— • — Sunday, at noon — • —
Third Person's POV
"So he hadn't woken up yet." Albert's voice, gravelly, hardened by years of duty, cut through the quiet of his hut. Years of rigid dedication had aged him beyond his years; a simple, predictable routine to keep him far from the hateful monsters beyond the borders. Coward? Perhaps. He frankly didn't care.
"No, sir. Not a peep. His injuries have only just healed, though. Could be a few more hours."
Albert tapped a finger on the single sheet of paper on his desk, its crisp official stamp a stark contrast to the rough wooden surface.
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Report: Found Person – Case ID: Branlow-1997-001
Date of Incident: Thursday, 7th of the 11th Month, 197
Time: Approximately 6:00 PM
Location: North Zone, Branlow Village – In front of Garon's (Human) Blacksmith Shop
Summary: A young, unidentified male was found unconscious with a severe head injury. Healer Elias arrived promptly and, utilising healing magic, closed the wound. The subject has remained comatose for three days.
Eyewitness Account (Garon, Blacksmith): Claimed the subject was obstructing his shop entrance, mistook him for a supplicant. Claimed he 'gently' tried to rouse the subject before impatience provoked a strike.
Village Inquiry: No villagers recognised the subject. No name, family, or acquaintances. The subject's clothing is unfamiliar to any known regional styles.
Action Required: Subject to be thoroughly questioned upon regaining consciousness regarding identity and origin.
Status: Stray.
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"Alright. You're dismissed."
"Yes, sir!" The guard departed, the door clicking shut behind him.
Albert leaned back with a sigh. Piles of reports threatened to topple from the shelves. A new building... sorely needed. But pointless to ask the Sheriff.
A sudden, eager voice startled him, interrupting his train of thought, "I'm here, sir! I've come to answer your call!"
Elrik, a gangly youth in simple clothes, burst in, saluting with an endearing zeal. He wasn't a guard, but he loved to play the part.
"Ah, yes," Albert handed him a sealed envelope. "Deliver this to the Sheriff. Quickly."
"Yes, sir! Mission accepted!" Elrik's enthusiasm was palpable.
"It's more a favour... but it still matters. You may leave."
"Excused!" Elrik clattered out, door ajar. He ran to his horse. 'An important envelope... vital information.' Duty and curiosity warred. 'A quick glance... No! Sir Albert trusts me!' He lifted the envelope, focusing near the seal. '..Q...C...St...ray...? Stray?' Elrik's eyes widened.
— • — Some hours later — • —
Alan's POV
Drowning:
Every sensation, every thought, felt waterlogged. Limbs as heavy as stone. Absolute darkness? The gurgle in my lungs, crushing weight - real. Then, pain receded. Suffocation eased. Lightness. Gasp!!
"*Gasp*!!"
I shot upright, clutching my screaming chest. Sweat slicked me. Heart hammered. Breathing ragged, skin feverish.
"Wha... where am I?" Memories flooded back: tree, medieval street, old man, stick. Somewhere else.
My eyes struggled. Two discoveries: bare upper body, glasses gone. Horribly low graphics. Everything beyond arm's length blurred. I tried to stand; my legs buckled. Sank back onto the stiff bed, hard comfort of stone beneath me.
My breathing steadied, but I was still a wreck: stone hut, dirt floor, thatched roof. And the memory of being beaten by granny's cane, not my finest moment.
But why no headache? A blow like that should have me prepped for brain surgery. Where the hell am I? Stone huts, knights... medieval.
Let's think... three hypotheses.
Time travel.
Logically, impossible; it flies in the face of the laws of physics, so it's bullshit.
Dreaming.
But the pain was too real; my brain isn't that good at simulation.
Ants
Tiny, organised ants from the garden have invaded my brain and are now feasting on my neurons, causing glorious hallucinations and persistent headaches.
More logical, satisfies my scientific conscience.
But it was all too real.
I put my hands behind my head, staring at the thatched ceiling. Aside from numb fingers and feet, my body felt mostly functional. The cold began to bite. I fumbled for the blanket I'd kicked off earlier and pulled it tight.
Even if I freeze to death, winter is better.
Footsteps. Outside. I froze. Pretend to sleep? Confront? Was I food? Images of medieval cannibalism articles flashed through my mind. Two seconds later, confrontation won. One person, by the sound of it. If unarmed, I could take him.
The door creaked open. An old man, maybe forty-five, stepped in
"@#$، )*&^( " His voice was joyful, but utterly unintelligible.
He closed the door, a welcome relief from the blizzard's shrieking wind. He pulled a chair closer, his features coming into blurry view: medium height, neat beard, combed brown hair with streaks of white. A heavy coat, a black cotton shirt, white gloves, and a leather bag. He looked... respectable.
"()&*^%^" He spoke again, in that same alien tongue.
I searched my mind, twenty languages deep, but found nothing. Not even a glimmer of recognition.
"Um... well, I don't understand what you're saying..."
Understanding flickered. He rummaged. Held out a small object. "My glasses! Finally!!" Unbroken again. Genuine smile. The world snapped into focus. Comfort.
