The sun sank quickly, dragging the light away with it. Shadows stretched long across the sand until the entire beach was drowned in darkness. Escanor pulled his damp shirt tighter against his body, shivering as the cool night air settled in.
The wreckage around him looked far more terrifying under the moonlight. The broken corpses, the shattered wood… it all felt like ghosts watching him from the corners of the night. His stomach twisted, but he forced his eyes away.
"I need shelter," he muttered. "If I sleep out here, I'll freeze."
Dragging his tired body inland, he stumbled toward the tree line. The forest loomed like a wall of shadows, its branches swaying as if whispering secrets. The sound of crickets filled the air, mixed with the occasional screech of some unseen bird.
Every instinct in his body screamed danger, but he had no choice. He pushed deeper between the trees, searching desperately for a place to rest.
After what felt like hours, he found a shallow cave—a hollow beneath a rocky hill, half hidden by bushes. It wasn't much, but it would shield him from the wind. He gathered some dry leaves, made a rough bed, and collapsed. His muscles ached, and the exhaustion of two lives—his own and Escanor's—crashed down on him.
As sleep dragged him under, one last thought flickered in his mind:If I want to live, I can't stay weak. I have to survive.
The sound of gulls woke him. Morning light spilled through the trees, warm on his face. He rubbed his eyes and staggered out of the cave, his body stiff from the rough night.
The beach was silent when he returned, the waves gently lapping against the shore as if mocking the chaos of the storm. Escanor's eyes scanned the wreckage carefully, searching for anything useful.
There—half buried in the sand, sticking out like a bone. He pulled, and a sword came free. The blade was nicked and rusted at the edge, but it was steel, and it was his. He gripped the hilt tightly, the weight familiar in Escanor's hands.
"Not bad," he whispered. "At least I'm not defenseless anymore."
He searched longer, finding bits of rope, a broken barrel, nothing more. The ship had been destroyed completely. Still, it was enough to remind him: he was truly alone.
With a heavy sigh, he turned his gaze inland. His stomach growled loudly, echoing in the quiet morning. He hadn't eaten since… when? Before the storm? Before death itself? His body demanded food.
He pushed through the tree line again, sword in hand. The forest smelled fresh, alive, nothing like the polluted air of 2025. Birds chirped above, colorful feathers flashing between the leaves. And then—he saw it.
A tree heavy with fruit. Round, golden-red orbs dangling in the sunlight. His heart leapt.
"…Food."
He rushed forward, plucking one carefully. It was smooth, sweet-smelling, and though he wasn't sure what kind of fruit it was, Escanor's memories reassured him—it wasn't poisonous. He bit into it, juice running down his chin. Sweet. Refreshing.
He ate greedily, his hunger fading with every bite. For the first time since waking in this strange world, he felt alive.
When he wiped his mouth and looked around, the reality struck him again.
This wasn't Spain. This wasn't Europe. The forest stretched endlessly, wild and untamed. Unknown birds, strange fruit, air too pure to belong to the world he had once known.
He didn't know it yet, but he had washed ashore on a land that no map of 1392 had ever drawn—North America.
And this land would decide if Escanor lived or died.