Ethan woke with the distinct feeling that gravity had changed its mind about how to hold him.
The cold platform beneath him was gone, replaced by rough soil that smelled faintly of damp moss. His ears rang faintly, but beneath the ringing he could hear distant birdsong—soft, melodic trills layered over the sound of a nearby stream.
He sat up slowly, blinking against the light.
This wasn't the glowing room.
Tall trees arched overhead, their leaves shifting in the breeze. Sunlight spilled through in broken patterns, illuminating a carpet of ferns and pale blue flowers. The air was clean in a way he'd never experienced in the city—every breath carried the scent of earth and greenery.
Ethan's first thought was forest. His second was this isn't anywhere near Westmere, "where could I be?" He thought.
A rustle came from behind him. He scrambled to his feet, fists clenched out of instinct, though he had no weapon.
"Easy there, stranger."
The voice was deep, confident. From between the trees stepped a broad-shouldered man with short black hair and skin tanned from long days under the sun. A pair of leather bracers covered his forearms, and the faint gleam of steel studs peeked through the worn material of his gloves.
The man sized him up with a faint smirk. "You look like you just fell out of the sky."
Ethan hesitated. "…Something like that."
"Name's Marcus Holt. Brawler, if the armor didn't give it away. You?"
"Ethan. Ethan Black."
Marcus tilted his head. "Never heard of you. You from one of the western villages?"
Ethan chose his next words carefully. "Farther than that."
Another voice called out from the undergrowth, this one sharper. "Marcus, what did you find?"
A tall woman emerged, wearing a suit of polished steel plate that caught the light between the trees. Her blonde hair was braided tightly, and her blue eyes had the cool precision of someone used to reading a battlefield. She rested one gauntleted hand on the hilt of her sword.
"Clara Voss," she said, almost as if the name was a challenge. "Knight. And you are?"
"Ethan Black," he repeated.
She looked him over like she was checking for concealed blades. "He doesn't look dangerous."
Marcus shrugged. "Dangerous people don't usually look it."
The brush shifted again, and this time three figures emerged together.
One was a wiry man with dark brown hair tied back, a bow slung casually across his shoulder. His eyes were sharp and restless, flicking to every movement. "Ryan Cross," he said with a nod. "Archer."
Beside him was a woman with long, chestnut-colored hair and eyes the color of storm clouds. She wore a deep blue robe stitched with silver patterns, and a faint shimmer of energy seemed to cling to her fingertips. "Selene Ward. Mage."
The last to appear was a petite woman with auburn hair and a white healer's cloak draped over her shoulders. She carried a small satchel at her hip and moved with a quiet grace. "Lily Hart, Healer" she said softly, almost shyly.
Ethan's gaze lingered on her just a fraction longer than he intended. Something in her eyes—warmth, maybe—felt… different from the guarded stares of the others.
Marcus crossed his arms. "You're lucky we found you before the night creatures did. Not many survive their first night in the wilds without gear."
Ethan frowned. "Night creatures?"
"Dark spawn," Ryan said flatly. "Not many this close to the forest edge, but the sightings are increasing. Something's stirring them up."
Selene's gaze flicked to Ethan. "You know how to fight?"
"A little," he said cautiously.
"Good," Clara said, "because we're not dragging dead weight."
Lily's voice was gentle but firm. "Everyone starts somewhere, Clara."
The knight didn't reply, but the set of her jaw suggested the conversation wasn't over.
They led him along a narrow trail, moving with the easy pace of people who'd traveled together for a long time. As they walked, Ethan caught fragments of their banter—Marcus teasing Ryan about his aim, Ryan retorting about Marcus's "meathead" approach to fights, Selene sighing in mock exasperation. Clara stayed quiet, scanning the trees. Lily walked at the back, occasionally glancing at Ethan as if to make sure he kept up.
Eventually, the trees thinned, revealing a small clearing where a camp had been set. A canvas shelter leaned against a low ridge, a fire pit ringed with stones sat cold in the center.
Marcus dropped his pack with a grunt. "Rest here for now. We head to Westvale in the morning."
"Westvale?" Ethan asked.
"It's the closest town," Ryan said. "We've got a job posted there—patrol along the eastern ridge. Could use an extra blade if you're willing."
Ethan hesitated. He didn't know these people, or where he is, but… it was either stick with them or wander into the unknown alone.
"I'm in," he said.
Marcus grinned. "Good. We leave at first light."
That night, after the campfire burned low, Ethan lay awake beneath a sky filled with unfamiliar stars. The voices of the others had faded into steady breathing, but his thoughts wouldn't settle.
The memory of the glowing room still burned in his mind, and the system's words echoed like a quiet threat.
> [Awaiting first battle.]
His fingers tightened in the blanket.
He didn't know where he was, why he is here, who had brought him, or what the memories that weren't his meant. But one thing was certain—this was no accident.
Somewhere in the darkness, far beyond the trees, something let out a sound halfway between a howl and a roar.
It wasn't close. Not yet.
But he knew it would be.