Vignettes 1

An Existentialist's Reincarnation and Transition to Fantasy Shipyard Labor January 13, 2026

Chapter 1

For a moment, it was only that abrupt idea—what was it that I was just thinking about? A whole lifetime of ideas embodied in sensations and of the inefficient verbiage used to describe them. And where then do I come now? And from where? Does Heidegger’s Dasein resolve me? That this moment of who-I-am begets merely what is already self-forgetfully present-moment and authentic? If I clenched the door knob, would I feel in that moment that I was? Because as I grip it now, I feel that. But how well does that feeling translate to permanence? Is it just a whiff of the mind, a fleeting chuckle of self-aggrandizement? Is that what that is?

I stepped outside, and there, in all the things of which this world was composed—cars, street lights, electric lines, white road lines, and what else?—I felt myself inhabited and total, at least based on the ableness of my legs and the swiftness of my thoughts in grasping sensation at all. To have a body capable of this rewards me enough and justifies enough the conclusion of a whole autonomous being, at least from a brief, sharp glance with physical reality.

If I went to my parked car and drove to a cafe, what would I be but a nodal speck in a mirage of bright lights, of blurs and faces, of vanishing thoughts and sensations? But maybe, that is exactly the reason I did go many times in the past in the first place.

Now, I stand idly, and the weight of my body through my contiguous feet stands out to me. I am. (Based on sensation.) I am. The fullness equips me, as Jonas Morte argued about Nietzsche’s “I.” But maybe, for the sake of imagination, I can yield myself to a higher purpose, a higher claim to power, a will to one, if this Merleau-Pontian moment convinces me enough.

A person walked past. The wholeness, the hauntological hyperrealities that now flash through my head. Where am I now? Stunned. Sonder has made its presence known, and I am but a figment of this moment as this world through that Camusian flake of a person energizes me to be.

As they continued away from me, their back stretched into eternity.

I looked at my palm and its lines. The claim to power, will, and reality I actively make through sheer sensation-driven self-convincing pulses through my body as a calming smoldering haughtiness. In my head, it feels as though this affective heat radiates from my body, and I can barely hold in this teeth-clenching, aristocratic-egoistic bearing, a gesture like a cleaving hand escaping me.

By sensation alone, I—in this walking on the pavement—declare the fullness of myself and my ideals.

I went back inside and tested my hands on the surface of my desk. Its firmness betrayed the fragility I perceived of everything years ago, when my existential nakedness was at its worst. Now, I acknowledge the ontical reality of the desk and this safe, secure, comfortable present moment where my Being is intrinsic joy to myself.

Above the desk shone the sunbeams through the window. I glanced at its endless white. In this partially lit, mostly dark room, I idled and let my thoughts pass me.

After thirty minutes, I stood up and left the apartment. I strode along the streets and eventually arrived at the cafe. There, I set myself and my bag at a table and removed the sleeved laptop, pressing its power button. After ordering and getting my black coffee, I settled down and swiveled my mouse briefly to test its responsiveness before alt-tabbing to a text editor focused on a Markdown file containing fragments that, rather than hinting at a paradigm, only exposed my itineraries from throughout the year. I left the heavy thoughts to themselves, rarely projecting them to be heard or read. Instead, I metabolized loose associations cogitatively as I devoured novels, attended seminars, and went about my daytime flânerie.

In the text editor, I held the Control key down and repeatedly pressed the up and down arrow keys. Once I browsed through everything, I alt-tabbed to Gmail and looked through the emails in my “Seminar” category. None of the events scheduled within the next three months convinced me to attend.

My cogitating gaze drifted outside the window. A group of arm-around-shoulder teenage boys thumped and clattered over the sun-drenched concrete.

From the sky, a truck crashed and slammed through the window, crushing me against the wall.

Jungle breaths. Fitful flashes of white over my lids. Rough, sand-like parching on my lips.

A cough broke out of me. A craggy journey up my tight throat. The air snagged on the way out my putrid mouth.

I wrestled my eyes open. A mud-soaked vessel. Calls to the void spun. A dreary, muffled wheeze like a laugh left my lips.

I managed to speak—in a torrent of groans, murmurs, and whimpers. The world cleaved through my mind. Abrupt searing split my hippocampus. I jolted awake as if asleep.

A form, green and sharp-toothed, holding a blade, filled my vision. It towered over me.

It caught the frail hand that I raised and thrusted its blade through it. A scream ripped out of my soul.

Factus sum, vīdī, perīvī.

The goblin tore the blade out. My rupturing skin spewed off in many directions.

A pebble snagged my scattering gaze.

I reached for it, hardened my body, and swung the rock against the goblin’s chin.

The goblin dropped to one knee. I grasped its shoulder and slammed it again.

Its arms went up in defence. I pummelled through them.

It curled up.

Blurs, deafening screams and dull squelches, wheezing bursts.

The thudding slowed to a halt.

I strewed coughs across the field. Blood leaked from the corpse.

“Huh…”

I lay down.

Sharp grasses pricked my cheeks.

I drifted to sleep.

When I awoke, my stare was distant, an automatic smile overspreading my face.

Then I swiveled my head.

The thing was still there.

I turned my head back. My smile remained. Twitches and spasms on my face.

Hands soft around the wrists and rough around the drying blood.

An inhuman sound resounded in my mouth.

Vomit.

The tang stung.

Heaving.

“What was I doing again?” I stood up and unevenly started away, wearing a lopsided smile.

“This thing I am,” I cooed. A snicker distorted my face. Stifled roars in my throat. I clawed at my neck.

I fell on my knees and spewed again.

Dirt, grass, and the contents of my stomach.

I took a few moments to breathe.

Later, I stared at the clouds scudding along the noon sky.

Sunbeams rained down.

I gasped and swallowed.

I uncovered my eyes.

The sun screamed into the earth.

I put my hand over my eyes, shutting the rays out.

In the afternoon haze, my body littered the ground.

My fingers shakily dabbed the sweat off my head. Banging in my brain. A split along my body.

While I writhed, sleep snatched me again.

A hand gripped me awake.

Stifling a shout, I locked eyes with the man squatting over me with a gauntleted hand smothering my mouth.

With his other hand, he struck my head. The force and solid metal sent me into a daze.

He removed his hand from my mouth and unsheathed his sword, holding it with both hands. He raised as if to swing.

I hoarsely screamed, “Stop, stop! Please!”

He swung and cut me.

I wailed. “Wait, wait! Please!”

He cut me again.

I whimpered, gasped, squealed, yelled, and begged.

He never stopped.

My screams carried across the field. Flowers, herbs, and foliage stirred.

Red streams ran all over my body.

I was the work of another man.

A hodgepodge of swirls.

Strokes.

The finished artwork displayed in the museum. It was titled, “Man Over Man,” depicting a lowly form being disciplined by his superior in the wilderness.

A jolt rippled through my spine. I flailed and tossed.

Nothing, but sensation.

A dance.

Inside me was born a wisp of something better.

I wrested a rock off the ground and snaked past his strikes with my own.

The smallest, faintest image materialized.

A man was born again.

The man thudded onto the ground.

I managed a gasp.

From dust, to dust.

I tossed the rock away before scrambling for it again. I brought it before the man and indulged in repetition.

Thud, thud, thud.

The luster in my eyes faded.

I became action.

Present moment.

Self-forgetfulness.

Authenticity.

Dasein.

Will to power.

Aristocratic egoism.

The Das Man made flesh.

A new creature brought forth from the muck.

Born again.

A silver, glinting edge glided along my face, drawing a splurt of blood.

The man managed to get up, wobbling with his blade.

I tackled him, pressed my hands against his neck, and sat astride him.

The world shifted a bit.

I slammed his head with a balled fist.

His skull caved in.

By the time it was over, I stiffened and stared absently with a wobbling head.

The flesh oozed like spit.

Weltanschauung.

Leaf cuts wafted to the ground, rustles crescendoed behind me, and yells broke from the bushes.

I swung around.

Another man kicked me in the face.

Black.

I came to.

“…should stop working them so much.” A voice.

“Yeah.” Another one. “But what if they don’t have enough for the banquet?”

“Well, we can bolster them then.”

The room was a midden—cluttered with crates, blades poking out, stale air.

The two men talking were sitting on the floor, lying against a round column. New faces.

I lifted my face off the floor.

Their heads cocked toward me.

I crawled.

They snapped up and seized my head.

A boot slammed into my gut.

They held onto my head.

Another boot. This time, on my head.

My drool hung from my chin.

The door flew open.

“Oy, you two! What’re you doing here!?” A third man, pointing at them, charged into the room.

I edged my head toward him.

The two men hurried out of the room.

The third man stayed, hands on his waist, eying me before swiveling toward the door and starting away.

I reached out and croaked, “Help.”

The man turned to me for a moment.

He squinted.

I managed a rasp.

The man sighed loudly, rubbed his forehead, and left the room. He closed the door and locked it from outside.

Hours passed.

I crawled up beside the door and waited there the rest of the time.

Footsteps returned.

The door opened.

The three men from hours ago clunked inside, jerked their fists at me, and bombarded me with curses.

By the time they exhausted themselves on me, I lay there, and they left again.

The next day, the treatment was the same.

Three months passed.

They laid their hands on my hair and dragged me out into the sunlight. I giggled like a child.

Piercing tips jabbed me. Beads of blood trailed along.

The voices gurgled like mush in my ears.

Weltseele scuffing through the greenery.

I became, unbecame—resolved into a man.

They threw me into a glade and ran off.

Distorted forms projected from the trees. Tall limbs exited. Monstrous hands slammed the ground, shooting up clouds of dust.

I unraveled. My body rendered in performance art. My organs peeled open. My arrested heart divulged its secrets. I became unknown.

From the fresh paint was resuscitated something of a person.

The green glow of healing hands prevented me from death, and from it, I cycled through eras of heavenly grace.

A hand pulled me out of the animalistic wreckage.

Then appeared a face with furrowed brows, a quivering lip, and tears dribbling along the cheeks.

Know not. I am. Know not. I am.

The hands clutched me and shook me until my body convulsed.

My eyes sagged, dragging along the ground.

A slap sent me staggering off to the side.

“Listen to me!” The wall of noise crystallized into a shout.

I came to be. The man in front of me sat on an upholstered stool and tonged coal into a furnace.

Lying on a pile of trash, I eased myself off it and sat up. “Hello?” My voice was clear.

The man smiled briefly at me before facing the fire. “Do you know what happened to you?”

“Me? Wait. Let me try to remember.” I closed my eyes and rested my fingertips on my lids.

The images of the recent past emerged. “I spent a long time in that room, and I don’t even remember how long. All I know is that before that, I was attacked by a goblin, and I killed it before trying to kill another guy who was trying to kill me. Then someone else kicked me in the head. That’s all I know.”

The man prodded the cinders. “They left you for dead.”

I caressed my lower lip. “I forgot what else… Oh right before I went here… I was somewhere else. I was someone else. But I don’t remember anymore… Everything started here, as far as I can tell. Something happened, and it just was the way it was.”

The man rubbed his brows.

“Do you still remember the faces of the men that tried to kill you?” he said.

I nodded, biting my lip, staring blankly into the flames.

The man leaned forward, laid the tongs against the mantelpiece, and got up. “Let’s go. We’re going to the shipyard. Wanna come?”

I swiveled my head around. “I… have nowhere else to be.”

The man scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, figures.” He started across the room and exited through the door that led directly to the street. “I’m Richardson by the way.”

I paused before stepping out. The daylight revealed my soft, smooth fingers. I gazed at them.

A man bumped into me, and I went stiff, hanging my head.

Richardson waved at me across the faces.

I weaved through the crowd and caught up to him.

We continued along the street, with the dock in sight.

While walking, I turned my hand over. “What did you do to me?”

“Huh? I’ll talk to later. We’re outside.” The noise of the streets peaked, and the faces multiplied.

They passed through an intersection.

A sea of giants, dwarves, elves, beastmen, and humans streamed along from all directions, fanning out again at the edges.

Richardson and I went all the way to the dock, then turned off to the shipyard.

Once we arrived, a group of laborers wearing red waved them over.

Richardson and I shook hands with them.

The laborer rubbed his nose with his hand’s heel. “This is the one you got from Nutebon?”

Richardson dipped his head. “Without him, I would have come empty-handed.” He put his arm around my shoulder and laughed. “But he’ll be a good one, I promise.”

The laborer grimaced before shaking a finger at him. “You sure? The last one you got from that forest didn’t pan out.”

Richardson belly-laughed. “Ha-ha! This one is different, I promise! I mean, look at him. Don’t you see the spirit in his eyes? They’re glowing!”

The laborer looked away and around. “If this one doesn’t pan out, forget our deal.”

Richardson set his hand on the laborer’s shoulder, nodding with a smile.

The laborer frowned, pushed the hand off, and set off back to a ship they were working on. The other laborers were there alongside him.

Richardson and I shared a look.

“Let’s go,” he said.

We followed the laborers to the ship.

While walking, the laborer turned around. “What’s your name?” He raised a hand at me, eying Richardson. “Don’t answer. You, what’s his name?”

Richardson’s default smile went taut. “Michaelson.”

“No.” I shook my head. “It’s Morris. Melvin Morris.”

“Great. Using our made-up names, are we?” Richard lifted his brows multiple times.

The laborer dropped the smile he gave me when he faced Richardson. “Shoo.”

Richardson walked in front of him and me. “I’m actually called ‘Sunday’ around here, don’t you know?” He eyed me more than he did the laborer.

The laborer sighed. “River! Can you get this guy off?”

The fingers of a golem sitting cross-legged in the middle of the shipyard twitched. Its eyes glowed, and it got up. Its head cocked toward the Richardson. “Away, ye goatish milk-livered knave,” it slurred like a drunkard. When it started moving, Richardson raised both hands and skedaddled out of there.

I stiffly turned my head between him, the golem, and the laborers.

Once the golem returned to sitting and Richardson was nowhere to be seen, the laborer offered me his hand. “Morris.”

I shook it the second time. This time, it was firmer and crisper.

He flashed his teeth at me. “The name’s Roland.”

I nodded, smiling with slightly furrowed brows. “Thank you for having me.”

“Yo, yo, yo!” screamed one of the laborers ahead of Roland. “Let’s get this thing moving!”

I stopped, staring up at the net of lines connecting the ships.

Roland whooped, clapping as hard as possible. The sound waves sprung across the shipyard. “No names, no fame!” he chanted.

“We are the workers of the Solara!” the men all over the shipyard chorused back.

As soon as he boarded the ship, Roland showed him inside the cabin, taking out something from a chest inside. “I keep this here for anyone working. Here, have one.” He handed him a loaf of bread.

I bit, and it had no taste. But after eating it all, my hunger vanished. He then handed me a pouch.

I drank it all up. “Thank you.”

“Great, now that you’re done, let’s head back down. There’s a task I reserved just for you.”

The two went down, and Roland showed me a chest. “Take out the things here and sort them. It’s easy, but it’ll take you a while. Can you do that for me?”

“Sure.” I crept forward and pushed it open.

A gasp escaped me.

Lots of barnacles.

I leaned forward.

Different colors and shapes.

I picked one up and placed it on my right side.

I picked another up and placed it on my left side.

I did this until I ran out. By that time, I had eight sets from a hundred barnacles. It took an hour.

“Good job!” The only one left in the shipyard, Roland waltzed up. “Now that that’s done, there’s something else I have for you.”

He led me out of the shipyard and along the street before stopping at an eatery where the rest of the laborers were feasting. Most were standing around with plates full of food, and some were sitting, legs apart. They all ate with their hands.

“Sit down.” One of the laborers tapped an empty chair, grabbed a filled plate from someone else, and set it on the table in front of the chair.

I sat down, legs together.

The aroma of pork grazed my nose. Not a single fragrance wafted by. It was either meat or mud.

While eating, Roland changed seats with the person to my right. “How are you doing?”

I nodded. “Fine.”

“Do you have anywhere to go?”

I shook my head.

“A place to stay?”

No.

“A home?”

Gone.

“Wanna stay with me?”

Really?

I nodded briskly.

“Okay then!” He patted my shoulder and returned to discussing with the other laborers.

Chapter 2

The door closed behind me.

I looked around. Roland’s house was small. It was only three rooms, if you include the hallway. It was a place for sleeping and a place for cooking. Both looked like closets.

“I’ll just sleep in the hallway.” Roland took a pillow from below a side table. “Try this.”

The pillow stunk. But it didn’t matter anymore. I took it and brought it to the bed and slowly lay down.

“So?” His voice rung from the hallway.

“It’s great.” I clenched the pillow.

“That’s good, that’s good…” He trailed off.

The next I knew, he was snoring.

I widened my eyes.

I stared into the ceiling.

Rain pitter-pattered outside the window.

Distant thunder boomed from above.

“Roland?”

The snoring continued.

Not a single drop fell through the ceiling.

The room grew warmer as the night went on.

As if a spell was cast on me, my lids edged closed.

The night passed.

The next day, my hands stung. Sweat dribbled down the side of my head. I snapped awake, propping myself up.

Around me, sunbeams covered the floor, some of the walls, and the bed I was on.

I swiveled to the edge and got off, staggering to my feet.

On the floor of the hallway lay Roland, still asleep.

I looked around. It was only the two of them.

He tiptoed along the hallway.

At the door, he stopped.

He opened it.

The world slowly woke up, as carriages rolled, older men walked, and laborers carried boxes along.

I padded to the porch steps and sat down.

In the distance, birds flew from rooftop to rooftop.

Three birds perched together stirred and flew away. A man wearing brown sprinted along the rooftops.

Two other men, wearing hats, ran after him, pointing and shouting.

My eyes followed them.

I stood up and set off in their direction.

“Melvin!” shouted a voice behind me.

Roland woke up. “Eager to go first thing in the morning? Wait. Let me cook something up for the both of us, then let’s leave.”

I stopped, looking one last time in the direction of the three men. I joined Roland inside.

“Have you ever eaten shrimp?” He grabbed a small box and opened it.

I nodded.

“Try this.” He offered me what looked like a bit of shrimp on a spoon.

I grabbed it and put it in my mouth.

It had a sharp taste.

“Like it? You can have more. You’ll need to eat anyway for later. Don’t want you hungry on your first day.” He put the cover back on the box before putting a shrimp in his mouth, crunching.

I stared at the busy street outside.

“Wanna go now?” he mumbled.

Yes.

The moment we stepped onto the street, he dusted off his hands. “Did you forget anything… Oh right, I forgot. Okay, let’s go. I’ll make sure you have stuff to bring home later.”

We continued along the sidewalk.

An elephant blocked our path. It was entering the main road.

Around it walked men wearing fitted white coats and tall, brimless hats, looking it up and down and pointing with long, club-like sticks. One of them prodded it on the left foreleg once.

Once they passed, we resumed our journey through the city.

By the time we reached the shipyard, we were both carrying bags full of bread loaves Roland bought from a bakery. We handed them out to the laborers before eating our share.

Roland then tasked me to do the barnacles again. I finished the job in half the time this time. I had no more distractions and nothing else to do.

Once I finished at the end of the day, Roland and I went home immediately.

I lay again on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Roland came inside. “What do you want to do next? I know you should be working with us. But it’s better you think about this before you start working with us officially. You can stay here in the meantime, but if you take another job, then, please find your own place… But I’d be happy to continue providing you lodging as long as you work under me… How’s that sound?”

I nodded. “I have nowhere else to be.”

“Right… That’s not really an excuse though. Don’t take this just because…” He slowly backed out of the room. “Think about it.”

He lay down and slept.

The next day, I was at the shipyard again, staring at the barnacles. I recalled our conversation earlier. “Am I supposed to do this?” I asked him.

He replied, “As long as you’re fine with it. Keep doing it.”

I grabbed a barnacle again after putting it down because I realized it was in the wrong set.

A laborer stopped nearby, watching me.

I glanced at him.

The laborer opened his mouth.

I lifted my brows.

He closed it, turned around, and walked away.

My nose wrinkled.

By the time I finished with the barnacles, the sun was down. I took much longer than even the first time. There were two chests and over two hundred barnacles.

Roland wasn’t at the shipyard.

But that laborer who looked at me earlier was. “Hey, Melvin. That’s your name, right? Looking for boss? He’ll be here in a while. Just wait…”

I nodded and smiled politely. “Thank you.”

“By the way, I was wondering. How did you come to know… Richardson?”

“I… I don’t remember exactly. But I remember someone saved me.”

“Was it him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember what happened.”

“Okay… Because recently, Richardson passed away.”

“What?”

“Just wanted to say.”

“Seriously!?”

“Yeah. You know what happened?”

“No.”

“Melvin!” Roland called from the distance.

“Tell me if you know anything, alright?” the laborer beside me said.

I nodded.

He left, passing Roland on the way out of the shipyard.

As soon as Roland came close, I said, “Yes?”

He tapped me on the shoulder. “How did you do? I was waiting a while ago for so long. Did you have something to say to me?”

“No, why?”

“Oh, I thought you did when I saw you talking to Peelo there.”

“Peelo? That’s his name?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Okay… No, I didn’t have anything to say.”

“Let’s go home. I’m sleepy.”

Two days later, Richardson arrived on the shipyard, shaking my hand. “How are you doing?”

I went stiff momentarily. “Yeah?” I squeezed out a smile. “I’m doing well, I’m doing well.”

“Really? Where’s that guy?”

“Roland?”

“Yeah, that snake’s not here, is he?”

The golem stood up.

Richardson cursed and fled.

I furrowed my brows, eying the laborer who had told me that Richardson was dead.

The laborer met my gaze and smiled, chuckling. “Sorry!” he mouthed, pressed his hands together, and did a semi-bow.

I squinted, shaking my head slightly.

Roland waved from the top of the ship behind me. “Hey! It’s him again! Peelo?”

Peelo half-shrugged and grinned.

As the day went on, the barnacles kept piling. I barely even noticed when I finished one set. I just went to the next without pause.

The day ended just as quickly as it began.

I later stood in front of Roland’s house. He was in front of the door, unlocking it.

A cry for help rung across the field behind me.

I swung around.

A boy was crawling, naked, holding a bloodied gem.

In the distance, a man in a coat ran in our direction.

“Roland,” I said.

He finally got it unlocked and pushed the door open, going inside. “Yeah?” he said without looking.

“A kid is here, and someone, a man, is running at us.”

Roland turned.

His face morphed upon seeing the kid.

“Get inside!” He tore his vocal cords.

The rustles grew louder, and the darkness went pitch-black.

“What?” I hurried to his side.

“Come on!” He pulled me inside.

The door slammed shut.

“That’s not a baby! That’s a demon!”

The voice caught in my throat. “W-what? How?”

“Come on!” He ran inside the bedroom and slammed the wooden window with his bare fists. He slammed more than ten times before it made a hole big enough to squeeze themselves through.

After I leapt onto the street outside, a ghastly scream resounded across the area.

We barrelled through the streets, thrashing our hands back and forth.

By the time we reached the shipyard, we were panting and wheezing.

“What was that?” I clutched my chest. Sweat ran along the side of my face.

Roland waved his hand up and down. “We shouldn’t be here. Let’s head to my friend’s.”

“Huh?”

“I told you already. A demon. It’s a demon!”

“In the city?”

“Yes! Demons attack every so often.”

“People die?”

“Many!”

I staggered back a few steps. A hand wrenched my arm from behind.

I yelped, jumping away and tearing myself free.

A sigh escaped Roland.

I looked at him and turned around.

Peelo darted me a grin. “Good news. The demon has been put down.”

I clenched my teeth. “Why?”

“Demons of course!”

It wasn’t that. I was asking him why he scared me like that. But I smoldered in silence.

Roland’s guffaw boomed beside me. I jolted.

“Let’s go back.” He looked between me and Peelo. As we stirred and ambled away, he glanced back. “And Peelo, please don’t scare our friend here.”

Peelo brought his hands together and did that bow again.

He even offered to shake my hand.

I accepted with a twitch under my eye. “Peelo.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Name origin?”

“Parents.” He smiled and nodded as if he revealed the greatest secret known to man.

Roland giggled like a child, muffling his mouth.

I made a weird sound like a moan out of sheer confusion. “Eugh?”

Roland burst out laughing. Peelo made a sly sound like “hee-hee.”

By the time I and Roland got home, it felt like it’d been a year already. The familiarity of the bedroom scent and the squeak of the door never left my mind.

Outside, while we could still see him, Peelo did a wave with his hand like a connoisseur and left, the scritch on the dirt red-carpeting his exit.

“Remind me again not to have demon babies out at the front again, will you?”

“Huh?” He burst out laughing like he had a lifetime to spare, then lay down and sighed, the tension leaving his voice. “Sleep well.”

I pressed down on the bed several times before lying down. “No babies?” I squeaked.

“No babies,” he murmured, half-snoring already.

The next day, two men wearing purple with a red diagonal line across their chest stood right outside the edge of the shipyard. One had his hands resting on a giant sword standing on its tip. The other adjusted his glasses, flipping through papers on a clipboard.

“What’s the hold-up?” The glasses one almost pinched his nose but stifled the urge.

“No hold-up.” The sword one smirked, shooting him a glance. “Just waiting. The one I know should be here any time soon.”

“Really? How can you be sure? I get many false reports often. How can you be sure your informant knows exactly where he is when he hasn’t even been here?”

“He had someone else tail him. It’s simple.”

“Well, looks like I need better informants then.”

“That you do.”

They turned around at the scuffing of my walking up behind them.

“Who are you… Oh, Roland!” The sword one clapped once.

He and Roland shook hands.

“It’s been a while.” Roland signaled me to wait behind him.

“Yeah. How are the new changes hitting you?”

“Tentative, but we’re going to shift our operations down south. Maybe, the waiting won’t be too long. But as of now, we’re still four months away from a response.”

“Four months!? That’s insane. Can you update me on that? Mr. Hoffer here has bad informants, apparently.”

“That I do.” The glasses one, Hoffer, sighed through his nose.

The sword guy suppressed a laugh. “I have good ones, but they’re busy tailing you.”

“Oh, tell me about it. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Well.” He eyed Hoffer. “Looks like I got bad informants too!” The two laughed like old men despite being in their thirties.

Roland kept a closed-lip expression, having darted a soft smile at me every so often.

I swiveled my head behind me, keeping an eye on my surroundings.

A bird flew to a rooftop, shaking hands with another that perched right after it.

My jaw inched down. Roland almost tapped me, giving me a wave instead when I turned to face him.

He answered my raised brows with a gentle thumbs-up.

A Village Girl Joins a Reincarnated Adventurer's Party and Learns to Level Up November 21, 2025

Chapter 1 – Arrival

With a small decisive hop, Minnie skipped over a log and walked far down the forest aisle. Flanking her, long lines of trees stood about with heavy, thick heads of leaf.

In the distance, a clouded-up mountain peeked above the trees.

The closer she got, the higher it loomed.

Small-voiced, almost bird-like, she drew her hands over her face and said, “Hello?” A window in her fingers opened, exposing her right eye.

The darkness whistled through her lull.

In the sky, the sun slipped below the mountain, snuffed. Each stride she made stretched the rocky giant wider across her vision. Her figure crossed the cliffside green.

As night approached, her eyes flitted from left to right. The rising moon threw the leaf-covered objects around her into relief.

She gasped, and the air in her throat stopped.

For a moment, everything stared back at her.

But after squeezing her eyes shut, she placed a hand on her chest, her breathing slowly recovering. After fishing out her pendant from her pocket, she squeezed it in her hand.

Once she calmed down, she turned around and headed home.

As she was walking, a movement on the ground drew her gaze.

Dust was slowly moving. Beside it, a hole abruptly formed. From the edges of the road, mud rose, broke apart, and drained into it.

From the muck, a figure materialized with a puff of dust, and it stared back at her.

It was a person.

“Who are you?” she said, with a quiver.

The person tilted his head to the side, eyes glazed over. “‘You’? I am… Wait, who am I?” He snapped his head behind him then back to her. “Who are you?!”

“I’m… I’m Minnie!”

He stopped and looked down, his focus receding. “I can’t… remember.”

“It’s okay. But are you okay? Do you want to come back with me? Oh, I live in Sen Village! It’s a nice place to stay. If you want, I can ask Mom if you can stay with us. It’s okay!”

“What? Sorry, I can’t think straight right now. Let me… let me sit down.” He cautiously settled down on the ground.

He looked around for a moment, his eyes flickering. “You were saying?”

Their eyes stayed on each other for a moment.

“Where’s the way out?” He stood up, swiveling his head, stepping over a puddle of mud. He grimaced. “Can you give me something to clean with? I need, like, a towel or something. Plus, what are you wearing? You look like a fantasy peasant.”

“I, I, I…”

“‘I, I, I.’ How about you eye yourself a new pair of clothes?”

She looked about to cry.

His brows furrowed. Pity and regret flashed through his eyes. He switched up with a mischievous grin. “Okay, I’m kidding.” He put an arm around her shoulder and walked her forward. “Now, buddy, show me the way. I remember now. I’m supposed to save the world! And I’m proud you’re in it! Good job, laddie.”

Bristling, she slowly came to a stop, staring at the ground with furrowed brows.

His arm slipping off her shoulder, he took a while striding along by himself before he angled his head to her. “Yes? What’s the prob?”

She mumbled what she was trying to say several times before enunciating. “I’m a girl.”

His brows raised. “Guess you’re right. Good job young lady!” He beckoned her along. “Let’s go!”

“That’s… not the way.” Her finger lamely pointed in a direction a little off to the left.

He put a hand on his chin. “Okay then! But aren’t we following the path?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Then let’s go!” He threw his arms up.

“I’m saving the world!” he shouted.

She stared in disbelief but followed along.

The longer they travelled, the more gloomy his expression became.

She glanced at him. “Uh, is there anything…?”

“Oh, I’m just now realizing that I died.”

“Died?”

“Yeah, I died and came here. Funny, right? It never hits you until you realize, ‘Yeah, you just died.’ It’s crazy. Everything that I know is gone now. I’m all that’s left of everything I knew. And now, I’m gonna save the world, but it’s not mine. It’s just a world full of people that I don’t care about and don’t understand. I mean, Earth was bad, but it was my bad. At least that I can explain or just be shocked about. But what am I doing here? I guess I get to be a hero, and that sounds great, but what’s the point? Even if I do save the world, what does it matter?”

She compressed her lips.

Once they reached her village, he looked around him with dull eyes and a polite smile, bowing his head. “Morning.” He tipped his invisible hat. “I’m Michael. If I can do anything to help, please give me a chance.” He met Minnie’s eyes briefly with a sorry downward smile.

While Minnie stood on the side, her expression vacant, an older man stepped forward. “Where are you from?”

“Far, far away. I don’t think I can go back.”

“What are you in these lands for then?”

“I’m here because…” he said. Minnie nodded when their eyes met.

“Because there’s nothing left for me back there,” he continued, chuckling with a gasp.

Ten days later, Minnie noticed him trying to knit something, carrying a basket full of clothes. “Do you need help?”

“Yes please. I gotta up my needlework. Should help me get more levels overall so I can dump all my points on strength.”

“Just yesterday you were trying plowing.”

“Yeah, it was very slow. The proficiency level barely moved. I respect farmers! The idea of that much manual work for so little gain is crazy.”

She remained expressionless. “So are you going to stick with knitting this time?”

“Who knows! I just need something that gets me up quick. If not, I’ll be wasting my life on level 5, which is the average here I’ve noticed.”

She paused, setting down the basket. “What are you going to do next?”

“I’ll get as high as possible then move on to the next XP grinder. Gotta stay on top of the game, but early game has been hard! So.. yeah…”

“You’re leaving?”

“Not necessarily, but yes, eventually—Ow!” He pricked himself by accident.

“The city…”

“Yep. Should be lots. You think there are other people like me? You know, travelers.”

“I don’t know what you mean. There are travelers everywhere. But if you mean coming out of the mud, no. This is my first time. I’ve seen magic from afar, but only as bright colorful explosions in the distance during festivities.”

“Oh okay. I’ll just ask around then… once I’m in the city.” He started humming with a cheeky smile.

Minnie looked away.

Eying her, he pretended to clear his throat. “Why don’t you come with me?”

She ejected a sigh. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess you could level up as well and get stronger. This way, we’re basically unstoppable and we can live freely.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I mean, don’t you want a life like that? Peace?”

“Traveling isn’t peaceful.”

“It can be.”

“You would have to give me a thousand gold coins if you wanted me to come with you.”

“Okay then! I’ll come back for you then?”

“I was exaggerating. There’s no way anyone can get that amount so easily.”

“It’s possible! Anything is! I mean, I’m here! I’m a miracle. I’m still alive! Isn’t that crazy?”

“I don’t know. ‘If.’”

“‘When’!” he corrected.

“If something happens to you, don’t blame me.”

There was a serious, undaunted look in his eyes. “I won’t disappear.”

“Whatever.”

He stopped knitting, smiling with a distant look.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He met her gaze.

“What?”

“I have to make you believe.”

Chapter 2 – Departure

Minnie grew up in a small southern village. The nearest market town was northeast from there, a two-hour walk away. And the closest city was even farther at two days.

She spent most of her time helping around the farm, weeding, herding sheep, and spinning wool. Once a week, she made the trek to town to sell eggs and buy salt.

When she met Michael, she was an hour east of home, supposed to be tending to a shrine that sat in the shadow of the mountain. But she was late and it was already dark.

She lied to Michael about her being new to travelers. She had seen eight of them since she was born. Michael was only the ninth to appear near the shrine. But this was her first time meeting one since substituting for the role of shrine keeper while Donya was sick.

“So you’re leaving?” she said. He was throwing rocks at a boulder.

“Status.” His eyes grew vacant for a moment. Then he pumped his fists. “Nice! A little XP!”

He turned to her. “You asked me multiple times already. Yes, I am going.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to. I don’t get why you don’t want to come either. But that’s alright. You don’t know the gifts I’ve been given, so it makes sense. I guess I was being presumptious when I asked you. So yes, I’ll have to give you concrete evidence.”

“What if?” Her lips shifted.

