Chapter 4 - The Journey Begins

  Day 150 of living in the cave.

  I opened my eyes.

  The uneven cave ceiling greeted me, the exact same sight as the seventy-four mornings prior. The torchlight flickered weakly, on the verge of dying, casting long, limping shadows across the stone walls.

  Awake. Silence.

  I disliked sleeping.

  Sleep was nothing but a failed simulation of death. You lose consciousness, enjoy a brief moment of nothingness, and then are forcibly dragged back into reality without your consent.

  I rose from the bed of piled fur and dried hides. The air inside the cave was heavy and damp, smelling of wet earth mixed with the remnants of burnt charcoal. In the corner of the room, empty crystals lay scattered like the bones of dead light. The snake's crystal orb was now nothing more than cloudy glass, its energy depleted, naturally absorbed into my starved veins.

  Bone weapons leaned silently against the wall. A spear, a knife, a chest plate. Inanimate objects waiting for their turn to kill living ones.

  I dragged my feet to the cave wall. Picking up a sharp stone, I carved a new vertical line next to the others. The sharp scrape of stone grinding against stone rang loud in the morning stillness.

  A long sigh escaped my lips, forming a thin mist in the cold air. I reached into my pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with the dying embers of the torch.

  "Haa..."

  The tobacco smoke mixed with the cave's musty scent. The nicotine stung my lungs—the only dull sensation telling me that time was moving, not standing still.

  The bats on the ceiling squirmed in their sleep. Their numbers had dwindled drastically. Most of them had ended up in my stomach.

  I walked toward the crude wooden gate covering the cave entrance. I pushed it. Heavy. The wood scraped against the dirt, creating a harsh, grating sound that hurt the ears.

  Sunlight pierced through. Stabbing my retinas. Judging the darkness I had harbored.

  Outside, the world was too loud. The shameless chirping of birds, the wind rustling through leaves, the breathing of the livestock—forest cows, wild goats, rabbits—that I kept in makeshift pens. They lived only to prolong my life. A meaningless cycle.

  I stepped outside. I closed the gate behind me. Shutting away my comfortable coffin.

  Grrrrr...

  A low growl vibrated in the air. A wolf stood at the edge of the clearing. Its muscles tensed beneath coarse fur, saliva dripping from yellow fangs. Its gaze was hungry, predatory.

  I stared back. Empty. There was no spike of adrenaline. No fear. Only an ancient sense of exhaustion.

  "Hm... try to entertain me."

  The wolf lunged. Its body suspended in the air, claws aimed at my throat.

  Slow. Too slow.

  Smack.

  My hand moved almost subconsciously, slapping its snout mid-air.

  The crisp sound of bone cracking was the only honest sound this morning. The wolf's body was thrown back, rolling through the dusty dirt before falling still. Dead. I didn't look back. I stepped past it as if it were nothing but a broken twig on the path. A boring routine.

  The sun crawled higher, now sitting directly overhead. Its heat stung my skin, but I barely broke a sweat. This body had adapted, or perhaps, it had simply stopped caring about temperature.

  I walked to the edge of the cliff. I sat down.

  Below, a boundless expanse of green stretched out. A sea of trees hiding thousands of ways to die. A massive river carved through the forest like a gleaming silver wound. In the distance, a colossal tree towered over everything, dominating the horizon, flanked by rocky hills and a small mountain.

  The world was vast. And I was nothing but a speck of dirt within it.

  "Haa..."

  The smoke from my last cigarette faded into the cliffside wind.

  The unknown. Danger. Death. These words should have triggered fear. They should have ignited my survival instincts.

  I stood at the lip of the ravine. The tips of my toes touched the void.

  My eyes scanned the drop.

  Estimated height: 120 meters.

  Wind speed: 15 knots from the southeast.

  Canopy air resistance: Dense, three-layered.

  My brain began drawing imaginary vector lines.

  Gravity: 9.8 m/s2.

  Freefall time: Roughly 4.9 seconds.

  Terminal velocity at impact: Approximately 150 km/h.

  Medically speaking, a human body—even one mutated by crystals—would burst like a dropped watermelon upon hitting the ground directly at that speed.

  But... there was the tree variable.

  If I hit the first branch at 40 meters, the force would distribute. Broken ribs (certain). Fractured femur (90% probability). Internal bleeding (certain).

  Probability of Death: 98.8%.

  Probability of Permanent Disability: 1.1%.

  Probability of Full Recovery: 0.1%.

  0.1 percent.

  A faint smile touched my lips. The cigarette fell from my mouth into the ravine, serving as the starting marker.

  "God..." I whispered to the wind. "If You really want me to stay alive, prove it with that 0.1 percent."

