Cold mud squelched between Ash's toes, slimy and gross, sticking to his skin like a second layer of filth.
Then hunger hit—sharp, like his stomach was gnawing itself raw, a relentless ache that wouldn't quit.
The world slammed into focus—a bright day sky where the sun hung low, its blaze softening toward the horizon, trees pulsing with faint, eerie light, his muscles aching like he'd been beaten to a pulp.
A cold breeze sliced through, raising goosebumps, and instinct screamed.
Cover. Now.
He stumbled into the undergrowth, legs shaky and weak, scanning for anything to shield his vulnerability.
He spotted a plant with wide, violet-veined leaves, like some strange banana tree warped by another world.
Grabbed a jagged rock, its edge nicking his palm, and hacked at the stem, grunting as it resisted, leaves tearing free with a wet rip.
With numb fingers and a string of muttered curses—"Come on, you bastard!"—he lashed them into a janky loincloth with tough, fibrous vines.
He glanced down, smirking darkly. God, I look like a caveman reject. It was lame as hell, but better than freezing his ass off in the open.
Hunger clawed deeper, a relentless beast pushing him into the forest.
His senses sharpened—every snap of a twig, every flicker of shadow making his pulse race.
In a hidden clearing, he found bushes drooping with fist-sized purple fruits, glowing faintly like tiny neon bulbs against the fading light.
It looked like jacked-up blueberries, almost too perfect. He didn't care. He snatched one, bit in—sweetness exploded, laced with a zingy tang that zapped his tongue like a shock.
Freaky, but food. He scarfed three, juice dripping down his chin, staining his hands and chest, until his gut groaned in protest, a dull ache replacing the edge.
A rustle broke the quiet—big, heavy, not the wind's gentle sway.
Ash whipped around, heart slamming against his ribs.
A boar crashed through the ferns, but this wasn't some tame pig—rocky hide glinted like rust under the dimming sun, obsidian tusks gleamed with deadly promise, red eyes glowed with pure menace.
It lowered its head, snorting, and charged, fast as hell, hooves pounding the earth.
No time to think.
Ash threw up his hands, panic surging like a live wire through his veins.
A white light—cold, empty, almost hollow—blasted from his palms, silent and unreal. It didn't cut; it erased.
The boar dropped mid-stride, collapsing with a weird, resigned sigh, like its life just winked out of existence.
Ash froze, staring at his trembling hands, breath hitching. Did I just do that?
He flexed his fingers, tried again—nothing but a faint tingle. He focused harder, sweat beading on his forehead—still zip.
"Huh—?" he muttered, shaking them like they'd betrayed him, the clean scent lingering in the air.
He was clueless, but the power felt… wrong, yet right.
Hunger roared back, meaner now, a growl in his empty core.
From camp at eleven—sunny days, blue sky stretching wide, a loud instructor barking survival drills with a bunch of sweaty kids—he recalled fire-starting.
He knelt by the boar, using the rock to hack off a chunk. Blood gushed, slicking his hands, the smell metallic and raw, turning his stomach.
It was a sloppy, brutal fight—skin tore with a sickening rip, muscle resisted his clumsy cuts—but he got a slab, panting with effort.
He scraped twigs into a pile, struck the rock till sparks flew, cursing every fizzle—"Work, damn it!"—smoke stinging his eyes.
It took forever, the sun sinking lower, but flames finally caught with a satisfying crackle.
He propped the meat over the fire, turning it slow, the sizzle mixing with the forest's hum, grease popping onto his skin.
By the time it browned—tough, gamey, barely edible—the sun had dipped below the horizon, two moons peeking out like twin sentinels.
He ate a few bites, the taste grounding him, a bitter victory.
Exhausted, he slumped against a tree, stress crashing like a wave.
Survive. Find them. Figure this out.
A grunt cut through the twilight—human, rough and urgent.
Heart pounding, Ash pushed aside violet vines, their texture slick against his fingers, following the sound with cautious steps.
A girl crouched there.
Long red hair tied in a practical ponytail, light blue eyes sharp and wary, glinting in the fading light.
She wore a black crop cloak, rugged yet lightweight, with a high collar and a short hem revealing sturdy dark trousers underneath, the fabric weathered but built for action.
