Southward, far beneath the crumbling ruins of a city that had long since lost its name, a fortress breathed within the ruins. It was not grand nor towering like the bastions of legends, but it was stubborn. Stone walls patched with scavenged steel plates, narrow-slits carved into re-fitted hallways, gates hammered together from broken portcullises—every part of it screamed of survival and defiance.
Within its halls, faint music drifted. Not the rough pounding of drums or war-horns, but a sound strangely delicate for such grim surroundings. The low, mournful pull of strings. A violin.
In the fortress's throne room, glimmered with the light from broken lanterns. At its heart sat a girl upon a modest seat of iron. She could have been mistaken for a delicate noble if not for the stark horns curling from her head, black as obsidian, or the eyes that gleamed like molten crimson. Her hair, pale as winter, spilled down her shoulders like a banner of defiance.
Her gaze was fixed beyond the room, beyond the fortress, beyond even the ruins themselves. She had felt it—an aura, overwhelming in its raw power, envn though concealed, had risen in the west like a storm. Now, just as suddenly, it had gone silent.
"…Vanished?" she whispered, her voice soft yet resonant, like steel wrapped in velvet. Her crimson eyes narrowed. "That aura wasn't something ordinary. Even this far, concealed from many, it made my heart shiver."
The violin came to a gentle stop, the final note stretching into silence.
From the side of the chamber, a man straightened. His long hair spilled past his shoulders, framing a pale face marked by the faint scar of a slit across his throat—an old wound that should have killed him, yet somehow had not. Despite the grim scar, his expression was calm, almost theatrical, as though every gesture was part of a stage performance. His fingers lingered on the violin's neck, caressing it as one would a lover.
"You mean the surge from the western ruins, my lady?" His voice, though hoarse, carried a curious elegance—smooth, lilting, almost amused.
The horned girl inclined her head, her eyes narrowing in thought. "Yes. It flared with such force that I thought perhaps that lizard had finally crawled free of its den."
Her words carried venom, the title spat more like a curse than a name.
But then she leaned back on her throne, tapping her clawed fingers on the armrest. "Yet just as quickly as it came, it faded. I don't like mysteries. Someone, or something, snuffed out that presence. I want to know what."
The bard swept into a half-bow, one arm extended dramatically as though the room were an audience awaiting his performance. "Then you wish me to play the role of curious shadow, drifting westward to unravel the silence."
She smirked faintly, though her eyes stayed cold. "Exactly. Take six of The bunnymen."
Almost on cue, six figures stepped from the shadows behind her throne. Lean, muscular, their bodies were marked by fur in shades of gray and brown. Long ears twitched atop their heads, bows slung across their backs, daggers gleaming at their belts. Their eyes gleamed with predator's patience.
The bard let out a chuckle. "Six hares of war to follow the voice of a violin. How poetic." He placed the violin against his shoulder once more, plucking a string idly as though testing fate's tune. "As you command, my lady. I will uncover this mystery and serenade its truth back to you."
The girl waved him away with casual authority. "Go. And remember, Renn—if this is tied to that lizard, bring me every whisper, no matter how faint."
Renn straightened, a flamboyant smile spreading across his lips. "Of course. After all, what is a bard if not a collector of stories?"
With that, he strode from the throne room, the six bunnymen falling into silent step behind him. The faint music followed, haunting, until the fortress swallowed the sound.
Not far away, across the wasted husks of villages, another creature stirred. Among the ashes of a burnt settlement, a hulking figure prowled, sniffing through the remains of blackened homes. Its body was grotesque, half-twisted by scars and scales, its glowing yellow eyes scanning with single-minded hunger.
It, too, had felt the aura vanish. For a moment, its search paused. A guttural growl rumbled in its throat, more curious than concerned. Then, with a dismissive shake, it returned to digging through ruins. Whatever that fading power had been, it was not what it sought. It would not be distracted.
