dead. Yet. Which was as good as any time to be alive.

  A bead of sweat dripped down the back of Heron’s neck as he held his breath, straining as his palm rested on the gritty bark. The cool breeze from the evening made the leaves shift above him as he stood by the tree. The image of a long, sturdy branch remained steady in his mind as he inhaled then exhaled. He needed the wooden beam that he was envisioning for his temporary shelter.

  The smart thing would’ve been to wait. To wait till tomorrow when he felt more certain about his energy levels and that he would survive this summoning. But Heron had always been a maximum productivity kind-of-person and wanted to push himself to the limits. Which had it’s own caveats, such as the lack of seriousness when facing possible death.

  Gritting his teeth, his heart lurched as Heron felt the wood push against his hand. A faint, orange glow shone between the cracks of his fingers which stemmed from the center of his palm. Adjusting his grip on the wood, he allowed the tree to propel the shape of the wooden beam that he had envisioned. A tingling sensation traveled down his arm underneath his skin, the cold chilled him to the bone but he brushed the feeling away.

  The wooden beam emerged from the tree like it was being summoned from within. Just like Heron had imagined, his fingers could barely wrap around the entirety of it. The beam spanned taller than him as it leaned against the tree. Once the summoning was complete, the glow dissipated and Heron collapsed to the ground. His knees hit the barren forest floor and he caught himself, palm pressing into the wooden beam before him.

  Cold sweat beaded across his hairline as Heron panted, his forearm trembling as it now rested against the trunk before him. He placed his forehead on his arm as he steadied his breath. He felt sick to his stomach, the nausea and bile raising in the back of his throat. His vision had swayed before he hit the ground, the dizziness had overtaken him.

  It appeared that this was the price of reaching rock bottom of the energy it took for Heron to cast magic.

  Heron stayed in his place, unmoving, until he caught his breath and the sickness subsided. Standing up slowly, his hand traced the wooden beam as he adjusted his balance, preparing to catch himself in case his world tilted once more. There was one last thing he needed to do before he could allow himself to crash out for the night.

  Dragging his freshly summoned wooden beam, Heron hauled it to the two trees on the edge of the clearing. This would fit nicely between them. With all his might, he lugged one end of the beam up to the crevice of the tree and repeated the process on the other side. The long wooden beam now rested between the two crevices of the trees, serving as a horizontal base for future wooden planks to rest against.

  Just like the fire that had since dimmed, Heron felt himself giving way. He crumpled like a paper bag, folding over as he fell to the grassy, dirt ground. Then his vision blackened.

  There were so many melon breads.

  Melon breads of all shapes and sizes floated around like clouds as Heron drifted through the sky. Was this heaven? The scent was warm and sweet as he found himself landing on one of the fluffy loafs. Sprawling over, he leaned in to take a bite. All the melon bread he could eat—

  Heron woke up drooling.

  Blinking sleepily, his vision focused on the white in front of him. White fur. Beady little red-eyes. Chewing on grass. If Heron didn’t know better, he’d have thought that the rabbit was taunting him. He did threaten to eat the darn thing after all. And yet it was eating in front of him—less than a rabbit’s length away from his nose.

  “Careful, I might actually cook you up someday.” Heron grumbled as he wiped the drool away from the corner of his mouth.

  The rabbit hopped away precariously, as if it hadn’t been watching him.

  Groaning with his back cracking, Heron sat up as he yawned and stretched. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked slowly. He was still here, in this clearing, with no melon bread to be seen. That was disappointing, of course it had been a dream. How he longed for a meal that wasn’t a potato.

  His eyes followed the white rabbit as it hopped around from one patch of grass to another. It looked more like a pet than a wild rabbit. It was quite plump and its coat pristine. The white coat struck Heron as peculiar. He hadn’t questioned the color until now, but normally wild rabbits were more of a tan color. Weren’t white wild rabbits normally white due to environmental conditions?

  Heron shrugged as he went about his day—maybe all rabbits in this world were white?

  A lifestyle was beginning to emerge and Heron didn’t mind at all. He preferred having a pattern, something to accustom himself to. He collected sticks for a fire, roasted his potato while he purified some water, and considered catching the rabbit while his meal cooked. Blowing on the hot potato, he salted it with his convenient magically summoned salt. But the salted potatoes were growing old fast and he wasn’t sure what else would be a viable summon. Perhaps he could switch to sweet potatoes?

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  As Heron ate his breakfast, he glanced towards the lake. The water gleamed from the sunlight as the water waved gently. He wondered if there was fish he could catch from the lake. He couldn’t survive on just potatoes and water forever. Talk about an unbalanced diet. Fish would be ideal, though he didn’t have the tools to catch one, let alone gut one. He’d have to figure that out at a later time, there were more urgent matters to attend to.

