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In the heart of a dense, untouched forest, a swirling gray vortex appeared out of thin air. From within it stepped a figure, fully suited in tactical gear from head to toe—Ryan Walker.
Ryan was nothing if not cautious. He had discovered the strange symbol embedded in his palm almost two weeks ago, a mark that let him open a portal to another world. But unlike the reckless explorers of fiction, Ryan had spent days preparing before taking the plunge.
He'd considered every possibility: a magical realm, an apocalyptic wasteland, a technologically advanced parallel Earth… There were too many unknowns, and most of them were lethal. He wasn't about to take chances.
That's why he'd spent thousands on reinforced carbon-fiber motorcycle armor and a custom helmet. His backpack was stuffed with survival tools, rations, water filtration systems, and enough gear to last through several worst-case scenarios.
Even with all his preparation, Ryan knew better than to assume anything. Until he understood the rules of this new world, his top priority was survival—and the symbol on his palm was his emergency exit.
His boots crunched softly on moss as he stepped out of the vortex and scanned the surroundings. What he saw stole his breath.
A sprawling, untouched forest stretched in every direction. Trees so massive it would take five people holding hands to encircle one. Vivid flowers that shimmered with unnatural color. Small creatures, unlike anything on Earth, darting through the undergrowth.
"Holy hell," Ryan muttered, voice muffled by the helmet. "This really is another world."
His hands trembled with excitement. Everything around him screamed uncharted territory. This wasn't just exploration—it was opportunity.
If he could survive, he could become rich. Not just money—legacy rich.
He'd read startup blogs that called this kind of opportunity a "wind gap"—a moment when the difference between two markets or realities was so massive, even a pig could fly. And Ryan? He planned to be a jet.
But first, he had to live long enough to take off.
"The animals don't seem too spooked," he observed aloud. "No signs of predators nearby… Still, I need a base camp."
He checked his map and compass. Nearby, a small mountain stood beside a stream. The location was perfect: high ground, fresh water, and plenty of vegetation for cover.
Without hesitation, he began making his way toward it.
The terrain was wild, but his suit protected him from cuts, bites, and exposure. After an hour of hiking, he finally pushed through a thick wall of grass—and froze.
His jaw clenched behind the helmet.
There, in the clearing near the mountain cave, was a sight out of prehistory.
A primitive tribe. Dozens of men and women, wrapped in animal hides, moved with purpose. Fires smoldered in front of the cave. Spears leaned against rocks. Children played with bones.
Ryan ducked instinctively and pulled back into the grass.
"No way…" he whispered. "Are those... actual cavemen?"
They were clearly Stone Age level, but they didn't look like the crude brutes from cartoons. They were muscular, upright, and bore expressions that were almost too human.
Ryan's curiosity sparked—but so did his alarm.
From his hiding spot, he studied them. The tribe wasn't large—maybe four hundred people. And there was a hierarchy. Young men, clearly warriors, were given the largest portions of food. The old, the weak, and the children waited patiently for scraps.
Their meat was raw—stripped from bizarre creatures Ryan couldn't identify—and torn apart with stone knives. Blood soaked the rocks.
It was brutal. Primal.
"Jesus," Ryan muttered. "They're eating raw meat like animals… No way I'm making contact. Not yet."
Still, the cave system they occupied was ideal. It would've made the perfect shelter—if it hadn't already been taken.
He sighed. "Figures. The one good spot in miles, and it's already claimed by cavemen."
Just as he turned to leave, disaster struck.
A flicker of movement wrapped around his ankle.
He looked down—and saw a green snake, coiled tightly, its patterned skin shimmering in the light. Its rounded head suggested it wasn't venomous, but that didn't stop it from biting down.
"Son of a—!"
Ryan's cry split the air before he could stop himself.
Panic rushed in. He glanced back at the clearing.
The reaction was instant.
The elderly and children vanished into the caves. The warriors jumped to their feet, grabbing stone axes and spears. They roared like beasts, pounding their chests and stomping the ground.
A chill ran down Ryan's spine.
He'd seen documentaries. In the wild, turning and running could be seen as weakness.
But instinct took over.
He bolted.
Behind him, the tribe howled and gave chase.
"Too fast—way too fast!" Ryan shouted, crashing through the underbrush. "Are these guys even human?!"
They were gaining. Fast. Their legs were thicker, more powerful. Their bare feet pounded the ground like thunder. He could already smell their sweat and blood.
"Damn it, damn it, go!"
Just as one of them hurled a stone axe—whistling through the air—Ryan's palm flared.
A vortex erupted.
The axe struck his helmet with a deafening clang, sending stars across his vision.
But he fell backward into the gray light—vanishing through the portal as it snapped shut behind him.
Silence returned to the forest clearing.
The primitive warriors stared at the spot where Ryan had disappeared, eyes wide with confusion and fear.
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