  This wasn't suicide. This was a stress test.

  I wanted to see just how tightly the 'curse' of this life clung to me.

  Without any run-up, I let myself fall.

  The wind roared in my ears, battering my face with brutal violence, threatening to tear my eardrums. Gravity pulled at me greedily, as if the earth were starving for my flesh. Terminal velocity. The trees approached rapidly. My heart finally beat—fast, loud, painful.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  THUD!

  My body slammed into the first branch. Snap.

  CRACK!

  Second branch. My ribs screamed.

  BAM!

  The ground welcomed me with absolute violence.

  Silence.

  My world spun. The sky looked fractured through the gaps in the leaves.

  Then, the pain arrived. It crept up from my legs, traveled up my spine, and exploded in my brain like neural fireworks. Warm blood trickled down my temple, seeping into my eye, dyeing my vision red.

  "Cough..."

  Blood spilled from my lips.

  And then, the laughter slipped out.

  "He... hehe..."

  It started quiet, like a rusted hinge being forced open. Then it erupted into uncontrollable hysteria.

  "HAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA!"

  The laughter echoed at the bottom of the cliff, scaring off the birds. I laughed like a madman. I laughed because I could still feel pain. I laughed because God—or my own sheer bad luck—still refused to let me die.

  "I survived... HAHAHA!"

  I tried to move. My right leg didn't respond. The shinbone was protruding, tearing through the skin.

  With what little strength I had left, I clawed at the wet earth. My nails cracked as I dragged my shattered body inch by inch. Like a deformed caterpillar, I crawled back. Refusing to die.

  **

  The Cave. Days of Recovery.

  I sat leaning against the cave wall. My breathing was ragged.

  Before me lay my broken right leg. Swollen and purple. The protruding bone seemed to mock me.

  It needed to be set straight.

  I bit down on a piece of thick hide. No anesthesia. No help. I gripped the lower half of my leg, and with a single sharp intake of breath—

  CRACK.

  "HNNGGG—!!"

  My world flashed white for a second. Cold sweat drenched my entire body, mixing with the cave dust. My breaths came out in short gasps; the pain throbbed in perfect rhythm with my heartbeat.

  I took handfuls of wet clay and slathered it thickly around my leg, binding it with wooden splints and plant roots. Now, I just had to wait. Time was the only doctor here.

  Day 170.

  I started moving again. Still limping, but I couldn't stay still. Staying still meant letting your mind eat you alive.

  I trained my upper body. One-armed push-ups. Whittling bones into needles. Setting traps around the cave. The pain in my leg became a familiar friend.

  Day 180.

  Reflex routines.

  I hung stones and logs around the training area using root vines. I closed my eyes.

  And sent them swinging.

  SWISH.

  Dodge left.

  SWISH.

  Duck.

  THUD!

  A wooden log slammed into my shoulder. A sharp ache. But I didn't stop.

  I needed to feel the wind. To sense the killing intent even from inanimate objects.

  Day 190.

  I removed the clay cast from my leg. The new skin looked pale, but the bone had fused back together. Harder. Denser.

  I stood up straight. Took a deep breath.

  I equipped the bone armor I had crafted. Shouldered my new spears. Slipped a knife into my waistband.

  I stared out at the forest. I had played around with death long enough.

  "Alright."

  I ran.

  My feet struck the ground with full force. My body launched forward, tearing through the underbrush. This speed was unnatural. The trees blurred at the edges of my vision. The wind was no longer an obstacle, but a companion. 30 km/h? 40? No, faster. I was a machine made of reforged flesh and bone. I was no longer prey hiding in the shadows. I was a passing disaster.

  A Few Days Later.

  The landscape changed.

  The wild density of the deep forest gradually unraveled. The trees began to space out evenly, as if arranged by an unseen hand. Thorny undergrowth was replaced by neatly growing grass, soft as a carpet. Sunlight pierced the canopy politely, no longer obstructed by the oppressive darkness of the woods.

  The animals here were different. Large deer grazed without any sense of caution. They didn't flee when I passed by. There was an unnatural tranquility here. A curated peace, not one that had grown wild.

  A dirt path appeared. Clean. Well-kept.

  Flowers bloomed along the edges of the path. Not wild blooms fighting for survival, but flowers tended to with care. Bees buzzed lazily. Butterflies with wings as clear as glass drifted past.

  Rustle...

  I turned my head. A small sapling, with a dim crystal embedded in its trunk, moved its branches slowly. Was it waving?

  This forest was alive.

  The air here smelled sweet. An intoxicating scent of nectar, rain, and fertile soil.

  I arrived at a clearing. A field of flowers stretched as far as the eye could see. A riot of colors that hurt the eyes of someone used to the gray of a cave and the dark green of the woods. Too beautiful. Too serene.