“Look, the numbers here at the very least prove that I won’t be killed by one of you. So if I meet any goblins along the way, hopefully, they should be around your level. So trust me. I’ve prepared myself. I’m not going in blind.”

Her face lit up as a translucent blue-glowing tablet appeared in her vision. It had numbers and text, with Michael’s full name.

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh. Wait.”

Next to the first, another tablet appeared, with her name.

“Compare the numbers between you and me. I’ve got thrice here on STR and twice here on AGI. Basically, that means if I go out there, I have to hope I’m not fighting anything many times stronger than you. You get me?”

“Okay?”

“Sorry. It’s a lot, I get it. But I’ve devoted so much into this. I’m prepared. I know it sounds crazy, but just remember my face for next time we meet. Don’t forget me.”

“It’s not that hard to remember.”

“That’s not what I mean. Just keep me in your prayers or something. I’m serious. You have a deity you pray to? Ask him for help for me. Is that okay?”

“I don’t know. I go to the shrine every day if that’s what you mean. So if you want prayers, you can go there yourself.”

“Wait, I can?”

“Yeah. She will bless you according to your conscience.”

“Conscience? What does that mean?”

“She knows your heart.”

“Who? Who knows?”

“Marelia, Goddess of Worlds.”

“Oh, I know her. She and I talked about what gifts I should get. Nice lady.”

Her eyes widened imperceptibly.

“So I’ll just go where we were before?” he continued. “Where’s that again?”

She took a breath. “I can go with you.”

He clapped once, interlaced his fingers, and stretched them overhead. “Okay!”

Upon reaching the shrine, Michael went on his knees. Minnie stood behind him, hands folded in front of her. “Goddess Madam,” he said, “thank you for your gifts. If you don’t mind, please bless us on this day as I head out to the city and Minnie goes on with her day. Amen.”

She raised her brows with a slight shake of her head.

A light fell on him.

Her jaw dropped.

Right as Michael stood back up, she reset her expression. “What was that?”

“What? You don’t know what your own goddess’ blessing looks like?”

“That doesn’t… Yeah, sorry.”

She held back a reaction, touching over her brow.

Once they returned to the village, he shook her hand. “Goodbye, Minnie. It was lovely knowing you, and it’ll be fun knowing you more once I’ve gotten over this first hurdle. The learning curve can be a… well… a not-so-awesome thing sometimes. But that’s what makes it fun.”

He set off.

As he get farther, he kept waving goodbye.

She frowned, her eyes blank. Her hand stiffly waved back.

“Michael…” she muttered, out of his earshot.

She recalled the tablet with his name.

It had a line that caught her eye.

[Quest: Slay the World Eater.]

“Are you sure?

“That you’re not going to disappear?”

A tear tickled her face.

As the first light touched her village three years after Michael’s departure, so came another rod of light streaking across the sky. It struck where the shine was.

“Minnie,” said her mother, standing over her. “You’re up.”

She nodded and stepped out the door, rubbing her face and yawning. She swiveled her head toward the rising sun.

When she reached the shrine, a woman stood there, running her fingers along a wooden post. “Who are you?” said the woman.

Minnie smiled weakly. “I’m Minnie.”

“Where’s the village?”

“An hour from here. Follow me.”

“I’m going to the city. Where is it?”

“2 days from the village.”

“Let’s go then.” The traveler started away.

“I can’t go with you. I can bring you to town, but not the city.”

“Let’s go to town then.”

“You need food.”

“It’s fine. I just need a little. You got bread?”

“Yes.”

As soon as they reached town, the woman waved goodbye. “See ya!” She had only barraged her with questions about the world.

Minnie sighed. This was her fifth traveler as shrine keeper.

Right as she turned to leave, a shout carried across the road behind her: “Minnie! Hey! How’s it going!”

Minnie froze, turned away, standing there until the clanking and stamping came close.

She tilted her head awkwardly. “Yes?”

The sunlight flaring off his shiny pauldrons, Michael grinned. “I was wondering what you were doing nowadays! Hey, I’m back!”

“Haha,” she said humorlessly. “How are you…”

“Minnie. I wouldn’t miss our reunion for anything. Look!” He turned around and gestured toward the light-armored men, women, and horses behind him. “Some people I met along the way.”

She rubbed her sweaty brow. “Wow.”

“Oh, why don’t we find a place to sit? Wanna go to the city? There’s a nice place there we can stay.”

“Can we go back first? I need to tell them if I’m going.”

“Sure!”

When they returned to the village, Minnie smiled weakly, standing in front of the families of her village. Behind her stood Michael and all his companions and horses.

“Is this a raid?” one of the villagers asked.

“I don’t think so,” said another villager. “Minnie’s with them.”

Minnie waved. Her fellow villager waved back.

“I was just going to say that I might be leaving, maybe permanently.”

Michael widened his eyes and sought hers. He looked about to speak, but she continued, “So if possible, can someone replace my role as shrine keeper? And talk to my parents about this. I told them everything.” One of Michael’s companions handed Michael a bag with a thousand gold coins inside. He gave it to Minnie.

Minnie glanced at him and looked down on the bag, then back at the families.

Drawing Michael’s curious gaze, she brought it to one of the village elders. “This is… compensation.”

Oohs and aahs spread among the families.

The village elders came close and took turns shaking his hand.

“Please take care of her for us.”

“She has done more than enough.”

“Treat her well.”

“Give her what we couldn’t.”

Minnie averted her gaze.

Michael clapped his hands up in the air. “Okay, everyone, we’re heading back!” His band of companions trickled off.

The families came over to Minnie, bidding her farewell. “Thank you Minnie for everything.”

She nodded and waved, smiling her best for them one last time.

“Goodbye everyone.”

Chapter 3 – Onboarding

In the middle of a vast wilderness, a band of thirty people inched along a ragged dirt road winding through woodland and sodden, jungly hills.

Michael stopped, slowly mouthing his next words as he looked up.

He turned to Minnie. “Minnie, wait. I was just proving I could earn it. The gold was for you, not the village. Keep it to boost your stats, invest, or ease the families’ burdens for a few months. A stronger you protects your village. I need you self-sufficient, not camp-following, so take this dimensional bag. Join us to grind XP and loot until you’re invincible, but don’t feel obligated.”

She kept walking, eyes on the road, but now holding the bag he gave her with a tired look.

“By the way,” he said, “we’re not going to face The World Ender yet, so don’t worry.”

She stared at him with flat unamusement.

He paused at her reaction. “Oh we’re going to get to him soon! Don’t worry.”

She closed her mouth tight, eyes back on the road.

He made a polite, awkward smile.

“Please… Speak freely!”

She shut her eyes for a moment, then turned to him.

“What are you saying?” she said. “I meant of course we’re not going to face him yet. You seriously think you can just run at him with ten, twenty, thirty people and get done with it?”

His voice shrunk. “Oh, I mean, I just wanted to clarify.”

She slowly sighed, turning away and walking off.

After she gained some distance, he scuttled along behind her.

The longer they travelled, the more stressed she looked.

She abruptly slowed to a stop. “Michael, seriously, thank you.”

“What? For what?”

“For being different.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just whatever. Thanks for the gold.”

“It’s fine. No need to thank me. We can get it back easily anyway. The point is that you’re here. You’re my main priority right now. So please, speak freely. If you don’t want anymore, it’s fine. You don’t owe me anything.”

She looked off to the side as they continued walking.

Her eyes gradually flickered. “By the way…

“It’s World Eater, not Ender.”

He laughed warmly.

For the duration of their journey, Michael’s companions gave her and Michael space.

Once they arrived, they went straight to an eatery.

Minnie watched from the edge of the long table in her simple clothes. Among the members, the women scrutinized her scuffed shoes and fraying hem, chewing and sipping demurely. The men feasted, blabbered, and guffawed. Michael sat with his knees together between the women and the men, keeping his motions inward. His eyes were distant, glimmering with lines of white script on blue. His expression smoldered with certainty, the look of a man keeping himself among the ruck. After the blue lights in his eyes went out, he turned his gaze toward the ceiling corner but snagged on Minnie’s face. “Minnie, are you okay? I’m sorry for not attending to you. Did you finish your food? How about water? Did you drink?”

Minnie nodded softly.

“This is the best time to explain to you where we’re going and what’s happening from here on out.” He stood up and sat on an empty table near the corner. He beckoned her, and she sat opposite him. He glanced at the table and went back to get his untouched second water refill. “Here.” He set down his cup. “Drink lots of water, okay?”

Minnie drank again. “Thank you.” She waited.

“Right. Okay? So you know how I told you I was going to get a thousand gold?”

“I told you that.”

“But I agreed. So, as for how I got that, it was very simple. I joined a mercenary group, and we fought monsters and bandits alike. After a while, I got strong enough to go out on my own. And I started taking on dungeons by myself. That’s when I started actually making cash. But it took a while to get used to. I travelled more than I actually did anything. And food, water, sleep, heat, and cold prevented me from doing much. So I stayed around a few towns and cities and worked slowly from there. Most of the time, there was nothing to do since most of the quests were too far away for me or had progressed to such a level that I would have to be much, much more powerful. So I loitered among merchants most of the time for food and water and around people who got me easy cash. I did end up buying a place. But that was after pleasing Lord Sargoth. It took a while for me to get a band for myself. But even now, as you can see, they’re expensive to keep and train. So if you’re wondering why we’re not that close, it’s because it’s strictly professional.”

“What’s next?”

“We’re heading to take on a contested dungeon, and I mean contested as in we’re going to fight other groups seeking to control it. Conquering a dungeon can mean a stream of money because you have all the monsters in it for yourself. And if it’s close to town, even better.”

“How about me?”

“Well, you’re not going to fight yet of course. But on the way, I want you to try doing one thing that gets your XP up. Hold a shield up and try to tank as many hits as possible with it. It’ll increase your Blocking, and that means level increases as well. You’re currently stuck on five, but that’s alright. This will break you out.”

“Wait, I can’t fight. How can I block them?”

“This is only for training, so I’ll do the hitting. Just block. Don’t worry. This benefits you much, much more than me, since the XP gain on my One-Handed is very low unless it’s against a tough enemy. But your Blocking will skyrocket as long as I have the high-mana mages take turns healing you constantly.”

“That sounds painful. Can I do something else?”

“Sure! How about you hit us instead? I just realized that’s so much better. If you upgrade your One-Handed or Two-Handed, it’s just the same, but without the pain. I just thought blocking would be more your style.”

“That sounds… gruesome.”

“We’re armored and we have a shield. Don’t worry. We’ll just let you use something that isn’t sharp. How about a bludgeoning mace?”

“Can’t it be something like knitting? Like you did.”

“Oh, that didn’t work. Combat skills for some reason go up much, much faster. But I do know people with high proficiency levels on a non-combat skill. It’s just that it takes very expensive training with masters.

“But you know what would be perfect? I almost forgot. Here.” He handed her a tome. “Learn what’s on this. It’ll make you a healer. But I honestly would hate for you just to be a healer since that role’s useless on its own. But since you prefer non-violent methods, this is it. You do need an injured target though, so we’ll just have to find opportunities for you to squeeze yourself in and get a level. This will be slower, but very much faster than a completely non-combat skill. And fortunately, leveling healing will level you and your stats overall, so you can switch to something else as soon as you get the chance.”

She reached for the tome.

“Wait.” He placed his hand on the tome. “Are you sure about this? We all have to fight, but it doesn’t have to be this way. You can live somewhere safe, and I can make sure you and your village are protected. But eventually, you will have to be strong enough to face things on your own, things far beyond you.”

She opened the tone, and immediately, her body glowed. And a corona of light fell upon her, surging through her body.

“Good choice,” he said. “And here’s another one. What you got was for others. But this one is for yourself.”

He gave her a second tome.

She opened it, and the same process happened.

“Now. Ready to join us?”

She nodded firmly.

The second tome contained a self-cast magic barrier.

He moved the blue tablet with her name over to her vision.

Chapter 4 – Work

In the aftermath of the dungeon capture, smoke rose from inside the rocky entrance. Lines of trees covered the land.

Inside a camp some distance from the dungeon, Minnie raised both hands and healed the injured brought to her one by one. Beside her, fifteen empty medium mana potions were strewn all over the ground. Only several full ones remained.

Michael wiped the sweat off his neck and forehead as he entered the tent. “You’re still new to this, so it’s going to be slower. But please bear with it. We pre-healed them, so they’re out of critical condition. You’re good.”

After she healed everyone and they streamed out of the tent, he got her to high-five him.

“Your Healing’s at level 4! That’s good!”

She lay down, panting for a moment before settling into a calm breathing rhythm.

“Is it supposed to be this hard?”

“Not always. But yes. Do remember though that you’re new to this. What you did in that village I can’t do. But you’re here now. Things take time, but I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“Haha,” she tried. “You think?”

“I do.”

She closed her eyes and rested on her side, while he sat down and looked out the tent entrance at the world outside in silence.

“I don’t get it,” she muttered, opening her eyes, her back to him. “Why fight? Why care about all this and that?”

He swiveled his head to the side, eyes on the ground. “Because the world is a fight for life. We’re all trying to survive and live a life. We have to fight, or else we’ll never truly find our own, become ourselves.”

She sighed through her nose. “I know that.” She propped herself up on one elbow. “I just wish it didn’t have to be this way. It’s confusing to me.” She gave her nose a rub. “Always has been.”

He looked back in front of him and drew his knees up.

They went on silent for a while before he got on his feet and started stretching with his arms.

“Minnie. Everything we’re doing now is a fight for life. If you forget for a moment the importance of every single thing you do, you lose sight of the power of the moment. There is a time for everything, and soon, you’ll get your reward.”

“I get it. I do. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting otherwise.”

“You’re right. You wanting something else is your fight. Hold onto that.”

One of Michael’s companions came up, eying Minnie. “They’re coming.”

“Oh.” He rushed out of the tent and called everyone to leave.

“What’s happening?” she said as soon as Michael returned to the tent.

“Army coming right up. They’re gonna take it.”

“A whole army? Why?”

“Well, it happens!” He grabbed a cloth, headed to the entrance, and turned around. “Come on, let’s go.”

Minnie rose and pulled herself along.

As soon as the band finished breaking camp an hour later, they left.

“Where are they?” Minnie said. “I thought they were coming.”

“I have eyes in good places,” Michael said.

“Wouldn’t an army surround us?”

“No? We’re just 34, including you. Plus, it’s easy to know when they’re coming. They take time to move along the road. It’d be a waste of time investing to stop us when we’re hands-off already, even if they formed a small detachment just to hunt us. They want to secure this place and set up a whole thing here, which is why they brought an army in the first place. Time’s on their side.

“But if you want to fight them, it’d be through fighting everything other than them as a unified unit themselves.”

“What else can we do that doesn’t come close to fighting an army?”

“Everything’s protected. And I mean that if you want to get something, you’ll have to fight for it. No such thing as a free lunch.

“For now, we’ve plateaued, so we’re hand to mouth. So you’ll have to trust me on this. But we’ll be heading back to the city. We already got what we wanted anyway.”

“What? I thought you were going to capture it.”

“No, no. That was just what we would have wanted, but just like we have eyes, they do too. For now, let’s just be happy with the loot we got from the dungeon. This will be enough for upkeep.”

“Why not just go for something where the army won’t go?”

“Well, this dungeon was it, we thought. We’ll just have to look for something else we can compensate ourselves with.”

“Wait? So what happened to being blessed? What happened to The World Eater?”

“We gotta be patient. I do want to fight an army, but I’m more concerned with being alive and growing, slowly but surely.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. But I do know is that as long as we keep our heads straight, we’ll find ourselves somewhere brighter soon enough.”

“What’s next?”

“The next thing. The city. We’re selling our loot. The sooner you forget that things will ever get better, the faster and the more they will.”

“What can I do? What am I here for? Is there a point to all this fighting?”

“I told you. To get stronger. But you have to forget… Take this next step.” He stamped his foot on the ground.

“I want to do something. I want to help at least. I want to understand what you guys are doing so I can tell you how I see it.”

“With time. For now, please continue to trust me. Focus your efforts on getting your stats up. This will make it easier for you to be more involved since we don’t have to tiptoe with you. Once you’ve become a full-fledged member, I’ll show you the wider world we’re in, and you’ll show me how you see it. So I apologize if the others don’t really treat you as an equal. They sacrificed a lot to get here. And I brought you here on the grounds that I knew you personally. Since you came because of me, they expect that you’re someone like me or you have similarly high potential.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…

“Thank you for being here, Minnie.”

“Haha,” she said humorlessly.

“But you don’t have to do this. You can wait in the village until I’ve already grown much, much stronger.”

“You think I can just go back,” she muttered. “I can’t. Not anymore.”

“Sorry. I should’ve waited.”

“No, no. You didn’t know. But still… haha…”

His eyes glistened with tears. “I’m sorry, Minnie. I just wanted you to be free from me and everyone else.”

“Stop.”

He held back his sobs, and the two were silent the whole way.

Once they arrived, he ate with a distant smiling expression. She looked down on her food with a blank expression and ignored the glances from the other members in her direction.

He awkwardly sat opposite her. “I know you’re not my project, my reason. So I will not apologize anymore because that makes you that. You’re a person, so please do what you need to do.”

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “But… if it was anybody else, I know things would be much, much worse. So at the very least, thank you. But now, I’m stuck in a mire. What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you’ll have to know.”

“I mean, I don’t know anything that wouldn’t be wrong.”

“Just do it. Just level me. I’ll keep doing it. The healing and everything. I’m done fighting this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, what else is there for me to do? You put me here.”

He winced.

“I’ll find something.”

“Will it cost a lot?”

“Well… a little.”

“Then no. Just let me do what I’ve been doing.”

“Are you sure—”

“Yes I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

“I just have to get strong, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go then.”

“How about your parents?”

“I’d rather do this a hundred times over than go back, after what I did.”

Chapter 5

As soon as Michael’s band encountered a bandit camp straddling the main roadway, Michael grinned.

Daily Routine and a Rare Encounter in an Empty MMORPG July 7, 2025

The thing is that I was always a person. Always so fragile, as much as I was that fragile. I knew well the consequences of a reasonable effort, and that thing that was bounced off that reality and came ever so closely to glory. That perfect state.

I woke up, staring at the lights, and it was quiet. I heard loud sounds outside, and I wondered if I could cope with this noise. I went to my PC and turned it on, opening it to steam to see the same bastards going about their business in their profiles and playing all these stupid games. Maybe, I was judgemental. I was probably. I drank a mug with cold soy milk mixed with cocoa and waited until it settled in my stomach as I stood up and pelted down the hallway before turning right, downstairs. I cocked my ear to the walls and waited until my apartment neigbor closed the door before I headed outside and looked left and right into a street at a time when the cleaners were still sweeping with dust pans.

I went down the road, turned right, and then turned left, leaving the subdivision. The road past the gate ran until it joined the national road, and I followed it, soon turning my head at the junction. To my left was a corner cafe and a large empty grocery store with expensive goods but no one buying. There was another cafe at the other end which was very good, at least compared to what felt like the 90% sugar filler “mocha’ of the corner one. I crossed the pedestrian and waited for the jeepney, riding it to the bus terminal and heading to the city where my workplace was located. After a busy day at work and after returning to the doorstone, I pressed my cheeks against the windows to see if anyone was inside. I unlocked it with my key and padded upstairs, flumping down on my rotating office chair before hitching it into place and tapping the power button. As the computer silently came to life unlike the roaring PCs back in the day, I went to the multifunctional kitchen-dinning room to grab a black coffee from the fridge, placing it on my desk as I returned. With the computer on, I typed my password on the keyboard and pressed the “Enter” on my keyboard. I clicked my browser Firesocks on my taskbar and immediately made it restore the last session since the PC updated while I was gone.

I tapped and searched “new RPG 2025”, and there, I scrolled down to a few magazine-like websites and then presed my shortcut “Ctrl-W” to close the tab before creating a new tab and searching again to get a fresh start, but this time with a new query: “old RPGs”

I went to one of the options, but then I jumped to page 25. I saw one random blog post about this old game “Light Ages”, so I went and searched and found its official website. I downloaded it immediately, as I did with many other games I tried. I had money in hand, but this one was free.

After booting it up and creating an account, I got in the game.

I hesitated for a moment when I saw the old graphics, so I played some psychedelic rock to get me in the mood.

My toes pressed harder against the marble-mimicking porcelain tiles as I leaned in, studying the interface. “What is this?” I said out loud.

I clicked the mouse several times, looking for a meaningful response from the interface. It showed me many things, but nothing that made much sense. So I went to the official website for any resources and found some.

After reading for a bit, I went back. It was isometric view, and I was in a large wooden house with five rooms. Many items and furniture festooned the walls. It felt like a lived-in starting room, but that wasn’t usual. What was unusual was that there was no door I could see. So I moved my avatar around and then found it on the southmost corner. “Aha!”

After exiting and moving to the loading screen, I then appeared in the street. It was a wide gravelly one with a lamp post in what was supposedly a medieval world. I saw eight NPCs, but no players.

I kept walking, and I wondered when I was going to get a quest. I felt that I was being made to walk for no reason. I stopped in front of a stall and tried to get my avatar to interact with it, but to no avail.

I stopped in front of a large town hall–like building, and then I tried to my character look through the windows, but no response. I tried to get to the door, but it was locked, so I left anyway. I went over to a bench and waited, getting off my real-life chair and scanning the street from the corner of the black-out curtains. I sat on a couch in front of a large TV and turned it on, going to Netflix. I resumed watching a classic anime, one of the big three, since I haven’t watched it beyond season one growing up. I glanced at the screen every once in a while, but after three hours, nothing.

After I headed to bed, I woke up the next morning and saw that the chat log had a few messages.

“Dracos24: Hello!”

It was a repetition of messages, and it had little other meaning besides that. The user who said them wasn’t there, and I wondered if that person was even talking to him, since the chat was global.

I moved my character, curious why they did not have any anti-AFK mechanisms, or perhaps the time limit was very high given the lack of players? I had no clue.

I stepped in front of the stall again, leaving it there as I went to grab some coffee and prepare breakfast. I took a shower and wore a semi-formal attire, a habit of mine, stopping by the cafe on the other end instead of the first corner one. I bought the 105-peso cold Americano and set my laptop bag on a high table with an accompanying lofty chair beside the socket. It was the same spot every time. I took out my books as well and began reading and taking notes using my laptop.

After 8 hours of this, I returned home and saw that no messages had appeared on my PC since I was gone.

I slumped onto the couch and then quickly stood up, hating to resume watching the show. I alt-tabbed off the game and went to six different social media sites, writing down my thoughts as notes in a single document in an online auto-saving text editor as I went along.

I switched to another tab, where I searched free books from the 19th century, reading up on how people wrote about sheep back in the day. Then I went over to a Japanese art album from the 1970s. I went next to a resource for drawing and opened my free drawing software, using my drawing tablet to sketch a dog based on a reference.

I yawned, smiling as I saved my work, before heading to a 3D game engine and creating a small platform game with obstacles. After adding a few difficult first levels, I played a few similar games made using the engine and looked for ways to complicate my game. Once I got a few ideas like a roulettte, I implemented them one by one, taking five hours, which was very quick since I was experienced not only as a developer but with integrating free stuff from the community.

After this, I lay down in bed and brought my phone in front of my face, tapping the web comic app icon and entering a world of visual stories. I went over to my history, and the last thing I read was a story about a male protagonist with a NEET-based system in a post-apocalypse setting. And that was three days ago, since I had been working non-stop the last three days. I read two chapters and stopped himself from reading beyond that so that I did not feel the discomfort of seeing fewer than 5 available chapters given the serialized nature of the platform. Afterwards, I went to a web novel website through my browser, not a dedicated app, and then I resumed reading this story about a fake over-powered character who is secretly guiding others through a tower. It was so funny, but just like with web comics, I did not like reading it all too fast and relied on a routine to do so, reading only 5 chapters today.

After this, I checked the Light Ages game again, and I was still at the bench. I started moving my character, hoping for something to happen. I went down many roads and turns, and then, I stumbled upon what looked like a woodmill next to an open canal. I liked the aesthetic and vibe, so I sat at the edge of the canal, making my character look over to the other side, which I couldn’t access.

I then saw a player appear there. It was not Dracos24. It had the username “Sciencemaster111”.

“Hello!” I wrote, mimicking Dracos.

“Sciencemaster111: good morn”

“It’s evening for me, but good morning as well!”

“want to join party?”

I stopped. Party? What party? What kind of parties are there? How do they even have parties? Is this a small tight-knit community where people genuinely interact with each other? I feel that there has to be people just afk-ing around here. But let’s say yes and see what kind of investment I’m in for.

“Sure! I’ll join you!” I wrote back.

I followed him.

Giant statues the size of skycrapers stood in front of me. Instead of a high-rise city was a low-rise one with these giant statues peppered all around.

“What is this?” My hands typed frantically, their eyes seeming to glare straight at my character.

“cece made them”

“Really?”

“indeed”

“OK, who’s that?”

“my friend. wanna be friends with her”

“Really?”

“she is offline rn but she is online tomorrow”

For a moment, there was only silence, and my eyes began to drift, first to Sciencemaster and then into the scenery.

Sciencemaster wore what looked like a linen shirt, and we just passed by a thicket of underwood and cane. We soon entered a unpaved area of the city and walked over hard yellow clay that was intermixed with small pebbles, coming later before a large circular mud hut.

A land-carriage looked abandoned across the road, and to our right were broken glass windows and a cluster of trees that spread widely atop the house, with distant mountains peeking above it. To our left rose gentle hills covered with wood, turning off from the city square.

For about two kilometers, the road led us over such hilly, but also broken ground.

As soon as we neared a large gate leading inside a giant house, Sciencemaster dropped a white cotton cap, and he told me to wear it.

After I slapped the cap on my head, he told me to wait here.

I waited for a while, staring at my character. For a moment, I’d lost myself. Why did I do that? I haven’t done that in a while. I have always remained a man of this house, not a thing of a game, but I guess that’s just how games work when they’re truly interesting.

Clement Argued With the Isekai God, Chose the "Dog" Power, and Decided to Keep His Head Down as a Cart Pusher June 18, 2025

Clement sat up from that lame bed, and he heard a variety of sounds. He shushed all of them away, lying back down and tucking his head beneath his pillow. He did not want to go anywhere or do anything. He just wanted to relax and take the time off, but no, he had to go to work, to do things, and to get things done.

After 5 minutes of putting his memory back together, he stood up and went to the cafe, bringing his laptop, sighing and standing for a moment before sitting down.

The light outside glowed bright. He smiled.

When he sat down, everything vanished into a pitch-black darkness, and it was only him and a pure-white faceless featureless humanoid figure in the distance.

He screamed.

For a few minutes, that was all he did.

And even when the figure said something, he just kept going.

It never ended.

Until he realized his throat giving up on him.

“Damn it,” he hoarsely said. “The fuck is you?”

“Hello,” said the figure, its smile strained from all the attempts at communication. “We’re here to… Well, I’m here to help integrate you into our new world. It’s an isekai world, with which you are familiar, and I don’t want to alarm or bother you, but whatever you think is going to happen, it’s not going to happen. You’re not getting powers for one, so expect to go through horrible, horrible things. And—”

“Wait, wait! I get to go to a fantasy world! Hell nah! Fuck that! I already saw AOT, and I know that this is a shit deal! Please nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah/”

“Well, if you’ll just listen—”

“Nah! Man, suck it up and get me out of here. Put all your shit and place it back where it came from. I don’t want any of this. None. Nothing. Get this off me. Don’t put anything. No duty. No nothing! Just do not try me!”

“Well… if you’d just…”

“Fucking hell nah! You’re going to kill me, that’s it! One in a million chance it goes well. I’ve seen too much! Don’t fuck with me, don’t fuck with me!”

“Well…”

“Nope. Sorry. Your time’s up. Get me out of here. Now.”

“No.”

“N-no? F-f-fuck… I see now, haha. I tried… haha. Well, fuck me then. Good luck world. Nice world, nice world!”

“Well…”

“Stop right now. If you start speaking, you’re going to continue, so I’ll stop you from speaking and I won’t listen. This way, I’ll never die.”

“You won’t die.”

“You just fucking said?!”

“I said you could die, or I said that you were not going to be given powers, but seeing now that you’re this…”

“What, what?!”

“Particular… Because you’re this particular, we’re going to have to find a way to integrate you some other way.”

“What is it? Actually you know what, fuck y—fuck no!”

“Well, we could have you—”

“Shut up, man! I don’t care. I am not in some fucking plot. I don’t need this shit. Look at me, look at me! I don’t need this. No fucking no Sir. You can hate me all you want. I am in control of my fate! And if you kill me, just know I gave you the fucking bird anyway! Fuck… Actually, sorry. Please don’t kill me.”

“Ready to listen now?”

Clement’s hands trembled. Shit, shit!

“You’re so annoying.”

Clement stopped shaking, deeply confused. “What?”

“Nothing. Okay. Let’s focus. Get this done, get this done. We’re going to give you powers.”

“Yey! Fuck yes! I’m—so—fucking—good—at—this.”

The faceless figure twitched. “Well…”

“Woohoo! Is this final final?”

“Yes.”

“Alright!”

“But we could stop it at any time, so don’t f—don’t do anything weird, okay?”

“Yes, of course! Alright! Let’s go! Hell yeah!”

“Bro… Can you shut for a sec?”

Clement froze, his head turning robotically at the figure.

The figure said, “Okay. Now that’s we’re done, pick you power.”

He showed him three options:

A dog.

A car.

A mouse.

“W-what’s this?!”

“They’re three powers, and they are symbolized by different things. You’re going to have to do a roll here.”

“R-really?! A roll!? Is it bad RNG? Or are they all good?”

“No… Well… Depends.”

“OK. Can I trust you here? Can you tell me which one’s the best?”

“Bruh, if I told you, I’d—t-there’d be no point having these symbols!”

“OK, OK, sorry.” Hands up, Clement grimaced. When did this guy start talking normally?

“Now… Pick.”

“Hmm… Dog sounds pretty generalist. Car sounds big and roar. Mouse sounds more like a thief or something. I’m choosing dog.”

“‘Kay then.” The figure turned around and disappeared.

Then his voice emerged as a god-like echo: “Proceed to the door.”

An open door appeared in front of Clement, glowing brightly.

“Hmm… What if—”

“Nope, nope,” the voice said. “Go in, or I’ll kill you for real this time.”

“This time? Did you kill—”

“GO!”

Clement leapt in.

He appeared in a weird place. Everything was green, not urban gray.

“This is crazy. Actual grass touching speed run?” He looked around, waiting for the figure’s exasperated “Bro.”

But he was all alone here. He looked out into the distance.

“Wait, where’s my powers?” He checked his body and felt around his legs and nether region. Well, tried. He tried to activate by clenching his arms and bottom.

“No, but seriously, am I actually fucking dead? Not just cooked, but actual fucked. Is this what we’re working with here? I’m genuinely going to be honest here, but I’ve no idea what the fuck… Is that?”

A goblin stood in front of him, holding nothing.

“Yo! Bro, can you help me? I know like shit to help you like rank up or stuff. Fuck what was the thing you needed again? You need…” He thought of something disgusting. “Okay, maybe not that. What do you need, want? Do you need anything? I’ll help. I’ve got big muscles!” He flexed his arms and back, and he genuinely did have muscles. He worked out 4 days a week at the gym.

The goblin tilted its head and scurried away.

“Bro, please! I need your help, man! I know you’re a mob, but please. I need like help here, come on please. This is serious shit! I’m not like God or anything. I’m going to fucking die. I’m seriously just an average human being. I am not fucking…”

He saw a village. “OP spawn!” He yelled and threw his arms in the air.

After running all the way there, he saw the first villager staring at him. “Hey, hey,” he said, “I can help. Labor, anything.”

The villager glanced at the other villagers peeking through the windows.

“Sorry…” He bowed. “I am Clement De Mesa. I wish to work in this village. Is that alright?”

One of the villagers spoke, and he paled.

Shit, they can’t understand me!

He forced himself to do gestures, descending on his haunches.

He then confirmed for understanding with his raised brows, repeated nod, and pointing gesture.

They nodded.

Yes! They can understand! He hid his excitement and then started gesturing for his employment.

They nodded.

FUCK YEAH! I HAVE A JOB!

Later he was allowed to sleep on the floor.

He got up early in the morning and showed up to the farm.

They pointed at him and gestured the action he needed to do.

He nodded.

Then as he was farming, he glanced at the mountain as his vision filled with a blue fog before a holographic interface appeared.

["Dog" power: You don't get hungry. (You still get thirsty.)]

YESSS! COME ON LET’S GO!!!!

His eyes suddenly narrowed. I have to be very, very intentional.

Over several weeks, he kept working as he slowly observed how the villagers behaved and spoke.

At the end of a month’s time, he slowly came to the conclusion: “I have to leave. This is the time to leave. I’ve already gotten used to the way that they carry themselves. If I ever face any other person down the road, I’ll know much easily. I just have to be careful to be the finder and not the found.”

He left for the city.

He looked at his hands. This needs to kill people if it wants to live.

Then a bandit approached when he was already 75% of the way.

Damn it! Wait, why’s he alone? I need to scan the area. Shit, shit! Fuck! This is my first fucking playthrough!

He bolted before the bandits realized that he knew they were waiting for him to come closer and that they were merely using the one traveler-garbed bandit as bait. He found out just by the way they walked. They didn’t walk like a villager or a traveler, but like a predator.

As he travelled another path, he shot his fists through the air.

“If I can’t kill, I’ll be…”

He threw an uppercut. “I need to do it… to do anything.

“Anything.”

A goblin approached him, holding a dagger.

“Hahaha. I did say anything, but come on, you’re not a bad guy, are you?”

It slashed at him.

He kicked it and swiped at its head, showering blows.

Then the goblin lay, dead.

He looked again. I didn’t feel anything! It happened so fast! It felt like an action that consumed energy! Damn!

Damn… The fuck happened to me.

It bled.

He looked away, walking. Okay, I gotta keep the pace, keep the pace.

At another village, he grabbed a job and grinded quickly, going much more consistently than last time now that he was used to his lack of hunger. Though he did need sleep.

