Amir Zen was twenty years old, and life had already settled into a comfortable, if underwhelming, rhythm. By day, he navigated the thrilling world of academic mediocrity, barely passing math tests with the enthusiasm of a sloth in a snowstorm. By evening, he served as a junior office lackey, waging war against spreadsheets under the unforgiving glow of fluorescent lights. His greatest accomplishment to date—and he clung to this with unreasonable pride—was teaching his parrot, Captain Squawks, to declare with perfect clarity: "Excel is hell.It wasn't much, but in a world of lukewarm coffee and perpetual mild disappointment, it was a landmark achievement.The previous night's office party had overstayed its welcome. His coworkers, now pleasantly buzzed, were deep into debates about pension plans and promotions—conversations Amir found about as exciting as watching paint dry. He mentally composed a detailed review of the truly tragic fruit punch for Captain Squawks as he finally stumbled into his apartment, phone glued to his ear.
"Yeah, Captain, I know I'm late. Don't you start. Did you finish your seeds? What? No, Karen from Accounting did not 'look radiant.' She looked like she'd just discovered her favorite stapler was missing. Again."
He face-planted onto his bed, shoes still on, the phone still emitting faint, disgruntled squawks until sleep mercifully took him.
The first thing he felt was something rough, wet, and decidedly un-parrot-like dragging across his cheek.
He groaned, forcing his eyes open.
"Captain Squawks… I swear, if you've learned to lick…"
Another swipe. Warm. Big. Accompanied by a soft, hay-scented breath.
Amir's vision focused on a large, brown cow staring down at him with an expression of profound boredom.
He bolted upright.
"What in the—"
He was not in his apartment. He was not even in the city.
He was sitting in the middle of an endless green field, under a sky the color of a dirty penny.
"Did I… did I drink the entire punch bowl?" he wondered aloud.
Before he could answer, a sound like a lawnmower fighting a bear ripped through the air. He looked up.
A clunky, two-winged airplane—the kind he'd only seen in black-and-white photos—was puttering across the sky, leaving a trail of suspicious black smoke.
And hot on its tail was a wyvern.
It was enormous, scaled, and looked deeply annoyed. Its wings, like weathered leather, beat the air as it snapped jaws full of terrifyingly long teeth at the plane's rear.
Amir stared, his brain refusing to process the image.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Okay. This is a new level of hangover. Impressive.He looked again.
The wyvern was gone.
The plane was gone.
The sky was perfectly, innocently empty, save for a few fluffy clouds.
Amir got to his feet, his heart doing a nervous tap dance against his ribs.
"Maybe… maybe I accidentally signed up for one of those weird historical reenactment retreats?"
But a quiet, stubborn voice in the back of his mind knew the truth.
This was no retreat.
This was nowhere on Earth.
And Captain Squawks was definitely going to be furious about breakfast.
Amir scanned the horizon, one hand shielding his eyes from the odd, coppery glow of the sky. "Okay, think," he muttered. "I definitely didn't take the subway home. Which means… car. I had a car. A very sensible, very white sedan." He squinted toward a cluster of trees in the near distance. "Maybe I swerved. Crashed. Woke up here. Concussion? That would explain the… cow. And the… flying lizard situation."
He turned slowly toward the cow, which was still chewing thoughtfully.
"Ahem. Excuse me… ma'am? Sir? Mr. Cow," Amir began, with the polite tone one uses when asking directions from a large animal. "You haven't, by any chance, seen a white sedan around here? Maybe wrapped around a tree? No? …Yeah, didn't think so."
He sighed and fumbled for his phone. The screen lit up—15%. And in the top corner, the dreaded words: No Service.
"You've got to be kidding me," he groaned. "All those ads… 'Network everywhere, even on a mountain!' Biggest scam of the century." He shoved the phone back into his pocket. "Alright. Car first. Then, explanations."
He started walking across the vast field, the grass swishing against his trousers. What felt like hours later—his city legs already protesting—he finally reached a low hill. Climbing to the top, he paused, breathless.