A stitched clover emblem on the right shoulder glowed faintly, its four leaves curling with a magical sheen, hinting at power tied to her soul. The hood hung down, framing her focused scowl as she wrestled a metal trap clamped on a rabbit's leg, its teeth biting deep, her muttered curses sharp.
Her eyes met his, instantly she pushed her hands forward. An earth root erupted from the soil, lashing at Lucian's legs, pinning him tight with a force that made him wince.
"Whoa! I'm not your enemy!" he yelled, hands shooting up, leaf-cloth flapping in the breeze.
"Spy?" she hissed, voice low, tense, her gaze piercing.
"Spy for who? I just woke up in a river! I heard a noise and decided to look, I don't know how I ended here or where I am!" he blurted, keeping it real, hands open and trembling slightly.
She scanned him—leaf outfit, bare chest, freaked-out face—her eyes narrowing before softening.
The root sank back into the earth, leaving a faint trench.
Without a word, she turned to the trap.
Lucian exhaled, knelt beside her, and helped pry it open, the metal cold and unyielding against his fingers.
Click—the rabbit bolted, a blur of fur vanishing into the brush.
For a sec, it felt like the old world—simple, alive, a flicker of normalcy.
"What is this place?" he asked, voice rough, hope and fear mixing.
She stood, brushing dirt off her trousers with a quick swipe. She looked at the desperation for answers in his eyes.
"Follow me." she said.
"To where?"
"You need answers," she said, impatience flashing in her eyes. "Or not."
Ash glanced at his mess—mud-caked legs, leaf rags clinging to his skin, no clue where he stood. No other shot, he thought, the weight of his situation sinking in. "I'm in."
She eyed his outfit, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
"Not like that. Come."
She led to a small shelter, a woven hide tucked against a tree.
Inside, the dirt floor covered with soft moss mats that cushioned his steps with a faint squish.
A single glowing orb hung from a vine, casting a warm, steady light over a low wooden bench stacked with neatly coiled ropes, a worn knife with a chipped edge, and folded clothes.
A woven mat in the corner, rolled and pristine, hinted at rest.
She turned away as he changed, tossing him a white long-sleeve with no buttons and brown shorts, the fabric rough but warm against his chilled skin.
"What's your name?" she asked, her back still turned.
"I'm…" He paused, the name Lucian clawing at his throat—tied to his awful family's lies, their smug faces haunting him. Ash, though, was Noah's laugh, Kelvin's grin, the crew that kept him alive.
"Ash," he said firmly, the word feeling like a reclaiming.
She glanced back, nodding with a slight tilt of her head. "Elis. Now let's move."
They trekked through the woods, trees pulsing with an otherworldly rhythm, the air humming with strange life—distant calls, rustling leaves.
Ash's mind churned—Noah's laugh cutting through a noisy game, Kelvin's stupid jokes at the festival, the Merge's blinding flash.
After a long haul, his legs burning with each step, they hit a hill.
Below, a kingdom stretched, developed but not overly so.
Stone walls rose, patched with weathered wood, encircling cobblestone streets lit by glowing bulbs on iron posts, their light a warm pulse against the twilight. Thatched roofs crowned simple stone buildings—smithies with clanging hammers, bakeries —while a central keep loomed, its tower of gray stone pierced by narrow, torchlit windows. Vine bridges draped between rooftops, swaying gently.
As Elis spoke, Ash noticed the glowing clover emblem on her shoulder, its four leaves curling—suddenly, the kingdom's name clicked, a strange tie to her power.
Elis smiled faintly, a hint of pride in her voice. "Welcome to the Clover Kingdom."
Ash froze, jaw dropping, the sight hitting him like a punch.
This isn't the world.
Stone walls, glowing bulbs, the hum of voices not all human—it was foreign, wrong.
Noah's laugh echoed in his head, Kelvin's grin flashing from that pepper fiasco—gone, ripped away.
His chest tightened, a lump rising as he pictured the festival, the blinding light, the friends he'd lost. What happened to it all? Where did they go? The weight crushed him, a silent scream trapped inside, tears prickling but held back by sheer will.
His legs felt heavy, his breath shallow, the reality of his isolation sinking deep.
Elis's voice broke through, steady but firm.
"Ash, come on!"
He blinked, shaking off the daze, his body moving on autopilot as he followed, head spinning with grief, awe, and a flicker of resolve to find answers.