Chapter One: The Awakening
The sky stretched endlessly, painted in hues of gold and pale blue, yet there was no horizon, no familiar sign of civilization. He woke upon a bed of soft grass, breath shallow, skin slick with sweat as though he had stumbled out of a fever dream. Memory was fractured, the pieces of his past life scattered and unreachable. He could not recall a name, a home, or even how he had arrived in this place. Only one thing was certain: he was utterly alone.
The land around him breathed like a living thing. Trees with tall trunks and leaves so green they seemed unreal swayed in a wind that carried no chill. Birds—or something like birds—sang sharp, piercing cries overhead. The earth beneath him was rich, loamy, and damp, as though it had only just rained. In the distance, mountains clawed at the sky, their peaks veiled in mist. And beyond them… he could not say.
He stood shakily, his limbs heavy, his clothes little more than tattered rags. No weapon, no tools, no food. His stomach grumbled like a warning drum. He had nothing—and yet, in that emptiness, he felt something stir. Survival. The instinct was primal, older than memory. The land seemed to whisper: endure or perish.
He began to explore. The sun was high above, warm and unyielding, but shadows stretched longer than they should have. The trees were tall but brittle; their bark came away in chunks when he struck them with his fists. The pain of the effort brought blood to his knuckles, but the wood yielded, breaking into pieces small enough to carry. Something inside him urged that this was important. He gathered more, building a small pile of logs until his arms burned.
As the day wore on, he found stone scattered among the soil, loose enough to pick up. Some rocks shone faintly with veins of silver and copper. They seemed strange, alien, but useful. His mind—or perhaps something deeper, instinctive—knew that stone, wood, and ore were more than fragments of earth. They were potential.
But potential alone would not protect him when the sun died. He did not know why he believed this, but it weighed on him with certainty. The night would be dangerous. He needed a shelter.
The first attempt was crude: a wall of logs stacked into a rough square. The gaps were wide, the structure weak, but it was a beginning. He sharpened a stick by grinding it against stone, testing its tip against the ground until it split soil with ease. Primitive, yes, but it was a weapon.
The sun began to fall, and with it came silence. The birds' songs ceased. The wind stilled. Even the trees, so restless before, stood motionless. The sky shifted into an orange fire, then deepened into violet, then black. Stars pierced the heavens, bright and unfamiliar constellations. For a heartbeat, awe consumed him.
Then came the sound.
A groan, low and ragged, like a man whose lungs had rotted. It came from the treeline. He spun, spear raised, but saw only darkness. Another groan answered, closer this time. Then another, and another, until the night was filled with the chorus of the dead. Shapes emerged: figures stumbling, their eyes glowing faintly with pale light, flesh hanging from their bones.
He jabbed with his sharpened stick. The first corpse crumpled, but two more replaced it. They struck at his makeshift walls, clawing, tearing. His heart thundered. The shelter would not hold.
He fought desperately, each thrust of his spear more frantic than the last. Blood—thick, black, and foul-smelling—sprayed across his arms. The corpses fell, but still they came, endless, unrelenting. For every one he felled, another emerged from the dark.
The night stretched long, endless. His arms ached, his legs trembled, and despair gnawed at him like a second hunger. But somehow, he endured. Perhaps luck. Perhaps stubbornness. Perhaps the land itself wished him alive.
When the first rays of dawn split the horizon, the corpses shrieked and burned, their forms collapsing into dust. Silence returned. The sun rose, warm and golden, as though nothing had happened.
He fell to his knees, breath ragged. He had survived. Barely. But in surviving, he had claimed something: the knowledge that he could.
The land was vast, mysterious, and filled with horrors—but it was also filled with possibility. He would need tools, weapons, walls stronger than wood and stone. He would need to delve into the earth, to uncover secrets buried below.
And perhaps, one day, he would learn why he had been brought here.
But for now, the only truth that mattered was survival.
And survival had only just begun
TO BE CONTINUED...