In the distance, nestled in a valley, was a small village with cobbled-together roofs and winding dirt paths. And far, far beyond it, hugging the horizon, stood a city—but not like any he'd ever seen. Smokestacks, colossal and industrial, belched dark clouds into the sky, their chimneys so tall they seemed to scratch the heavens.
Amir blinked. "Since when do chimneys look like that? Am I dreaming? Or did I accidentally time-travel to the worst possible episode of History Channel?"
Village it was. They'd know about his car. Or at least have a phone. A landline. Something.
Trudging down the hill, his mind wandered back to his apartment. "I hope Captain Squawks finished his seeds. If he's hangry, he'll probably teach the neighbors to swear."
His thoughts were cut short as his foot sank—splash—into something cold and wet.
He looked down. His once-clean office shoe was now buried to the ankle in thick, smelly mud.
"Perfect," Amir deadpanned to the empty field. "Just perfect."
As the muddy water soaked into his socks, Amir felt a wave of pure irritation.
"My life is hell! Why, God? Why always me?!" he yelled toward the copper-colored sky, shaking a fist.
He sat down, pulled off his soggy shoes and socks, and started walking barefoot through the field, muttering curses with every squishy step.
"Stupid cow… stupid wyvern… stupid muddy… UGH!"
Suddenly, a crack of thunder boomed overhead—as if the heavens had taken his complaints personally.
And out of nowhere, a bearded old man popped up from behind a row of low-growing plants, his face red with rage.
"HEY! YOU! Pathetic, puny, wretched circus clown! You dare trample my rice field?! I'll kill you!"
Amir's eyes went wide. "No, no, wait—!"
But the old man wasn't listening. He raised a long, sharp-tined rice rake—the kind used for gathering and stacking stalks—and charged straight at him.
"Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me,
Amir ran with every ounce of strength he possessed, his lungs burning, heart hammering against his ribs. Behind him, the furious shouts of the old farmer echoed through the field, growing fainter but never fading completely. The man was relentless, powered by a rage Amir couldn't comprehend.
Blind with adrenaline, Amir didn't realize he had already crossed the field's edge until the tall, wild grasses gave way to thick, shadow-draped trees. The jungle swallowed him whole just as night fell—swift and absolute, like a curtain dropping at the end of a play.
He didn't stop. Branches clawed at his arms and face, but fear drove him deeper into the gloom. Only when his legs finally buckled did he stumble out into a small clearing by a riverbank. Gasping, he collapsed near the water, his clothes torn and stained with mud and sweat. Survival was the only thought left in his mind. Nothing else mattered—not the farmer, not the wyvern, not his lost car. He cupped his hands and drank, the cool water a fleeting comfort.
As he caught his breath, a deer emerged from the trees on the other side of the river—graceful, calm, and utterly unbothered by his presence. A weak smile touched Amir's lips.
"A deer…," he whispered to himself. "Haven't seen one since the zoo."
For a moment, the world felt peaceful. He tried to mimic a soft grunt, an awkward, city-dweller's attempt to communicate with something wild. He took a cautious step closer.
But then the deer turned its head—and smiled.
Amir froze. Its lips stretched into an unnatural human-like grin. Slowly, it rose onto its hind legs. Its head began to rotate—a full, impossible spin, bone-cracking and silent.
Amir's blood went cold. His heart thudded violently, fear seizing him so completely he couldn't even scream.
Before he could process the horror, a pale hand burst through the deer's stomach, tearing outward in a spray of dark fluid. The creature's body contorted, stretching and expanding into a towering, rotten form—ten feet tall, emaciated, with no face, only a gaping maw lined with thousands of needle-sharp teeth, all curved into a horrifying, hungry smile.
The thing took one lurching step toward him.
And the chase began again—but this time, Amir wasn't running from an angry farmer. This was something ancient. Something starved. And it wanted him.
Amir's blood went cold. Every rational thought evaporated from his mind, replaced by a single, primal shriek echoing inside his skull: RUN.
The creature took a step forward, its limbs moving with a jerky, unnatural grace. A wet, tearing sound came from where its mouth should have been—a horrifying mockery of a smile.
