I collapse into sleep without realizing it, exhaustion stealing my senses. When I wake, the first rays of the sun spill across the horizon, brushing the land with light. My eyes adjust slowly, the sharp brightness no longer as punishing as yesterday. I breathe deeply. The air is cool, crisp, carrying scents of soil and stone. For the first time since I opened my eyes in this world, I accept it: this is not a dream. I will live in a different body, in a different world. And if I want to stay alive, survival comes first.
Hunger gnaws at me now, sharper than thirst. My throat is dry, but my stomach twists in protest, demanding food. With Karo's primitive instincts whispering in fragments and my modern knowledge filling in the gaps, I know I can handle it. Shelter, water, food—survival always follows order. Shelter, I already have. A cave, unclaimed, now mine. My mind sharpens as I give it a name, a mark of ownership. ForksVille is gone; that place belongs to another life. From now on, this cave is my own fortress. My own kingdom.
"Ragno's Haven."
The words echo in my chest like a vow. This dark hollow in the rock is no longer just a hole to hide in. It is a beginning.
Still, the fear of death lingers in me. The memory of the knife, of blood pouring down my chest—it haunts me. The thought of dying again shakes me. But fear does not diminish my courage. It sharpens it. If anything, it makes me hungrier.
I step outside into the morning light. My body still feels foreign, but every muscle thrums with power. For a brief moment, my gaze drifts downward and I smirk. Nakedness no longer embarrasses me. My size, my virility—it fills me with an odd pride. I imagine the women of this land noticing, desiring, surrendering. The thought fuels me, but I push it aside. First food. Then dominance.
I set off to explore. In games back in my old world, I always turned survival into a challenge, into fun. Now I do the same here, but the stakes are real. Wandering through the rocky plain, I spot a small lake. Its surface glitters with sunlight, clean and inviting. Relief rushes through me—if there is water, there is life.
But then I freeze. At the water's edge, a beast drinks. A wild boar—massive, nearly twice the size of the ones from my world. Its tusks curve out like ivory blades, its hide thick and bristled. My breath catches. For a moment, I imagine sinking my teeth into its flesh, tasting hot meat. My stomach growls.
The animal looks up, snorting, and spots me. Instantly, it bolts, crashing into the undergrowth with startling speed. I don't chase. Not yet. With what would I kill it? My fists? I laugh bitterly under my breath. For now, the beast escapes. But I memorize its shape, its sound, its smell.
The lake remains. I kneel and drink deeply, water spilling down my chin. Cool liquid fills me, clearing the fog in my head. I drink until my belly aches, then sit back, breathing hard. My reflection ripples in the water. This face isn't mine, and yet it is. My jawline, my eyes—familiar but altered. Behind them flickers another man's shadow: Karo. Fragments of his life appear in flashes, shards of memory not yet whole. Hunting, firelight, blood, screams. His instincts hum in my veins, meshed with my own. Two lives, one body.
As I gather myself, I notice something near the water's edge—a bush, heavy with berries. Dark, ripe, glistening in the light. My heart leaps. I rush to it, plucking handfuls, smashing them against my lips. Sweetness floods my mouth, juice running down my chin. I laugh aloud, half-mad with relief. I smear the juice across my cheeks like war paint, then shove more into my mouth. My hunger eases, though not completely. Enough to think, enough to plan.
I fill my palms with berries, carrying them back carefully. When I return to the cave, I set them down on the stone floor. My hoard. Ragno's Haven has food now, however small. For tonight, at least, I will not starve.
But hunger is never satisfied for long. I know the berries are not enough. My mind drifts back to the boar. Its flesh, its fat, its blood—it could feed me for days. I must hunt.
I scour the forest for materials, my eyes scanning the ground like a predator. I find long, straight branches—tough, flexible. Spears. My heart beats faster. I collect stones, chipping them against larger rocks until I fashion crude points. Sparks fly, my knuckles bleed, but slowly, edges form. With strips of fibrous bark and twisted leaves, I lash the points to the shafts. The work is long, exhausting, but when I finish, I hold four weapons in my hands. Four spears, primitive yet deadly.
I grip one tightly, thrusting it into the air, feeling the balance, the weight. My chest swells with pride. This body, this knowledge—they combine perfectly. The boar will not escape forever.
Night creeps in. I return to the lake, waiting, hoping the beast will come back. My spears rest in my hands, my muscles tense, ready. Hours pass. Shadows stretch. The moon rises. But the beast does not return. Only insects buzz, frogs croak, the night alive with sounds of life I do not yet know. Disappointment gnaws at me, but I do not despair.
I drink once more, filling myself with water, then return to my cave. Carefully, I line the spears across the entrance like guardians. They gleam faintly in the moonlight, a promise of battles to come. My hunger growls, but I shove a few berries into my mouth, their sweetness dulling the ache. It is not enough, but it is survival.
I curl up inside Ragno's Haven, staring at the stone ceiling above me. My mind whispers fears—about the boar, about the people I saw, about death. But beneath it all, something stronger grows: certainty. Tomorrow will be harder. Tomorrow will demand more. But I will rise to meet it.
The boar is out there. Food is out there. Power is out there. And I, Ragno, will take it.