He looked pleased. Pointed to his mouth three times, pointed at me. Hunger?
Grrrr. My stomach—betraying me.
Chuckle escaped him. He stood, bag in hand, and headed out. Quick, unintelligible farewell. Gone.
"Well, now what?" Hut felt empty, dead, boring.
Grrrr
Hoped he'd return quickly. Thought of sleeping, sleep refused. Put on glasses. Lifeline. Need to protect.
The shirt hung opposite. I stood, with slight dizziness, and pulled it on. Storm raged outside. Safe? I may starve to death if he doesn't come back. He looked like a Doctor judging by his appearance. How did he heal me? Medieval medicine was not advanced. How much time did I sleep?
Not fully cured. Dizziness, headache, and strange, hazy light. Hallucinations? I sank back, with blanket tight, and eyes closed.
— • — Meanwhile, outside — • —
Third Person's POV
The snowstorm raged. Snow tore sideways, the wind bit, and the ground vanished beneath white. Visibility shrank to a few feet.
The old man, Elias, stumbled, pounded on a door.
"Oh, dear Elias! Quickly, in! Where in this weather?" his wife's voice laced with sharp annoyance.
"Haha, hello." he shrugged his coat, then beelined for the fireplace. Groaned, settled on the sofa, savoured warmth. He felt piercing eyes from behind. His wife frowned.
"Ah... patient first... hahaha." Said with a nervous laugh.
'Never best at apologising,' he thought.
He was summoned in urgent, a young boy brink of death. His fast travel details still flash in his mind: Steep price, cart nearly tumbling, monster attack. Luck. Hour healing magic, grievous head wound.
The boy was suspiciously not fluent in Ulmerian, clothes were unlike anything.
'Not my business. Albert's job.' Elias was told to report suspicious. 'I'll tell him tomorrow... I feel like forgetting something? No, just tired.'
— • — An hour later, Alan's hut — • —
Alan's POV:
Stared at the ceiling, stomach protesting louder than a blizzard. Sleep came—empty and cold.
...
...
...
...
— • — Monday, 5:00 AM — • —
I'm hungry...why am I feeling déjà vu? Nevermind.
That doctor left me to starve. My To-Be-Punished list grows:
The granny who tried to rearrange my skull. Doctor for his negligence.
Then I realised why I was shivering, the snow was inside the hut. The roof had caved in during the blizzard. I was buried up to my waist, fingers numb, chest stinging from fresh cuts. My glasses? Miraculously safe under the pillow. Thanks for small mercies. The door was jammed shut by a snowdrift. Perfect.
No choice but to climb. I tore my shirt for makeshift gloves, scraped frozen fingers into mortar gaps, and hauled myself over the wall. Tumbled into the backyard like a sack of potatoes. Crawled through howling wind, banging on doors until my knuckles split. The last thing I remember was face-planting on someone's step.
— • — 7:00 AM — • —
Woke up drowning in softness. A fireplace crackled nearby—actual heaven. Then I smelled it: meat stew and bread on the table. I inhaled it like I'd never eaten. Best. Meal. Ever.
That's when I noticed the weird part. My bruises? Gone. The cuts from climbing? Vanished. Either I'd hallucinated bleeding all over the snow, or something seriously weird was happening. Probably both.
An old woman appeared—eyes like weathered quartz, wool cloak, silent as a shadow. She pressed a thick coat into my hands. Tried to refuse, but she just smiled and shoved boots at me next. I bowed, throat tight. 'Thank you' felt useless, but it was all I had.
...
...
Outside, the village felt like a snow globe left untouched, frozen paths and quiet houses under a blanket of white. Men shovelled paths while kids lobbed snowballs. Then I saw it: the blacksmith's shop. That familiar anger bubbled up.
Inside, the granny was hammering iron, ignoring me. Through the back, I spotted his woodpile, neatly stacked under a tarp. Straw bales beside it. A little 'thank you' fire would be poetic…
I was hunting for flint when I saw the crowd. A dozen villagers were digging like madmen at my collapsed hut. And there was the doctor, shovel in hand, wearing guilt like a cloak of lead.
Suddenly, I started to feel… guilty. "Guess you live another day, old man," I muttered.
Marched inside the ruin. Tapped the doctor's shoulder. When he turned
*thwack*, my palm met his head.
"Yo."
He froze, his face went sheet-white, he scrambled back, pointing as if he'd seen a corpse.
"AAAAH! '(t-èç! *&^%$ _è_!"
— • — Half an hour ago — • —
Elias' POV:
I shot awake, heart pounding. The boy! I'd forgotten about him. I went to the hut and found out that the snow had collapsed on it!
Burst into the village square, gasping: "The hut—collapsed—he's buried!" Neighbours followed me there, with shovels in their hands. Snow had swallowed the whole structure. We— They dug as if there was no tomorrow. When they reached the bed? Nobody. Just a chair sitting upright in the snow, like some ghostly sentinel.
He climbed out? Where is he now? No, he could be dead!
I was about to ask to make search parties when I felt a hand on my shoulder, turned to see the boy with his pale as death.
"AAAAH! A ghost!"