  The exhaustion of running for days finally caught up to me. I set down my bag and weapons beneath a shady tree. Sat down. Leaned back.

  My vigilance melted away in the floral scent. My eyelids grew heavy.

  I fell asleep.

  Ting..... ting...

  Soft music slipped into my dreams, pulling me out gently.

  I opened my eyes.

  A light drizzle was falling. Yet, strangely, there were no dark clouds. The sun still shone brightly, creating a shimmering curtain of golden rain.

  The music. A melody not born from any familiar instrument. Light, yet full, filling every gap in the air. The birds were silent. The wind had stopped. Even the rain seemed to fall in rhythm with the tune.

  A man walked through the curtain of rain.

  Long golden hair, pointed ears, a robe entirely untouched by the water. He walked without touching the ground—or at least, his steps were so light that the grass did not bend beneath his feet.

  An elf. So this world had them.

  He stopped in the middle of the flower field, his back to me. The music ceased. The rain eased, then vanished. Nature resumed its breathing, but to a rhythm dictated by his presence.

  Did he not notice me? Or did he just not care?

  My heart beat faster. Not out of fear, but from the sudden social awkwardness striking me after three months of total isolation.

  I stood up.

  The man turned slowly. His face was smooth, flawless, and ageless. He looked at me. There was no surprise in his eyes. Only a quiet curiosity, like someone finding a unique pebble at the bottom of a river. He scanned my appearance—dirty clothes, bone armor, bloodied weapons. A harsh contrast to the perfection surrounding him.

  I met his gaze. Pale blue.

  I bowed my head slightly. "Forgive me for trespassing."

  My brow furrowed. My language. Did he even understand?

  "Vad pratar du om? Jag f?rst?r inte."

  The intonation of his voice was foreign, melodious, but the meaning remained entirely out of reach.

  Communication. The first wall of civilization.

  I sighed, sitting back down and leaning against the tree. A minor frustration surfaced. The unknown, once again.

  Fine. Body language was universal.

  I stood up again. Looked into his eyes.

  Pointed to my chest. "Me."

  Made a walking motion with my fingers on my palm. "Came."

  Pointed to the ground beneath us. "Here."

  Clasped my hands in front of my chest, bowing deeply. "Sorry."

  The man watched with the intensity of a child learning something new, nodding along.

  Then, a wide smile broke across his face. He approached and patted my shoulder. His touch was light, yet firm.

  "Inga problem, bra ?tg?rd."

  He gave me a thumbs up. He understood.

  He then crouched near my pile of weapons. His expression grew slightly serious. He crossed his arms into an X, pointed at the weapons, then patted the ground outside the flower field.

  No weapons allowed. It made sense. This was a garden, not a battlefield.

  "Mhm... Okay." I returned the thumbs up. I had to play it safe.

  We walked to the edge of the forest. I hid my spears, armor, and knife in the dense bushes. It felt strange to leave them behind—like shedding a protective layer of skin.

  "How's this?" I tilted my head, gesturing with open hands toward my hidden belongings.

  "Bra." The man gave another thumbs up.

  He extended a hand.

  "Jag ?r VIELA," he said, pointing to his chest, then to mine.

  I shook his hand. His skin was cool. "I am Azisa."

  He gestured, inviting me forward.

  We walked in.

  The Elf Village.

  The village wasn't built; it was grown.

  This place was the definition of organic. There were no sharp angles, no bricks forced into stacks. The houses were part of the trees themselves—branches curving to form roofs, hollowed trunks serving as doors, roots intertwining into stairs and bridges.

  Some structures were made of hardened white clay, blending perfectly with the surrounding nature. Dimly glowing vines wrapped around natural pillars.

  In the center of the village, a Mother Tree towered. Its trunk was so massive it would take hundreds of people to embrace it. Its canopy pierced the clouds, as if acting as a pillar supporting the sky itself.

  "V?lkommen till min by... tomteby…"

  I stood there, slightly agape.

  Elves passed by. Green, golden, and silver hair. Their clothing was simple yet elegant, fabrics that draped softly over their bodies like ancient Greek robes. Almost all of them were barefoot, directly connected to the earth.

  They carried books, musical instruments, staffs with glowing crystals, or plant seedlings. They glanced at me in passing—looks that weren't hostile, but simply alien.

  Viela patted my shoulder. "F?lj mig."

  He pulled my hand, leading me across a suspended root bridge over a clear stream. The scent of herbs and old paper began to waft through the air.

  We stopped in front of a tall structure formed at the base of the Mother Tree.

  "L?t oss g?."

  We entered.