  With fish on his mind, Heron pondered for a moment. He didn’t know if he’d been lucky thus far or this place was simply barren of lifeforms, but besides the slime thief that had stolen a mouthful of bread, the birds that chirped in the morning, and the strange white rabbit, he had not seen or heard other creatures during his time in this world. He’d been terrified of encountering a predator, but so far, nothing.

  Which seemed odd considering how imbalanced the ecosystem would be without predators.

  But Heron wasn’t one to question the ways of nature.

  Flicking his head over, Heron chewed with his mouth full of potato as he looked at the wooden beam he had summoned last night. It was still resting between the two trees that held up the log horizontally. With the base created, Heron’s plan was to summon wooden planks from trees today. Then he’d lean them against the horizontal beam. He was well on his way to building a suitable, temporary shelter.

  Finishing his breakfast, Heron stood and stretched. Grinning to himself, he felt confident in his capabilities. He was still young, a man in his mid-30s was perfectly capable of building a shelter from scratch. Perhaps it was unearned confidence, but dwelling on his situation would do him no good. It was time to put his energy into action!

  Heron didn’t regret feeling confident, but the past hour had proved it was completely unearned confidence.

  He was panting like a dog now, sweat slick on his back like he just ran a marathon. A chill trembled beneath his skin as his veins felt stiff from the cold. Heron dragged the last of his created wooden planks to his makeshift shelter.

  He was only half done with it.

  The day had only gotten brighter with the three moons disappearing into the backdrop of the sky, the whiteness of them made them appear pale as they blended into the light, blue sky. It’s not like Heron had expected much, he just didn’t expect that he couldn’t complete the shelter. He was exhausted and only halfway through. He couldn’t risk going overboard, he had other plans for the day.

  Taking a seat under his half-constructed shelter, Heron leaned forward, placing his forehead on his knee. He inhaled then exhaled, a drop of sweat sliding down his temple. He was an office worker, not a construction worker. And he was running on fumes of a few potatoes from the past two days. Large ones but still. Potatoes.

  The fire had long since died from breakfast as Heron stared at the charred ashes of the sticks he had burned on the stone pit he had made. There was a small sense of pride in what he had managed to accomplish in three days. First, he hadn’t died yet. Go figure. Second, he was surviving off of one type of vegetable and was filtering his own water. At least, he thought the water was filtered.

  And lastly, it was beginning to feel like home.

  Which was funny considering his two best friends were the landmark boulder and the white rabbit that was keeping him company.

  Heron had a campfire, a half-built shelter, and a space that he was beginning to get used to; a large clearing of grass and dirt with a recognizable boulder, and the trees that surrounded the clearing that he was growing fond of. At this point, he might as well start to name his surroundings. But no, that was the danger of it. If he started naming things—like that tree called Steve—he’d get a little attached. And he was still trying to find a village. At least, that was the goal.

  While he rested and waited for his energy to recover, Heron thought back to the magical experience he’d been having. He’d been in awe of it since the first time he was able to cast magic. If it weren’t for how real this world felt, he would’ve thought he was dreaming. Or dead and in heaven. But no, it was miraculous that he’d been reincarnated. Sure, it would’ve been nice if he was overpowered or some overlord instead.

  But had Heron been placed in a world without magic, he would’ve surely suffered a painful and lonely death.

  While the magic was convenient, it was still inconvenient that there were arbitrary limits that were placed on him. Heron didn’t know when too much magic was going to be ‘too much’. Aka, death. He didn’t know whether to be more annoyed or terrified, but he knew he’d have to figure out the limitations at some point. Better sooner than later. At least he had begun to notice the effects it had on his body.

  Magic exertion was very similar to physical exertion.

  Heron had begun to notice that when he overexerted himself magically, the symptoms would arise like a physical illness. First, there was the sweat—but it chilled him like ice instead of acting as a coolant for when he was too hot from physical labor. After using too much magic energy, his body had felt cold with this icy prickle under his skin as it trickled down his arm. And if that went on long enough, then the sickness of nausea would creep in.

  The good news was that Heron could tell where the line was between the sickness and passing out.

  And the better news? It seemed that when he rested, even just sitting and closing his eyes while focusing on his breathing, the sickness would subside. He didn’t know whether it was energy or stamina or whatever it was called. All hew knew was that this magic had an energy-like price to it.

  With the return of his magical energy, Heron returned to his plan for the day. He had about half a day left, which meant there was plenty of daylight remaining before nightfall. With a piping hot, sweet potato, Heron was pleased to have found himself another source of food. Still a potato, but at least he had a variety now!

  At some point, the white rabbit had disappeared—probably off doing its own thing.

  Heron patted his slacks as he stood up, heading towards the lake. Before venturing off today, he was prepared to test another one of his theories. Down by the water, Heron began collecting pebbles. Pebbles the circumference of a small coin. Slipping handfuls of them into his back pockets then front pockets, Heron was loaded with pebbles; his four pockets were bulging like they were about to burst.

  Heron was going to breadcrumb this planet, one pebble at a time.