Amir scrambled backward, slipping on the muddy riverbank. He didn't look back. He didn't think. He just ran, plunging headfirst into the dark, dense jungle. Thorns ripped at his clothes, branches slapped his face, but he felt nothing except the crushing weight of pure terror.
Behind him, he could hear it—not running, but gliding, the sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves moving far too fast for something so large. A low, gurgling hum filled the air, vibrating in his bones. It was hunting him. And it was enjoying it.
This isn't real this isn't real this isn't— His foot caught on a root, and he tumbled hard, rolling down a leaf-covered slope. He came to a stop at the base of a giant, twisted tree, its roots forming a small, dark hollow.
Panting, covered in mud and scratches, Amir squeezed himself into the tiny space, clamping a hand over his mouth to silence his ragged breaths. The gurgling hum grew closer. He could smell it now—a sweet, rotten stench, like decayed fruit and old blood.
A shadow fell over the entrance to his hiding spot. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying to a god he hadn't believed in since the third grade.
The humming stopped. The only sound was the pounding of his own heart, so loud he was sure the thing could hear it.
Then, a whisper, dry and multi-layered, slithered directly into his mind:
"Little morsel… I can taste your fear. It is… exquisite."
Amir's eyes shot open.
The creature was crouched down, its thousand-toothed grin filling the opening of the hollow, staring right at him.
Blind with terror, Amir's hands scrambled across the ground, grasping for anything—a rock, a branch, a miracle. His fingers closed around a broken, sharp-ended tree branch. Without thinking, he lunged upward and jammed it deep into the creature's tooth-filled grin.
A screech tore through the night—not a sound of pain, but of outrage. The thing recoiled just enough.
Amir didn't wait. He burst from the hollow and ran.
His bare feet screamed with every step, cut by stones and roots, threatening to buckle beneath him. Behind him, the creature's guttural roar echoed, closing in fast. He could smell its rot, hear the snapping of branches as it surged forward.
Then his foot caught on a raised root.
He fell hard, his head striking a fallen trunk. Thud.
The world swam. His vision blurred, darkening at the edges. Through the haze, he saw the creature loom over him, its thousand teeth glinting in the faint moonlight, its faceless head tilting with cruel curiosity.
This is it, Amir thought dimly. Captain Squawks… I'm sorry.
But then—
SLASSSHHHHH.
A blur of motion. A silver arc cut the air.
The creature's head toppled from its shoulders and hit the ground with a wet thud. Its body swayed, then dropped to its knees before collapsing completely.
Amir's eyes struggled to focus. The last thing he saw was a tall, silhouetted figure standing where the monster had been, holding a blade that shimmered with a faint, ghostly light.
Then, everything went black.
Amir's eyelids fluttered open. His vision was blurry, his head throbbing, but he could make out a low, wooden ceiling and the faint glow of a lantern. He tried to sit up, but a wave of exhaustion pinned him back down onto the cot.
A low, calm voice spoke from the corner of the room.
"Great. Finally decided to wake up, city boy."
Amir turned his head slowly. Sitting in a worn chair was a man with long, dark hair tied loosely back, a handsome but stern face marked by a thin scar running down his left cheek. He wasn't old or weathered—just sharp, like a blade kept sheathed. He didn't look up from the piece of wood he was carefully whittling.
"You factory-dwellers always get lost in the countryside. Pathetic. What were you doing in the Wicked Forest after nightfall? Don't you know Flesh-Consuming Wraiths wander those woods after dark?"
Before Amir could form a word, a young girl stepped into the doorway, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of stew.
"Brother, how would a city dweller know about the Wicked Forest?" she said softly, her voice gentle but firm.
The rich, savory aroma of the stew hit Amir instantly. Without a second thought, he pushed himself up, snatched the bowl, and began devouring it like a man starved for days.
The girl giggled. "Slow down! It's not going to run away."
But Amir noticed her brother's eyes—cold, calculating, and now fixed directly on him.
Amir carefully set the empty bowl down on the bedside stool.
"Thank you," he said, his voice still rough. "Thank you for saving me."
The long-haired man across the room didn't look up from his whittling.
"Who are you?"