  The interior was vast, much larger than it appeared from the outside. The smell of old paper and ink filled the air. A library. The walls were bookshelves stretching up to an unseen ceiling, holding thousands of volumes of knowledge.

  We walked through the aisles of books, heading toward the center of the room.

  There, a woman sat in a wooden chair that seemed to have grown straight from the floor.

  Her hair was white as snow, trailing long to the floor. Her stature was tall, graceful. Her eyes were closed. Before her, a cup of tea let off a thin wisp of steam. Beside it lay a blank sheet of paper and a quill.

  She sat so still, so perfectly upright, that the aura of her tranquility felt like physical pressure in the air.

  "Miss..." Viela whispered.

  Viela patted the chair opposite the woman, nudging me gently.

  "Du ?r s?ker med henne..." Viela whispered, giving a thumbs up, then gesturing toward the woman. He stepped back, leaving me alone in the face of that silence.

  I sat down.

  I looked at the woman. Elyra.

  Her beauty was almost painful. A sharp nose, pale thin lips, skin that looked as if it had never been touched by the harsh sun. She was the embodiment of static beauty.

  One minute. Five minutes. Thirty minutes.

  She did not move. Her eyes remained closed.

  Only the ticking of a large clock in the corner of the room filled the silence. Tick... tick... tick...

  Awkwardness began to creep up my spine. Was she sleeping? Was she waiting for me to speak?

  I glanced at the clock. Almost an hour had passed.

  "Miss..." My voice sounded hoarse, breaking the sacred stillness.

  The woman opened her eyes.

  My world stopped for a second.

  Her irises were pure gold. Without a dominant sclera, without black pupils. Swirling liquid gold, majestic, yet entirely devoid of reflection. Those eyes did not reflect my image; they seemed to look straight through the flesh, piercing down to the bone and the emptiness within.

  Her eyes were... empty. Drowning in her own thoughts.

  We stared at each other.

  "Miss... I am Azisa." I pointed at my chest.

  Her lips curved slightly. A very faint smile.

  "Jag ?r Elyra." Her voice was like a wind chime.

  She picked up the paper and quill in front of her, sliding them toward me.

  I took the quill. My rough, scar-riddled hand starkly contrasted with the smooth white paper. What was I supposed to write? This was incredibly awkward.

  She watched me. A gaze that seemed to sink directly into my soul. She rested her head on her hand, looking at me with a small, mysterious smile.

  I wrote. Using memories from the old world. Traces of my fragmented past.

  I'm not from this world, sorry I can't understand your language.

  私はこの世界の人間ではありません。申し訳ありませんが、あなたの言語がわかりません。

  Aku bukan dari dunia ini, maaf Aku tidak mengerti bahasamu.

  I handed the paper back to her.

  Elyra took it. Her beautiful eyes swept over my handwriting. Her white brow furrowed slightly. She looked confused. She didn't understand my scripts. Of course.

  She stood up. Her movements were fluid as water. She poured tea into an empty cup and offered it to me.

  "Thank you..." I placed a hand over my chest, bowing my head briefly in respect.

  She gave a small nod. Then, she sat back down and closed her eyes once more.

  Were we going to sit in silence again?

  I reached into my pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it.

  "Haa..."

  The smoke billowed, creating a gray curtain between us. I took a sip of the tea.

  Sip...

  Sweet. Honey and jasmine. A warm sensation spread into my stomach.

  The world around me faded. Darkness.

  When I regained consciousness, I didn't know how much time had passed.

  My eyes opened.

  Elyra was in front of me. She was holding both of my hands across the table. Her hands were warm, yet a strange vibration traveled from her skin to mine.

  Her eyes were still closed, but her face... her face was wet.

  Tears streamed from the corners of her closed eyes, dripping down her pale cheeks. Her expressions shifted rapidly—sadness, confusion, pain, longing. As if she were feeling thousands of emotions that were not her own. My loneliness. My emptiness. The agony of broken bones forcefully set back together.

  She slowly released her grip, drawing a long, trembling breath.

  She opened her golden eyes. This time, the gaze wasn't empty. It was heavy with understanding.

  "What is it... that you really want?"

  That language. She was speaking in my language. The accent was strange, but clear.

  I fell silent. My heart pounded. She understood?

  I lowered my head.

  "I don't know... I really don't. I'm lost. I..."

  My voice caught in my throat.

  "Enough." Her voice was soft, yet it cut right through my hesitation. "I understand."

  I looked up.

  Elyra smiled. A genuine smile, even with the traces of tears still on her cheeks.

  "You may stay here," she said. "For as long as you wish."

  The invisible weight in my chest loosened slightly. I let out a long breath. It felt as though I had been freed from something.

  "Thank you..."

  **