The desert's embrace is merciless. Its sands burn like a scalding blanket beneath my body as I lie sprawled across the ground, the sun looming overhead like a relentless overseer in a sky too blue to feel real. It feels like waking from one dream only to fall straight into another, except the heat is no illusion. It bites through my clothes, sinks into my skin, and promises nothing but suffering and an endless march across this golden wasteland.
I force myself upright, sand spilling through my fingers like the remnants of my old life. The Gourmet Galaxy. Chef Romsay. The clang of pans and shouted orders. All of it feels distant, unreal. Here there is only wind, heat, and the vast emptiness pressing in from every direction.
I start walking because that is what you do when you are lost. You move.
The horizon shimmers until a shape begins to form through the heat haze. A pyramid. Massive and ancient, rising from the desert like a challenge. My feet carry me forward before my mind can talk me out of it.
Each step is an argument against collapse.
I have survived worse than this. I have endured Chef Romsay's fury and the slow suffocation of a life that tried to cage my dreams. I will not die here.
As the pyramid looms closer, I see her.
A figure perched at its peak, wings spread wide against the sky.
Our eyes meet.
The world seems to hold its breath.
Her gaze cuts straight through me, sharp and unreadable, as if she can already tell I do not belong here. A screech splits the air, violent and piercing, and then she moves.
The sky detonates.
She tears through the air in a blur of color and force, so fast my eyes barely track her. The sound hits a heartbeat later, a thunderous crack that rattles my bones. Raw power follows in her wake, bending the air itself.
Instinct saves me.
I dive sideways as the sand shifts violently beneath me. The rush of displaced air slams into my back as she passes overhead. My heart hammers so hard it feels like it might burst, breath tearing in and out of my chest.
She impacts the ground with overwhelming force.
Shockwaves ripple outward, flinging me backward. I hit the sand hard, the air punched from my lungs. Grit stings my face as I scramble upright, vision swimming.
One thought cuts through the chaos.
If she had hit me, I would already be dead.
She stands there now, fully revealed. Wings like falling night, painted in black, purple, and magenta, vast and commanding. Her form radiates danger. Her attire is little more than tightly wrapped bandages, worn and practical, marked by battles survived.
This is not an anime. This is not animation.
This is real.
My mind races, piecing together fragments that should not fit. And then it clicks.
Tricky.
The harpy dragon VTuber.
Except this is no avatar. This is flesh, feathers, and presence. Memories flood back. Her voice. Her screeches. Countless hours spent watching streams.
Desperation drives me. I mimic the screech, rough and imperfect, my throat protesting.
Her head tilts.
"Like this?" I try, forcing another attempt. "Is this what you are used to?"
She answers with a screech of her own, less hostile this time.
Each time she calls, I respond. Slowly, awkwardly, a fragile understanding forms.
Then it shatters.
A shout cuts through the air.
I turn just as bandits crest the dunes, guns raised, eyes locked on me. The reality hits like a punch to the gut. Guns are real here. Death is real.
A shot rings out.
The crack is deafening. Sand explodes inches from my foot and I throw myself aside, heart slamming against my ribs. Another shot follows, too close. I feel it tear past my head, close enough to make my ears ring.
Tricky's screech erupts above me, violent and furious. The bandits flinch, their focus breaking.
Move. Now.
I scoop sand and hurl it at the nearest man. It hits his eyes. He screams, stumbling. I lunge, fist slamming into his jaw. Pain explodes in my knuckles but he goes down, wheezing.
A shadow rushes me.
I duck under a wild swing, kick out blindly, and feel something give as my foot slams into his knee. He collapses with a howl.
I slap the gun from his hand and we crash together, rolling through the sand in a blur of limbs and grit. He is stronger than me. Panic surges. I slam my elbow into his ribs again and again until his grip loosens.
A bullet screams past where my head was moments ago.
That is enough.
I scramble free and run.
The pyramid's shadow stretches toward me like salvation. My lungs burn as I sprint, legs unsteady, breath ragged. Shouts follow behind me but fade as I reach the base and begin the climb.
By the time I reach the top, my body is shaking. The entrance yawns open before me, dark and foreboding. Inside, a spiraling stairway descends deep underground.
I groan, then force myself down.
The air cools with every step. At the bottom, fountains of crystal clear water shimmer beside piles of gold. Pale spiders skitter across the stone.
Tricky slams into me without warning.
She pins me to the ground, fury blazing in her eyes.
"WHO ARE YOU? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? ARE YOU A BANDIT OR A HATER TOO?"
"I am not," I say quickly, forcing my voice steady.
Dark purple energy crackles in her palms, forming a sphere of terrifying power.
"I mean no harm," I continue. "I just wanted to help. You were hurt."
The tension stretches. Finally, she releases me.
Later, I help bandage her wing. She watches every movement, ready to strike if I falter.
When she asks my name, I hesitate.
Haruto belongs to a world I left behind.
"I am Astro," I say. "Astro Elric."
That night, alone in the spare room, the weight of the day crashes down on me. The desert. The fight. The near death moments.
I collapse onto the bed.
Sleep takes me instantly.