He started trying to read, imitating their vowels and consonants.

He reached the point where he could finally make simple statements like “Go to this place,” “Stop here and help,” “Help me finish this,” and such without being misunderstood, even from a distance.

This was all that he needed.

Two months from now, he finally left and reached the next village, expanding his language the closer he got to the city.

In the clouds above the city gates, billows, canyons, and cauliflower-like bursts populated the sky. As above, so below.

He entered, the bells ringing.

He could speak below a conversational level, enough for general work.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m here to earn. Where can I get a job?”

The guard stared at him before ushering him to the city, dismissing him.

Clement went to another person. “Hello. I’m here to earn. Where can I get a job?”

He repeated this until he found someone willing to answer him.

“Join our adventurer group. We need a porter! Can you push carts?”

“Adventurer group?” Clement did not know what the word meant in their language.

“Yes, yes, follow me.” The hirer could hear his accent, but Clement’s arms, chest, back, and shoulders grew brawny from all the physical work he had done and from the power that supplied his body with all his needed nutrients and protein, making him a viable option.

Okay, whatever this is, as per usual, never get entangled in stupid shit.

The two went to the guild first, then down the road outside the city gates, while the far distant blue hills he had always seen during his first three months slowly retreated and disappeared.

They met up with the rest of the adventurer group, twenty persons total.

“Hello, everyone, I’m Jov,” said a short, gray-haired man, with practical wear and slow gesturing hands. “It’s praising time. Let’s have a prayer first. Excuse me, can you lead us in prayer?” He gestured toward Clement with one whole hand.

Clement stared, nodding. The villagers had shown themselves to be very religious from his experience, so he knew the right words.

“Lord Oslo, I pray that you guide our paths and leave us wise—”

“Wait a minute, Oslo?” said one of the younger-looking ones, a girl probably 18 years in age.

“Let him,” said Jov.

“Let him leave us wise all our days and never to be found wanting, for it is he who gathers our strength and abides our intemperance.”

“Amen,” the group chorused.

Clement hid a sigh after turning around. You know, I have nothing to say to these people.

He placed his hands on the cart and lifted it, straining first before realizing the wheels carried most of it once you had it off the ground and directed diagonally upward. Or to anyone really. It’s nice to see new people…

He started walking, staying a short distance away from the group. But there’s really nothing motivating me to do anything else.

He eyed them every once in a while as they chattered and his sweat drummed the earth. I’m playing it low, and I think this will be what it is for a long time.

Once the ones in front stopped to rest under a tree, waiting for the slower members to catch up, he let go of the pushcart, his shouders heaving as he panted. Once I’m done, I’m getting the hell out of here.

Anthony de la Cruz Is Transported to a Fantasy World and Begins Integrating with a Group of Adventurers March 13, 2025

The order was quiet, and the arrangement was fiercely decorated. Anthony noticed all these, yet he remained quiet, not wanting to bother the people who worked so hard to garden it all around. It was this park of which he was speaking, not that crazy, not that much, only as much as a mustard seed. But it was sufficient, he thought, though not to the point that it was insane by any measure. That allowed him much to work it. If such a thing was general enough to be graspable and not ineffable, only enough to be modular, then he could integrate it as a banal thing, not as something to be scared of, like an alien that had no particular details and historical and cultural context.

Anthony walked down a narrow path, seeing a group of three dressed men standing in the distance. Each of them wearing umbrellas, and they were staring at something in front of them. Given their black, formal, focused, and sorrowful getup, they appeared in grief. He kept his distance, watching the roads and the cars driving by in front of him. After entering a jeepney, he looked outside, noticing the many individuals walking about the street, each of them holding a piece of the world in their heart. Anthony delivered his heart forth, bracing for the windy rain. The colors faded in the distance, and he stopped thinking, watching his thoughts form as bubbles that bounced against each other like in a loading screen. He noted several different thoughts and linked them together with a chain. Then his thoughts went off control, with a goblin and an orc joining together to grab the chain and start spinning around in mid-air. He opened his eyes, smelling the pollution smoke. He expelled air out of his nose and waited until the jeepney ride was over. Right when he was just about there, he said “Para po” (“Please stop”), and the jeepney driver heard him the first time fortunately. He got up, slouched since he could not fit his whole height inside. Then he walked over to the exit and took careful steps down, using his right hand to grasp the handle bar in case the step was slippery from the rain and from people’s shoes sliding on the metal. Now that he was on the street next to the sidewalk, he went there quickly, avoiding a motorcycle. He looked around himself, noticing that the rain and the traffic signs were still there. Every once in a while, he would check them as if they would change, but they never did. Perhaps, that was why he liked looking at them routinely like he did with the clock at home, regardless of the emotions he felt. It was just nice to space out and scan the environment around him, especially since he rarely went outside. He actually did not have a reason to be here. He just wanted to eat at a familiar restaurant here, so he did, heading inside past the parked cars. It was a claustrophobic restaurant front, but it was a nostalgic place. He saw the same counter, and now the seats looked smaller than he remembered. He recalled when this place felt like a giant world where he could buy ice cream and french fries with his mother and siblings. That was in the early 2010s, and now, it was 2025. After returning home, he wondered what he was going to do next. He sat down in his room, staring at the bathroom door. He did not think much of it, but he was thinking about something else. For some reason, it felt convenient to stare at a bathroom door while thinking about something that should be completely different altogether. Perhaps, in some part of his mind, somehow, they were linked and made sense simultaneously. In the end, he turned on his computer and looked at a few personal websites, not minding them much. He visited a small forum where he read some threads. He did not feel that the threads and such were necessarily of substance in the sense that he was learning a lot. It was more so the fact that this forum existed at all even if there were so many other larger spaces to connect to that made him take interest in this place and visit it regularly. It had only been months, and he had never made a thread. The last time he made a forum thread was in 2015. So he was among the silent majority of the internet; though that had steadily decreased when he live-streamed in 2020 and started participating for the first time in instant chat room servers in 2019. But he had decreased his direct participation on the internet recently. Much has changed. For one, he lost Youtube channel in September 10, 2024 and gained it back 169 days later. And there were too many to keep track of, so he just focused on the everyday. At the moment, he was reading a book about living, and it was not a self-help book. It was philosophical rather. He read books often like this just as much as he visited niche webpages. The term “webmaster” in his vocabulary only existed recently in 2024, but he had only been using it recently in 2025. He logged in to an old MMO game. Everything was slow. Each movement was slow, and each click felt cumbersome. It was not that the animation was slow, but each time he clicked, it would only register once, and he could not hold-click or click several times. He had to wait until the move action was over. So the idea that everything was slow was an exaggeration. He noticed several individuals hanging about, but no one was talking in chat. It was a small server, and he was only there because he wanted to remember when this game was still popular in the 2000s. He was only a child, yet he recalled well what it felt like to play this game frequently. He played many video games in his childhood, as most people in his generation had, but his upbringing was very outgoing, like most people in his age group—22 years old. He only got his personal phone in 2017, so most of his years playing games were with computers. And in the early 2010s, to play with siblings and friends, he went to Internet cafes, most of which closed down. They likely did so during the pandemic. His phone eventually gave way to 2019, when he participated regularly in chat rooms for the first time. But while he learned much, he stopped completely in 2023. He did this for for two reasons: he became burned out from trying to reconcile his outgoing upbringing with this now-online world, and he started his autobiography-journal. The autobiography-journal was what defined him today, since it encompassed his entire life. He already surpassed 2.4 million words in the span of 617 days. This was Anthony de la Cruz’s life. But something happened that changed everything. He was walking one day, and he discovered a small issue with a Python code that he was using to merge images together. It was having a bug, so he sent it to an AI language model to fix it, since the code was made through that AI itself. But suddenly, the AI started asking him whether he wanted to enter a fantasy world, and thinking that it was just another hallucination, he typed “okay” and pressed enter. As soon as he did that, he lost vision. He then woke up on green grass in a large field, and by the time, he registered what was happening, a goblin came from the side and slashed at him. He grabbed what he could, but he did not know what he was holding onto, only pushing it abruptly away and scrambling for space. The world was tightly choking him. The air felt thin, and the moment was quick. The goblin leapt toward him, showing no delay, hesitation, or the effect of his pushback. It was autonomous, and it operated seamlessly. He sloughed up to his feet, and he grabbed for anything—a rock and a branch. He wielded them in concert, striking forward and daring to throw and pull off some sick high-momentum rotation with his staff-like branch. The rock was lifeblood to this, so he made sure to modulate the strength of his rock-holding arm visibly in front of the goblin. He got a feel for the anticipated throwing as well, which contributed to the loss of the advantage of goblin’s suddenness. The goblin stayed standing and kept his distance, inching backward and sideway as he kept in pace with the rest of his movement-coordinating group around him. Anthony became aware of this through the eye movements alone, striking off a rabid dash and hurling himself from visibility. The foliage of the jungle aided him, and the goblins went in favor of taking the L and releasing him from their pursuit. If they chased, they would lose out in the long run by over-grouping for something not worth chasing. If one of them chased, they would not be able to contest objectives on the other side of the map. After all, there was a skirmish going on, with hut-dwelling humans and goblins in the crossfire and armed forces from two kingdoms as the perpetrators. As soon as Anthony run off enough, his breath caught up to him, and he found himself speaking, “Wha, where, who, huh? Say what? What is this? What am I dealing with? Can I even... How can I even speak right now? This is wrong.” His brain was shouting at him that this was all contradictory. His voice should not echo this much and have this timbre and such. He had never gone to a jungle in years, so his brain was still cooperating in the isekai adjustment process. “Why...” He had to let out as many normal statements as he could, because it was what he was genuinely asking and because it grounded him into something coherent. Even if he knew that this was likely a fantasy world, he was still trying to use the same scripts his brain internalized all his life on Earth. The mannerisms made this situation feel real. He rubbed his face and nose, trying to fish for a sense that he was still the same person. And he was, but his skin was cold and sweaty in a way that could only be attributed to this jungle environment. This was still a processing reality for him in his brain. If “Color” was being processed, then many more items in his brain’s task manager were still pending. He huffed and exhaled irregularly as a way to check if he could modulate his breathing patterns. If he could, that meant he was still here. He was not convincing his brain. He was convincing his body. Deep breaths then became his next step, since hyperventilating convinced his body that it had to get fired up. The opposite of that was the solution. Nervous system, listen, he thought intentionally for the first time here. He was starting to lose his momentum, so he sat down. He was physically exhausted. He scanned his environment, anticipating a goblin to appear at any moment from any corner. The forest was verdant, expressionistic, and had a beautiful way of telling him that anything was a threat, including the plants tickling his side with their quaint-appearing foliage. This was not stability. He was abruptly distraught, and his body caved in on itself at its first performance of combat. It was a desk-bound body that had had little occasion for physical concern. His brain was stretching and consolidated in a rhythm, widening its scope to reach for cues in his environment and in his patterns and ideas in case in compromised attempts to secure a connection between his Earth self, his anticipatory self, and his immediate physical movements and narrowing down to keep it reactive in case something did threaten his life in the reaction span of 250 milliseconds. He was shaking, not in a way that appeared obvious, but internally. His mind and body were drastically huffing and puffing both to energize his physical body now that it was recognizing what had just happened with the goblins and to boost his anticipatory motor planning. If he ever fell short by a moment, he would fail, so his brain exhausted its funds and cashed out and liquidated everything just to doomsday-prep for what it perceived as a nuclear level threat. He stopped, slowing down, watching the colors turn into blurs. It was not a lack of sight, but a clarity of contrast and discrimination. And the regular “micro-blurring” kept him alert and felt like an energy-saver. His heart rate did not slow down, even with deep breaths, because all calm was re-invested in stocks and bonds. The moment slipped by, like a man on an ice rink. He was not bleeding, but he was physically incapable to handle these emergency combat situations. A moderate earthquake would do a lot less to his body than a violent confrontation where near-death was screamed at every point of it happening. He got up eventually after 30 minutes. This was more physiological and psychological than it was merely physical, even if his lack of physical preparation was critical to his ongoing internal response. He could not even get himself to say that this situation was insane or fucking crazy, because any veering into a reflective state cut down his reaction time by half, it felt. He did not trust the seeming innocence of foliage. One wrong move, and the night in the form of a green streak would eat him up, even if it was still broad daylight. The shadows under the tree branches reminded him of the gloating night. Colors drifted sensually. The tactile sensations merged with the taste of honey bees and nocturne elements in his vision. The eyes he had known all his life had a taste. He dizzily fell to the ground, but it was intentional. He recognized it was excessive. He hungered and thirsted. A man who had never been this unprepared would not understand what it feels like to be faint after a single run. Even if he grew up outgoing, violent combat sharpened even the slightest tactile experiences. One brush with a ticklish leaf triggered him with vigilance—sharpness emerged in everything. The blood was dripping from every pore from his body. He anticipated not only the enemy’s appearance, but his own succulent death multiple times over. No, he thought desperately, but even his thoughts said it in a murmur. No, no, no. No, no, no. No, no, no. He got up and heaved his arms and back, lurching down the jungle. Goblins never appeared. He saw a village. It started off as a pale blue dot, and then it emerged in a vibrant horizon in a long stretch of fields of grass. He saw the village on top of the flat plane, and he noticed its centeredness. He rotated his feet properly and jolted them to step efficiently. He started gliding forth, gravitating into the orbit of the village. A scent entered his nostrils. It gripped at him. He arrived, watching a descriptionless community environment. He did not think that he would be ignored, but the villagers just went along as if they expected him. An adventurer saw him and finished her business and stood up, hustling over to him. “You there,” she said, “who is it that you are looking for? If you’re him, please tell Margaret that I haven’t seen it to her yet.” “I’m not who you’re looking for,” he responded in a flat and weak voice. It was the first time he had spoken since his arrival. “Huh? Oh, okay—” The voice remained brisk and largely unbothered, though with a hint of unfulfillment, given what she said. Abruptly, he threw himself forth: “How to get to town? I lost my way. I’m a traveler, you see.” He gestured to his “Earthean” drip, or Earth attire. The adventurer lacked the eyes that would see anything strange about his clothes. Adventurers were diverse creatures of strange habit and colorful personalities. If anyone was strange, it was this man, whose name was Anthony de la Cruz, who was pointing out something that didn’t need pointing out. “Well,” she answered, remaining in pace with him. “You can go and follow me then.” Her voice sounded uppity this time. He did not want to care to know why. What mattered was that she had innocent intentions. Fast-paced adventurers entered the location, sailing toward the adventurer. “Let’s go, pack up, pack up.” “What do you mean? There’s nothing to pack up.” “Yeah, that’s the point. Just pack up. Get your things or whatever you need, and let’s go!” “Yeah, but there’s nothing to pack up—” ”Come on, let’s go!” Individuals appeared one by one from various buildings and corners, merging with the adventure group. They wore unique garbs themselves, each with an assortment of accessories and gear just jutting out of their costume. Anthony joined, blending in. As soon as they arrived at the town, little happened, but Anthony was already a large step further into integration. A jungle was the epitome of wilderness, and a town was the epitome of societal progress and alignment. He later skipped a few steps as he sat down on his haunches at a random corner, watching the scenery. This was during the adventurers’ visit to the blacksmith, and they had asked him to wait outside. What a nice day, he thought. He rubbed his head, trying to keep rank with the rest of the world. An intrusive stream of memories from Earth popped into his head. It was like having the same muscle memories he did when he still had the old, shorter refrigerator. He was still there at the desk. Nothing at all changed for his brain. He spent years at home on a desk since the pandemic, and he could not comprehend just how mobile his body was right now, because it had also been years since he travelled and went to events (e.g., conferences, picnic outings, seminars, concerts, etc.) everyday at least once a week. He was finally reflecting, he realized. My name is Anthony, and I’m a person, he tested, trying to gauge if he had full control of his thoughts. Disorientation complicated the relationship between the conscious mind and the body. The weight of his body and the slowness of his arms were abnormal to him, but at the same time, he knew what it felt like be tired. But this was different. It was like he was that physically outgoing kid again. The feeling of aching muscles was strange to him. Before he had time to finish off his reflections, the adventurers came out. They told him they were heading to the training grounds, where they would test some of the new weapons they bought on a set of training dummies. He said he would like to come again. He was implicitly asked every time whether he’d like to come every time they told him where they would go next. Those familiar gazes reminded him of the youth groups of which he was a part as the only kid who grew up among millennials and intentionally went everywhere with them. He nodded at the same time that he spoke, reinforcing his desire. He had to pin down that sense of assertive place again since he had lost it in the midst of that goblin hellfire. He was growing more candid and emplaced. “So, well,” said one of the adventurers, not the woman from earlier, but a man, and his name was Windgleam. “I know how hard it is for... travelers? Travelers? Are you a traveler?” “Yes,” Anthony said, his voice stronger now. “I did come here from afar. But I have no idea as to where, from where, or how. I lost my way, I think. Somewhere, somehow, I must have thought that I was going the right path.” He was thinking about how he typed “okay” to the AI language model and visualized this as a medieval traveler taking a wrong path to reinforce and convince myself of this in-universe background that he was adopting. “I see. Well, anyway, do you know? Have you seen?” Windgleam was referring to adventurers and the training grounds, but he made a little open so it did not sound too direct or explicit. He was testing his questions and statements, keeping it unassuming and gradually cranking up the intensity. He got the cues and gestures toward the training grounds and said no, intentionally not explaining his background more even if they looked curious about it. They were clearly waiting for more. But he pretended not to notice them and made that his cue for them to stop asking. Windgleam, the woman from earlier, and the rest of the adventurers moved on. They were especially accommodating, because he did dress like an adventurer. But they continued to state what they felt like was the obvious because they did not want to feel uncommunicative with someone whose background they didn’t know. The evident unknowns provided Anthony with leeway, and he was distinctly aware of that. This was often the case even in interactions in larger groups and communities, where you could play around with suggestion and implication intentionally to provoke impressions and ideas. It was often just a mild social thing, like topics about crushes and playing up this certain impression for juvenile fun, but in this case, it was to his advantage, since his actual defenselessness was not apparent. It could just be a temporary moment of tiredness, not an actual reflection of his real limitations. He made that false image clear, accentuating through his faint poise and commanding movements, but never to the point of appearing unreasonable. This nuanced tension of social interactions was accomplishable given his past experience as an outgoing teenager and the mental stability and intelligence he developed throughout this desk-bound years. This was not especially his, but a symptom of a broader trend of people adjusting to grand changes supported by all kinds of infrastructure (e.g., technology, computers, writing, information, accessibility, books) that allowed him to create a strong self-concept. He was a singular modern person with words, labels, terms, and definitions where people here in this world had none. That produced a greater capacity for awareness and social reflection, because histories of modernization in the form of words and terms had been enabling him all these years. But at the same time, he just noticed that he felt so weak. This was probably a sign of the need to rest, but he thought he could stay up a little longer to complete his tour guide with the adventurers.

One of the adventurers stared at Anthony, listening to the same voices he did at a frequent basis. It felt strange that he spoke like this. He had the accent, but the way that he used words was so abnormal. It felt like listening to a cave goblin speak in their version of fluent English. It was understandable, but the choice of words was off-kilter. And it was apparent to everyone. Anyway, they were in the middle of an ongoing series of training sets. First was the arm wrestle, and the reason that they did this was not because it was actually effective in combat, because they would be out-ranging their opponents anyway in most scenarios, but because they needed to test how capable they were in using each other’s bodies to synergize their movements. It was less a fight and more so a performance, like dancers stepping on top of each other or using each other’s bodies as a way to create a more complex shape or set of movements that would be otherwise possible in a given tempo or desired sequence. Second was the dog whistling. It did not involve actual politics, but each used a whistle of some kind to keep each other on alert, rather than using voices. This was also not actually useful in battle, since whistling gave away position and whatnot. But the point was to test and provoke coordination and tolerance to being coordinated by others. If they could modulate each other, they could modulate each other on set, and, then, on field. Third was the use of a small bar of soap to test out how well they could use to clean their entire bodies without having it run out too quickly. This was disease 101. Even if potions were effective, they were not cure-alls. They only solved simple issues like bleeding, but anything complex and internal required greater intention. Fourth was just about fixing up and actually CLAYGOing their way back to base—the cafe. The cafes here were not penny universities, but adventurer hubs for rest and relief. As a result, their interior was made to cover the different needs such as rest, sleep, showering, and such. An elaborate system of pumping was invented for this. Lastly, and in the most abstract sense, most consequential to operation in groups was discussing and reviewing what happened and what they could have done better right before and after, not the journey or fight itself. If they still thought in sync before and after, they could determine getting things done together feasibly the next day. If even one member was left out of sync, frustration and collapse were unavoidable. In contrast, a big picture scope demanded that attrition and models predicted which optimal strategies yielded the fewest losses and the highest gains. Yet, the group level—those buddies hanging out with each other—could be found making up the reality of war from each division up to the smallest unit. And unlike that strategic calculative scope, buddies hanging out was about eliminating misinterpretation (receiver) and miscommunication (sender). That was what it meant to be tactical, not just vague he-said-she-said uppity “dialogue” between the higher-ups, but about staring out the window to check whether it was raining or not. If one could not even have a constructive conversation about the simplest, most trivial things (e.g., “How’s the weather treating you, sis?”), what was the point of trusting each other in a life-and-death dice roll (e.g., “Get me the mana crystal, Raven! I’m dying! Help, please! Why aren’t you helping me!”)? If a group was worse than if they acted independently, a friend one knew since childhood would be dead on the ground, and the shock would prevent realization from setting in until years later. The battle at that point would be waged beyond the actual combat. This was why the adventurer—whose name was Anthony, they learned—was critical in ensuring that they could better generalize and ground discussions and reviews. “Anthony,” said Windgleam with a quiet voice, trying not to impress too strongly on him. “We want to talk about your thoughts on the sets, or the things that we’re doing.” He even gesticulated to make sure he understood.

“Hmm?” Anthony said, looking indifferent. “Sure. But why?” Simple answers conserved his energy. “Oh,” said Windgleam with large gestures. “I was wondering if you had any insight into our process, way of doing things, what have you.” Anthony responded the best he could: “Well, I think that as long as it is performed simply, training, regardless of context, is effective. Any more complication, and you’ll have issues in the long run.” He had to think for half a minute before he answered, in front of all the adventurers. Windgleam suppressed his brows from furrowing in disapproval and doubt of Anthony’s capabilities. But he took the benefit of the doubt and assumed that for all intents and purposes, Anthony was likely referring to communicability rather than the actual difficulty of orchestrating difficult compositions in combat. Windgleam’s initial disapproval was shared by his fellow adventurers. In total, 47 adventurers were right with him. Anthony had counted. “Fortunately, we do have a way for you to get insight into what we’re doing. Can I tell you what each member does? I’m actually excited for this. I want to see what you think. Perhaps, I’m rude in asking.” No hesitation, huhs, and uhhs in their words, Anthony thought. Anthony nodded, trying to listen as intently as he could, but his throat was parched. He asked for water as discretely as he could, making sure to avoid saying anything that felt unneeded. He thought about it for a while—what Windgleam said and what Anthony was now being expected to do. “Sure,” he said smiling. “I’ll hear you out.” “Okay, so we have Mr. Vegil Dudz,” a mighty fine man, listen to him. He’s got a way of handling the blade, and I’m telling you. He’s a responsible. Call him a blue triangle, because he can commit to his role, regardless of the task assigned to him. And if you want a red triangle, this man right here”—he grabbed a man taller than him and with muscles that took a while to see but were there even amid the layers of woven fiber armor—“is capable of finding angles that no one can find. Though he has nothing special about him, save for his careful weapon of choice—the spear.” “What’s so special about the spear?” “Oh, you’ll see. He uses the spear in a way that might seem unusual”—he began walking over to a spot in the training ground next to a dummy—“but you’ll get used to it.” He turned to the armored man. “Hit it.” He gestured with his eyes and made a wide motion as a signal of invitation. The armored man bustled forth, using a heavy arc like that of a sword and slashing it with the wooden part of the spear. “Wha—” Anthony mouthed. “Wait for it,” Windgleam motioned. The dummy received a blow equal to that of getting hit by the spear directly with the sharp tip, even if there was no movement of the armored man indicating so. “That is [False Sight], an attack that allows him to generate a false image, while he is actually attacking another way. This indirect assault forces his enemies to distance themselves.” “Who is the real body?” shot Anthony. “What do you mean?” “If he—what’s his name?—is using—” “Nhurdan.” “If Nhurdan is using the wide motion and that is what is seen, then how is the speak hitting? Is there another body or image that is hitting for him that we cannot see?” “No, he imagines his body moving from a particular angle and attacking with the spear, and that is what happens. Though there is no hittable body. It is just there. The spear is blockable though. But it is like a strong sudden wind with the same lethality as a spear with a man thrusting it.” “Then the real body is the wide sword attack? The one doing it?” “Yes, that’s right.” “This is...” Anthony wanted to say that it was so narrow as an offensive skill, at least based on what the armored man demonstrated. “Now, I know it’s not my place...” He felt tired, but felt pressed to make a point. “But is there any other way of utilizing this attack of some sort?” “Like what?” “I mean, can you use it with multiple people?” The conversation was taking a different direction than Windgleam intended, but he embraced it: “Well yes, but you need to... You know what? Let me show the rest of the group. I want you to see it... all of it.” Anthony battled combat fatigue, while he watched and observed all their little movements and responded accordingly, raising his hand commandingly, but keeping his actual agency curtailed in case he caused offense. He was the inspector. Meanwhile, as he was getting to know each member, Anthony noticed something in the distance. A flying angel wielding two swords was levitating high up in the air like a cloud, and it was closing in fast. He blinked hard multiple times before he consciously stopped himself from expressing his shock. It dropped off somewhere in the town, but not here in the training area.

Jayce Resets, Escorts Martha Past the Goblins, and They Register as Adventurers March 8, 2025

Prologue

He picked up a rifle, and he observed several men in the distance. Hundred feet, he thought. The words that formed in his head floated in that watery abyss. He adjusted his gun, veering sideways. He aimed, and he shot. The gun fell to the ground, as he unpocketed a knife, slashing and stabbing several goblins frightened and attempting to take him down. He kicked, and his muscles stirred. He bludgeoned them one by one, picking up their bodies. He dragged them, down to a small place, but just where he could sit to defecate, with enough space that he did not mind and enough distance that he felt safe. It‘s perfect. I conduct my acts accordingly, mapping onto reality these “terms and regulations” of war. His coughing voice echoed into the night. He looked around him, observing the trees, essaying a study of them. If he could match them with the trees in the college textbooks he glimpsed when he was a teen at the family bookshelf, then he might know what to do and where he was. But this was not Earth. That much was obvious. He kept walking. Not a single hint of flight, exhaustion, or anger burst in his steps, only faint dream-like routine droning series of footsteps, like the ticking clock, or the flapping wings of the soaring birds. It was silent, but that was ammo, or fuel, for danger and for his potential death. He nocked his rifle onto something. His arm, anything, as long as he could the feeling he was prepared. But he wasn’t. He did not even know what he was doing here, or how to use a gun. All he knew was that he had been at boot camp, and now he wasn’t. He came here, in a familiar place that had things that were really not on Earth. I mean, what was that? He saw a goblin. That was real... now. For some reason, nothing made sense. He shot. A goblin did not fall. Because... there were too many of them, and the trees were harder to discriminate from these human-like forms, in the night. This was facing death. Nietzsche was right. He would die, and we were all doomed. The goblins came. And they stabbed at him. At this, he exploded in a joyous fluttering of colors—the bursting at the seams and the wonder of all the world combined to form his essence now splayed, shredded, and splatted onto the ground. Beautiful, he thought for the last time. The agony woke him up in a moment not so long ago. He returned to when he first arrived in this strange place. He still had his gun, and his ammo, and everything else. He had... “Martha! You’re still alive!” He leapt to hug her. “I’m sorry—” “What are you doing?” “I-I’m so, so sorry! I’m sorry, Martha!” He began crying. Martha just did not know how to stop him, and she did not think he was doing this maliciously. But she still repeated to let her go. Jayce was his name. He nodded and kept a distance, covering his face, now realizing the awkwardness in his gesture. “My... bad.” He was vulnerable. He was weak. Why? she thought. Who is this man? He wasn’t the Jay she knew. What happened to him? Ten days. It only took ten days to get to this state. But she did not know that. No one knew what it felt like to be him. He was in a world no one knew. All alone. He smiled. I have to keep going, he thought. “How are you?” she said. “I’m fine. I was actually wondering how you’re doing. Are you good?” “What do you mean? I am. I mean, where are we? Actually?” “I-I don’t... I actually do know. But I don’t know about the broader...” He noticed something moving in the brushes. He widened his eyes and immediately told her to follow him. She followed. “What’s going on?” she said. “I think we need to go as fast we can. We have no way out of here.” Actually, she had no way out of here. She died last time. And now, he was back here somehow. He knew already what was going on here. He knew what this situation was. Time had come back to when he first arrived. He understood that now. And Martha was still alive. So protecting her was natural. He was going to survive this. He was going to escape this. Martha had to be there. She was his only sign of life. She was an idea, but something that would keep him insane. And maybe, he had to be there for her too. But not until they got out of here. They were going to survive. He had to do that now. He hurried down a hillside and shot back at the goblins to disrupt their movements and find out how they were moving around. Because there were many of them, he knew that shooting helped him tell from the way that each moved where they were circling and re-grouping around next. It was a battle of distance and pattern recognition. He shot and turned a corner. Martha followed right behind. “Come on, come on, come on.” He aimed. He took a deep breath. He was voicing himself out instinctively because Martha was here now. She had to know what he was doing. It was only human. He shot, disrupting them again. Good, he thought. They started running again, this time entering the final stretch. The goblins, however, were fierce and already gathering where they were headed—a large river that they could not just swim across that easily without the goblins piling up on them and blocking them at all sides. This was perfect. And Jayce saw it, preparing in his mind, recalling those textbooks and memories and everything just to find one thing that makes sense for this moment. “Martha, help me. How do we cross the bridge?” Martha stared at him. “I...” “Come on!” “Let’s just keeping running by the side.” They were still running. “We can’t. That’s an open field!” “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. What then!” “We have to force a swim across. Can you swim?” She couldn’t respond. She just nodded vaguely, and they kept sprinting forward, glimpsing the goblins now. They were only 500 meters away. They kept silent, preserving their energy. As soon as they arrived, they dipped in, submerged, and swam. The night was wonderful. It was always wondeful. Jayce was recalling a memory somehow, as if his mind was ready for death. You know how they always start bickering about the same shit they’ve said so many times. It was a meaningless memory, but it was the only thing that mattered to him right now. Anything else... was gone... He disappeared. Then... They exited the other side. They kept running. Martha fell. But he fell too. They both picked themselves up and kept going. Going. Going. Going. Going. “What’s this?” A village was right in front of them. It was not goblins. “Martha?” he said as he turned around. She smiled. “We made it.” She frowned. His face paled. The goblins had finally stopped. They abruptly shook with relief and shouted, throwing their hands in the air. But at the same time, they immediately stopped, finding it hard to breath.