"I'm… Amir. Amir Zen."
"Which city?"
"I am from… a city…" Amir fumbled, his mind racing for the name Gail had mentioned.
"Steelhaven?" the girl—Reil—chimed in brightly.
"Yes! Steelhaven. I'm from Steelhaven."
Her brother, Gail, finally lifted his gaze. It was sharp, calculating.
"Steelhaven," he repeated slowly. "The capital of the Iron Republic."
He set down his knife. "But the closest city from here is Gearbrook. So why are you here?"
Amir's throat tightened. He forced a casual tone.
"I had business in Gearbrook. I… got bored. Decided to see the countryside for some fresh air. But on the road, I was attacked by thugs. I crashed my steam-wagon."
Gail's eyes narrowed slightly. "A steam-wagon. So you're a wealthy one, then. You should travel with Tuner bodyguards."
"Tuner?" Amir asked, the word foreign on his tongue.
Gail exchanged a quick, unreadable look with his sister. "Tuners. Gears. The great gods? Don't tell me city dwellers are so enlightened they've forgotten the gods."
"No, brother," Reil cut in gently. "He's from the city—they don't believe like we do. Didn't you see? He walked right through Uncle Jimmy's rice field and ruined it, then ran straight into the Wicked Forest at night!" She giggled. "You should have seen him running. It was very funny."
A faint, cold smile touched Gail's lips. "Bold move. Stupid, but bold." He seemed to relax a fraction. "I'm Gail Willson. This is my sister, Reil. Sorry for the poor hospitality."
"Amir Zen," Amir replied, nodding slowly.
Inside, his mind was spinning. Steelhaven. Iron Republic. Tuners. Gears. I'm definitely not on Earth. This is exactly like those isekai mangas… but I didn't die. How did I get here? Better to keep that part to myself. No telling how they'd react.
"Something wrong?" Gail asked, watching him closely.
Amir rubbed his temples, avoiding the man's piercing gaze.
"No… just tired. And sleepy."
Gail watched him a moment longer, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. Then he gave a slow, deliberate nod.
"Get some rest then, city boy. We'll talk more when the sun's up."
Amir lay back, the rough wool blanket scratching his skin. His body ached for sleep, but his mind spun like a broken gear — Steelhaven, Tuners, Gears, a deer with a spinning head… None of it made sense. None of it felt real.
Far away, in a dim, candlelit chamber hidden from the waking world, the air grew thick with whispered chants. Four women in black robes stood motionless around a ritual circle etched into the cold stone floor. At their feet lay offerings: human skulls, a bowl of dark blood, and at the center, an unconscious woman, pale and still.
A voice, soft yet sharp as winter frost, broke the silence.
"Hurry. Find his location. If you have mistaken the ritual, our troubles have only just begun."
One of the robed figures bowed her head. "I am deeply sorry, Madam Eliza. To fail you in something so vital…"
"If you had not confused the summoning ritual for a teleportation incantation," Eliza cut in, her tone venomous, "we would have the Goddess of Lust among us now. Through her gaze, we would have become Tuners of unimaginable power."
She stepped closer, gripping the woman's robe. "Listen carefully. If you do not locate the man you brought here within the next twenty-four hours, I will behead you myself and offer you as a sacrifice. Not even my elder sister will plead for you." She released her with a dismissive shove. "Now… go."
The next morning, Amir woke as sunlight streamed into the small room. He blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the gentle glow. Pushing himself up, he noticed a simple breakfast waiting on a stool along with a set of clean, humble clothes.
It wasn't much—a little shabby, a little worn—but it would work.
After eating and changing, he stepped out of the room. His feet still ached from the previous night's desperate run. The house was quiet and empty, so he made his way to the front door.
Just as he opened it, he found a newspaper boy standing there, hand still raised to knock.
"Hello there," the boy said, slightly startled. "Paper for Gail. Who are you? Did I get the address wrong?"
No, it's right," Amir replied. "I'm… a guest.
Ah! Here you go, then. The boy handed him the newspaper and hurried off.
Amir glanced down at the headlines:
"INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION: Will Workers Finally Get a Minimum Wage?"