Meanwhile, in the western ruins, Kairo sat among his ghouls. His body sagged with exhaustion, aching from the endless fight for survival. The monsters that had ambushed him lay torn apart, their corpses being processed by the tireless ghouls.
But Kairo wasn't watching them work. His stomach gnawed at him, a hollow pit screaming louder with each passing hour. It had been five hours since his summoning, five hours since being torn from his world—and not a single bite of food had passed his lips.
"Ugh… I'm starving…" he muttered, clutching his stomach. His eyes drifted to the heaps of corpses. Fangs, claws, hides being peeled for armor. And beneath the blood and gore—meat.
"Could I… eat this?" He frowned, doubt etched across his face. "This world's monsters… would that even be safe? What if it poisons me?"
The thought twisted in his gut. He had no knowledge of this world's flora or fauna. No survival training. In his old life, food had been a phone call away. Microwave ramen had been his go-to meal. The idea of butchering and cooking a monster was absurd.
But his stomach growled louder. He sighed. "…If I don't eat, I'll just collapse. Damn it."
His eyes swept over the camp. The ghouls worked with eerie silence, stripping hides, stacking bones. None of them so much as blinked at the question of food.
"…I don't even know how to start a fire." The realization made him chuckle bitterly. "Dropped in another world, summoning monsters, fighting for my life—and I can't even light a damn campfire."
An idea sparked. He pointed at one of the ghouls, its eyes glowing faintly green. "You. Collect dry wood. And, uh… try rubbing sticks together until it catches fire."
The ghoul tilted its head, as if confused. But it obeyed, shuffling off into the ruins.
Time dragged. Minutes stretched into an hour. Finally, the ghoul returned, arms full of wood. It dropped them in a pile, then began awkwardly rubbing a stick against the log. Back and forth. Back and forth. The sight was pitiful.
Kairo couldn't help it—he started laughing. "Seriously? You look like a caveman!" The ghoul's glowing eyes narrowed, almost sulking, but it kept rubbing.
Finally, a thin trail of smoke rose. The ghoul let out a strange rasp, wobbling as though exhausted. Kairo doubled over, clutching his stomach not from hunger but from laughter. "You're… tired? You're undead! How are you even tired!?"
The ghoul just sat back with an almost offended grunt.
Shaking his head, Kairo coaxed the flames to life, feeding them carefully until the fire crackled. He skewered slabs of monster meat over the flame, watching the juices hiss and drip.
He wasn't a cook. He had no seasoning, no oil, no utensils. Just a stick, a flame, and desperate hunger. The meat charred on the outside, uneven and rough.
Kairo stared at it, hesitation clawing at him. "There goes nothing…" He bit into it.
For a moment, his jaw froze. Then his eyes widened. "…Huh. Not… bad?" The flavor was smoky, faintly sweet, with a bite of iron. It wasn't ramen, but it wasn't disgusting either. In fact, with every chew, he found himself enjoying it more.
"Guess I won't starve after all." A tired smile tugged at his lips.
By the time the moon climbed high, Kairo lay back on a makeshift bed of monster hide. The ghouls stood watch around him, silent sentinels. The crackle of the fire faded, replaced by the soft whisper of night wind through ruined stone.
Kairo gazed up at the sky, stars glittering against the void. His chest tightened. For the first time since arriving, the reality sank in fully.
"…I won't see them again, will I?" His voice cracked. Memories flickered—faces of friends, voices of laughter, the small comforts of his world. All gone.
For a moment, grief weighed him down like chains. But then he clenched his fists. His eyes hardened, reflecting the moonlight.
"No… I can't break down now. If I want to go back—if I want to survive—I need to become strong. Stronger than anything this world can throw at me."
The night swallowed his words, but the fire in his eyes burned steady.
And so ended Kairo's first day in the new world—with hunger satisfied, grief tempered, and a fragile yet unyielding determination blooming beneath the endless sky.