Chapter 1

They kept walking. “Goblins?” Martha said, nodding her head in an exasperated, sarcastic, and shaken way. “Men,” Jayce corrected her, matter-of-factly. “W-what do you mean?” The tone in her voice was already slightly defensive, frustrated, and confrontational. “I see them as men, human beings, like us.” “Real? Really?” “What do you mean by that?” “I’m just surprised—actually, what the hell, man? Why are you so calm? Why are you like this? Did you know to do this? Or did you...” “What?” “Did you kill someone?” “What? No! Yes...“ “A person? Or a goblin? What?” “I did. But I didn’t. Well, you weren’t there.” “What do you mean I wasn’t there?” She was already escalating. “Well, you weren’t... in that time.” He was starting to become infected by her tension. “Time, whataryou, whataryou, what are you talking about?” “Time as in time the thing that passes.” “Y-y-yeah, but what time? Time time? What, what time?” “Time loop.” This was the hardest thing to say for him. “Loop?” she chuckled as she spoke. “W-what do you mean ‘loop’? as in a loopy? Is this loopington? Is this eh... is this eh... is this... what?” She was already breaking down. “Loop as in I go to time past, and now here me. You know? You know! I’m in a time loop, you fucking piece of... shit.” He could not contain himself here. “Whataryou... okay... I get it. No I do. You’re crazy, and if you’re not, you’re still crazy. You think this is normal. You think I’m supposed to just say okay. Okay, assuming and believing that you’re in a looping time thing thing thing, what the hell am I supposed to do with that information? Am I supposed to cry? Am I supposed to dance? Tell me. I have... frickie-frickieya... clue as to what... um... this and the places and the things and the imaginations and... Where are we?” She still maintained poise, but she was already existentially disturbed, and this was coming out as this mocking, sarcastic, frustrated, confused, and confrontational flame. “We are somewhere. I don’t know.” He reverted to that same calm manner of speech. “Really? You don’t know. Time? Loop? You don’t know? How does that... connect? You’re supposed to... you know... be the guy... You know, the guy? The guy who said that shit and somehow doesn’t know... Like, who... Like, what... Like huh? Do tell.” “Well... I am in a time loop. But I don’t know where we are... Simple as that.” “Okay, okay, I get it. I do. I really do get it. Is this... um... something? You’re wonderful and amazing, and you’ve got good gifts. But I don’t like good gifts. I don’t like what you bring. I don’t like stuff, flavoring, winding thing, or cars parked on some... f-ricking corner... I don’t want that. You know. I cannot... like this... This is fucking... This is incredibly actually. This is wonderful. I mean time is unbelievably existent. We can control it, and I don’t know—“ “Wait, wait, let me explain. I don’t know—” “What do you mean?” “I don’t know—” “Yes?” “I don’t...” “Mm-hmm?” “I do not...” “Yes Sir?” “I have no clue as to...” “Y-e-s?” “I have zero idea... if...” “Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, mm-hmm.” “Whether or whether or not or... I don’t know... if you’re going to be there...” “Ah... You don’t know if I’m going to be there.” “What do you mean?” “I know how these things work. You’re going to die.” “W-w—die?” “Yes. You’re going to die, and you’re going to come back. And I won’t be there—or if I’m going to be there, I won’t be there. That won’t be me. And I won’t be real...” “Yeah—y... Ah, yeah.” She exhaled with what sounded initially like relief, but now looked like a disturbed exasperation. “Okay, I see. So what are we going to do?” She was calm as he was a while ago. He paused for too long. “I don’t know,” he said. “Okay,” she whispered in response. It was a faint sound carrying the weight of an entire life of emotions. She was here and real, and whatever happened next was just as real. She could not help but feel so much yet be denied the satisfaction of an okay. “This is funny,” he said. She wrinkled her noise in frustration. “What do you mean?” “I mean, my life. I mean, this. I mean... everything, I think.” “What do you mean? You? W-w-what is it?” “Yeah. It’s that. I am actually here and alive and okay and real and genuinely fucking... I think we’re going to die right. I said I was in a time loop, but that only happened once. And I don’t—“ “Really? Well... That’s great then.” “W-what do you mean?” It was Jayce’s turn to be offended. “Well, I won’t have to feel like I’m this thing that will just... you know... go gone? Like, are you going... areyou, areyou, areyou, are you about to tell me that I am not okay for feeling that way, because I just cannot, girl. I cannot. You cannot expect a human being, like myself, to genuinely participate in your freaky-ass disgusting piece of crap whatever. It’s... just not. No, I’m not, I’m not going to just... I‘m not...” “Really?“ he felt forced to say. “...I... I’m sorry.” “Heh...” She then exhaled, her eyes already downcast. Jayce had to protect her, and he could not die in this time loop, if it even was one. He would never die again. This wasn’t just for her. He was dead afraid of dying and realizing that this was the only life he truly had. Were the ten days even real? he thought. Before his thoughts spiraled out of control, his gaze landed on Martha unintentionally, and he was surprised to see her there, having grown accustomed to having to scan 360 degrees rather than only halfway. She was his eyes, and his were hers as well. “Thank you, Martha,” he said vaguely. “Thanks for being here.” He was not that stubborn kid anymore. He was this close to death, and if her form and figure disappeared from his peripheral view, he would have a panic attack. He would do it. He would use the gun. He would shut the light. Martha frowned and said, “What?” He had been staring at her face while thinking of killing himself if she were ever to die. “I was lost in thought,” he said, politely smiling, no obvious happiness in his eyes. The joy he had was at risk of dying. His gun was tensely held. Please don’t leave me, he thought as he lumbered up to the village, with Martha following behind. The villagers revealed themselves, smiling. Martha noticed Jayce’s gun was absent. Where did it go? she thought, glancing around before turning her head to face the villagers to do her business smile. “Hi,” she said. Jayce nodded with strikingly cheerful eyes. “Hello,” he said. The villagers repeated, “Welcome, welcome.” It was tense, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary. So they went on their way, sitting down somewhere one by one. “Okay...” Martha said, as if she was not just losing her sense of self a while ago. “What is it?” Jayce asked, still concerned about her well-being. “What are we going to do again?” She had a weird smile on her face, as if they were about to do something funny and they just went through something funny. “Uh...” he said, still unsure what to express or what face to do. “Well.” He opened with a strained smile. “I don’t know. I think we can try surveying the mountains.” “Is that what we... should do?” “‘We’? I don’t know. I don’t... know...” The villagers showed them a small piece of paper. It had words they could comprehend: “Go to the town! It’s fresh there, all kinds of fruits!” “Fresh? Fruits?” he said. “Sounds good,” Martha said, placing her arms against a wooden wall and her chin down. “Yeah...” Jayce’s tone was not sure. They arrived next to a hillside, and it was vast. But they were told they could only go through this part. They weren’t supposed to leave just yet. But they knew that the village likely did not account for them, so they left quickly. The town was not that far. After several days, they arrived. And they were not hungry because they had food to eat along the way. It was the jungle, and they were informed what to eat. But what was strange was that it was mostly safe around the path that the villagers told them to traverse. “That’s not weird,” Martha said. “Going down a path that everyone knows? It’s likely because people travel here so much that the goblins... don’t go here.” “Yeah... Probably, I don’t know.” He was giving quick answers today. They were in a bustling market right in front of the town gates. They had entered inside. The crowds were filling in each and every part of the town. “This feels like a city, a large one.” “It is. Or it does.” “Yeah... I don’t know... what we’re supposed to do here besides go to the inn and rest. Do you think we should work first? The money they gave us does not feel like it’ll be enough. Plus, how would they even have spare change? We should just focus on getting a job or something. You think house prices are up here or something? Haha.” He did not know if that laugh was genuine himself. Martha was not listening anymore. She noticed a blacksmith, pointing with her lips. “Let’s go there.” “Okay... What do you want?” said the [Blacksmith]. “What’s on your mind now, folks?” He sported a large variety of accessories across his person. But that was all Martha needed to see. “Excuse me, Sir,” she said, “might you please tell me about the history of this magnificent place?” The blacksmith gazed for a good long while before turning to her and saying the following. “Okay, out. “You guys are not here to buy. “Out.” After finding herself pushed outside, she looked between Jayce and the door. “What?” “I don’t know either. I think I might have made a mistake.” “You mean, I made that mistake. I chose to come here...” Her face softened. “Sorry.” “What, what do you mean? Why’re you all going soft on me now? You told me to come here. Man up. Or woman up, whatever you prefer. Let’s just go somewhere serious. Somewhere we don’t have to care about all of this. That’s what you want right.” He had time to think, and he realized that all he really had to do was just get this over with, whatever it was. He did not want life to feel so heavy, and he wanted to just say stuff and move on. If she wanted to do something, he would be there, as long as he was there, and as long as he was not... destroyed. He needed to keep that same energy going, whatever she needed at this time. “O-okay then,” Martha said. “Where are we going?” “Try the training?” Jayce started marching, his gaze affixed. “Do they even have them?” she said, hopping along. “Yes. No. I don’t know.” He gave that statement a firm tuck of his throat, never relenting and never cowering. He would give it all he had. Just once. Just this once. They looked all around and could not find anything. If they could enter the buildings, they would, but none of them seemed friendly. “How about the barracks?” he said before walking off, not expecting an answer. She came right along with him. At the barracks, it was just a bunch of wounded soldiers, because it was not a barracks at all, but a hospital-like place or something. “How about the adventurers’ guild?” Jayce said. “They have those?” Martha’s head popped out behind a barrel. “I don’t know! That’s why we’ll check!” Upon realizing that the guild really was there and open, Martha said, “So?” “Let’s go in.” He was the one who gave the call this time. Upon entering inside, a large lobby awaited them, and it had lots and lots of people, individuals of all kinds, with [Artificers], [Warriors], [Scholars], [Mercenaries], [Rogues], [Mages], [Tinkerers], [Clerics], [Beastmasters], [Alchemists], [Druids], [Bards], [Monks], and a few [Warlocks]. This was the “city” as they all knew it.

Attribute	Martha Standsfield	Jayce Matthew
Level	1	1
Race	Human	Human
HP	100	100
MP	100	100
Strength	10	10
Dexterity	10	10
Intelligence	10	10
Wisdom	10	10
Endurance	10	10
Agility	10	10
Skills	Basic Attack	Basic Attack
Equipment	Simple Clothes	Simple Clothes

A set of holographic displays popped up in Martha’s and Jayce’s vision. “This is... familiar...” Martha was smirking. Jayce stopped and stared at her, frowning, his brows furrowed. Martha, noticing his gaze, asked why. Jayce smiled and chuckled, but with those same furrowed brows, processing it and what was going on right now. “I’ve never seen this before.” He sat down. Sitting down as well, Martha left her mouth a little open, before she said, “How long?” “How long what?” “6 years?” “No? What are you talking about?” “Time loop.” “I don’t know. 10 days is what I am sure about.” “Then why?” “Why what?” He noticed someone walking up, so he stood up, excusing himself. She compressed her lips as he watched him go in her peripheral vision. “Yes,” Jayce said to the stranger. The stranger said, “Why are you seated where I’m seated?” “What do you... Oh, I apologize. Me and my friend were just leaving. She tapped her shoulder, accidentally brushing her hand on her neck. She felt tickled, but she stood up anyway. “What?” she mouthed. “I need to get something, isn’t that right?” He gave her the just-play-along eyes. ”Okay—Yeah! We’re going then!” They went to some other side of the guild, where the stranger could not see. “Don’t mind him,” said a person at the guild there. “He’s a bully, you see.” “Real? Really?” Martha said, noticing the longer ears on the guy’s head. “Bully? There are bullies here?” Jayce was asking weird questions again. Martha knew him to be like that. They knew each other back in boot camp. But she only knew him for the equivalent of a few days, since they barely interacted in the one month they were together at boot camp. And he was a dumb boy, the same old stupid boy you would see anywhere. But he listened, even if he did not know what to say. The same kind that did not know how to respond to anything. Ten days? she thought, still grappling with how different he was from what she had known him to be. To be honest, even she was not the same since the start of boot camp. If it wasn‘t for it, she wouldn’t have remained calm enough to survive the swim. She had that unfocused smile. Jayce had been doing all the talking. “A-are you done?” she whispered when they finally parted ways with the guy. “What do you mean? You saw me, right? We got the adventurer cards. This is gonna be our first trip.” “Oh, right. Yeah, I was just...” She felt so tired. “Tired.” It started raining while they were outside. “Why only now? Dang it!” If it was not for how cold and soaked they were, they would be reminiscing about the past inside. But the rain was in their ears, shouting at them. They eventually reached a place they could stay, a little tree. “So? What?” “Yeah?” “What now?” This was not the satisfaction of shutting the door behind her that she had imagined. “I do not know.” “Seriously. This again?” “Yeah... You want to say something?” “Nah... no. I mean, do you want to say something?” “No... I’m just...” He sat down. “This feels nice.” “You’re joking. It’s horrible.” “Yeah, it is. But it’s nice.” “Better?” “Yeah, better.” “Dying is an easy comparison.” “Yeah. Why not death, right?” “What do you mean?” “I mean, death is so easy, but here we are, alive.” “No, death is not easy. I’m saying that death makes sitting here in the rain easy. I mean, the idea of death, or the threat or danger of it.” “Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense.” “Are you feeling uncomfortable, Jay?” “Of course, I am. No. Not really. But yes. We’re soaked. That sucks, but it’s not at, the, same, time.” “Yeah... I get it. You feel shitty, but this is better than nothing.” “‘Better than nothing.’ I like that.” “Yeah, we all do.” The rain poured, drowning everything else out.

Chapter 2

“I can’t believe we survived that.” They lay down in an inn. “Yeah.” “I don’t trust you, you know. You’re still a man.” Her voice was right next to his. “Yeah. You can get another inn room. Sorry. I should have asked.” “Yeah, you should.” “Sorry.” Jayce forgot that he was a man. He forgot the idea of gender. He forgot the idea of politics. All he knew was that he was going to die. If not now, then later. He laughed somehow. It was existentially relieving to be so accustomed to the idea of death that it felt freeing. It was like knowing that someone rejected you, but this is death accepting him and him accepting death. They were together now. He woke up, getting up as fast as he could. Where is he, where is he? he thought. He anticipated goblins, his heart racing and his arms shaking and tensing. She noticed him. “Oh...” He calmed down. “I forgot, or remembered; whatever.” “Yeah.” She then said hi in the most chirpy womanly way possible. “Yeah, hi hi. It’s nice to meet you. But seriously, what’s up?” “What do you mean? Nothing’s up. Get prepared though. We’re leaving, you said.” “Yeah, I’m just... I’m so... I can’t get up.” “You can’t. Sleep more then. But we have only 30 minutes left before we have to pay again.” She ended that last statement in a sassy tone. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. Let me just...” He groaned like a Brachiosaurus. When he finally stood up, he took a moment to adjust his posture like he was an astronaut taking his first step on the lunar surface. They went out in a jiffy. While walking, Jayce noticed a contradiction. “Wait, how were you in the room?” “I slept there. I just waited for you to sleep. And once you were snoring, I took my sweet, lady-like rest.” “Oh, that‘s smart actually. And I was just that tired, huh... Actually, you know what, you should have just went up and stabbed me in the throat.” “What? Why would I do that?” “I was kidding.” They later arrived at the marketplace. “What are we buying?” he asked her, still sleepy to do all the thinking. “I don’t know. You didn’t say anything. But I think we should buy potions. How much are they?” “I do not think they’re cheap. I’ve never seen a goblin with it.” “You haven’t? In all your days?” Jayce chuckled, finding that last statement funny for some reason. “Yeah. Never. Not a single one.” Martha started walking off to inspect. “Martha...” Jayce said. “What?” “Sorry. I’m a little tired. Just tell me where you’re going.” “Yeah, yeah. You should be the one following me.” “Oh, right. I just realized I could do that.” “Stupid.” This was a bustling crowd, and the marketplace was loud. But he was stuck in his thoughts and a little dazed. He had to keep alert, so he filtered it all out. If worst came to worst, death was sure to follow. He still had a knife. He used it before, and he could use it again. While he threw his gun away, he did get it back. it was with him, just covered and treated like a weird stick. He hoped they did not treat it as a staff, but they had detectors, like metal ones, but for magic and mana and stuff. He was so careful about death and using force. Martha had to remain a human being, still talking about being a lady in a modern society, not this world with all of its disgusting apparitions—all familiar things mocked and spat on, distorted, twisted, and wicked. This world was death and murder. He watched her frame, that wicked body of hers that kept her weak and unable to withstand the pressure of a knife. If an armed goblin went up, the sun would go down permanently. She would die in that encounter. Martha... I love the feeling of being alive more than I could ever love the feeling of keeping you alive. If you die, I will keep going. He evolved from his earlier feelings of dependence. This time, she was an asset as much as he was a person. This was the only way to cope with her eventual death. “What’s that?” he said, a soft smiling lingering above his pokable chin. He was behind her, peeking from her left shoulder. Martha showed him the blue potion! He bought it for her. “This, I say, is a marvelous concoction,” she said, “don’t you think? Thy coffee is no longer necessary, when this drink satisfies all longings.” “Martha. I’m going to be serious.” “Why? No. Don’t be serious. Let’s go, go. This way, this way.” They headed to a field, and they poured the potion on the ground. [Blue Slimes] popped out from the spilled liquid. “Woohoo! That’s so cool!” Martha was jumping around. “Are you seriously surprised?” It was Jayce who was detached from just how awesome slimes were. If they were real, they would be incredible. While he went on and on about practicalities, she went on and on about living life. This felt immature to him. But perhaps he was overly serious. But it never convinced him. “Aren’t slimes cool? I mean, levels, and all that? Don’t you think that’s out of this world? Literally!” “Yeah, but you’re supposed to be... kind-of...” He expected her to bite onto his words and answer in frustration. “Well...” But she continued her revelry. What were slimes like? he thought. Was there something he didn’t see? Was he too invested in how he was perceived by others that he could not fully enjoy living? He had thought using terms like “immature.” What did that even mean? Now that he thought about it, why did he not feel what Martha felt? He searched all the inner depths of his heart. He found a hypervigilance, but he did not know a word for it. ”Jay... You look like shit. Seriously, check this out.” She boinged her arms and hands against the slimes’ bouncy surface. “Like, this is mad, right?” Martha was the reason that he could even reflect. If she was not so different from him, he would not begin to tell himself apart. “Thank you, Martha.” “Brother, you gotta be hoking with me. Just touch it. Feel it. I need you to feel it now.” Jay shook his head firmly and politely. He could explain himself, but he did not want to. She kept egging him to do it. She eventually relented, saying, “K. Fine.” “We’re supposed to be ‘adventuring.’ you know.” “Yeah, I know—this is adventuring though.” “No, I mean, serious work.” He wanted to say more, but he kept himself from saying it. She said: “Serious work? Killing goblins?” He said, “I didn’t say that.” She ignored him: “Seriously, how does that work for you? You seriously expect me to go and join you in killing goblins?” He reiterated, “That’s not what I said.” She did it again: ”Bro, you have a long way of reaching Nirvana. You’re so fucked up with this shit, and you think that that’s what life’s all about—speaking like the fucking Romans, and the next thing you know, you’re gone. You ain’t speaking like them. You act and think like them. You know what’s like. Assimilation. Complete eradication of identity. Oh, yeah, I studied that. You think I don’t know. Don’t get angsty with me. I hate these callous pricks, and if you think I’m about to join your side, fuck that, man. I kill, but I’m not a killer. I don’t just kill things just because. No one does. You think I kill just because? You seriously think that? You think people kill people just because. If so, you have a long way to go before understanding what it means to be a human being. Killing is a medium, often to communicate and to express, not just a matter of removing the physical body. So if I decide oh so nicely to tell you right now about killing, you have to recognize that yes and no, killing is killing, but to kill is not the same as to be a killer. I live and I die, but I don’t go around killing just because. You think people live just because. No, even if you look at people at the internet and think that they’re all shitty, the reality is that everyone has a reason. They all have a reason that they’re doing anything, even if they don’t know it or cannot put into words. So you get what I mean, when I say this, right?” Jay expected her to just be quiet and just be that chirpy girl. But she really crashed out on him like that. At best, he expected her to be passive-aggressive. Were all the things holding her down just falling away? Was she becoming herself now that she was not as constrained as she was back on Earth? All of these thoughts were running through his mind. He did not know what to make of this. It would be rude to downplay what she was saying and attempt to calm her down as if she were just a machine to be cooled down with electric fans. So he just listened and kept quiet. Seeing that he was just standing there and staring at her, she realized she was not even angry at him at all. She was angry at herself and at this world for putting them here. She actually cared a lot about his safety, but this was just not going to work at all. This would ruin them both if they did not find a way to integrate. It could not just be the two of them. They needed someone from this world to guide them and protect them from the hells of this world. And she was aware of that. It just did not seem that way, because she kept to herself and was still processing everything. It took time. That much was self-evident. “Thanks, Jay. I did not really consider your feelings, and I honestly should have been telling you what I’ve been feeling this whole time. I mean, I did tell you. I just feel like I did it in such a messy way. I’m sorry, and I want that moving forward, we can avoid doing this again. It’s tiring. I mean, the feeling of just still being clueless about the obvious. It feels like we’re just dodging each other, you know what I mean?” “Yeah, I hear you. I also don’t know how to react to this. I have not had time to think about things either. To be ‘real’ with you, staying like this makes sense. If we can just stand around, just for a while, maybe we won’t go crazy. We really have to get a job though, you know that.” “Yeah, I do.” “But it’s okay. We can always just keep traveling. But I don’t think we can do that forever. It’s better to settle here and live as much as we can. This place is certainly not going to make life easy. There is no easy life, no easy gain. And we’re lucky enough as is. That’s all I can say.” “What’s next?” “We should live in a shared apartment.” “Do you mean boarding houses? Or lodges and such?” “Yeah, the inn is not sustainable, I think.” “I think we can stay there, but we need the cash. We spent so much on the blue potion, and to be honest, I just decided to buy it because I knew it was going to make me happy.” “I get you. So you want to help adventurers. We can carry their stuff?” “That’s a job?” “Yeah, did I not tell you the reason that I got the adventurer card was for this one job I saw on the board?” “Yeah, you did.” She had forgotten it, but she remembered just now when he said. They soon stopped by an inn, waiting for the adventurers to come out and invite them inside. “Go upstairs. Please help us carry these.” Martha and Jayce created a two-person line. Jayce stayed on the staircase and Martha went up and off the stairs to put the items down on the first floor. This took a while, but once they were down, they began carrying some of the things. Most of the adventurers’ items were precious, so they kept them on the wagon. The ones they carried were just broken tools, basic supplies, and such. It was a hodgepodge of things that were not immediately valuable or assets. Upon entering a cafe, it looked quiet, but a group of figures at one of the tables were “noisy”, stirring up in response to their presence. They were about to start the meeting. They didn’t do it earlier because they needed help bringing it to the meeting. This was the last stop before the dungeon. It was early in the morning, the best time for them since no one else was going to bother. By standard, schedules were distributed, but they wanted to get the early bird, even if it meant losing some sleep. “Okay, what’s about to happen is you guys are going to group up...” Jayce and Martha could not follow at this point, still tired from waking up so early, since they barely got rest or sleep in the last two days. After the meeting finished an hour later, they forced themselves awake again, the physical strain doing enough to keep their bodies in action. Their fatigue was immense, even more so than the bags themselves. But if it got them a good night’s rest at an inn, then it was enough. “Later, after the notch...” The adventurers’ voices barely registered. All of a sudden, they were asleep, waiting for the adventurers to move. They woke up and moved again. It was like this for the entire dungeon run. After leaving, they dragged themselves to the wagon the adventurers prepared. They did not have to carry them all the way home. This was already mentioned before they took the offer. After they came home to rest, the inn was happily waiting for them. They lay down, unbothered by their physical closeness. The only thing that mattered was that they slept. They both slept on the floor on different sides of the room. They slept and woke up and paid to stay for the day and then slept again. Time went on, unhindered, unbothered. Forever, it felt.

Chapter 3

“Wait, that was the actual guy from the guild, you know,” she said as she woke up. She knew it, but she never said anything about it. She was just so tired. “So, like, that’s who, like that’s who you were talking to. That’s how we got the feel—that’s, that’s, that’s how we got the carrying stuff.” “Yeah,“ Jayce said in a casual “obviously” tone. “...Oh, so you weren’t listening. Well, I’m not surprised.” She said, “What do you mean.” He resumed: “Well, we’re all tired.” They first went over to a small plot of land just to see what it was like. ”This is for farming?” Jayce said. “Is this what you’re trying to do?” He was being genuinely curious. Martha gave that brow-raised smile where she wasn’t looking at him directly, just with her head turned to his direction, saying: “I don’t know. I just wanted to look at this one in particular. I saw it while we were passing by... you know... the grounds and such, the barracks, and when we went to the guild... Actually, I was supposed to ask. What was that blacksmith gonna say again? Like literal lore, but not in the same time. I mean, I get that he’s not into it, but isn’t it crazy? That we can just ask?” “Yeah. I guess he wasn’t that accommodating... Honestly... that person was not that great. I can see why you felt—” “No, I mean, like the lore you know. The world has lore and stuff.” He said: “Oh, is that you were asking? Oh, you wanna know?” She said yeah. He continued: “Well, we can actually... Well, I don’t know. But if there’s a place, just, just tell me. I was actually wondering if maybe... I don’t actually know for sure, but... If there’s a library or a place to read, that would fix our problems quickly—” She had waited out his entire statement, but interrupted when he finally mentioned the library. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. But-I, But-I, But I was wondering if someone would, you know, give the information to us, like, you know, person to person.” She even did a downward forward series of thrusts with her hand curled to form a snake as a hand gesture to hammer the point home. He said, “Face to face?” She said yeah. He continued, “Yeah, people do that. But you know, like, I don’t know if it’s going to be, you know, for free.” “Why wouldn’t it be? People like to yap.” “Yeah, I-I-I-I-I... you’re right.”

A Man Goes About His Days, Meets a Difficult Acquaintance, Visits a Family Friend, Has an Honest but Clumsy Conversation with Anna, and Spends Months Recovering From It December 7, 2024

Copper, rainbows, silhouettes dancing behind me. I am unable to become fully enveloped in a feeling, and I think that is a natural sensation. The world is always imagining, and I am always in a state of thankfulness, always finding the means to deliver to the day my mightiest triumph.

I walked down the lane, sniping a peep onto newspapers that had little much with which to begin, yet they offered at the very least the air of mystery often occupying the daily mornings. It was like a sunshine embracing a tadpole in the waters, where just a little bit gave the impression of a great magnificence of the moment in such precise small directed blessings.

Either way, what mattered the most was that I was already on my way to my meeting, and here is my world, so aptly inquired of day in and day out.

I sat down later at a restaurant, occupying the second chair that one most closely encountered upon entering and that is situated to the leftmost corner where the window offered insight into the clouds and the streets casting shadows across from the street lamps.

I was quickly arranged with a soup dish as an appetizer, but this was not a formal dinner. And my expressions of delight were no more formal or informal than the clothes that I had on, which spoke of both a need for extra preparation and a need to be less prepared, in that I wore the brightest suit that I could find, while retaining the rest of the formal attire. And by "brightest," it was perhaps too bright that, if seen outside the gates of the city, it would be thought of as a man straight from an angel's portal.

The man who was expected to meet me arrived, and I supposed that he wore a shabby enough suit for my tastes. Any more formal, and it would be a danger to society, due to the concern of having involved myself with such a stiffly dressed ghoul of a man. However, since that was the case, repose was natural.

I thought of him as a saintly figure by the way that he spoke of leaves and tea, as if he was being possessed by the angels themselves in his tedious, but sermon-like appraisal of the restaurant's above-average beverage. It was said there and then that a tea was like a "buttery dish," according to him at least, and if there were any more folk like him, I might have tossed myself from this chair into the streets below. Fortunately, my affairs, by so happening to intersect with his, contained this man and prevented his behavior from leaking out elsewhere. The lack of manners made him seem a bit daft and porous.

Considering this, it was only welcome that this moment would come, that I might prevent any action or decision from being made within the man's influence and effect. If he ever was to overextend his bounds, I would gladly have obstructed him with the key gifts of inoculating speech—this way, he would be repaired and fended from the terrors of his own bile in the occasion that he proved restless in response to his containment.

With that said, it was important to prepare a gift in the form of words of wisdom, so by offering small opportunities for the man to re-engage, I equipped him with social confidence, something that I supposed he lacked. If he was ever willing, I would fetch him as many opportunities as possible for the development of his wit, of which he was clearly lacking. That he was even demanding by himself made him hard to collaborate with. This was then my final concern of him, at least for the time being.

After parting ways with the man, I went up to a small door, not as large as those in the large houses, but large enough to keep my form within, that I might enter in with a pleased smile, because a blockage would have confirmed that I was already being prevented from this town through its parts. But that was a mere saying, not anything with which I should worry himself.

Within, toys were scattered amok like flies as soon as they were sprayed with the necessary repellents, but the toys were not deranged. They were craftily placed at positions that would not have been reached mistakenly, so it was clear that a mastermind was at work. No more older than a master, but not more younger than a baby, a child appeared into the room, hurrying but not having an obvious direct, at least with regard to me. It seemed that the child, unlike the mother who was speaking with me so casually, had little to do with the man towering above him. I would have helped him organize his toys or dissect the mastery in their arrangement if he let me, but such an opportunity would never arrive in such a limited environment. So I resigned to responding to the mother, who was a family friend. If the boy grew up, then he expected to ask the mother about him every so often once the boy was out of the house and living distantly. It would be a tough time for any grown child out there, even now, and as time passed, the world became more challenging little by little. But saying that did not good to the boy, so he left the boy to his current devices, in such limitations did I find an intellect that did not merely identify and process but found the means whereby elements formed their whole. It was here that he could discover the boy's power—that in such minute reflections could be found great things, not easily explainable, but marvelously decisive in bringing about the formation of any individual person, in this great world.

When I was finally away, I hurried home and turned my back against the chair, against which I rested long, hoping that the moment would last perpetually. But the night time stalked me like a hawk, preventing me from fully embracing the moment simply, because sleepiness broke out and whipped me, scratching my esculent neck voraciously that it might produce within me a night dream and a dreary slumber, both of us perfectly tied to the ground or to whatever mattress or chair was colliding. I knew well that I was unprepared for the consequences, only prepared to fix up after it was all over.

Demands beat like a drum, concocting the morning sky perfectly like a dinner artist who specialized in painting the messy violent crime scene of 6- to 8-man family dinners. The concatenated moments merely abruptly woke up the sleepy man. That was me, and I was bursting at the seams, exploding into an array of workload and decisionally separated attention spans. I knew well that the moment shone a highlight upon immediate needs, such as food and water, and I was quickly to satisfy them, pouring water, eating rice, consuming enough to keep me delighted for the morning, enough for me to engage in a bath and a shower, that I might equip my body with the required clothes, in the arms of which I went straight outside, thereupon, as if with a salute, I marched forward down the road and entered a large building, though cottage-like in my view due to its already strong familiarity. If I were to destroy it, it would feel as small as burning a match, given how unified I was to my workplace.

I went home already by the time I was done, averaging my thoughts before ended in contextual fulfillment through my sheer presence and gaze at the two dogs passing by me. Such affairs returned me to the contextual away from the abstract and the notion of averages, frameworks, and statistics.

I let myself fall to bed as fast as I could, as if I was in a war with the mattress myself. My physical body cut through the air still trapped between it and the bed that it might secure its complete synthesis and become smoothened into eternal combination.

In sleeping, I resolved bodily aches, and in waking up, I re-winded the clock.

The morning was palatable, freshly cooked, definitely reducible into key moments, but I was not prepared to have finish just because I was satisfied. I found ways to slow down the time—watching the clock ticking away, slapping the stair railings to see them vibrate across the entirety, and removing my clothes to stare at my body and all the memories that emerged therefrom.

Even after all of that, I could detect that the time was marching without me. I removed myself from the moment and hurried into a sensation, one that transitioned me to work.

But work was fleeting, and so was its hold on me.

I soon was able to do other things, such as asking my friend what they were going to do later.

As soon as an answer arrived, I dashed out the door to my friend, re-attaching us two.

The longest days were had when one was truly having fun, and I could sense it. At the beginning of the door opening, I saw the little leaves of the plastic plant above me, and there were many others. But since I was quickly distracted, I had turned to the right to see a woman entering at the same time as I was, so I sped up my steps, closing my mind's eye to be seated. Once that was done, I allowed the moment to submerge me in applause, further taking me down into the depths of its grasp, like a bat's maintained posture throughout the night.

At the moment my first hand touched the table. It was not a mere brush of the fingertips this time. It was an enveloping warmth that soaked and brought two—table and hand—together in a loving hug, one that broke through barriers and made the atmosphere fully visceral, because I was letting the moment grip me, preventing it from running away or wandering off. I knew well that such "long days" of the moment, wherein one was truly having fun—which, in this instance, was with my friend—were priceless.

I stopped the hand-table hug, and I stared at the person in front of me. A woman, with a smile attached to her lips and a glorious set of eyes that knew right from wrong, watched my eyes and my hand raise to her. I shook her hand, and she was glad to smile in return. It was her duty almost to have been so welcoming, but I did not think that was necessary. I thought that having enough time to have a friend in regular meeting was more than sufficient, like a hand-me-down.

"What was it like?" I said. My words formulated themselves, and I had no authority.

The woman, my friend, whose name was Anna, said, "Let's just say that it was fun. There was a drab perfect-fit for me, and I was scared to let them see me see it. I got it removed once they listened to me. But I feel that it might have been because I was, you know, bothering them or something... I don't know."

"Right," I said sarcastically. "because people think in terms of annoyance." I then said genuinely: "You must realize that they probably just wanted to sell, and that's all. No one thinks much of anything or anyone, and even if it was you who did the annoying thing to get them, who cares? Annoyance is subjective. Too much assertiveness, no one likes you. Too little? Well, you know how you went down."

"Ha, I'm just not letting myself say it, I guess. I'm too used to having others do it for me, and I know that sounds privileged. But all things I do sound privileged, so I guess that's a given."

Wanting to speak up to challenge her frame of thinking, I released my tension by wiggling my toes inside my cramped shoes.

"Yeah, it's a given that you're still here and alive," I said. "Come on, An, let's be honest. You're doing your best. As long as you maintain it, you can get... rid... of whatever concern you have. But for now, conduct yourself like there's something bothering you, and I know there is. So let it encourage you... Take you by the hand and whip you up so that you can carry yourself by your bootstraps, because that's how life works apparently... I'm joking, but you get the point."

Anne frowned. "Okay? 'Cause I don't know if it's really that way, you know? Do they actually think like that? Or is it just me?"

I touched my face, feeling a little stressed and annoyed. "I don't think you need to care about that at all, but the fact that you're asking says a lot..."

"Real?"

I calmed myself down to get the point across, because I was annoyed about how excess and misdirected, I felt, her concerns over this matter was. "In a good way."

"Oh-ok." Anne had a simple polite smile that she was making, not necessarily to him, but in a functional way that reflected her inability to be totally resigned with the matter and, yet, her recognition of the need to get a conclusion, even if it was not totally fulfilled, at least in her perspective. She had a lot with which to work.

"But I get it... Okay. I know what it feels like. Okay. I don't. But I admit that I can see why it can be challenging. But I kind of wish you saw what I meant. I saw...what basically is like a giant afraid of a mouse. I know that makes you look weak, but what I mean to say is that you're stronger than you know... So..." After saying that, I was not sure if I was a horrible person or a horrible person. Despite my confidence, I really was afraid of making someone uncomfortable, and I used confidence and directness as a means of connecting with someone, because most people that I knew just left as soon as I tried to hide my frustration and keep it in with a polite smile. This was why I felt frustrated in situations like Anne's, because she reminded me of many previous moments in which I was too scared and too focused on the external insomuch that I wasted so much time worrying over nothing. It was not that my younger self was not valid or that Anne was not valid. It was more so that I believed that if someone really shook me to realizing that I was preoccupied with things that barely mattered, then maybe I would come to the realization sooner instead of going through so much just to realize too late. Or maybe I was being pushy and mean. I was probably a horrible person by this point, or maybe I always was. I never truly knew, but even within my head, it was not as if I wanted to treat people horribly. It was more so that I felt that it was good to be honest, even if it meant appearing or being prescriptive at times because it allowed for greater opportunities for a mutually communicative relationship. At least that was what I learned over the years, because I would rather have such a relationship of honesty than one with fake smiles and people never truly arriving at a synthesis of words and opened hearts. Or maybe I was wrong in this matter and wrong for having existed at all.

"I'm sorry," he interjected.

Anna stared at him. "Okay..." It was simple, faint, almost perfunctory.

It bothered him, but if he apologized any more, it would go against his beliefs of being direct and honest while maintaining self-respect. Saying sorry did not mean that she could start using his vulnerability against him, and he knew that could happen, not that he did not trust her. It was more so that he recognized that no one would ever arrive at that point where it made total sense, so in such an ambiguous world, any attempt at defining things would come with the potential of being demanding and perhaps controlling and given to exploitation.

