The sun began to dip towards the west, casting the long shadows of colossal trees across the forest floor. The air, once warm, now grew colder against Arka's skin. The panic that had subsided began to creep back in. He was alone, responsible for three trembling lives in his arms, and night was coming.
His chaotic mind raced, searching for shelter. There was only one logical answer, the only point of reference in this foreign world: the cave where he had first opened his eyes. With hurried steps, he made his way back, hoping the place was empty and could serve as his fortress for the first night.
However, when Arka arrived at the mouth of the cave, his hopes were shattered. Inside, lying languidly, was the same monster he had seen before. The giant bear stared at him with small, sharp black eyes, as if to say this was its territory. Arka realized with horror that he had just tried to enter the lair of this forest's apex predator. Without waiting for the monster's reaction, Arka backed away slowly, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. He vanished back into the dense woods.
Night fell quickly, swallowing the last vestiges of daylight. The cold truly began to bite, and the once-majestic forest transformed into a place filled with strange noises and threatening shadows. With no other choice, Arka was forced to find makeshift shelter. He found a giant tree with roots protruding from the earth and, with his bare hands, began to dig a shallow hole beneath them. He then gathered large, banana-like leaves and piled them in front of the hole, creating a thin wall against the piercing night wind.
Arka's first night in the new world was a miserable struggle. He huddled in the cramped hole, clutching the three fox cubs tightly, their tiny bodies his only source of warmth. His stomach rumbled, and every snap of a twig or distant howl made him flinch in terror.
The next morning, he awoke stiff and dizzy. He found a few small fruits, but they were bitter and made him nauseous. He tried to catch small animals, but they were too fast for his untrained hands. He realized that staying in one place was the same as dying slowly. He had to keep moving.
After several days of wandering in the same desperate condition, driven by hopelessness, Arka walked without aim, following only his instincts. Until, one afternoon, he smelled something different in the air—a sharp, familiar salty scent. His spirits lifted. He quickened his pace, broke through the last of the undergrowth, and suddenly stopped at the edge of a high cliff.
Below him, as far as the eye could see, a turquoise ocean stretched out, its white waves crashing against a white sandy shore. The sight was beautiful, yet it broke his spirit. He was on a deserted island.
Just as despair began to grip him again, his eyes caught something impossible. In the distance, nestled among the trees by the beach, stood a building. An old wooden stilt house.
His heart pounded. With the last of his strength, he descended the cliff and ran along the beach toward the anomaly. The closer he got, the more he could see the house had long been abandoned. Its wood was weathered by salt and wind, and thick cobwebs hung from every corner. But the house was still standing.
"Hello? Anyone there?" his voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.
Only the sound of the waves answered. Carefully, he pushed the unlocked door. It creaked open, revealing a dark and dusty interior. The afternoon light filtering through a dirty window illuminated dust motes dancing in the air.
The house was a time capsule. Clothes were neatly folded on a wooden chest. In the corner, a treasure trove made Arka's breath catch in his throat: a short sword in a leather scabbard, several hunting knives, and a beautiful longbow with a set of high-quality arrows in a quiver. This wasn't just a shelter. It was an armory. It was a chance to survive.
Then, his eyes were drawn to an object on the wall. A simple, wood-framed oil painting depicting five people smiling at him. Arka's gaze locked onto the young man in the center. His hair was black and slightly messy, his smile was faint, and his eyes… his eyes were exactly like the ones he'd seen when he'd looked at his reflection in a puddle that morning. He looked exactly like Arka's current body.
Arka's trembling hand rose to touch his own face—his cheekbones, his jawline—then reached out to touch the portrait. Beside the young man stood a woman with long, silver hair and a gentle smile. Arka's heart seemed to stop. He recognized that face. It was the mysterious woman who had given him the red stone necklace on Earth.
Unconsciously, his hand went to the red stone necklace still hanging from his neck. As his fingers touched the stone, a faint, warm red pulse emanated from within, as if responding to his confusion. The mystery was far deeper than he had imagined. His death, this world, this body, and that woman—they were all connected by an invisible thread.
His head swimming with questions, Arka stepped outside, carrying the bow and an arrow. He needed to clear his mind. He spotted a giant, deer-sized rabbit grazing not far away. He raised the bow, trying to mimic the poses of archers in his comics. It felt awkward and wrong.
But just as he was about to give up, something took over. He took a deep breath and let his body move. His muscles tensed in a way that felt foreign yet correct. His stance became firm, his arm rose steadily, and his eyes narrowed, focusing on the target with an intensity that wasn't his own. He drew the bowstring to his cheek, feeling the power gather in his arms. This isn't me, he thought in amazement, feeling like a passenger in his own body. This is its memory.
The arrow flew with a soft hiss, embedding itself perfectly in the giant rabbit's eye. The animal collapsed instantly.
Arka lowered the bow, staring at his now-unfamiliar hands. This skill, this face, this mystery… it was all too much. He returned to the house, a place that now felt like his own.
That night, for the first time since he'd arrived, Arka felt something he had almost forgotten: peace. The warmth of the bonfire licked at his skin, the faint scent of roasted meat still hung in the air, and the distant sound of the waves was a soothing backdrop, no longer a threat. He looked at the three bundles of fur sleeping soundly at his feet. After days of living in fear and hunger, his mind was finally clear.
But that clarity brought an unexpected wave of sorrow. He was alone. So far from home. Trapped in someone else's body and an incomprehensible mystery. He had nothing.
His gaze fell upon the small creatures again. No. That's not right. He didn't have nothing.
He reached out a still-trembling hand, touching the white fur of the largest fox, who seemed the most alert even in its sleep. It was the first one to approach him, the one who led its siblings. A name surfaced in his mind, feeling right and true. "Bullyu," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Then, he gently lifted the quiet, black-furred one onto his lap. The fox only stirred slightly, as if already used to his touch. Its closed eyes radiated calm. He was the observer, the one who always watched from behind. "You… Hanzo."
And finally, the smallest, a female. The tiny, fragile creature now snuggled closest to him, seeking warmth. Arka didn't pick her up, only stroking her head with his fingers. The little fox responded in her sleep, pressing her head tighter against his hand in a gesture of absolute trust. "And you," Arka whispered, a thin, bittersweet smile on his lips, "you are Selen."
As the last name was spoken, a warm, tight feeling clogged his throat. His eyes began to burn. These weren't tears of sorrow for what was lost, nor tears of fear for what was to come. They were tears of relief so profound they were almost painful. They weren't just pets. They were his anchor in this mad world. They were the proof that he had survived.
Those names weren't just names. They were a promise. A promise that he would protect them, and a promise that he would not give up. In a world that had taken everything, he had just created something new: a family.