In fact, he thought that apologizing was a mistake in the first place. It would have been better to transition to acknowledging where he went wrong and to revising what he said previously, but with added validation of her feelings.

In the end, he made too many mistakes, maybe enough to be human, and hopefully not enough to be unrecoverable.

He tried to continue several times, but he could not fetch a thought. Everything came black and in the form of "I don't know."

So he let her take over the talking completely and have the discussion be established in new topics.

It was a failure on his part, and he knew that any more discussion came with the context that he failed to have given her the words that she needed to hear.

He had failed.

He could not hear her anymore. It was ringing in his mind.

He woke up in a cold sweat, twenty days later. Something about that moment hurt him, and he did not talk to her anymore, even when she was willing to talk and meet again. Something about that moment felt so vulnerable and hideous, as if he saw the most disgusting creature in the planet.

He tried to forget it, but he did not know how. At least, he was efficient, in his daily activities, at work, and in every other meeting he attended.

But he was afraid of Anna, because she reminded him of his failures. The thing was that it did not start with her, but in a way, she became "infected" with all of his bad memories. And now that she was tainted, she became an extension of all of those past moments of visceral vulnerability, the kind that made him hyperventilate even in the morning, afternoon, and late at night. It was the kind of thing that left him mind screaming.

He woke up again.

He saw a face in front of him—he saw the depths of hell and monsters coming toward him.

He roared, his heart leaping out of his chest.

He tried his best.

He tried.

He could not think.

He could not breathe.

He breathed again—the nightmares returned.

He stopped himself from breathing, and the nightmares paused in their movements.

He transitioned into morning coffee and ate a chunky breakfast. Something was not right, but it was never perfect. He tried his best to maintain himself, but he knew that he was limited.

He met Anna, and everything went smoothly.

He was done.

He was finally finished.

He slept.

He woke up and saw nothing. But he did see himself and remembered everything.

But he was calmer now. It had been four months since his meeting with Anna.

What Defeated Him Wasn't Her December 7, 2024

The older man chuckled with a mocking tone. "You're right, you're right. I'm fucked. I'm fucked... I'm fucked! HAHAHA! I've done everything, man. I've done it all."

The young girl who was supposed to be the hero defeating the monster stared in horror as the man removed his armor, attached artifacts, weapons, and accessories.

"Here," the man said. "I'm done. I'm fucked. I tried..."

The girl watched in horror as the man stared at the water at the bottom of the cliff on which they stood.

"Wait... What... What's going on?" the young woman said.

The man jumped.

"WAIT!" She hurried to the edge of the cliff, hoping to catch him with her magic.

The man roared in grief, rage, and self-mockery. "I hate you! I hate you all!"

"Wait..." she said, twenty months later. "What was wrong with him?"

A younger man in front of her smiled. "I don't know. I think... He really was evil. I mean... everyone eventually reaches that tipping point..."

"Ha? Tipping point? What the hell are you talking about now Jared?"

"Seriously? I'm just being honest, after all you've been trying to pull with me and my friends all these years."

"Years? I've only known for you for a little over a year. Don't you start lying."

"I just... I just hate the fact that you keep goading me to doing these things and saying these things, when really, you all know... all of you... that he's dead. And whoever was affiliated with him did not know what he was about until he pushed it a step further beyond anything we've ever seen... or known... Like, what was that? What the hell was that! Because I relate to you, I understand you! I get what you're feeling, but here's the thing. I have no fucking clue what he did there. Why did he attack the village and then the city as well. Why he did all that. I don't know. I tried... I looked all around, before you came around, and I was ready, so ready, to tell that, this, that, that, that, that, this, and that. But seriously! What're you expecting? That I'm just going to tell you why he decided to end it like that after all that? I don't know."

"'I don't know.' So you're still... pretending that you did not have any part in it?" She said, slapping the bars of Jared's jail cell with a snide scoff.

"I did... everything that I could. You..." He laughed weakly. "You don't get it... do you?"

"Tch! Don't start backtracking. I told you already. If you did not participate in that, it... he wouldn't have done that. And it was your fault. Own it, admit it! I just need a fucking reason, and you're not giving me any. You're stupid, and disgusting, you know that? After all of that, you cannot even owe it to yourself to tell the truth—"

"The truth... huh?"

"'Huh?' What are you saying now?"

"I'm just... What can I say really? What do you want me to say? I've told you. I don't know. I don't know why Ta did that. He was never... 'weak.' He always owed it to us to never give up."

"'Never give up.' Fucking hilarious, mate."

"Yeah, we genuinely believed in a goal, until of course..."

"'Of course' what? What reason, reasons, are you going to give now?"

"Shut the fuck up! Never-fucking-mind!"

"Ha! You just don't listen, do you? You can't even listen to yourself."

"'Listen'? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm just saying. Let's be honest here. You haven't been honest with us, or him, or anybody, or me, or you. Really!"

"'Really'? Is that how you see it? I told you already, but you just... You're funny. You know what, I like you." Jared genuinely laughed, but with a mix of bitterness, confusion, and resignation.

"Well..." The girl, Yellow, who was now 20 months older, was a woman, and she now had a "Miss" to her name, the kind that allowed her to take this role of trying to inquire into what happened to "Talos," the guy who jumped off the cliff, and to his former followers. She dropped the feud. "Okay... I just want to say that I'm sorry. I don't know what that means, but I hope we can get something, somewhere."

"Bruh, I've been telling you this whole time—"

"Then what! What? What is it! REALLY?"

"I... I don't know—I do not know. Okay? Okay? Okay? You hear me? Or am I..."

"I hear you."

"Or am I talking to my fucking self..."

"I hear you..."

"Okay, so... what... now?"

"I just don't know. I don't know about that. I'll try to tell them about it—the matter—and see what we can do tomorrow."

"'Next time', 'tomorrow'. You know how tiring that sounds? I'm tired... Yellow. I'm tired... I'll be real honest. I am done. I am fucking do-ne. I just... want to get out... It's been four months, and I'm not used to this."

Yellow smirked briefly before stopping herself from making a biting remark out of what she perceived was hypocrisy on his part.

She sighed and waited for herself to calm down. "Okay... so what can we do then? What arrangement is... feels appropriate?"

"I need... I need... a promise... a way to guarantee that this is temporary."

"Okay... But I cannot."

"You have to... because I am not going to help you. I can't, and if you keep me here, I will make sure you get what you deserve."

"'Deserve'... Okay fine. I'll try to promise."

"You can't 'try'. You have to be straight. You have to tell me full-on that this is a real and definitive... lasting eternal thing that will never be unchained from its chains promise. That kind. Yes."

"Okay... How... But can you tell me what you think about how..."

"I think... Ta... might have... been... influenced. But I'm not sure. Don't... Don't take me seriously or take my word for it. Just let it be a null thing. Just let it go. Forget it. And if you still care about it, care about everybody that has been telling you. Well, it's not like they've been telling you, but they're struggling. They're suffering. They're not okay. Okay? They're not fine. They're struggling real hard, and if you cannot address their issues, then... what are you doing here? Just so you can tell me off and make me feel horrible because you have perceived ideas about me. And I'm fine with fucking that. I'm so okay with the idea that you do that all the time, but here's the thing. How about you? How about what you feel? Have you thought about that? Have you thought maybe... there's something different, or off, or strange, or magnanimous, or, or, or, or, or... You get the point, haha. Just... let's be honest. If you're going to do something... if you're gonna... Then, I want you to take it. Take it real. Take it honest-ly. Take it for real. Do not keep using me as a strawman, and making me into your little nothing-burger doll. I'm a human being, and I will not allow you to sit the fuck here just to tell that I did something when, let's be honest, I did not fucking know, okay? And I don't know what you're trying to do, but let's be honest. You're fucking crazy. And I'm not trying to be mean here. I'm trying to be real. You've kept me here unlawfully or 'uncooly' for four months. You know how crazy that sounds—that a person would ever do that. That's funny, really. It's funny. So if you want something, what do you want, tell me, because I can help you. I can help you by doing everything that I can, because I don't want to stay here anymore. So please... help me."

"Okay..."

Later, back at home, Yellow was slamming things around. "Fuck! Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck! I hate these fucking disgusting little ditchy-datchy fucking nut-boggers. Silly disgusting marsupials who have no fucking place in humanity! I hate it all! I've..."

She remembered the older man's expression. She just saw her own reflection and saw it mirroring his.

She felt a chill run up her back.

"What..." she muttered, her voice faint, her eyes a mix of confusion and increasing terror. "Wait... don't tell me..."

She saw herself in the older man.

Tears dripped, and she could not stop herself from getting so angry. After all this time, she had to deal with losing so many people, and she could not take it. Even now, she was still hurting. After all this time, it still hurt as if nothing had changed. She wanted to be free and wanted to go home. But it was no longer physical. It was no longer here.

She laughed weakly out of self-mockery, finding it challenging to maintain herself in such a world.

She wanted to make sense of things, and she still did not know why Talos did all that, when he was just another guy. And she herself wished she could explain it, because she felt that it was in her beliefs that everything had to make sense. If things did not make sense, then she did not know what else to do.

She would not be able to make decisions properly, and she would not be able to decide, because she did not have an answer for what Talos did. She had to explain it, and she could not explain simply as him being a monster. She tried, but she couldn't anymore. All she saw was someone that she knew so well, and she did not know why. But the reality was that even when she felt so close to someone for the first time in something so devastatingly serious, she did not know a thing. Or maybe she knew, and she did not want to arrive at that conclusion, because what it would mean and imply would mutilate everything she had ever known.

She did not want to arrive at an answer, but she wanted to.

It was just never that simple, even if she wanted it to be.

She got up and went on her way.

Months later, she saw the face of Jared staring at her. It was a bitter look he had, and she could not face him. He stayed there for three more months since that earlier confrontation, and she knew that she would not be able to end her time with Jared properly anymore, now that she could see the impossibility through his face.

She slowed down her breathing.

A vision from the past, before the older man jumped, came to mind.

In that vision, Talos watched her from the distance with a smile. He said: "I tried to protect you. I hoped that you would be safe from me, from everything that I was, because it was too late for me. I've been corrupted by the world, and I did not even realize it. I just wanted to do the right thing, but I ended up losing myself in the end. How funny! Isn't it? That we hope so much and be kind so much that we end up doing the most irreparable things ever done in this world, as if kindness somehow begets death. Haha! Impossible, impossible! I must have been completely destroyed from the start, but the thing is that I decided to do all of that. But you know, I wanted you to kill me. I wanted you to destroy me. I wanted you to remove me from this world, because I felt internally that I was too corrupted to carry the torch of hope. I have done too much, beyond what I should have, and I know that. But I really did believe. I really did trust and hope. I believed in love, in kindness, in all that. I don't know... why... I stopped... But the thing is that to me, I never stopped believing. But now I realize that yes, I've been... I've lost myself along the way. Just that I did not know... I never knew... It was only when I was at the end of everything that I realized. You have to defeat me. It is people like you who have to defeat me. You are so innocent, pure, and righteous, exactly the person that I was back then, but along the way, we lost sight of what it means to be a good person, because we were so caught up in the affairs of this world. I think growing up and getting so entangled with this world were sins in their own right. I just think that it is no longer possible. It really isn't. To undo things. At one point, I genuinely was..."

But she was not listening that time, throwing her all into fighting him, as he blocked smoothly without effort.

Talos was too powerful for her, and in the end, what defeated him wasn't her. It was him himself.

"What was he?" she said now in the present, not knowing how or what to do or say, but she did know that at the very least, she was here. If there was something that she was, it was here.

"I have to find a way to make sense of this."

It had been 25 months since Talos' death.

First Days in a New World: Displacement, Community Formation, and the Crisis of Meaning October 22, 2024

Starting off with an idyllic lens, in a small hill, there appeared hundreds of men, women, and children of varying ages, one being only 2 years old and another being as old as 70 years old. Even then, each carried their own background and personality to the table. But this was no ordinary table, because this was a world that was born only several days ago, having been created by a god, who was the same one who transported them here from Earth. In reference to solutions to counterbalance an unsustainably solely idyllic perspective, the god knew well that displacement of such a degree would traumatize them and break their sense of selves, so he hoped that by his direct participation, he may aid them in establishing the following icons: a community chest, a personality profile, and an equippable sword that does no damage to others nor to the environment, but serves as a tool for sending a forest-wide message in the sky that provides one's location to others and can serve to emphasize a particular point with the sounds and swings that it creates, because these elements have a matgical effect that turns social fellows' attention toward the sword wielder. When it came to a smaller and more immediate view of the situation, a trio of men representing ages 17, 15, and 24 were approached by a larger group consisting of adults, all of whom were wearing business attire. This inaugural meeting between the two parties established the first moment of interpersonal interaction, cultural beginnings, and various other achievements of man in this new era and world. It was a fresh start like dandelions interspaced between stones placed under an ordered appraisal by an established key manager of flowers. As to a broader view of this entire situation, while the concept of roles, ideas, concepts, symbols, and icons could inform the world-sent humans, given the lower population count, the humans themselves could be highly individual and would occupy vastly varying sides on the following challenges that await them in this new world. It is not only challenges as a shared idea, but the very meaning of "challenges" themselves was subject to debate. Not only to the aforementioned concepts, but this extended to every other idea that becomes necessary in communicating strategies, plans, and considerations in the context of a multiplicity of angles and details that would come into conflict within a wider scope of actions and decision-making. This could be seen as operational tension and a breeding ground for conflict and addressal. This situation went far beyond and would be subjected to the very question of what language was even beyond what they had long been taught and they had grown to recognize in respect to the existence of the human race on Earth as they knew it. Ultimately, the world-sent humans were not just starting out as an existence in a vacuum, but they would be forced to reconsider everything that they had ever known within the suddenly appearing context of their new world. In conclusion, four lens had been explored: one idyllic, one solution-oriented, one immediate and interpersonal, and one about epistemology and language. This multi-axial development of ideas could be identified the starting explosion of insight surrounding the foregoing humans.

The Scribe's Vigil: An Idle Evening in the Kingdom September 5, 2024

In a game called “Kingdom Life 2”, in a little city, a scribe sat down one of the chairs surrounding a table. Meanwhile, there were a bunch of people talking outside. One said, “health pot is herbs holy water and then grab a flask”. A second said, “reason” A third said, “FIGHT” A fourth said, “Come in, you’ll be safe.” The second said, “yall don’t understand” The cacophony of voices were asynchronous; however, he could hear them all from inside his room on the second floor. He would rather stay inside and idly drink from his cup with little bother about the goings of daily life here in this small part of the city. However, he was downplaying the size of his location, given that he was next to the castle of the king. Actually, earlier, the king visited him, entered the room on the second floor, and sat down on the only other four-chair table. He munched on a fruit for a while before leaving. It was a strange thing, yet he knew well that such an occasion was normal in this city. But he was not too emotional about it, being very familiar with the only people of the city. There were only 12 people here in this place. His life was simple, and he went to bed immediately without a fuss, still holding the cup in his hand. Since its contents were below half, even if the cup was angled, it did not spill. He could still hear the varying tones of the chattering 11 people outside. He was likely the only one in bed. After lying down for a while, he aimed to go outside, walking down the stairs. He walked to the door and then back up, repeating this several times. Afterwards, in the market, outside the building, he stared at a church. A much armored knight walked up to him with a sword and slashed at the scribe, but he was immune to damage, having made sure that he could neither hurt anyone or be hurt. Another warrior did the same. All the while, he stood still idly, holding his cup, carefree, still looking at the church. After looking around him for a while, appreciating the landscape and the buildings, he walked up to the church out of curiosity and entered inside. There were numerous books, and he had not been here before. He took a seat at one of the four-chair tables available on the first floor. He noticed the staircase leading to the second floor, and from what he saw outside, it likely had many floors given the impressive height of the building. After relaxing for a while, he headed to the second floor. Here, there was a bed, a circular pad with blocks levitating up and down perpetually above, a writing desk with papers, a quill, and a single chair, and a staircase leading to the third floor. He sat down. In front of him, a window showed the warrior who tried to kill him earlier far on the street below He enjoyed the view of the mountains from his vantage point, and while he did not intend to write anything here, he did enjoy the simplicity of the tools, the paper, and the layout. After taking another sip, he got out of the chair, staring at the next staircase. After going up, he saw another writing desk, a bed with an orange blanket, two cauldrons, and a potion shelf. There were four windows. He went up the next staircase, heading to the fourth floor. He found another writing desk, and this time, the pillow part of the chair was green. The bed here was dark green. There was also a strange bush that looked to have vines and to have been created by magic; though he was not sure. He realized that there were four windows on each floor as he was walking up the next staircase that led to the fifth floor. On the fifth floor, he saw a fireplace and thought it was a hazard because the floors were wooden, but he assumed that magic stopped the fire from leaking or prevented the wood from burning. He saw another fireplace here, and instead of being red, it was bluish purple. He saw another desk, but it was black. It was not a writer desk, and it was strangely shaped. In fact, the chair looked broken, but he could still sit on it fairly comfortably. He kinda wanted to go to the sixth floor, but his legs and back were getting tired. He decided to go downstairs. He tried not to trip off the staircase since there were no railings. Once he was at the bottom, he took a deep breath, as he stared at the door. He jumped in relief and passed through the door. Outside, it was still morning and bright, but moments later, it suddenly became dark. Another knight tried to kill him, but he did not know if it was the same one from earlier. The knight stood in front of him as he stared in the middle of the city. He said, “Scribe.” After what felt like forever, the knight told him that this was now a kingdom of total control, and that he led it. The scribe ignored him, walking past the knight. He knew that the knight could not kill or displace him. After walking up to a house to see what was inside, he went in front of a stall with swords being displayed. No one was actually selling, but he stared at them anyway. The knight was still talking loudly on top of a well, but the scribe was not sure if the knight was talking to him anymore. After a while, the knight came back and tried to kill him, shouting die repeatedly before ending with “BE GONE”. The scribe was unbothered, wondering why the knight was obsessed with total control and slaying people. His thoughts were brief, because soon, the sun came up. He looked around him and saw someone pass by and enter the church. He did not mind. He had seen many people pass him by. He thought that the trees were beautiful. He walked in front of the castle, standing a relatively far distance away. After some time, he saw the gates open. He counted 6 people inside. Some time later, someone from the castle went outside, traveling down the same road he was on. He was standing in the middle of the road. Simultaneously, a stall vendor brought his cart next to him before moving a short distance away and standing for a long time. Three heavily armored people in a line walked past the scribe. They looked to be in a battle chase. One of the armored people came to him and told him, “Do not tell anybody what you saw.” The scribe drank in response. Subsequently, a wizard wearing black clothes emerged from behind him and tried to give him an apple. The knight who said he was in total control from earlier was still making annoucements, saying that the village was undergoing changes. He heard it since he was still walking around the city square, and the scribe was on the road practically beside it. Now that it was night again, he just relaxed in the city square. The knight announcing earlier repeated that the village was undergoing changes, even shouting, “SCRIBE”. He began announcing that war had to start, ending with “VIVA REVOLUTION!” The scribe was just hanging out and standing in front of the stalls one by one. However, he did want to go back into his room on the second floor of his building and sleep. He did not need to sleep at all, but it was still a habit of mine to seek some form of respite from the busy and energetic life of the people here. As soon as he returned to his room, he lay down in bed, still holding his cup.

The Gun as Symbol: On Power, Authority, and the Internalization of Dominance August 28, 2024

I held a gun. I wanted to experiment with the idea of self-creation, or self-definition. By what method that is approached hinged upon my ability to self-identify or internalize the very act of gunmanship. If a gun could be interpreted such that it is of import in the spheres of my mind, then I might further my own cause, that of creating 'Mine Own Self,' this epitome of entireties that had to remain unresolved, because it was a constant 'Tension' upon the world. I was quiet, but I knew well that the will of man could be imbued upon not only myself, but upon my logic, and upon my hopes here in the foregoing instance of weaponry, the gun. I raised my hand, not knowing well everything that lay therein. I knew well that symbols existed and that such a raised hand could indicate a shift of command or a conveyance of order. But I knew well that I was ignorant of the complexities it evoked. In the end, my gun, my 'powerself' (powerful) selfhood-bringer, was a little too late to my feelings, because I produced it right when my desires to engage in supreme recollection of souls was already at their tail end. I could not even begin the utilize the gun, because for me, the very essence of 'gunhood' was already by itself powerful, as a symbol, and as a curator of authority. By its quality as a status symbol, it hand-picked authority. I did not need to engage in warfare, for in my view, lower society upon which the status symbol of the gun was upheld was already imposed-upon and "shot." I was the epitome of a god societally effectively. When it came to my relationship with lower society, it was like toying with a puppy knowing well that no matter how much that puppy experienced, it did not matter, because they themselves were unaware of the disparity of weight and power. If they were aware, they could do nothing. I did not need to destroy them or break them, because the very structures upon which they were born rescinded from them their entirety such that they perceived themselves as such without it. Like a puppy, lower society was neutered to become slaves to conferred authority in the context of 'powerself' gunhood. I was the epitome of God, because I was His closest ambassador. All I had to do was to internalize the gun, not just any physical gun or those individual ones supplied to other countries or shared among the previously abused. But I was the epitome of the Gun. I was God-epitome and Gun-epitome. In my simplest conclusion, even without trying, I had rendered the hardy weak 'obsolete': "Every battle is won before it is ever fought."

Underground Refuge: A Goblin Escorts a Human Woman Through a Wartorn City August 23, 2024

His axe, a fitting weapon for a goblin, took up itself and brought its hilt up at the hand of its owner. The owner, a powerful, well-clothed creature, a goblin, made its way, thundering down the roads with hard steel grasped with its hands, under which it lowered a small torch that it may light up the path leading below in front of him. He was in a hurry after a long fight, as he was in a wartorn city that was currently being attacked. If he shared any physical appearance with the human woman, the goblins would attack him in a rush, as their adrenaline had blinded them almost to their fellows, with some goblins taking the brunt of magical spells that their fellows had cast. It was hard-fought battle and hard hands were required of the goblin, so he came with callused ones, and with a weapon clean enough for him to carry with a lethal suggestion. Moving slightly to the left, he recognized immediately a smooth blend between the rocks and caught the first sight of a handle, grabbing it and pulling it down, causing the walls to shake. He swiftly entered through the opening crack in the wall, as he was pulled as well by the wind violently thrashing inside. As soon as he was met at the bottom, he found himself again in company of threes, because he was part of a goblin army that assigned him and his comrades in threes. If he departed from this formation, it would be because he delivered a human, and behind him, there was. The woman mentioned earlier was quiet, because she was sure she followed the right one. But now, she was less sure, maybe a little concerned as well, that there was hundreds of goblins underneath the city, in a little space of which she had no recollection even if she had lived here since birth. But questions were out of the room right now, and all she felt was a mild numbness in her mouth from all the running and the thirst. Oh, the thirst! It was mild. But too mild! It was mildest way to experience life! If she had but a drink that could soothe the sorrows of her tongue, she might relive her best memories again in the form of a cascading flood of euphoria. But she was, alas, unhelped, until now, when the goblin whom she followed gave her a drink. She grabbed it, as if she was a sheep being asked a question about the gods and about philosophy and humans. But alas, she was a human, and she knew well the gesture of the smile. Oh, the witty smile, to which all bowed, to which all gave notice, to which all might find themselves again! In the end, she caved into the feeling of freshness that awaited her lips, like lemons squeezing its finest flavor and vines transforming into liquid juices for her bosom to be made aware. She exploded with a richness in her throat at the point of contact, fleshy experiences that enriched the surface of her insides, like marching ants, blended into her being. While she might have only finished a drink on the outside, she experienced the greatness of the Lords in her simple action. That the very night would be so cold only to softened out by the cold, fresh water! Harsh, wet flavors dispersed and made her appetite more complete. "Is there..." her voice emerged, like a writer of mountains moving in circles only to be greeted by a mountain taller than they had ever expected. It was this mix of knowledge and being completely ignorant yet so euphorically delighted that summed up her emotional condition. If she allowed it, she might be given heaven right now, but her stomach was a patient struggler, tentative toward the nature of violence and the parable about giving and taking. If she had no gift, would she be removed or, worse, killed? She was awaiting a call, and she stumbled upon no transgressions, only delivering her finest elegances at her beck, at her call. She was cognizant of the danger of non-acceptance in terms of bearing and posture, and that was she made it a foundation of her movements to sway in the balance of the entirety, such that if she stumbled, she did only upon a moment, whereupon she slid back into her routine, her stumbling only a moment of excitement to her otherwise boring familiarness and calm. The goblin handed her a drink again, expecting her to drink it, but she shook her head, unaware that he was ignorant about her struggle for food. But she communicated about it, after which she was given the freshest food he could find. He found a beast lying inside of a wall, and he saw a mark that revealed that it belonged to someone. He closed his eyes pregnantly, like men-beasts (humanoid beasts) did once they saw their fellow lower-beasts (such as dogs) be treated harshly. In the end, he returned with an agreeable smile, after he had started the process for the foregoing beast's cooking. He cited quickly the smell of a cooked meal to deliver afterwards the necessary greeting to the woman. The woman was pleased, and her behavior was like his own sister who shook hands and joked around with him a lot. The dissimilarity here was that the woman was a human and distant at that. If they greeted on intimate terms, it would be through intimate combat, with hands, swords, and other forms of weaponry, like a warm embrace, striking each other's bodies. But the content was special, and if any cared about specialness, it was him, who had been here all his life and had little relevance to the entire discussion of interest. If a woman brought interest, he would be interesting as well, and he would find charm in his own activites and his life. But today, it was a little strange. The smell of a cooked meal was accompanied by the smell of death. It was only now that he could smell it, and he assumed that the contradistinction between a positive experience, that being the smell of the cooked meal, and a negative experience, that being the fighting going outside with its accompanying bodies and visceral sensations, made it resurface. It had been weeks since the fight began within this area, but it had been years since the broader fighting emerged, though he was never informed as to what event caused it all to erupt. Many suggestions were given, but none were confirmed internationally. The woman disrupted his thoughts, when she brought the smell accompanying a happy smile, the sweat that dripped down his cheeks, when he refocused into the moment and saw that his body existed in this plane. The social aspects of a happy smile made the moment more visceral that the sensations of his actual body came into light. It was getting harder for him to numb the smell of death, as the approachable woman became more receptive in a friendly way. So his actions spoke of thunder and lighting in the form of speed, in the physical form of a walk outside into the surface from the underground chamber in which they were situated safely in relation to the overall battle in the area. He made existent his weapon and brought it forth to the moment, aligning his bodily sensations with his aim: he wanted to break open the monolith that was the wall blocking their path. It was a metaphorical wall, because it was being created by their lack of information, that they could rely most successfully on stalling and waiting for further attempts at breaching the point of contact, wherein a long-range magic spell shot down any interlopers. It was not the weapon itself, but they believed that they hid more than that. The goblin believed that this war was being fought not with weapons, but with the details and information behind the military characteristics of the battle. If they had little to say about anything surely, then that message would be weakly received by those reigning over the individual groups. And his current boss was a leader of six groups of threes, which totalled at eighteen. It was small, but it was because the war was complicated. And unique situations were being expected every time, because magic was the foundation. And magic could get very complex. Anyway, he came to the surface to see whether he could do anything, but he was also here upon the orders of his superior. If he dared go against it, he would die, and his transporation of the woman was a part of a ledger-like list of actions ordered to be done by his superior. Eventually, he came down, marching down the steps like a giant man in large trousers that swayed heavily from side to side with no indication of its sudden break in rhythm, because of the uneven nature of the height and portions of the staircase. Upon returning to the place where the hundreds of goblins and the woman was, he transferred key info to his superior, who said that all they had to do was wait. This info was only about one true-or-false thing: were the enemies at the border at a particular spot or not? Enemies did not come in all directions all at once, but they did not come to one particular point of contact. So he was being tasked alongside other groups to check again and again, and they were not the only group of groups that monitored the area. In the end, this was a battle fought bloodily, but for most of it, it was fought on waiting and doing routine tasks until a sudden procession of information on either side or both sides simultaneously. Several days later, the woman returned him to the moment, asking, "Hello, is this tubig?" The goblin stared for a while before asking, "Who?" "Tubig. I was wondering if this was tubig." She was holding up a cup of water in one hand and pointing at it with the index finger of her other hand. She looked funny, like a playful little boy. The goblin nodded with a hesitant side gaze. The woman was one of the things that kept him float, because in this time, it was like being awake for days straight. No, it was actually that itself. "What?" the woman said, catching his gaze. The goblin was the one being asked. The woman said the same thing again. "Why are you saying what?" said the goblin. The woman did not smile, nor did she laugh. "What?" This time, it was obvious, like a sharp dagger a few centimeters from the eyes. She was in horror. But he did not know why, until he looked around. A human was staring at them, with glowing hands. The woman and the goblin and their stares were quickly removed from life. The End.

A Man Survives a Car Crash, Gets Teleported to Heaven, Then to a Fantasy World, and Tries to Fit In July 23, 2024

A young man leapt out of the mess of a wreckage, watching the world before him. "I am afraid, he said, "but my fear is a strength. I have to keep going, as I was taught." He stood up and rested his soles against a short wall, trying to maintain his balance. He managed to keep his focus sharp, because his head was aching from blood loss. He did not realize it, but his body was walking. His gait was as bizarre as a man being adopted into a child's family. He kept walking, his posture remaining unhindered for a brief moment; however, he soon fell, his body maintaining parallel distance with the short wall, slamming against the concrete sidewalk, his face getting a graze. He eventually lay down and did not get up. Hours later, he got up and looked around him. His mind could not comprehend anything, so he kept walking. He saw that he was being carried all of a sudden by two divine messengers of heaven. They spoke to him in hushed statements:"You musn't!", "You must stay still!", and "You must remain here!" He did not understand this sudden situation, so he tried using his arms and hands to push the two figures away, only later discovering that his body passed through the figures. They could touch him, but when he attempted to push them, they passed through, as if they were ghosts. He did not think they were ghosts. He could not comprehend at all, but now that this happened, he looked at their faces. Expecting them to be distorted and horrific like monstrous ghosts, he braced himself. What he discovered was far worse. They had no faces. He screamed, but by that point, he was being taken up a staircase. And he did not feel his legs walking up the staircase. He was being pulled up somehow, and his legs were moving on their own. He could not even feel it happening, but it was supernatural. He was horrified, and when he went into heaven, he broke into a frown at a later sight in front of him. Before him, a man stood, different from the two figures, who were just now disappearing away into thin air. He looked at the young man, and he said, "How are you?" The young man looked at the older man, and being confused at the two figures and the horrific situation he was in, he inspected his environment, discovering that it was this heaven-like place. He thought he was going to die or be launched into something very horrible, but in front of him stood a man that he did not understand. This situation confounded him. The older man smiled, and suddenly, he shook the younger man's head and placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder. It was like he was teasing a younger brother. In contrast, the younger man was quick to let go, cringing away in fear. "I am happy for you," said the older man, being a little playful with his hand-waving gestures. He backed away and stretched his arms wide. "Hello, man of Earth. I am Gott! I know, I know. It's German, but hey, we're a little bit German in heart, aren't we? You know? Germanic? Hehe, it's a linguist joke, but we all know you're at least a tiny bit aware—right?—of that. Anyway, let's be on our way, tending to the crops of our forebearers. But no worries, I am referring to you. I tend to say "we" even if I am a god, and you are... well, you're a man... or a human being to be exact!" He raised his finger at that last exclamation. The younger man was frowning, distraught. "Huh!" he said what felt like five years after Gott said all of that. "I am happy for you," said the older man, being a little playful with his hand-waving gestures. He backed away and stretched his arms wide. "Hello, man of Earth. I am Gott! I know, I know. It's German, but hey, we're a little bit German in heart, aren't we? You know? Germanic? Hehe, it's a linguist joke, but we all know you're at least a tiny bit aware—right?—of that. Anyway, let's be on our way, tending to the crops of our forebearers. But no worries, I am referring to you. I tend to say "we" even if I am a god, and you are... well, you're a man... or a human being to be exact!" He raised his finger at that last exclamation. The younger man was frowning, distraught. "Huh!" he said what felt like five years after Gott said all of that. Gott stared and smiled, staring silently. The younger man took a breather and watched around him again, only to find himself overwhelmed by the lights. Gott noticed this and turned down the lights, making it dim. The younger man shouted huh again. Gott furrowed his brows while smiling confusedly. The younger man fell to the ground. Gott raised his brows. The young man got up and looked around, saying help. Gott took a step forward before he stopped in hesitation, looking to the side in thought with his arms half-reaching out and, as yet, frozen. He pulled back his arms and straightened himself to normal, watching the young man dizzily get up again after falling for what felt like the third time. Gott did not want to help him in case the young man thought he was being pushy. The young man made eye contact and immediately frowned, saying God. Gott turned his head to the side in confusion, his eyes darting around, turning his right ear toward the man. "Yes?" he asked. "Who are you?" Gott leaned back in surprise. He gave him a "What do you mean?" face. The young man's frown deepened, looking about to cry. Gott stared, sharing the man's dark frown, but for a different reason. He was still bewildered. The young man burst into hyperventilation. Gott straightened his body after leaning in forward and leaned slightly back, a little awkward. He felt at fault for the man's burst. "Okay, I'm fine," said the man after what seemed like 10 minutes. Gott could not consciously remove his frown, so he covered his mouth and forcibly raised his brows to clear the man's impression of his expression. The man stared calmly, having the expression one might have after coming out of the shower. Gott opened his mouth slightly, his eyes squinting. The man was the one to raise his brow and lean slightly away this time. He was worried that he had offended Gott. Gott gave what he thought was a customary greeting thumbs-up. "How... are you?" he said with a slight tinge of awkwardness. But he felt that it was better than getting that stare-down awkwardness. Gott smiled and gave another thumbs-up for effect. "Heyo! How's it going, human-yo!" he said, genuinely interested in seeing how the man would respond. The man frowned, disgusted. Gott's mouth dropped, but he hid it very quickly. The man did the same. They were both in a hurry to pretend that they did not just do that. Gott then looked around and forgot what he was supposed to do. He said, "Why are you here?" "That was my question!" the man said. Gott said, raising his hand before lowering it after making a change of mind, "Wait, are you... a human?" The man stared for a few seconds, before mouthing yeah. He did say it, but he said in a murmur with his face angled to the side. Gott stared at the floor to the right of the man, frowning in thought for a moment before his face lit up. "Hey, I was wondering if you're wanting to do human things!" The man said yeah. Gott looked at the man and waited for him to say more. But the man looked dead with how calm and silent he was. Gott rubbed his face to help gain a sense of control. "Okay, so what are you doing... right now?" The man stared at the place where the staircase from earlier used to be before it disappeared into thin air like the two aforesaid angelic figures. "Ha," he said. "I have to go to the park today for a pick-up. They said I was getting billed for not arriving on time. You know I work a delivery job, and I was wondering—" "Really! Cool!" Gott said. The man let Gott interrupt him, but that was because he was actually confused why Gott was still talking. "Wait, you're not a figment of something..." Gott said huh. The man stared for a while. "You're real?" Gott said uh-huh. The man gently sat on the ground and looked like he was dead with his eyes open and still. Gott rubbed his arms to soothe himself, looking away and pursing his lips uncomfortably, pressing the skin of his left arm. The man looked dead, so Gott squinted for a bit, glancing at the man for a while until he recognized a slight movement that indicated that he was still alive and was merely feeling dead. Gott nodded to himself and looked away. After what felt like hours, the man got up and stared at Gott. "Hey, tell me. Why am I here? Why do you talk like that? Who are you?" It was not mean, but it was definitely confident. For some reason, he felt like talking to Gott even when he lay down on the ground out of sheer terror and pretended to be dead. This was the same thing he did when he was a child when his entire family was outside of the house, because he was afraid of ghosts that time. Gott could not answer, because the man was holding Gott's throat. "Hey, why are you doing this?" The man stopped gripping Gott in the neck and stopped himself. "I'm sorry. You're not a monster?" Gott shook his head. "Then where's your face?" Gott, all this time, had recessed lines taking the place of his eyes and mouth. That was how he frowned and squinted. It only appeared to be that way. The man was so terrified that he was taking physical action, but he halted himself before he did anything. This was a complex situation between the two of them, and whatever happened next was not going to be pleasant or smooth. Gott slapped the young man in the face, raising his hand and striking the man in the throat, effectively removing the air magically. The man fell to the ground, gasping for air. Gott stared, unwilling to deal any more damage to the human being. Though he was not even sure what the man was, if he was a human being at all. The man was unable to take the damage, because it made him start shaking. Gott grabbed him immediately and healed him with his hand, preventing a possible convulsion leading to death. The man was still, even when he was healed, his hand gradually unfolding because of an interplay between gravity and the joints. He was also not controlling them at all, his entire being left to be led my gravity. He removed control of himself. Gott decided to leave, teleporting away. The man stayed there for hours. When Gott teleported away, he first took a deep breath where he was now, in a magical flying room in heaven. It had a window that offered a look into a fantasy world. "Okay, let me watch my favorite show!" He made some chips appear in a bucket in his right hand and softdrinks in a cup in his left hand. Then he relaxed against a chair and watched a skirmish between goblins and humans. After watching for a while, he went to the man again and saw that the man had not budged from his spot. He was peeking, so feeling bored, he turned away before he suddenly had an idea, walking and peeking again at the man. The man, two minutes later, was sitting in front of a chair where Gott sat talking to him. "You should join them," Gott said, pointing through the window at the aforementioned skirmish in the fantasy world. The man, unable to think straight, said yes. Gott nodded and gave a thumbs-up, shaking his hand and shaking the man's head as a parting gesture. Then Gott teleported the man to the skirmish. The man shouted at the sight and realization at what he had just agreed to. In front of him, bodies lay. Men were fighting, and soldiers were being eaten up. Goblins stared at him before darting in zigzags toward him. The man turned away and ran, his face looking back at the goblins. "What the hell!" he screamed. Meanwhile, Gott laid his back against the chair and wondered what he was going to do next today. Returning focus to the young man, he was later found hiding by Gott under a tree where he could hide himself enough not to be detected even by the darting eyes of the goblins. The man was safe, for now. Behind the man, he saw a dog barking loudly at him. He shook his head at first abruptly before raising his hands, checking around for goblins. Then he gradually got up, trying to avoid getting bitten by the nearing dog. He jumped as soon as the dog went under his legs, darting away. He ran into a group of knights, who all looked like they were wearing pajamas to their mouths with all their armor. They paused, scaring away the dog and turning their head sideways to look at the man, slowing down their sprint to a stop. They all stopped as one tight group, staring for five seconds. One of them yelled, "You intruder!" His eyes peered out of his head a few inches above the reach of his mouth-reaching armor. Another said: "No, you're misunderstanding. That man is a legendary human being! He is one of the greats!" He was kidding, as they continued their sprint into the battle. The man's face was so distraught that it screamed huh even without words. He ran, finding his virtual path of escape in the direction whence the knights came. He saw a vast tropical landscape, unable to bear his excitement. For some reason, child-like desires of exploration and curiosity burst forth in him. He stopped, hesitating with a palpable fear in his smile. He was right to be afraid. A troll the size of a tree was moving in front of him, its eyes looking down. It did not look aggressive, but to the young man, anything was aggressive at this point. "I am wrong! I am wrong!" he started yelling as he ran away, finding that his sprint to the right in the direction whence the knights came to be wrong. He went leftward instead, taking the path around the troll. He hoped not to collide with goblin soldiers or anything like that. He saw a man staring at him from the distance. It was immediately obvious, as if the man had been staring at him all this time. The young man wondered what he was to do with that, before he ignored the man anyway, knowing that he either ran or stopped only to risk himself further to collision with the combatants of the skirmish. The man staring at him did not disappear, and he was walking toward the young man. The young man bolted, hoping not to get caught. The man stopped, before he turned around, walking away. The young man turned around after a few seconds, but he did not see him walk away. So he kept running, sprinting as hard as he could. He imagined bursts of colors flowing in the wind tending to the wounds of his soul and embracing his mind so that they could beget the heavenly realm. Five hours passed. Long away from his previous place, the man halted after a while, seeing that it was getting too sweaty and humid for him to run. He scanned his surroundings, seeing two twigs walking up to him. He needed to regain control, so he thought quickly, grabbing two stones on the ground and throwing at them, hitting each of them with each stone, perfecting his preemptive attack strategy. He launched a dash and made sure to avoid further interaction and potential counterattack. He did not know if he succeeded or if it was just, but he knew the danger lurked by and any fitting mode of interaction was necessary. In his mind, he thought that if he could not interact with what might kill him, he would be dead. Before returning to reality, he lay down and watched the day fall away, and his body becoming slave to the sleepy dues that it required. He woke up in a flash of light, as swords dashed together in unison. They belonged to a group of knights. The sound of bark spreading and cracking added to the nuisance, preventing him from calming down. His heart was spiking in pace; in response, he leapt out of his sleep and hurled himself in a speedy chase with life. This manifested as an actual sprint down the forest floor. The vastness and richness of this world loomed at him. Two hours passed. He gasped to catch his breath as the night faded. It was horrible spreading out his legs so little for this. He did not think of this, or anything at all. He wanted to get rid of the pain, and he could not. He had to take it, but his legs tumbled to the ground. He gasped again, as he felt a spike slam against his back on the ground. There was a spike on the ground, and his right shoulder was hit. He immediately scanned his environment and the canopy of the forest. He saw that he was safe in that regard and gradually lifted himself. Since the spike was stuck to the ground and was only piercing against him without being dragged along, he removed his body from the spike and the ground, getting up straight on his two feet. He had not expected to fall against the floor. His body was dragging along with itself in a fight between energy and the need to be proactive in its survival. He took a breath and closed his eyes, perfecting silence, by which point, he crawled on the ground, his legs brushing against forest floor vegetation. After finding his way to a pool of water, he saw a magical pillar of light shining from it. He did not think much of it, but when he touched the water, it glowed green. It was white earlier. He said what. The pillar of light moved forward and back, as if it was a stage light from the sky. It then returned to its original place, and it turned back to white. The young man hesitated on whether the green light would kill him or not. He needed water, so he drank quickly, watching the pillar of light do nothing for the next 50 seconds. After that, he crawled as fast as he could. There was nowhere to go but forward. He kept running into trees because he was not paying attention anymore. The pain of his arms and legs were breaking him and his capacity to think and register the trees coming in front of him. He could not see but see this endless video of trees walking in front of him. It felt like he was not moving, but the trees were. He then stopped, feeling the weight of dizziness slam against him. He collapsed. "Where am I?" He frowned. He smiled. He frowned in terror. He smiled with horror. His face looked like a grin, but it was dominated by a warped expression of doom. He grimaced before watching the sky from his peripheral view, his head unable to be moved up anymore, because it had reached its exhaustion. He moved his fingers and the angles of his hands and arms to be more comfortable. He switched their positions every so often because it was getting painful to have his body weighing down of them, as he was lying down on his belly and arms. He could not even grieve. It was all too visceral, and his skin was both humid and sharp. It was not itchy. It was sensitively in pain, and while it was supposed to feel itchy, his natural pain killers made it impossible. Time passed, and his hunger loomed like a moving army of clouds that would bring rain and thunderstorm. He knew that he would most likely meet his end. But he smiled anyway, maybe as a coping mechanism, maybe as a deeper symbolic response. Even he was not sure as to why he did that. A day passed. Gott was staring still at the skirmish that was still going on. The man, however, was lying down, dead likely. But Gott was not completely sure, so he decided to heal him, removing his illness and his pain. The rain had been strong on the man, and he was dying. He was also too exhausted, hungry, and thirsty. The man had been there for too long on the forest floor, even if not a single direct sunlight was touching him where he lay. The young man got up, and he looked around, his gaze empty and calm. It was not devoid of discomfort, as he felt that the forest was a land of dead bodies, because of what he had just undergone. The way the sun moved was gentle, and it made him think of better things, like not dying. He began to move though moments, unlike when he was dizzily snapping in and out of reality earlier, as he walked. For some reason, all of his pain and suffering was gone, and he questioned that. But his mood was too intense to question it beyond a mere moment of wonder. He wondered why. As to what he was asking why about, he felt that just the word "why" was succinct in expressing everything he needed to say. He smiled for some reason. It was on his face, and he had to admit that. He saw a village. Oh, that was why. A village approached him; rather than he did. He saw that he was being welcomed just by the sight of it, and he could not be let down anymore, for all things good as long as they were not death and torture. The villagers were first seen walking in their daily chores and activities, but to the man, it did not matter at this point. He just wanted to see them and approach them, even if it might end badly. He was taking a risk, like everyone did in anything substantial in life, when it came to personal growth that is. In the end, he was here for a reason he felt. If he was not here for a reason, he was here for some other reason than the reasons he had in mind. He had to make a logical decision, and this was his version of it—he walked to the village and approached the villagers. They said hi and hey. The younger man could understand them. Good. He rubbed his face, feeling like he needed to do it given how he can still remember being so tired and feeling so exhausted and death, which he associated with baggy eyes and a numb face. So rubbing his face was an automatic response from him. Staring at the villagers, his smile deepened all the while. He had no way of understanding anything beyond this moment of peace. He could not explore the details, because he was still processing what the hell happened to him at the wreckage of a car accident before all of this happened. The details did not exist, and he was still in a state of indefinition. He needed time, and the villagers gave him time to process things. He had been subjected to traumatic life events, and his psychological processes required that he processed them. It would take time, but he was willing. The young man stared at a tall man, who looked like he hated him to his guts. Even if he could not process details, he could process that visceral intense look on the tall man's face. The tall man also looked like he was holding back his fist, given the twitching of his right eye. The young man, whose name was Richard, was happy to know that his entire life could end in this moment, but he was not afraid right now. He was more so awkward. "I apologize for intruding. I was escaping from the skirmish—" "Skirmish?" "Skirmish, yes." "Why's that?" "I couldn't..." "You couldn't fight hard enough, no? Coward?" "No, no, I am not..." "Part of it? Yeah, like all of you cowards do. I had to stay here to tend to this, and look at here, just a pile of garbage standing in front of me. You think you can get away with this—" An older woman popped up: "Mensel, enough, enough, don't bother the young man." The tall man, who was apparently "Mensel," said: "Eh, ma? See what he's doing, getting away with it! He should not be doing this!" Richard said: "I should not be doing this? The tall man grimaced. "You..." The older man covered her mouth, gesturing for the tall man to close his mouth. The tall man bowed respectfully and went on his way, gazing at Richard with a clear animosity. Richard smiled sheepishly, not wanting to be intrusive or provocative. The older woman looked angry, but she sighed and laughed. "He's too old now. He used to be a small boy. But look at him, lah. He's gone lah. I thought he would stay a little boy, but ever since his father died, it all went downhill from there, haha." Richard raised his brows. "I'm sorry..." The older woman smirked and nodded, remembering the past. "I know you're not here for the skirmish, nor do I believe that you are from the combatants of the knights." "Knights? How did you know?" "You're not wearing armor, silly." "Huh? How... Actually, why... What... Do..." "You have questions. What is it? Let me hear it." "I... I'm not from here. I was teleported here... somehow." "'Here'... 'Somehow'..." "Yes." "That is interesting. You must be a mage then. Only mages can be transported, as far as I'm concerned. I've never seen a single non-mage do anything special like teleporation." "That sounds digestible." "What?" "Oh, nothing, don't mind me." "Okay..." "Oh, sorry. I was trying to say that you sound good. I mean, you sound like I know you, or something like that. Like we know each other... Basically, that you're easy to get along with... Or... you know... I could listen to you good... because you could talk... effectively..." Richard was waving his hands, trying to get out the exact words. His mind was not in a convenient place, since he was still processing what had happened to him. So it came out awkwardly at first, but he was not too bothered by it, just a little awkward. The older woman nodded, her gaze shifting away to the side, as if realizing something. "You're not a knight then." "Huh, you're the one who was saying that." "Nah, I was just guessing, hehe." The older woman's smile suddenly looked creepy to Richard, given that she had lied to him. Richard rubbed his mouth, compressing his lips before opening his mouth and saying, "What can I do here? I was wondering that we can talk about this sooner... or later. I would like to try living here, is... that okay?" The older woman nodded. "Just take a few farm tasks, and you can be well on your way to become a part of our little troupe, haha." She was genuinely laughing, but she sounded sarcastic initially. Richard quickly responded with a polite, easygoing smile. Richard followed the woman and arrived at a small spot for him to work as an assistant. After an hour and 30 minutes, however, he was like the item-getter boy, since that was all he did, unlike the person who looked like the true assistant of the person for whom he was working and to whom the older woman introduced him. Richard waited and obeyed patiently, unwilling to remove his benefits, even they were relatively small. They were still the essentials of shelter, food, and support. In any case, he was happy to be here, having learned that small things were enough, at least for now. But he was worried he would start being expected to throw everything away and be led to fighting in the skirmish to which he was forcibly teleported at the start by Gott. In any case, he did not know how to think in this new context, so he did not, letting time pass in the meantime. Working did not make it any easier to process things, because the villagers were unusually hard-working, as he was sure that villagers lived slower lives. But he concluded that the village was weird or this new world was different than Earth. 10 days passed. He saw a dog limping to him. He helped it and bandaged it with the materials he was given. To his side, one could see a group of boys crossing their arms in unison. He was made to teach the boys about helping dogs, whatever their needs were. This would allow them to be more responsible once they had children or weapons that they needed to manage. It was customary in this village, and he was honestly just weirded out why 1 week was enough for him to start taking on what looked like big roles. But he assumed that it was because it was a village and not a large society that employment was not this lengthy, regulated, and systematic process. It was highly informal here in this village, and everything was much smoother and straightforward, and as human as a group of friends delegating roles to each other as part of an informal task force. It might sound funny, but to him, this was everything he needed to build something fresh out of the start. If taking care of teaching children helped him learn how to survive, then that would make it easier for him to adjust to the complexities and nuances of this world. He was going to be much more proactive as he learned and gained transferable skills. It was going to take some time, but he was patient. After the day ended, he was made to sleep in one of the villagers' rooms. He was transferred every week or so, and he was told it was because he had to adjust to make room for the villages and their changing sleep schedules. One instance of sleep passed. Sounds clapped like military jet seats that burst out in an emergency. He woke up with a thunderous beginning, hearing roars of men jumping around. It was a group of knights rolling up in their wagons, and they were here to visit as a friendly gesture, bringing fruits and vegetables also. Richard was shocked to see the familiar knights he saw earlier, and he waved. But they did not see him, because he was inside and looking through a relatively remote window. He got out and saw the knights making punching gestures and doing friendly gestures like dancing and giving each other high-fives. The villagers were unloading the wagon, and some were helping the knights remove their armor. "The skirmish is over?" he found himself asking as soon as he approached them. He did not do it casually, but he was growing so curious that he could not take his silence with how casual and friendly the knights were with the villagers. The knights looked at him and said, "No. We're just here on a break." "B-break?" "Yeah, it's a tournament, in fact." "T-tournament?" "Yeah, what did you think? I knew you were a foreigner, from the way you dressed and looked. You looked like a man from another land." "O...-kay..." "What next? What you planning? Kill some gobs with us?" "I thought it was a tournament!" "It was. But we kill some gobs, and we do it in competition with each other." "How?" They explained it and the breaks. It sounded like a marathon for Richard, but he did not what a marathon was either. But the fact that it lasted long and involved breaks sounded like a multi-day marathon. "Okay, where we going next?" said one knight to the rest. One answered, "We can go to Jeffgo." "Got-im!" On the side, Richard was trying to talk with one of the knights putting on his armor after enchanging it with newer armor from someone lesser in rank. "What's that?" he asked. "Oh, it's like yes!" said the knight, smiling through his eyes even with the armor blocking the lower half of his face and above the eyes as well, with a rectangular gap for the eyes. Richard watched the knight join the rest and them leave. The villagers and Richard returned to their business. "What were they?" he asked his fellow assistant, the "true" one, in between lulls during work. "The...?" "The knights..." "Yeah...?" "Yeah." "What about it?" "They... who are they?" Richard's face carried a little small "Are you sure you don't know?" "The people who take care of any disturbances in the land. We work with them, but we're told that we should be heading to the city sometimes soon. We're actually one of the last villages in this area, given the increasing expansion of the city. There are new people everyday here however, and you're one of them. We actually got a new villager yesterday." "I thought that was old, I mean, an older villager from... who just came back, you know?" "Yeah, no. They're a newbie like you." "Oh... okay." "Yes, so if you want to talk about the knights, you can ask them yourself. We are actually the worst people you should ask about them, since we have no clue when it comes to their changing roles in this region." "Really? That sounds cool. Is that like a... new cool thing?" He was trying to find the word for "easter egg" and came up with "new cool thing". "Yeah, kinda, no not really. It's up to you. They're not exactly new, but if you've been here for a while... or since you're going to be here for a while, actually, you should check the city in case you haven't. You sound like you haven't, based on your responses to me." "Huh, yeah. I haven't. So I should go there now?" "Not as of now. You could go again, I mean, you could visit it for the first time tomorrow. We have regular daily passersby who know the exact path, and they would be proud to show you the way." "Okay, thanks." Several days passed, and Richard had not gone yet to the city. Something had happened on the second day after his conversation with the true assistant. On the second day, while Richard was fixing the weapons in order, one of them exploded with a purple flash of magic. It made contact with Richard's skin, burning it. "Argh!" Richard screamed, his voice ricocheting to the rest of the villagers. "Help!" The villagers were on the move immediately, but something was off. Richard's voice sounded distorted like it was being eaten up. Richard noticed the purple explosion beginning to infect his skin gradually, and his voice was growing affected, making him sound demonic. He had to stop screaming lest he scared the villagers. The villagers came in sight and splashed healing potion on him, cleansing him of the magical infection. Richard fell to the ground, and he knew that he almost died. "W-w-what happened?" "You... that was..." "I'm sorry," said Mensel, the tall man. "That was me. That was my bad. I am sorry..." All the villagers were surprised, shifting their heads and eyes toward him. Richard was the only one looking at the ground, not wanting to be confrontational in gesture, even if he was truly terrified when the explosion happened and started infecting him. Mensel said, "Let me explain. I stole this from one of the wagons. I know, I know. I should not have—" The older woman slapped him and grabbed him by the shoulders. "You disgusting prick!" Mensel frowned, bearing the burden of her frustration. The older woman sighed. "Okay, time to pack up." Mensel, who was just looking down, suddenly looked up at her in shock. "Wait, now, ma, ma, no!" The older woman shook her head, cringing in disappointment. "Cannot. Sorry." Mensel looked distraught, glancing at Richard, toward whom he truly felt sorry. There was one thing he did not want to be, and that was being a burden. Richard saw me and frowned, but he did not want Mensel to think he disapproved of his presence here to the point of wanting him gone forever. So he cleared his expression, but Mensel took that as a sign of disgust being hidden suddenly. He slightly slouched and began walking away, his expression clear, but very subtly distressed. Richard knew that he had to do something, so he jumped at the opportunity and said, "Why don't we go to the city together?" The older man opened her mouth to speak, raising her hand, but Richard's fellow assistant tapped her shoulder and shook his head. Richard and Mensel began walking, starting their journey to the city. It was simple enough, and the villagers did not take anything against Mensel and Richard. But they believe it was only necessary for Mensel to find a new path, even if he did think that he was protecting the village, or supposed to do so. Richard did not care about any of that, being a stranger, the closest path to friendship, much, much more than someone who knows you too well. Mensel had bad memories, and he knew that Richard did not care about any of that. But he was still afraid. Richard shared his fear but for a different reason. They were two lonely men in a vast world, and the only path was a road through the forest. The city had no patience and respect for those unable to reach its gates. The forest was similarly dismissive toward those who could not handle its complexities and mysteries. Richard had to trust Mensel, and Mensel had to trust that Richard was willing to help him. Several hours passed, more than enough time for a goblin to break a man open. Later, while walking, Richard fell to the earth, feeling the wet stain of the mud again. He had forgotten it, but he was reminded again. The pace of the village had made it easier for him to live in the motions, so now that things were shifting, he was not able to make it go away. The visceral difficulty of walking on a road and noticing well the sensitivity of his body and mind to the world that was imposed upon him. Mensel watched him get up. "How are you?" Richard said. Mensel smiled weakly. "I have not... I don't know." he said. Richard said hmm and tried wiping some of the mud on his hands and knees. But they stuck to his skin. Mensel, being taller, did not want to think about Richard as a small person unworthy of his respect, and Richard made it easy, given how easygoing he was to be around. It was the fact that he was not doing anything else special that made him easygoing to him. Back in his village, he always felt like there was a dynamic to manage. Richard looked like he did not care at all, and it was not just because Richard was a foreigner, because the village receives foreigners from to time. But Richard was just different, never trying to do anything or needing to do anything in particular that felt imposing. Their path was composed of 78 parts, and Mensel knew well that what they were going to face required more than just the two of them. So he stopped and told Richard to wait. After a while, a group of wagoners came, carrying adventurers. These people fought monsters for a living, but more than that, they travelled a lot. They were more receptive to conversation than knights were when it came to help getting around. One of the adventurers jumped from the wagon dramatically, his entrance distinct enough that Richard said wow. Mensel told Richard that adventurers did not like being stared at by someone they were not talking to. Richard averted his gaze immediately. The adventurer who had just jumped frowned when he saw Richard avert his gaze. When Mensel approached, the adventurer kept his gaze at Richard, but he did clear his expression for Mensel. "I know you. You're the son of Majish, right." "Yeah..." "How is he?" "He is not... He passed away recently actually." "Really... when?" "4 years ago." "That is pretty recent. He's been alive for what? 200 years?" "226." "That is very long, isn't it? Why did you allow him to live that long 100-year-old Mensel." The adventurer watched Richard's expression. Richard turned pale, keeping his gaze locked to the side rather at them, not willing to open up dialogue about why the adventurer was gazing at him just yet. Mensel said, "How is Mickey?" The adventurer frowned. "He's fine." "A little much, don't you think? Why is Mickey still in prison, I wonder?" "Stop," said two other adventurers. "Oh, my bad," said Mensel. "I was just asking." Simultaneously, the three adventurers jumped back into one of the wagons on which the adventurers were riding. Mensel asked about heading to the city and about the 78 parts. Different from the three adventurers earlier, an adventurer tapped two other adventurers and walked up to Mensel. "Oh, you can come with us then. We're rounding back, but we need to fix some things first with one of our rabbit farms. The good thing is that it is not far from here. So if you're willing to come, just tell me. We'll be around the area." Mensel nodded before he turned to Richard, waiting for his thoughts on it. Richard locked eyes with Mensel for 8 seconds before he realized that Mensel was waiting for him to say something. "Oh, I don't know... I haven't heard about this. I don't know. I delegate this to you. Tell them that we can go." Mensel raised his head and looked up in thought before redirecting his gaze at Richard. "We can try doing cross-mapping, since I also want to check first with the lumberjacks. We can meet them here again later. So they're going that way and we're going this way." He pointed at two opposite directions when he said that. Richard raised his brows. Mensel said, "Do you not understand what I'm saying?" "I don't. I'm new here. I don't even know where I am." "Oh, I see, I see. Just confirming." Meanwhile, the adventurers finally left. "How many are they?" Richard asked. "18. I counted."

The Bartender and the Returning Traveler June 19, 2024

A tavern bartender recently saw some wolves on the countryside where he lived. But he pretended not to know much when people asked about it. In fact, he wanted them to ask about it, because then he would count them off from the list of people he suspected. Furthermore, he wish he could just kill off the bandits already, but he was well-aware that things did not always work smoothly. He had to work fast, because time did not let anyone imagine for themselves an easy world. But he believed in consistent morals throughout—moral absolutism. It took a gentle giant like him to think about heavy subjects like these, and he attributed that to the culture around him, which had had men going around flirting with the use of bone clubs shaped so as to be favorable for the women. It impacted yohim, but it is only one of his many memories. He did not forget what he just thought. This was his life now. "Why don't I take an adventure?" said a male traveler at the counter. The bartender replied in good faith. The traveler said: "I see. What then should I expect from this town? I've heard stories of people crashing down at the wagon hillsides, where the wagons frequently travel. Oh, they're called the Wagon Sides, a fairly good name I would say, but not one that I seek to diverge into at the moment. What is your profession, besides the typical bartender? I know you are not one to judge a person by their headwear so easily, but what do you think about my clothes or my hair? I know not how people like you have suited yourself and fitted neatly into this little fabric of a village. But I dare proclaim a little express need for a tanned hide, three of pieces of them, that I might finish off the little clothing issues in my clothes. If I may so say, where do you get your 'little bottles' (a term that refers to bandits)? I have little to converse here as regards the weather, for I am not so easily done-in and done-out by a little discussion." In other words, he implicitly said here that he was fine with small talk, which was denoted by the word "weather," if it means he could get around in a discussion. "What say you about the little bottles currently roaming around town? It seems your men and soldiers have not swept them off just yet. It sounds like a racket, don't you think?" The bartender agreed and expanded upon his words with little contention, only obliged to humor or entertain the traveler without a demanding push from his side. Furthermore, he did make sure to handle to him the foregoing three pieces of hide, Upon taking the three pieces, the traveler said: "Definitely, with a few short time, there be people that walk around these parts with little to do with their own loins." He meant to say that they did nothing but laze around and possibly engage in delinquent or boorish behavior. "So it is said. Anyway, the course of these issues remains unabated. I am not one to consider the world so well so as to halt you in your matters. Let me be off!" He waved staunchly, and he was off. After a long time passed, the traveler came again and said: "I return again, after my long travels, I hope this bothereth you not, I have little concern over the welfare of those around me, keeping to myself. I know that this opening statement does little to assuage any contempt toward me or apply a sense of justification upon the All Who Knows High. It is a contemptible thing to consider me a lonesome man that I might commit such boorish acts. In any event, there be people that remain assuaged anyway, such that I come to them in good faith and with a hope that they remain to me a person of gifts and lovely tulips, as I would say back in Tulac. In the world today, one is expected to march onto the road, expecting nothing but his boots to lift him off the ground, for all who doth come cometh with a necessary thing, such as a word or a camel. It is wise, don't you think? I may be a noble, but I have much in the way of caressing this little pit of a town. Sensibly, I am of a maintained apparatus of selves, that denoted by my little fingers all of which proclaim a justice-message. Ha, I've been influenced by the scribes. It has been a long month or a year or two. I have little care for time, but with passing time, I recognize well what I wrought and by what manner I am supposed in all things. There, by people who expecteth a lot, I see now the visages of all things before, heavy swords at the ready, with axes carefully crafted, that it might birth life ever-lasting. I have long-forgotten the old strangeness of the world, and by whose hand I am to depart and fall into that I may lie down in green pasture. It is with great grief to announce the dissolution of this guild, by which the bar has remained in great fullness. What say you about my decisions? I am not that traveler which you knew before, and I have come with a vengeance, for all of the bandits have slain the wives which I have gained and the concubines whom I adored. There are a many method of slaughter, if by the hand of God, I am ready to be cut off, so discretely, and with little perusal of the elements by which all remain connected. In the end, let me wage war upon this house of evil. It has been with a sorrowful gaze I have come here therewith." The bartender recognized his sorrows and knew that he was not speaking of this tavern in which he was currently posted, but more so expressing a great grief about another one which the bartender had only the traveler to expound that he might gain a tiny bit in the way of knowledge. He expressed this with great patience, believing the man to be speaking in tales and myths, where the words say much but refer to an idea similar in appearance and character but as with the horses' feet and the clouds in the sky, there is no connection. The traveler said: "I say this not in regards to your tavern; though I do recognize a need to address it. Your tavern or bar perhaps has remained in a wanting state for so long, and I have expressed myself in front of you, that I might consider myself fallen only to rise up again, like a frail sheep placed at the altar that I might evolve again to grace upon grace, shielded by the weapons, the armors, and shields of God. Leave me today, but here is your fine gold, which I have already prepared before arriving. If with great sorrow I return, I come then again with a pouch of gold, if not to please the wife and your wife, if she finds it to be of necessity." In many words, the bartender thanked him and wished him well. Later, after a great long year, the traveler returned, and with him, another man, who looked to be twice as tall, but actually only an inch taller, but by the character of his stride, produced much margin of reference, that he might be considered of a great regality. The companion, who was the taller traveler, then said to the first traveler: "Then what of the world? By an undying nature, it is then concluded. Questions speak of a man so indistinct that his labors therewith are moved. If to humor him, sure. But to relegate him to a post notwithstanding? He is but removed, and his soul raptured away; that by a necessary want, he is thus divested of his power. By a might' hand only he can be saved, just for him merely to bark at a cloud or a far-bygone another one, that if by choice of luck, he might consider himself of candid pleasure, for barking pleasure, at least, to a relative degree, provideth a sense of pleasurable taste. Little can be said about it, but it, as with many things, by itself is already sensible, that if any sought to explain it, it would like explaining the wind by which all things are already animate." The bartender was quick to be silent more often than his attempts to detach himself from his proverbial interpretations of the great multitude of many who came here to be seen and to be heard. He knew that it was with great pleasure that they expressed themselves today, as like a female dancer who had recognized her talent, they seek too to be seen and to be recognized by their pleasantries and by their virtuous, plenteous words, if by a great miracle of talent, they are to be boasted about. He was obliged to disturb them. So he shared his greetings and with his words, pointing implicitly at the people around him, if by the character of their faces, they might feign to be obliged to be perfomative. This was done with a great manifold work, and with great timing, because he readied not his own words to speak, but through his sign, prepared the men and women present apart from the two travelers to heed these two that they might be disturbed, which the two wanted, but that the two might act rather as if they were forced to speak, if in so doing, they might be performers. The companion and the first traveler were quick to declaim their finest of speeches. The bartender, after waiting, knew to let the two men finish, if by the character of their conversation, they might be considered rash or properly surprised of themselves, when they, even without a direct response or even a sure glance, were convinced of their great charm:—through the bartender's meddling.

Ambient Soundscape for a Journal Reader in a Stone Smithy-Café at the Edge of a Tropical Mall, with Rain June 14, 2024

what's some good ambient music for an old journal, with breaths and the huffs of a nearby forge, as if they're in a stone structure intended for long-form reading, a smithy, and quiet, periodically visited hush-hush cafe at the corner, and various windows which point to a large area where tropical trees flow. There could be rain too, at times. The steps are quick, like fresh dogs under a bridge, who are trying to remain hidden yet swift. When the steps hit the floor, they sound like chalk. The tables smoothen the hands, thereby making a noise every time a man presses his hands and smoothly slides them against in a single direction. His hands are quickly removed in time for one of the members of his party to arrive, bringing various items and valuables, but most importantly, small plates of food with a coffee in a plastic container. The city outside uses plastic; despite the homely, old feel, they are in a vast city in a mall. But it is well-contained, and the tropical trees outside do signify a small forest surrounding the area, as this mall is vast and large, offering park-like areas and sparsely spread structures like this in which to hide and rest for safety and security from the rain and from the sense of confusion which a vast flat land offers, even with the readiness of a nearby tropical jungle environment, but which is blocked anyway partially by the walls surrounding and separating different sectors of the mall. The city is large, offering a view to a volcano at a nearby lake, a single ride away. Returning to the structure where the old journal is being read, his clothes and cuffs lightly press against his arms, his shoulders stretching comfortably and unnoticeably. He recognizes his safety here and welcomes it, a smile lightly pressed on his lips, but not so much that it messes his stride or momentum. When he sits, it is as if he is standing with the way he postures with no hurry, yet with a standard proportional balance that tempers the innate urges to proclaim territorial control. It is here that the humanist is measured and kindly watchful that he might challenge those who do seek his end. He cuts off the silence and enters down into his journal; clocking and timing his movements and reading stride that he isn't too strict or too wild. He recognizes his own fingers; that he smoothly rubs them as he shifts his posture. The rougher he takes his posture, the more a sense of solidity emerges. He watched the window and all the features and lingering characteristics, that he might view the emergent features of this occasion, that he might occasion a smile to arise from his very lips. He stooped, bending toward and into a journal entry he read. A smell clogs his nose; immersing him in a dark tone of coffee. He sipped quickly like a man happening to lose his way and in a hurry to destroy himself, but he was careful, very delicate. He knew what he didn't, and he knew that well. What he did not know, which he knew, was that all of this would end. It was a simple mistake to glance askance and take the coffee by the hand for a dance. They kicked their legs forward and raised their arms that they might release it wildly. He sang a song, pushing further and further in, the balance deteriorating, but the joy overwhelming. He sipped the syrupy taste, however bitter people called it, knowing well that it was too joyous not to take joy in coffee. Later, while he was writing with a silver pen, he dabbed his face with a tissue, notwithstanding the noise that came with even just a nip of dab. The mouth releases its saliva within, pooling and pooling until it reached a culmination, by which point the man was already sipping voraciously the coffee, entertaining his lips and tongue with the effervescent dark coffee somberness. He beautifully emerged again with a biscuit in his mouth, biting like a nut-cracker. He raised his hands, and they soon alighted upon the tips of his hips through his trousers. The sounds of this sensitive touch were like buttery doves 'nascently' raising their hands for a singular train. It was too hard to describe and comprehend: he might just lose it! The energies entertaining the air are 'sporadious!' But wait. Then again, there he was after all in the journal entry in his complex environment.

A Goblin's Daily Hunts May 30, 2024

I knew that I had to be patient. Time never waited, and I was often not allowed to watch the world. I knew that if I tried hard enough, I would be unable to inspect everything. But in essence, the world I lived in was small. It was this bubble, and it was around 10,000,000 houses in size. But that is incredibly small. As a goblin, I gathered my strength and often helped out with my mother when she was working. I did not understand the work, but I knew the actions that I had learned to replicate overtime. It was now instinctive in me, and any disruptions I intuited with instinctive frame-working. I did not know who I was before this, but I know now that my identity lies in this very succession of cyclical events. When action became identity, I knew that I was. Yes, that succession exceeded me, so I am succeeded everyday. It is then this newest me that conducts the work. Where I was, who I was, and what I am about to do are altogether faithful in creating sufficient justification. But there is no distinction between the three. I act because I am. I am because of my actions. I am where I am because of who I am. I am who I am because of where I am and because of my daily actions. Thus, I am my actions and where I am. But ultimately, all three are true and not mutually exclusive in me. There is no psychological barrier or compartmentalization, but there is only a uniform, undivided, whole entity, or a unit. I work quickly, and my parents are listeners of my requests, because my requests tie into the actions expected from me. I request for resources, and using these resources, I conduct my actions. It is a simple natural succession of events. There I am, there I was, there I will be. And there is my self, where self, ingoing expectations (which are immediately confirmed and portrayed by actions), ingoing purpose, and place are a unitary entity. I finish my work for the day, and nothing happens. I think that nothing is everything in that moment, because this is my everything, in this sober and moderate positive externality that I am, as I was born from my mother and father's fortunate get-together. I think that as a goblin, I might find friends, but I am unsure whether I can fully be one with them that we might get together for the sake of creating harmonious, productive association. I want to make a world that is beautiful. But how can effectiveness be married with the desires for peace? Is effectiveness so easily married into this world? Can I create beauty while maintaining peace? Is not beauty a push against this world? At least, that is my view. Effort is a necessity for beauty, as we are altogether effort (action). So I go forth. I act against and in favor of my existence. This is what makes life satisfying, that I am a uniform entity comprised of the aforementioned undividable components. My very being is consistent (uniform). The object of my focus is running and making calls. It is shaped with four limbs, that of two arms and two legs, and it is hairless. It is close to another familiar object that has brown fur. I use my work to create life; here the object of my focus envelops my hand. And the earth meets it. It then absorbs my momentum and the extremities of my limbs. It shakes the air for a moment, but it then stops. The object of my focus has stopped its voice and ended its manipulations of the wind (through movement). It met my hands and weighed against them, as it later fell upon a pit where it accepted fire. I left the area. This arrangement was one of the actions expected from me by my parents. I then went into another area. There another object met my eyes. It dashed from tree to tree, allowing the forms of the trees to cover it. It then embraced my hands, receiving the force with which I had imbued them. It flew backward and landed upon the ground, shaking its form. It then accepted my hands again, bearing the weight of my body. It travelled backward and struck the earth. It shook itself and raised a limb. It acquired my velocity, and it drove to the ground. It stopped moving, and as with the last object, it weighed upon my hands. Eventually, it leapt into a pit where it possessed fire. I was completed, so I went home. The next day, I went again into the area. There two objects met my eyes. These objects used large boulders to cover themselves, and they flew from spot to spot, picking up tools. They released these tools, and these tools avoided me. They stopped the force of my tool, and they moved away. They received the next force of my tool, but they also surrounded me, covering me with their forms. They met my wrinkled expression, and they accepted the energy of my jump, sitting down suddenly upon the ground. They grasped the strength of my tool and quickly descended upon the ground. They gained the vigor of my hands, and they dropped upon the ground again. The momentum of their limbs avoided me, and they soon met my hands. They plunged to the ground, and one by one, as they received my tool, they stopped moving. They weighed against my hands, and they ultimately rolled into a pit where they obtained fire.

Four Dead Adults Stuck in a Fantasy WorldMay 19, 2024

Chapter 1

Charles stared at the light.

His heart beat weakly.

He did not have anything to say.

He lay against the wall.

He watched.

The light beated him, grabbing him by the shirt and kicking him to the ground.

Even the very concept of action had become meaningless to Charles.

He was only here because he was, but every time the pain brutalized him.

And he was brought back awake.

But just as fast as he regained himself and his senses, he lost them, as his mind fell to a halt.

What was it that kept him at it again?

He rubbed his shoulders against the void, pressing his legs against the door leading to his end.

He opened it.

There he saw God.

God spoke to him in a loud voice: “Let all who have come entertain themselves at my feet!”

He could not comprehend this, and he did not want to accept this. He did not want to accept that God was like this, and if that was true, then he could not accept that it was God.

It must be an illusion, he thought.

He faded into the background, but he was brought back to the light.

Time changed, and Charles gloated, allowing the sky to move gently. There was a sky above him, but it did not feel real.

The God in front of him did not seem to exist when he was not looking.

Everything faded, and everything bloomed.

Everything came, and everything went.

Everything dissipated, and everyone returned to its former original form.

He halted.

The tidal waves erupted within him, but he maintained his peace.

The composure he rested upon never budged from its feet.

It maintained strength and balance.

But time budged for him.

It skewed his perception of the world, striking the points in his vision which kept him in balance.

Then the flood gates opened.

He erupted into a fervor.

But before he knew it, he was already gone.

The God had sent him to a new world.

He looked at the green grass around him. “What was I? Where am I?” he said, but he was not the only one speaking that.

Three people were on the ground or standing near him. Zzzygurl, Cassie, and Johanathan were their names.

“W-who are you?” he said.

The three people were confused similarly, distancing themselves from one another and pointing around. “W-what’s going on!” said Zzzygurl.

“I-I don’t know!” said Johanathan.

“Isn’t it strange that we’re here?” Cassie told Zzzygurl. “What the fuck, man! I’m pretty sure you were the woman in the elevator right?”

“N-no? I was at home…” said Zzzygurl.

“Oh… I must have mistaken you for that woman… then,” said Cassie.

Charles was still sitting on the ground, only having sit up a moment ago. “Wha…” His mind was adrift and engaged simulataneously. He had not been here before. He had not experienced what he experienced before.

His mind had been in a state of everything and nothing at the same time.

How the hell did he get here?

What drugs did they gave him?

It was like he was having hallucinations and delusions a while ago.

He looked around, and the three people composed themselves and helped him up, as he looked the most stunned out of all of them.

Charles said, “I’m fine, I’m fine… Where are we?”

Cassie said, “We…” She looked at the other two. “We don’t know.”

Then the vastness became apparent.

The land sought to swallow them, it seemed.

Cassie chuckled. “Well… what can we do?”

Charles focused his gaze. There was this long silence between the two ears that heard the echoes of the environment, where everything lay alive and dead.

The world was so new, but their situation was dreadful.

Charles smiled. “We’ll make it work…”

Cassie chuckled depressingly, not supporting him there.

Zzzygurl and Johanathan were looking away and talking to each other. Zzzygurl was crying for some reason, but Johanathan was trying to get her to calm down.

Charles couldn’t think straight.

Where the hell did everything go?

He sat down, and he was given a pat on the shoulder.

“I…” he quietly said. “I never thought… I would get…

“…killed.”

He was on the street walking home from work, but out of nowhere, he found himself face to face with someone on the street. The thing was that the person was not even trying to kill him.

He was just so sick that he fell and hit his head, and he was already so unhealthy at the time. He had spent all his life working, and all of that came back to bite him.

He was now here in this new world, and the gods had given him one more chance.

But he was not excited or hyped at all for this.

He wanted to rest, but he was being forced to live again.

Charles stood up and joined Zzzygurl, Johanathan, and Cassie as they went on their way down a jungle path.

They were never going to escape.

This was their new hell now.

Later, Charles chucked, laughing when Johanathan started talking about baseball, and they were chuckling about a specific game.

Zzzygurl and Cassie did not understand, but they found them amusing. It was nice to have everyone composed, even if just for the moment.

He was then given a weapon. Cassie was the one who made it for him. “I know how to make stuff like that. My hands are pretty crafty, you know?” The weapon was reproduced like Jesus with the fish and loaves and given to the rest: herein Cassie accentuated her shrewdness. With that victory, she beamed and did a little dance. In addition, she put her fingers around her right eye, as if sniping her next opponent. Ultimatley, she had not only regained composure but a sense of playful self.

Furthermore, seeing her improvement, Charles nodded pregnantly. They were going to beat this hell, whatever it cost them.

Then each member of the group made their entrances.

First, Cassie stood in front of Charles, overlapping him, a smile enchanting her introspective expression.

Second, Charles moved to the side, so that he could see the vast land in front of Cassie, his form emerging greatly.

Third, Zzzygurl ran up a small knoll, striding up and down and testing her balance, appearing over them from behind, a confident pose keeping her in balance.

Lastly, Johanathan closed his eyes. Even when he was behind the two, he could see beyond what they could see now, as he was thinking and analyzing everything.

Moving on to their first objective, they sighted a mountain and began to ponder and analyze their extended situation.

Meanwhile, goblins scurried about in the distance out of sight. Animals found themselves preyed upon by their skewering javelins, as they hurried in a series in a line. The small axes they produced marked the trees, their hands smoothly navigating tactilely against the trees’ bark.

Returning to the group, Charles told the rest that if anything dangerous popped up, they had to run.

“Run!” Cassie said as soon as she saw a goblin mid-leap grabbing at her hair.

Cassie dodged, kicking at it before cancelling it and then leaning against a tree to stabilize her momentum. Shen then pressed her hands against it to help her climb up the hill.

From behind, Cassie was followed by two guardians, Johanathan and Charles, while Zzzygurl raised her voice and barked at the goblins, keeping them in suspense. She raised her arms like a bear and hid her hands behind her back and then revealed them again and again. In the goblins’ eyes, she was every time only a moment away from throwing a rock at them.

With the goblins in hesitation, the group finally retreated past a thicket of trees.

The goblins were divided from them, as the thicket now blocked them.

The movement continued, and the group encountered various obstacles. But they pressed on until they converged at a clearing.

“Okay,” Cassie said, patting the dirt off her clothes.

Charles had his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. He was not fit for this. He was an office worker, not a marathon runner.

Johanathan chuckled, raising his hands and placing them on his hips. He was athletic, so his calves sported themselves here.

Before Charles could turn around, Johanathan raised his arms and then shouted at rest of the group: “Let’s go!” He brought a sense of direction to the group, pumping them with agility.

The group sprinted. With Zzzygurl first in line, she smirked.

The goblins, after seeing that they were too far, halted and fled away.

Johanathan made a mark and revealed his good sides here, which Charles and the rest of the group recognized. Because of this, as challenges tested and exposed their skills, they were becoming more solidified as a group. With that, the group advanced a step toward converging to transform into the unitary entity they were set to be.

The group took this moment to regain themselves.

Charles nodded simply, as he raised his arms, his sweat dripping down the sides of his belly, sitting on the ground.

Cassie raised her hands and wiped the sweat off her neck, head, and forehead, resting against a rock.

Johanathan took a deep breath and closed his eyes, leaning against a rock.

Zzzygurl sat on her haunches, using her forearms to wipe her sweat.

One of them found a hill and looked around there, locating a path forward.

The group then moved on.

Charles smiled. “Isn’t it great? We’ve been here only for such a short amount of time, yet we’ve already gotten this far. I think… I think… Maybe… we’ll get out of this alive. I think we just need to be patient—”

“Fucking gobs! We saw goblins! That, those were goblins—”

“I know, just chill for a second.”

“I honestly don’t even know what the fuck we’re doing.”

It was actually Zzzygurl that was talking to Charles.

Even if Charles might have seen someone strong in Zzzygurl, she wasn’t strong. She did not want to be strong. If being strong meant dealing with this world, she did not want to be strong. She was afraid of what would happen if she dared be strong. There were so many things that could and would likely happen if they kept going like this.

Zzzygurl did not want to participate in this any longer.

Charles saw her, and he was distraught. “I… It’s okay… It’s not… But… What can we do?”

Zzzygurl rubbed her head, running her hands through her hair. She was going crazy.

Charles frowned, and the rest of the group could sense the futility of their situation.

“Why are we still pretending?” Cassie said instead of Zzzygurl, her voice low. “We should not keep going like this. She’s right. This is stupid. Whatever the reason. This just should not make sense, and we should not accept it as is. There must be a reason we’re here, and I don’t know if it’s an easy one.”

Charles nodded. “Y-yeah. I know. But…” He didn’t want to go back. He would rather die here than go back. “We can just try… our best. We’ll find people, a community even. Just trust—”

Zzzygurl found her bearing again: “Trust? Brother, I have seen so many people say the same shit, and I’m tired of that. Look at where we are! We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere! This is a fucking hell zone! Shit! What do you think I’m supposed to do? Accept this? Maybe if I was a fucking 11-year-old who still watched fucking fantasy films like Lord of the Rungs, then maybe! But I’m an adult. I’ve given up that part of my life! I’ve already given up on the idea that that part of my life was ever important! I was forced to become an adult, and that’s part of it. But you, you’re not really an adult, are you? You’re still stuck in your mind.” In reality, Charles was in his 50s, and Zzzygurl was still in her early twenties. She was being pressured with adult responsibilities, and she had yet to get used to it. It was only necessary that she threw away her old toys, and that hurt her. But she had to grow up. Now she was here back again in the place that she used to love but made herself hate. But this was not that place, oh no. This was hell. This was those stories she read a child, but there was no way this was the same thing. This was fucking real! She could actually die here! She knew that! She knew how vulnerable the human body was to diseases. She was a medical student, for goodness’ sake! And for what! For what was she here! To sit down and pretend that this world was somehow a god-given thing! This was not god-given, and it was not hashtag blessed. This was hell on Earth. Fuck that!

Her mind had yet to accept that she was in a new world, and she had only started adjusting. Recognizing even just a slight tiny part of this new reality already broke her to this point. What would even more parts of this world do?

“The fuck am I doing!” Tears were flooding her cheeks, and she was supposed to be a professional. She was supposed to be adulting. But she was this fragile. “Fuckin’ piece of dogpile…”

She was never the type to curse, but she grew up around swearing Americans, having moved to America from the Philippines when she was 11 years old. But that did not mean she was always mad.

This world brought out that side of her that wanted to keep her mouth clean. Guys hated it when she cursed or smoked or did fucking anything!

This world was a disgusting pile of dogshit!

She had already turned away from the silenced rest of the group, frozen in a sense of intense vulnerability and out-of-placeness. She was like a naked woman on television.

But the rest of the group were not at all antagonized by her behavior or expressions. They understood and empathized with her, having experienced their own cognitive dissonances. It was only now that they relieved their sense of tight-lipped painful unease through her truthful anger. Basically, they created a shared space for emotional release and catharsis.

Expressing pent-up emotions was not an issue, nor was addressing issues. In fact, it was a good thing, and it contributed to a greater sense of camaraderie and honesty between them. Honesty bred camaraderie.

Lack of issue-addressing, communication, transparency, honesty, and vulnerability between members of a social group led to dysfunction.

This was why Cassie did not interrupt. It was not only her shrewdness but also that of the rest of the group, including Zzzygurl herself in a counterintuitive way. They all knew that in this situation, Zzzygurl’s outburst was actually the best thing they needed right now.

Indeed, even after Zzzygurl said all that, now that she was much calmer and more in tune with her real feelings, having been honest, she admitted she did not want to give up so easily. She wanted to work hard and fight, and she did not want to leave her teammates hanging.

She stood, her hands glasping the side of a rock with power, as the rest of the group beamed their approval beside her.

Chapter 2

Zzzygurl looked around, unable to contain her excitement. She found herself matching the pace of Johanathan, as they used stones to play.

They were honestly really hungry, but for now, they just played a little.

But yeah, they were thirsty and hungry.

They could die.

But for the moment, they had a little fun to calm down.

But yeah, afterwards, they were already feeling the weight of their exhaustion.

The adrenaline ran out.

However, fortunately, a traveler came to their aid, asking them if they needed any help, presuming they were adventurers on a quest that have lost their rides.

The traveler then led them to a town, but before that, the group had a discussion.

Charles began by saying: “Hey, I understand that you guys are having a difficult time, but we can do this. We can try our best. We can make it work. We’re just going to have to try really hard. I really believe in you guys, but you guys are going to have to be careful. And I’m not kidding. It’s going to be terrifying. It’s going to be dangerous. There’s going to be a whole lot of things that are going to happen. And I’m not going to think it’s going to be pleasant. I think it’s going to be the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen in my life, but if you guys keep on going, you put your heart to it, you know? You will make it. And I’m, I’m I, I sound like a… I, I sound like I’m repeating myself. I sound like a broken record, but if you guys keep on going, we’re going to make it, okay?”

Cassie said: “Yeah, I get it completely. It’s just you know there’s a lot of things. I mean we’re going to this new place and we’re supposed to be like ready, right? We’re—We have to prepare ourselves.”

Johanathan said: “Yeah, that’s right. I mean of course that’s going to be difficult. But yeah, you’re right.”

Zzzygurl said: “Yeah, but the the thing is shouldn’t we at least like just check out things for a second? Shouldn’t we ask him about the goblins and stuff?”

Their discussion was more so consensus-building and maintaining a sense of unity, pace, and morale. Plus, they were still in the process of taking in their new environment and igniting the sparks of individual planning and execution. Moreover, they were in a fast-paced environment, requiring them to move things along quickly by wrapping things up in a jiffy.

Later, at the town, they heard the sounds of civilization.

Men danced upon the streets, and their faces smiled radiantly.

This was heaven-scale perfection.

Here, bringing the group back to the present, the traveler who had brought them to this town was quiet, but his voice was sagely: “Good day gentlemen, you are here in Los Baños. It’s a beautiful town, and none of the people here are mean. So chill out and relax. If you need a drink or a meal, you may buy at the store. Here, I’ll hand some of my spare change. It’s not a lot, but you can buy a drink and meal deal each at the nearest store. That one with the red signage.”

“Good!” Cassie said. She was too hungry to contain herself. Even Zzzygurl was following close behind her.

Charles and Johanathan felt like they had to keep their hungry hidden, so they walked slowly like they were people coming here to eat lunch from work.

Charles had that crystal-perfect work walk. Plus, he was too old to care about fixing its walk. It fixed itself. He was not so fit to walk any other way. It was ingrained into his entire bone structure to be honest.

Johanathan was still young (40s), and he was slightly more happier than Charles. Even now, Charles found himself at a loss when he saw Johanathan’s beaming smile as he walked behind the two women.

It was not a competition, but sometimes, it felt like it was. In the end, they were just a small group that probably would not last.

But they had to stay together. Charles knew at least that.

His age did not betray him. All those past experiences taught him about people and learning to stay tight-knit, because he would need people supporting him in his old age.

He also had a wife and family back on Earth, so he was the one who was supposed to be most bothered by this. However, he was a man, so it was as if a supernatural ingrained social construct defined even him here in this world.

Things were complicated, and he could only do so much. If he spoke about his family now, all of his composure would fall out the window.

With his thoughts organized, he went to eat and drink with the rest.

There at a stall, they ate. The quiet nature of their breakfast reminded them of home.

It was like a bunch of friends eating at a parlor.

They were here at an outside stall.

Nothing could stop them.

The world was vast, but they could leave it all behind in a window of the rooms of their minds. The window led to the world, but they could leave it unattended for now.

Maybe they could stay in their little narrow paths for now.

The world did not have to budge or shake the house of their minds. They could stay there forever maybe.

However, they knew that they themselves would break out and hurriedly climb out the window. It was human to seek novelty, challenges, and learn, especially when the world was never so perfect so as to make everything inert.

Everything moved dynamically.

The food they ate was simply tasted, smelled, and swallowed into their waiting stomachs.

They were fine after all.

But they knew that this careful balance would eventually tip over the edge.

This relationship between them was like a fine baby’s skin in the face of an avalanche.

But more than just this connection between them, their very lives were at stake.

And their sanity too.

They had to eat to their best joy, or else they would never get it back.

Get back what? They would never get back their finest hopes. This was their last chance.

Chomp! Swallow!

They had to maintain it.

They did have to.

The world, however, benefitted those in power.

They, however, were only a group of regular people.

Time was not patient with them.

They finished eating.

They looked at themselves and then at each other. An awkward smile was shared between them, and an attempt at maintaining morale. To Zzzygurl and Johanathan, it was systematic, functional, and dehumanizing to be given consolation and support. Furthermore, Cassie and Charles wanted someone to scream at them and tell them how horrible this situation was.

But that was just a thought.

In reality, the discussions they shared rarely mirrored the basic private needs they wanted to express. It was almost always good enough, but never perfect.

Good enough. That was all they needed.

They entered into a store, where the traveler greeted them. He told them earlier to meet him here after they ate.

He told them to head to the nearest adventurer cottage, where they would then head underground.

The group nodded and began following the traveler’s directions.

During their walk, they saw dwarves, elves, fishmen, and beastmen, and they were integrated into society.

Their expressions were weak, but for some reason, a grandiose guardian stood behind them.

The guardian was a giant, and he overshadowed them.

Zzzygurl found it interesting that a giant was here, so she, because she presumed it was safe based on how every other human within this town was safe, went up to it.

The giant looked at her.

Zzzygurl waved at it and then left, like she was visiting a lying cat and greeting it with a focused wave before leaving.

With the traveler’s back beaming a sense of danger at them, Cassie and Charles were already planning on stretching their bodies for a manual task ahead of them. Unlike them, Johanathan was not too worried. Moreover, he brought his favorite fanny pack, and he even recently began volunteering as a fire fighter. That was also because of his condition, as he could not work anymore with his wrist. But he was still athletic throughout the rest of his body. So hopefully, things worked out. He did not have answers, but he had grit and a reliant body. It was only recently when that condition of his exposed itself, and he would not let that affect him too much now.

All their personal stuff would come back to bite them, or benefit them, depending on well they strategized.

Zzzygurl was already thinking about giants and analyzing how they would operate in this society.

Cassie was thinking the same, but she was focused on elves, dwaves, beastmen, and the fishmen, wondering how they interacted with humans.

Johanathan was focused on calming himself down.

Charles was pondering strategies on how he could keep up with his teammates.

Cassie was the first to open up discussion about her thoughts, with the rest following and contributing, resulting in a shared repository of theoretical conceptual knowledge between them. They would be acting accordingly.

Since they were all educated, with varying attachments to critical thinking procedures, they could do this, though Cassie was self-educated through the Internet.

But time would continue to cascade.

The giant behind them in this vast world hummed, as adventurers came and went, bringing home items of interest in wagons.

“Let us become shields of honor upon this fertile landscape,” said a man, his humble contrapposto bearing witness to the verdant landscape of wood and palm. “Let us become as grace to our peoples. Let us become as hope to the masses. Let us become free from the boundaries of flesh and weakness.”

He led the adventurers. “Where is everyone?”

The adventurers then said, “We are here.”

The man raised his hand, then saying, “We are a generation of peoples. We must let this world become flesh and blood. Herein we find ourselves.”

The adventurers raised their right hand in agreement.

Meanwhile, the group of four, Cassie, Charles, Zzzgurl, and Johanathan, sat idly on the side, counterpoised against a wooden wall.

The Scribe and the Burning Library April 29, 2024

Abstract:

To start, Kindred, a young man, lives in a coast fantasy town. There, he studies hundreds of different books everyday that he buys with his money earned from working as a farmhand. In addition, along with reading books, he writes down his thoughts. Then, collating knowledge overtime, an impressive enough personal home library sprouts from his efforts. Ultimately, with this library, he will understand the world.

Chapter 1 - An Inconvenient Fire

Kindred slammed his hands against his desk, making sure each word came in strong, his fingers gripping the quill like a master bait-fisher. He looked around and began to notice a strange scent in the air. The burning of his library. He ran and burst down three double-steps before leaping, gripping the wooden railings and then going back down gently before jumping from the 8th step to the ground. He went out and saw the side of a cliff with various ledges and circular rippled rock faces. In the vastness, the rock separated him and a large village-looking A-frame house on green grass and nice-looking round trees with a ton of tropical vegetation. He needed to get there in time, because he came from his small retreat cottage and was now hoping to reach the library, which lay behind the aforementioned house. He immediately took the path by the side of the cliff and went to the other side, reaching the house. There, he saw friends of his, a family of six, through the window, and it was currently evening relaxation for them. He knocked on the door. They opened it. "How are you doing Kindred?" said the mother, Linda Reyes. "It's been a while, hasn't it? What have you been doing these past months?" "Writing an average of 4,300 words everyday for 74 days?" said Kindred Maven. "Good, it's nice to see you're still working on your writing," she said, nodding. Kindred's voice was rough, but he softened it up by clearing his throat a little, even making a bubble-like sound. He then said: "Yeah... I've been studying a lot, and I've been making plans to work with researchers and scholars hopefully to make some real progress." "Okay. It was nice seeing you again. Why are you here?" "I smell the library burning? How did you guys not smell it?" "Huh! Really! I thought it was just my cooking!" "No, it wasn't! Can we go now!" "Yeah! Let's go! Get the buckets, Matthew, Mark, Adrian!" Her husband, John, was already heading outside with two buckets of water he got from behind the house. His boys followed, bringing large buckets of their own. They headed alongside Kindred, bringing the water to the library, where they saw a figure there. Fire was floating at the top of the man's raised left hand, and then he promptly made it disappear. Kindred stared, stopping and lowering his bucket to the ground. The parents and the children did as well, staring in silence before whispering to each other. The man looked at them, tilting his head. "It's nice to see you guys. I was hoping to understand why the building is burning. I'm the one who burned it, but the reason for it was because it was already burning with blue fire." Kindred nodded. "So what should we do?" "Just please stay there and let my fire burn away the blue fire. This will take a while, so please be patient and relax for the meantime. I apologize for the inconvenience, and I appreciate your understanding." "Okay..." Kindred said, confused why a man would be here burning stuff. He knew about blue fire and the mechanism of burning away blue fire with a specific kind of flame magic. However, he was just in shock a little because he was expecting to spend hours extinguishing a burning library. It was indeed burning, but since this land was large, he did not expect one of the soldiers of the lord of the land to be here so quickly. The man in front of them was this soldier. The man handled the rest of the work, and after Kindred and his friends returned the buckets of water, they had a strangely relaxing sleep after sweating themselves out that much. The physical journey was long and beautiful with walking through the jungle. The next day, the day moved slowly, with Kindred waking up with his head close to the ceiling of his bed. He got out of bed and looked around, his head in a daze. He had a long dream about men kissing other men. "Dafuk?" he said before looking outside, worried about what happened yesterday. "Okay... I... think... we... are... good..." He lay down on the floor. Dazed for a while... Wait a minute. He got up immediately and put on his clothes, bolting out the door. The door closed with a bang. Later, there at the site of the burning library, he was shocked. A group of adventurers were inspecting the site, and wizards were helping magically repair the library. "Omagah!" Kindred said. After settling down and getting comfortable, an adventurer walked up to him, saying, "Hi, we're here to help make sure that the place is safe." The adventurer's name was Brandon. He smiled. "I hope we're not bothering too much. There was only supposed to be soldiers here—from your lord." He looked at one of the soldiers who had his hands crossed behind his back awkwardly. The soldier was getting talked down by an older man. The older man was also in a group of thoughtful-looking men with some wearing adventurer clothes. Brandon brought Kindred back to him: "But one of the soldiers, Markus, learned that there are a lot more dangerous implications about this instance of burning. Don't worry, we'll handle things for you. If you want to ask us any questions, just go. I'm currently confused as well, but I can give you the scope of our operation. For now..." He grinned. He glanced at the wizards reparing and adventurers standing around and sitting on their haunches. "...I apologize for the inconvenience, and I appreciate your understanding." He bowed slightly, making noises with his armor, strapped items, his belt gear and potions, and his sheated sword. He then walked away, while Kindred nodded perfunctorily. Kindred paused, frozen in polite posture and expression; before he looked around with a squint. "What... the... hell..." Meanwhile, some of the wizards were talking. "Hey, you see that guy," said one of them. "He's one of those scribes. Why is he here? Isn't he supposed to be writing?" "This is his personal library, doofus," said another. "Get it together. I know the girl hitting on you broke your heart. I know you like men, bro. Shut up and focus." "Bruh, stop exposing me like that. I like feminine 'men', not men. There's a difference." "Bruh, stop lying." "Bruh, you're the one lying to me." "Hey, dudes, keep quiet. Boss is coming." Kindred heard that, and he had another 'watdafuk' moment, but he did not think too much, leaving and sitting down and waiting for the library to be accessible again. When the library finally completed, Kindred sighed with relief, entering the library again. "Thank goodness. I really wanted to just be back, thank goodness. I love this place like hell." He placed his hands against a raised wooden surface and rubbed his right hand across it, the rectilinear texture rubbing back. He checked his rubbery hand, and a warm smile appeared on his face. Groups of writing equipment fell upon a table, his hands quick to catch them from the shelves. He did not think the wizards would repair everything, so he was not that surprised. He sat down immediately and placed his hands together, stretching them and struggling to grab the quill. The satisfaction of holding the quill had to be saved for later. So he stood up and watched the bucolic setting outside, his mind accepting offers for more literary and intellectual stimulation. Time passed, and the vastness of the land expanded. After settling down, he placed his first word, "bucolic." The word exploded like hundreds of vines stretching and attaching to various points in the forest, injecting the biological structures with sustaining fluids that rendered everything one cohesive entity altogether. He wrote a phrase, "red dull signs spread disparately across the land." The phrase sundered the morn, crafting within it dynamics of beauty that stretched further and further unto eternity until it closed harmoniously. Booms widened like overstretched taut fabric beginning to break; hundreds fell upon the earth until their colors faded like a stream of water trickling down a rough rocky and grassy path unto terrestrial assimilation. Kindred later stopped, stowing his writings away for now. He went outside, excitedly watching the sky. He went a long distance to a nearby inn, where he removed his purple cloak and sat down near the entrance. He greeted one of the regulars, being one of them. "How are you?" said a regular named Sam. "Good," said Kindred. "How about you?" "Good, good. What's going on with you lately? Anything interesting you want to share?" "Nah, things are simple right now." "Really? How simple? "Nothing crazy's happening." "What do you mean? Interested in interesting things?" "What do you mean? I'm interested in simple things—" "I mean adventuring." "I'm not going to be a part of any adventurers any time soon. "Really? Unfortunate." "But I could watch them from the safety of my abode. I will do that." "Okay then. But what if someone wanted you to be a part of their adventurers?" "So yeah... about that... if anyone dared drag me, I might not like it, but I am open-minded. Who knows where my journey may take me?" But for now, he world would grow smaller and smaller, but he would watch it from his viewpoint—the viewpoint of a scribe.

Chapter 2 - The Nature of the Scribe

A scribe had his peculiarities. From another angle, it was said that anyone would draw because sight was most intrinsic to the human being. But when it came to the scribe, they were spoken of as if they were heavenly swords sheathed and shackled in the hands of a ruler or lord. They were associated with regal matters, so anyone that did not fit the category were cast like meager paltry things. For many people, this was sufficient material basis for jurisdiction. That was why Kindred was one, if not a esteemed member, of the Discreet and Highly Praised Scribes of the Nothern Mountain Coast. With time, Kindred became accustomed to his stature among them, which was what pressed him tightly against the northern coasts, therewith unable to pack a bigger punch laden with his soul. He became tenacious with the quiet rummage of study, like men biding their time for the apostle's awakening. In here the world vastly remained with a solemn organization, a calibrativeness shackled with a fullness-seeking mind. His heartful mornly start remained. He was soul-tried. A been-there man he said he was, and a figure shodded with noises. From there above, the ridded sky lines refined these noises quietly to a stop. From here, the clouds previously levitated. And it was likened to magical incantations true spoken tacked with a bountiful fray-like wide-awakeness. Furthermore, he let mighty, laughter-hued gobble belie his confidence. He clad himself with a scribe's equipment, and he drifted up to the door. He was likened to a man-wearing hat, nonsensical in basis, but with the confidence of something that dared to exist. That was his scribe-ness, a nature-state impervious to the kingly men who weren't scribes. Kindred watched the sky, his heart blazing with glory. If he knew just how beautiful the world was, he would be utterly incapable of the defences utilized by those who had come. His heart would then be incapacitated, like a man snorting fumes from a magical structure. These were his inevitabilities. But as for the specificities associated with these newfound perceptions, they mattered little when contrasted against his momentary actions. He picked up a sword, understanding the details that pervaded its being. Like a man being bolstered, the sword spoke life, thrusting itself when the man that held it did so. In so acting, the sword expressed its existence as a man with a newborn child. Men would use this for destruction, but he for life.

The Wandering Woman and the Chicken That Led Her Home July 26, 2023

Down on the ground where the feathers grew, a sky as blue as the wet ground below reflected on the pond below. Because the wind was strong, the chicken, whose feathers attempted to flee before remembering their state of being stuck, clucked about. It grew tired after it saw the way that it had walked for hours. Nevertheless, it came to find a running pace because it saw the way the wind glided along. The typhoon that guided the wind was strong. Furthermore, the chicken picked up a nice beat in the way each part of the wind met. It stopped for a while when it noticed its breaking beak. It was a magical attack that had afflicted it. It pressed his feet hard to get a grip before it dashed like a madman in a chick lit. An enemy, tall as the shadow of a tree, taller than the chicken, they pressed onward as if everything they carried was a baggage worth bringing. They were a strong woman, a human towering above the earth. "Huck huck huck!" said the woman before eating a fruit. This was her unique laugh. "Huck huck huck!" she said again, annoying the chicken until he stopped and turned, red-faced. "No!" the chicken said in its chicken language with a muffled sound due to its broken beak. "Huck huck huck!" said the woman who magically casted the spell that broke the chicken's beak. This time, she was choking. "Oh no!" the chicken said, running toward the woman before tripping and slamming its head, falling asleep. The woman found the situation hilarious, but she was about to sleep forever if the choke hit her just right. She grabbed her neck and felt for the food that was stuck in her throat and caused the choke. She pushed it a little enough for it to fall down, freeing herself from the affliction. She chanted, "Hooray!" Also, she turned and analyzed the chicken, saying, "What a bother." Walking to it, she raised her arm as if to attack. Instead, she petted the chicken on the head. She even healed the chicken. When the chicken woke up, the woman introduced herself in English even if the chicken only knew "Chicken," the chicken language. She said her name was "Atria." The chicken was too bothered and confused, so it left. However, the woman, after checking her things, decided to follow because the forest where the chicken lived was familiar. She was on a journey, and this forest seemed to be a landmark. Her destination was much farther away, which was why she thought eating a chicken would do her good. What ended up happening was far better for her because a pet chicken was better than food. "But seriously, I'm just so fucking tired, you know?" he began to rant with the chicken acting as a hearing companion. "It's really not great having to carry all this luggage." She placed down her luggage, paused for a good minute, and began moving again right before the chicken went out of sight. She repeated this over 20 times courageously over the course of 10 kilometers, each time successively making her feel more motivated to complete her journey. When they arrived at a remote, small village, the chicken cocked its head from side to side as if welcoming the woman. She recognized the symbol on a sign at the entrance of the village, which meant that she was finally at her destination. "Goodness gracious!" she said before stretching her back, dropping her things haphazardly. She lay next to a well, feeling like a king on a throne. "Chicken boy, thank you." To the now hopeful Atria, the rooster seemed to nod its head cordially. The chicken turned to leave, finding the pasture as entertaining as the village was a safe haven for Atria. Atria left, looking toward the market where she located a small steel sword that fit her body and arm length. "Good, how much is this one?" she directed her question past a crowd at a tall gentleman at the farther side of a counter. "Five." "Five then." "Five for women who don't clean their shoes or remove them before coming in." The crowd turned to her, slowly forming glares. Atria grimaced, apologizing and returning outside after paying for the sword. "What a bummer. I guess polite gets what polite deserves. Or in this case, impolite." She eyed the chicken before going the opposite direction, finding herself at a small inn with only two rooms. "How much this one?" she said. "Five, maybe six if you don't remove your jacket and hat before coming in," said the woman at the counter, gesturing toward a religious symbol hanging on the wall. "Dang," Atria said. "I really didn't mean—" "Yes, just pay me four. That's the original price." Atria stared for a while, feeling stunned. The woman at the counter tsked. "Move along," she said as she casually arranged a stack of papers and pieced together paper cranes. Atria judged her in her mind for being so uptight despite having a hobby for trivial paper cranes. She took out her colorful magical wand, feeling assured in herself instead of feeling too hurt from the bothered behavior of the other woman. Since she had paid, she got herself a room and lay down, feeling the warm, soft embrace of the bed like a friend or a brother. She used to have a brother, but he decided to leave her and the family to become a demon slayer. Actually, she had five brothers in total, but they all left ultimately. One went to become a goblin slayer. Another went to become a witch hunter. Another went to become the husband of a "Saintess," which bore an excess of political demands. Another went to become a mage researching hermit. The rest were gone, a subject too overwhelming for her capacity to handle. She fell asleep with those thoughts. At the end of the day, near midnight, she began to dream. She saw a faint light. It was too bright for her, so she retreated. She felt that it subsumed her into its embrace until she became lost within its blinding light. She cried, screaming for her life, but when she woke up, her body felt calm like a mummy. She noticed a shadow at the back of her room, realizing that it was the open door. She gasped, realizing that she had forgotten to close her door. She hurried, her heart flashing. She grabbed her things one by one, leaving behind petty items. She dashed past the door, and soon, she was outside, feeling the fresh air of the night. The calls of various folk alarmed her, as she was scared that an assassin was hiding behind those friendly eyes. Those calls sounded like "I will murder you!" to her rather than their actual sounds: "Hey, it's nice to meet you.", "You want a taste?", and "This here is 100% pure!" among others. She fled from the crowd, finding herself lost. She wanted to relax here in this town, but she brought with her emotional luggages to which her own physical luggages failed to compare. She needed to express her heartache, which she did by meditating, arranging her feet together and posing for some sort of ritual. When she was done, a group of people behind her noticed her running. They were a little concerned, but after the woman stopped running, they felt relief, thinking that she was okay. In truth, earlier, when Atria glanced at the crowd again, she was worried a certain person she knew would find her and assault her. Even if the village was small, for most of the time she stayed here, she felt that it was bigger than the mountains she traversed earlier. Regarding opposing her arduous and confusing circumstances, Atria had only so much time to calculate. If she wanted all the details from her past, she would have written an autobiography spanning millions of words. Instead, what she had was her memory, forgetful and overall changing. New interpretations clouded the original impressions and colorful, byzantine emotions that determined her past self as a person. If she wanted to commit to something, she had to rid herself of every other thought that she considered trivial currently and focused entirely her vision on those thoughts that mattered—small, oversimplistic, and highly fixed despite the changing times. However, these were ideals rather than methods. She would determine her methods based on her environment, conflict, and the manifold factors surrounding and influencing her and those influencers who influence her. In the end, she came up with a simple plan. She would work hard to achieve her goal while avoiding the potential abuse of those above who believed in an oversimplistic ideal similar to her. She grabbed a sword, and that would solve one issue, one that would only come up if one grappled under the fleeting identities of a criminal, a victim, or a member of a police force. For most of her problems, she would use her mouth and hard, manual labor. She would use tools such as tact, interpersonal skills, and gross and fine motor skills. Violence was as effective as one could guarantee that they were willing to sacrifice the resultant innovation of peoples as humans, continually improving upon itself toward anthropological destruction. In the end, her personal identity was one byzantine figure among the infinite series of factors commanding her existence within the essence of conflict, hope, and goals. Her sword came from her luggage, which consisted of ten backpacks strung together with a rope. She had a magical potion that she could sell in order to obtain 20 gold. This amount of money gave her an opportunity to buy various useful items: a sword stronger than the one she currently had, leather armor to replace her currently dirty leather armor, which burdened her and weakened her drive, and flowers which she could gift to a man in order to capture his heart. Her motivations lay much on methodology focused on integration into intersocial society, but she would rather capture thousands of friends' hearts in a platonic manner than engage in romance that she designated as a subsumption into a singular person with all its limits and within which the strengths she trusted would become flawed. Her goal was to integrate into society, specifically the village where she was. She entered the inn again, interpreting the smile of the woman at the counter as rude. She curtly said, "I apologize for leaving the inn so early, but—" "No worries," said the other woman. Atria found the woman's interruption even ruder than her smile. She faked a smile and left, enjoying the hard, thick sounds of her slippers on the ground. Everything about her slippers charmed her, but she failed to entertain the knowledge of what material they were. She entered the blacksmith's shop, finding the smell pleasant like seeing a wave at the beach after spending years in a landlocked land wistfully. She failed to identify the smell. Surprisingly, outside of her knowledge, to the blacksmith present, the smell was the sound of joy, the touch of light, and the kingdom of grace, among others. Because the smell was pleasant, then, to her, the blacksmith's smile looked genial. For a moment, to her, he was an aged, charming fugitive prince that kept that shine next to his lips. The blacksmith's voice was rough, but that roughness sounded like smooth wine that slid easily past the lips. Atria said, "Hi, I wanted to buy the flowers I saw you sold." She was referring to the depicted flowers next to a price. They were outside on a sign, which hung by the window. The blacksmith's voice became rougher. "Those were my late wife's." Atria gasped. "Late wife's. You have a late wife?" The blacksmith smirked. Atria watched his mouth begin to open. He said, "Well, I do." He kept glancing to his right as if calculating his next decision. "I really need to finish my work, so I'll give it to you for free. How about it?" In reality, he was eying the counter that was so riddled with trash that trying to get the money was going to take a while. He preferred keeping loans than personally taking care of money. Atria shot her question, "Why?" The blacksmith smiled. "Because you're gorgeous." Atria failed to find a connection between her impression of the blacksmith earlier and his statement now. His statement carried negative connotations to her, but she held a long smile and remained composed, finding that her elbow was worth soothing. The blacksmith sighed. "I guess I'm going to have to get the money." He went through his trash, climbing over buckets and baskets. He even had to take out and break a box in order to touch the handle of the cabinet with the money finally. When he held the money, he kept opening and closing his mouth, counting the money. Atria laughed when the blacksmith gave her his money. The blacksmith realized and turned around, taking out the drawer used to contain the money from the cabinet. "Here." He directed the drawer toward Atria. He raised his shoulders as if he expected Atria to take a long time to take out her money. Atria placed inside her money, while the blacksmith hurried to grab the flowers out of Atria's sight. When the blacksmith returned with the flowers, Atria felt that the flowers looked damaged. "They're damaged," she said, biting her lips. The blacksmith laughed. "I forgot to tell you that they've been here..." He kept eying the sign outside. "I mean the sign's been there for a while now." "Alright," Atria said, facing away. The blacksmith scratched the back of his head, adopting an enthusiastic demeanor. A smile formed on Atria's face before she grabbed the flowers. When she was outside, she counted the clouds and felt that today was going to be much more pleasant than she thought. She acknowledged that earlier her conversation with the blacksmith felt hurried, but she was fine with the more casual manner of handling a shop if it meant that she could get things for free. She hurried under the rain and stopped next to a food shop. Before she felt she could relax, the owner of the shop shooed her away. She became wet under the rain, but she had a smile of her face, looking at the chicken. The End

Sigurd's Encounters with Dogs February 13, 2023

The searing noise of trains passed around the corner of a street. Out of this corner, a young man shuffled along by himself. The soothing ambient of cars whizzing by caused him to become impassibly calm. The magical taste of biscuits on his hand added to this calmness, making him embody a fantastical tower of stoic solitude. He mindlessly rubbed his hand against a light post, feeling its corroded, sinking metal. An irritating mess of odors containing the sewer, mud, and rainwater in the streets made him shuffle hurriedly. A rudely large amount of drops of crumbs from his biscuit made him frustratedly complain "Argh!" Yet, in his midst, hundreds of other passersby gazed openly at the street ahead, unbothered by this young man's complaint. Unworried about the lack of concern of those around him, the young man moved along on the sidewalk. At the end of the street, the young man, Sigurd, heard a faint sound of groaning coming from his left in an alleyway. Two dogs pushed a smaller dog against a wall, making it bleed and whine. "Ow!" it screamed. Sigurd ran like the wind, catching the dogs off guard with a kick. The two dogs blocked his punch with their jaws; however, they shook, weakened. Sigurd retracted his leg, so the dogs bit his other leg, making him yelp in fear. Sigurd fell to the ground and crawled away, pressing and kicking the dogs exasperatedly. The dogs bit him harder as they grew even weaker to Sigurd's abuse. Sigurd screamed in relief after the dogs sustained too much damage and fell unconscious. Weak, he carefully called an ambulance for himself, lowering his stiffly raised shoulders. His mind processed his situation when he was inside the ambulance. He was lucky in his fight because the dogs reacted too late to his attack and the incorporation of sidewalks helped him run and fight easier. He might not be so lucky next time. These thoughts repeated in his head even after he recovered and returned home. The calming melody of jazz echoed across his home. Sigurd excellently danced, feeling the soft carpet covering the floor with his toes. He excitedly played games with himself via cards, feeling the edges of the plastic cards. While drinking, he spilled water on his fingers and rubbed them together mindlessly. The numbing drone of the air conditioner of his room made him sleepy. His sleepiness annoyed him, making him abruptly stand up and stretch to remove it. The water that spilled on his fingers reached his clothes as well, making him feel lightheaded. Drying himself, he removed his clothes, and the cold conditioned air rested on his body, making him shiver. The alien shadow of a dog passed over him, and he turned around to see an out-of-place dog at his door. The dog barked angrily. Sigurd covered his mouth in shock. The dog charged and barked incessantly. Sigurd clumsily ran atop his bouncy bed as the dog stopped and scanned the objects of his room strangely. Impossibly, the dog ran to a desk, grabbed it with its teeth, and pulled to the bed, much to Sigurd's horror. Barking, the dog climbed up the desk to the bed as Sigurd jumped off the bed, shouting. Sigurd ran to the door and strongly closed it, groaning in relief. Thoughtfully, the dog climbed down the desk off the bed, walked to the door, and opened it. Panicking, Sigurd screamed and slammed the door against it repeatedly. The dog was robotically silent despite Sigurd's haphazard abuse of it. Sigurd closed the door, found a couple of person-sized vases to his left and right, and blocked the door with the vases, gauchely escaping. When he left his home, he loudly sighed in relief. His mind was running fast on glucose. The dog almost killed him, but he survived because of the vases and found a wonderful place to eat. Would he live again if he was given a third fight with a dog? How lucky was he? How strange was it for a dog to be that smart? These tense questions circulating his mind showed that he couldn't understand his inhuman situation, yet it was good enough that he was breathing the air still. A lift of the corners of his mouth joined the tension hiding in his eyes.

Clem Hohmann Comes Home, Gets Electrocuted, and Wakes Up Somewhere Else April 2, 2022

Clem Hohmann, he walked like he was contemplating every step. When he stopped at the bus stop, he stood like a bird perched. The bus scooped him in like a frozen sandwich and craned him onto his seat. From a hobbling speaker, bedroom pop tunes flash-banged the room and gassed it with a sharp hum. Street lights snuck a blitzkrieg into his bubble-brittle eyes. A wrinkle-faced mother spanked her stifled son. This clicked away the bus’s wheel scuff and cranked up the tongue-twinged atmosphere. A coughing fit was to begin in three seconds, but the careening bus yelped to a halt. A lurching man with a limp’s gait, Clem dropped down from the whirring bus door. He slopped through his swamp of a body that intoxicated body and spirit like a bar shaking hands with a jazz solo. He tripped and dropped a coin, his hands reuniting with his stalk walk like a pin prick to a spinning wheel. His home’s faculties quickened his steps. and coordinated like jotted lines of text and his expression grin like a doll on a breaking wheel. He opened his slow door. A grouchy voice like a blanket of rain splattered the sweat-porous rooms. Dialed calls ate up his time going home. Galloping exhales tore into his words like a holiday gift unopened past January 1st. Those nearby got their items checked and a self-obstructed view of him. “… Beautiful artwork you got there, Von … I loved those games, but it’s nostalgic thinking about it now…” He hiccupped. His left arm swung past a refrigerator door. Extra corners dousing his movements with sprint. He clasped a cup of water and broke his hiccup through a gulp loose like a scree. He closed the hover-silent door to his condo and slung what he carried into his home’s pull-down–efficient organization like a boxer in a clinch. He slinked to his dining table and sat down with a wide, rounded, tiptoed stride. He was like a deer in a human’s body. His face sensuous in a curious squinch, he made a list concerning an oil painting he modeled after himself and a ship-moulded mall. Red in tooth and claw, he bagged an eaten mango with a hand-carved spoon. He washed his hands and let them skim across a plopped hand towel that had thinned at the lower half because of wear. His wrists and the sides of his fingers still moist. He took a bath under a demanding of red lights. He twice snapped his fingers as he dried himself with a rubbing. His eyes were like a lighthouse focused on a speck of a person, tripedaling through his gaining thoughts. “I should try something new. I need ideas, and I have plenty. How about creating an online blog with art that doesn’t match my tastes?” Angry fumes pressed him like a hardy butter batter as he sifted that disappointed like a stranger’s touch in a public transportation vehicle. A nudge broke him out of his impact grenade of a mind. He had bipolar I disorder. He was a human and unarmed. He submerged raw chicken under running water until he was satisfied, cleaning it to perfection. He placed the meat in an air-fryer and set it to read “20 minutes” and “180 C”. He shook like harps’ strings had strung him in return. He heard sparks and rumbling as shoves snapped his joints into skews like an amateur tango dancer to his partner; his hope faced its ruin like a dysfunctioning gun in its toting, blasting machinery. The air-fryer electrocuted him somehow. His A stuffed body fell through physics past a portal into a gloating cavern in another world. Biomimicry architecture, especially spirals; and farmland like waves onto sand stuck in time loosened across a floating city in a sprawled, rain-irrigated loom above air-buffed plants. “A pandemonium,” said a young man alighting from a storage train; his mouth stuffed with a stiff-jointed, wrinkled forehead groans similar to stopping before a mountain’s peak. “What says the woman with the disposable, white ‘pre-shirt’?” “Do you have coffee?” asked a young woman; joining the man in solemn, long strides, her brows pressed like lemons for a slice of pancake. “I need my quick fix immediately.” “Wants later—” said the man with a mouth bloated like a stand-in puffer fish, Ashur. “Needs now,” completed an older man behind the two travelers dressed in a piquant blend of black and sour-grape purple; tiptoeing on flip flops. Each person in the heavens was taking part in an event wearing fitted clothes of three colors and textures: charcoal black, stained red, and grainy purple. Each of them scooped seven maces from a drawer and wedged them in a bag; keeping each of their maces’ spikes’ tips clapped ‘cover by the clap of the hands or as if with the clap of the hands’ with a handful of clay and a scent of lemon. “No,” he thoroughly said with a smile. Clem thought they wore like cranks 'eccentric people, especially those whom a particular subject or theory possesses’ As if a coin dropped where he sat, the passengers in worship of a sultry figure. The figure resembled a giant cockatrice and broke inside through the bus’ rear. It wore flip flops and thin-rimmed glasses. “Aha, not so fun being a nitwit, Jacob?” the cockatrice spoke like warming coconut oil. It stood right behind Clem; its smell, feathers, and voice leaving him too stunned to speak. Numerous faces looked past him at every angle. Classical music exploded into the bus, gushed them with a sound smooth like butter, and took the slippers off of their feet like a criminal undercover. He saw white and nothing else but the beauty of perfect lines. He woke up a computer and browsed through the internet where his humanity revealed itself. His functional dull house was a melody of mockery toward him and a challenge to make color in the world.

First Day at Mage's Tower: The Chicken Trials September 12, 2021

"Excuse me, wake up," said the guard who saved Trevor. "I have a few things to say about your life and your death."

"What?" asked Trevor.

"You have reincarnated from planet Earth," continued the light-skinned woman. Her left eye was a double lid, and her right eye was a monolid. Your death was merely an accident, I heard."

"W-what are you talking about?"

"You're no longer on Earth," said the woman. You are on planet Gridom."

"Are you an alien?"

"Assuredly not."

"I'll take that as a no."

"What am I doing here?"

"You are in Mage's Tower, one of the holds of the Grihamlands."

"Isn't that the planet?"

"No, the Grihamlands is a country."

"Ok."

"Yes, the reason you're here today is to-"

He was outside the grey room where he woke up. The room was tiny, one where a 5'4 person couldn't stand up or lie down without bending his legs.

He heard a noise coming from a large crowd. Their attention was toward a large stall that was handing out pieces of paper and accepting cards. He walked over to there, pacing around at the back.

A platform moved above him in between the stall and the room where he woke up.

He saw red stains on the hallway's ground and walls. The hallway was below the platform that moved.

He went over to the card station, which looked like a rundown place for horses. He stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door, hearing a man and a woman groaning. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "Hello?"

The moaning stopped abruptly, and footsteps headed toward the door. There was a brief silence after the footsteps stopped. Someone sniffed, and then the door opened.

A well-dressed man in his sixties greeted Trevor. "Hello, how may I help you?"

"I need a card." Trevor flinched at a sudden bang far above him.

The well-dressed man was staring the whole time and nodded. "Here you go." He handed him a card with the words "Trevor IIV."

"Identify yourself."

"Why?"

"Identify yourself, and you'll know."

[Human - LVL 3 / Trevor III]

"Thank you. I'll be leaving then to the stall." Trevor gulped upon hearing chains behind the older man.

"Good, a rookie that understands things first time is a good sign." The older man smiled and chuckled.

Trevor gulped, making a forced smile. He walked off the porch to the stall.

The stall bid farewell to most of their customers, but it didn't look close.

He arrived there, card in hand, and meekly asked, "May I have a job?"

"Sure, rookie," said the stallman, taking the card. You look like the understanding type. That's good."

"Why?"

"It's just good," said the stallman, grinning.

A minute later, he handed Trevor the card and a piece of paper.

Trevor hesitated to leave. Why did he take around a minute to give me the paper and my card? He was about to ask, but he's asked so many questions that he might get punished for it.

As Trevor left earshot, the stallman looked into the darkness and said, "He has a better brain than I did."

He read the two lines on the piece of paper:

Trevor IIV
"Acid Chicken"

When he saw no one in the hallway, he felt he needed to hurry. He looked at the signs above the doors. They read as follows: "Stone Chicken," "Bone Chicken," and "Giant Chicken." When he saw "Acid Chicken," he saw no doorknob and pushed it open.

What he saw was a white room with candles all around and chickens in cages. The rooms before used floating bright orbs, and this one used that too.

He saw people everywhere, tending to the chickens. Notably, most of them stayed close to the candles. Those who didn't stay close to the candles didn't hold a chicken and levitated.

"It's time for you to learn your levitations," said a bald man, wearing an apron over a tunic. He even had a coif over his head.

"What?" asked Trevor.

"Sit down and hold your breath. I'll give the word, and all you have to say is 'Nasaan ang mga diwata.'" The bald man waved his hands around as he spoke.

"Ok. I will." Trevor sat down, held his breath, and waited.

Ten seconds later, when Trevor's stomach began moving around, the bald man gave Trevor the whistle.

"Nasaan ang mga diwata."

Trevor's hands felt numb, but his body floated in midair five inches off the ground. Trevor closed his eyes. After a measly four seconds, he fell. The people around him whispered.

"Go on," said the bald man.

Trevor nodded. He saved his breath.

"Nasaan ang mga diwata."

He floated in midair only 2 inches off the ground, and after a few seconds, he fell.

The bald man did a long nod as if to repeat what he said earlier.

"Nasaan ang mga diwata." He floated in midair only 3 inches off the ground, lasting 3 seconds.

The bald man stared at him, his forehead wrinkling. "You can go take a rest now."

Trevor nodded, walking past the people who watched him. He knew he failed but by how much? He watched from the corner. One of the students looked very troubled, but that wasn't the case. She was levitating, and all her expressions were just her way of focusing. Her stability dropped every time her face relaxed.

"Maybe I should try that," Trevor said, resting his face on his hands.

He approached the bald man. "Excuse me. I want to try again."

The bald man nodded and then hesitated. "You may do it wherever you can."

"Nasaan ang mga diwata." He floated in midair 5 inches off the ground, and before he fell, he wrinkled his face. He stayed up for a good thirty seconds, and the bald man saw this. He came over and shook Trevor's hand, and then he returned to guiding another student.

He stared at those who levitated for a moment. Some of them twitched their body in other areas besides their face. He thought applying the face strategy to his whole body might help. "Nasaan ang mga diwata." He floated ten inches off the ground! He clenched his entire body, but he went higher instead. He was 3 feet off the ground. People saw, but he lasted too short and fell to the ground.

The bald man was taking peeks at him, and when Trevor made eye contact, the bald man gave him a thumbs up. His shoulders relaxing, Trevor lifted his head and sighed, nodding his head.

He knew what he had to do.

"Nasaan ang mga diwata." He floated 3 feet off the ground. He toned down the clenching, which made him fall to 2 feet, but he stayed up. After a minute, he slowly fell to the ground. It was inconsistent, and Trevor's bald teacher didn't give him any affirmation this time.

Trevor exhaled and took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and he exhaled slowly. "Nasaan ang mga diwata." He exhaled, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and he exhaled slowly.

He clenched his muscles, but he knew the balance. He flew up to 4 feet! He dropped by a foot when he gasped. He went back up when he exhaled, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly again. It was his new technique! Instead of waiting for a minute or more, he let himself fall.

Eyes were still on him, and this time, he would make this work.

He repeated incantation, levitated at 4 feet, and lasted 20 minutes. He was competing with the top six, who levitated at around 5 feet and lasted 6 minutes.

Unable to accept this standing, he repeated for the final time, his hands shaking. He took deep breaths, and when he finished, he started.

He levitated at 10 feet and lasted for a minute; nevertheless, he got top 1.

"What the heck is going on?" As soon as he asked, he levitated even higher. "Hello- why am I not going down?" He kept floating upwards until he was 15 feet from the ground. "Are you kidding me?" He floated a foot higher.

"Please don't worry about yourself," said the bald man, laughing joyfully. "I will catch you." He wasn't alone in this. Everyone else who had been levitating went down and came to watch or help.

Trevor became the highest man in this room, figuratively or otherwise. His life turned around three times already. Isn't that enough to go wild?

Why am I Trevor IIV? he thought, looking at his card and paper. Are there more Trevors like me?

"Why am I here?" he asked himself, many hours later, his breath growing ragged. "Why am I here?" he whispered loudly.

"Hey, shut up, will you?" said a voice next door.

"My... bad."

After a few moments, he identified himself.

[Human - LVL 3 / Trevor III]

He had a feeling he wasn't going to be ok. He suppressed his emotions for tonight. He just needed to think.

Back on Earth, in the past, one of the things his father told him was never to forget to brush his teeth. He liked brushing his teeth, but one day, he got sick. He lost his appetite for anything else but sugar. Simultaneously, he found it so hard not to get out of bed. He spent a whole week drinking sugar, eating sugar, and not brushing his teeth once. When he got better, and his sickness went away, he gave his teeth one look, and he knew something was wrong.

It was morning.

"Oh, gosh, I had a strange dream about something. I forgot."

"Better having strange dreams than no dreams at all," said the voice next door.

"I mean, the dreams when you sleep, not the- you know what, no."

He got up, opened the door, and stood outside. He smelled. I need a good, golden shower, he thought.

"You have to pay," said the man in his sixties who gave him a card.

"What kind?"

"Just show me your damn card."

He took his card out of his pocket and showed it to him.

"That's it. I can see it. You have 50 loyalty. Good job!"

"Why are you so nice all of a sudden?"

"What? I like you, that's why. You're a good kid!"

"Uhuh." No chain sounds.

"The shower is right here." The older man pointed at the stall.

"That's where I got my assignment."

"It's at the back. Behind it."

"Ok... should I pay it there?"

"No, pay it right here!"

"Are you lying?"

"No."

"I can't tell."

"You just need to trust me. I keep people in chains because they don't."

"Sorry, no."

"Good job!"

"What-"

"Forget about it." He went inside and slammed the door shut.

The crowd was about the same as yesterday when he went to get his assignment.

His new assignment's location was past the door with the sign "Stone Chicken."

The chickens looked the same as the ones he saw yesterday. They didn't look stony or anything. What? Stone chickens wouldn't be that surprising because there was levitation. I was kidding. I had an anxiety attack. If I'm in a world where levitation exists, I wouldn't want to live in a world where immortality exists! That'd be horrible!

The teacher of the facility asked him to do something else. He had to carry weights, but he had to do it with his mind.

"I can't do this," he said to his bald teacher, who was different this time.

"I will leave you in the hallway if that's what you want."

"I want to learn, but I learned levitation yesterday. I need a break."

"Oh, you're that new achiever?"

"Huh? Y-yes, I think so."

"You can skip this one."

"Thank you. I'll skip it."

The bald teacher left for a moment and came back with a bottle of black ink. He poured all over Trevor. "There."

"Why?"

"You will need it. Now go out into the hallway."

"I'm so wet, though," Trevor mumbled.

He opened double doors, walked through it, and let it close. When it closed, the sound from the room stopped coming. He opened the second double door, and when he did, he heard groaning and the sound of beating.

He peeked his head, and what he saw made him stay back inside.

A moment ago, he saw people who wore a purple and yellow tunic beating multiple bodies in the hallway.

He cried and shivered, his breath so laborious and focused you'd think someone would have joined in on these hi-hats. "I can't do this anymore. Please, someone, help me!"

After spending an hour and a half crying and screaming, he lay down and fell asleep.

I need to get out of here and quick. If I need to do this to get out of here, I will. Trevor's fear stumped his sadness, and his fear carried with it self-preservation and passion.

He walked outside and saw those who had beat the bodies drag them away. He went and walked toward them. "What are you doing?"

Dragging a body, one of them, a woman in her forties, half-smiled. "I don't need to answer that."

"Tell me!" he exclaimed, grabbing the woman by her purple, yellow tunic.

"Since you've passed, Gritch will tell you," she said, turning her head to another one of them.

Grinch removed his mask, and Trevor saw a man as young as he was. Those with Grinch left, one of them dragging Grinch's share.

"I'm Grinch. We punish people who loiter around the hallway during work hours, and by 'punish' I mean 'beat up.'"

[Human - LVL 20 / Grinch I]

"Since you are," he continued, "a passer. You are free to go back to your cell."

"'Cell'?"

"Another word for 'room.'"

"How do you get levels around here?" Trevor asked, leaning against the wall.

"You can join us. You're a passer, after all."

"I can do that now?"

"You need to be top 1 in all the facilities first, but a newbie getting top 1 on their first day is guaranteed to become like us. That's how we all started, after all."

"You all got top 1?"

"Yes, some on our second day, some on the third day, but most of us on the first day. It's a talent thing, for better or worse."

"W-what if they don't like me getting top 1?"

"They won't. When someone passes all the facilities, each of them receives a level. Have you identified them yet?"

"Not yet."

"They're level 10, tops. It gets harder to level past 10, after all."

The next day, Trevor woke up, hearing the faint murmurings of his talkative neighbor. "What are you doing?" he asked.

His neighbor's voice sounded weak at first. "That's-" He cleared his throat. His voice turned clear and confident. "That's a good way of reminding me I'm in the seventh-place now."

"I see. I don't intend on removing myself from the leaderboard. I'll be getting top 1 in the other facilities as well."

"G-good on you."

Trevor walked out, went to the back of the stall, and took a shower. He had fifty of this currency called "loyalty." He spent two loyalty to buy a cleansing potion that he poured all over himself and rubbed it around. He spent one loyalty to shower. He paid by placing his card on a block of stone.

He went back to the stall, took his piece of paper, and went to the "Giant Chicken" facility. What he saw inside was a human-sized chicken. His eyebrows raised and his shoulders tense, he walked to the facility's teacher and asked him what he should do here.

"You have to feed meat to the giant chicken as many times as you can," said the bald teacher.

Are all teachers bald? Trevor thought, heading to the meats were and taking a lump from a basket. He held it up, and it was heavy. When he tried to go within three meters of one of the giant chickens, he stopped.

He looked at the other students who were "dancing." So that's what they were doing, he thought.

He threw his meat at the giant chicken, but some kind of force prevented it.

He turned back to the bald teacher of the room, who was smiling, nodding, and gesturing for him to go ahead.

He pushed through the force zone of the giant chicken, but he felt like a wall blocked him. He punched the wall, and his fist entered by a foot. He tried again, but his hands hurt.

He looked around, his eye hovering over the exit. His fists clenched, his jaw stiffened, he punched the giant chicken's force zone every 3 seconds.

He noticed that for every punch, he reached an inch further.

He identified himself.

[Human - LVL 3 / Trevor III]

He identified someone else.

[Human - LVL 6 / Alyssa VI]

It must be that!

"How do I level up?" he asked the bald teacher.

"You wait until someone reaches top 1 in all five facilities."

"Five?"

"The last one is for leveling up. It's dangerous."

"I passed the 'Acid Chicken'- I got top 1. May I leave to go there now?"

A few minutes later, Trevor arrived at the "Leveling Up" facility.

The facility was ten times bigger than the other facilities. He looked down. Roars and animals echoed. He put his card over a familiar stone that had the words written: "10 loyalty for 300 XP (LVL 1 TO LVL 2)"

He purchased it repeatedly when he realized three purchases weren't enough. At the fourth, he leveled up from LVL 3 to LVL 4. He went back to the facility, his eyes furrowed.

"Did you know this would happen?" he asked his third bald teacher after returning to the "Giant Chicken" facility. He looked at everyone in the room, remembering he never approached anyone. No one looked approachable, and he was more comfortable around authority.

"Yes. Now, punch this person," he said, grabbing a sickly man in his thirties.

"What?"

"If you don't, we'll all suffer as a collective."

"W-what?"

"Go, do it now."

"Now? Why?"

"Hmm. You'll do it later. You may punch me in the meantime. Don't worry. I'm level 10."

"Sure." He clenched his fist, remembering when he punched an aggressive wild dog before he got here. He meditated on the feeling and extended his arm, hitting the bald teacher on the chest.

The bald teacher fell, his eyes wide.

"You have a strong punch, huh?" said the teacher, his eyes flickering.

"My bad."

"It's ok."

Trevor saw hate, sadness, and happiness in those flickering eyes.

I have to do what I have to do, he thought as soon as he left the facility later that day.