"Aetherspire Engineers Unveil New Rune-Powered Engine — 'It Will Change the World.'"
"New War Brewing? Grey Kingdom Moves Tanks to the Border."
Before he could read further, Gail's voice came from behind him.
Hey, look at you — you're up.
Amir turned. Yeah. Just reading the paper.
Gail nodded, a faint smirk on his face. I see. And wow — my old clothes actually fit you. Reil was right. He gestured outside. Come on. Let me show you around the village. After all, you went through all that trouble just to get some fresh air.
Amir set the paper down. "Okay. Let's go."
Gail led Amir out of the cottage and into the heart of the small village. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth. The place was a quiet collection of wooden houses and cobbled paths, nestled between rolling hills and the edge of the looming Wicked Forest.
"This is Oakhaven," Gail said, his hands in his pockets. "Not much, but it's home. We look out for each other here."
As they rounded a corner near a large field, Amir froze. There, driving a clattering, steam-powered tractor that puffed black smoke into the sky, was the old farmer from the day before—Uncle Jimmy.
Their eyes met.
For a tense second, Amir braced for another chase. But instead, Jimmy cut the engine, the tractor hissing to silence. He hopped down and walked over, wiping his hands on his overalls.
"You," Jimmy said, but his tone wasn't angry. He looked Amir up and down, then at Gail. Didn't know he was a city friend of yours, Gail.
Gail shrugged. He's a guest.
Jimmy turned back to Amir, scratching his beard. "Look… sorry about yesterday. Chasin' you with the rake and all. We don't get many outsiders, specially not wanderin through the rice fields. If I'd known you were from Steelhaven, I'd have offered a drink instead.
Amir blinked, surprised by the apology. "It's… alright. I shouldn't have trespassed."
"Aye, well." Jimmy gestured toward his steam-tractor. "Sometimes we country folk get a bit too protective. But you're welcome here. Long as you respect the land."
Gail gave a slight nod, a silent message passing between him and the old farmer. Jimmy's the one who found you at the forest's edge. Carried you back.
Amir looked at Jimmy with new eyes. Thank you.
Don't mention it, city boy, Jimmy said with a grunt, though his eyes held a hint of warmth. Just stay out of my fields, yeah? He chuckled before turning back to his tractor, firing up the steam-engine once more.
Gail glanced at Amir. See? Not everyone out here bites
As Amir walked with Gail through the village, he watched a group of children chasing each other around a dusty oak tree, their laughter ringing through the morning air.
"The kids here are… energetic," Amir remarked.
Gail nodded. "They are. Not like city children, always buried in books."
At least they read books, Amir thought. Kids from my world don't look up from their screens long enough to see if the sky's still there.
"What's wrong?" Gail asked, glancing sideways. "You're a quiet thinker. Something on your mind?"
"No, no," Amir said quickly, forcing a smile. "Just thinking about my, uh… my car i mean steam wagon
Gail's eyebrow shot up. Car? What's that?
"It's… what we call a steam-wagon. You know, short term. 'Car. Amir chuckled awkwardly.
Gail's eyes narrowed slightly. "Hmph. Never heard that one. Then again, you business types from the city make up words like you make up profits." He studied Amir closely. "You can afford a 'car,' I assume?"
"Yeah! Totally. Heh." Amir's smile felt like it might crack.
His eyes then drifted toward the village center, where a strange, weathered statue stood. It depicted a powerful wyvern locked in motion beside a winged man with massive claws.
What's that? Amir asked, eager to change the subject.
Gail's expression darkened. A god. The Wyrm King Heliaus. One of the Seven.
Amir blinked. "Oh… right."
"You really don't know." It wasn't a question. Gail's tone was low, almost dangerous. "This world wasn't born from nothing. It was carved from the death of something greater. An Eternal Being. When it fell, its power shattered into seven fragments — each a god. They don't just watch over this world. They are parts of it. And some… humans… can touch that power."
Tuners? Amir whispered.
Gail's eyes locked onto his. "Tuners. People who resonate with a god's frequency. the closer they get to power closer they become to something…that looks like human but not human
So this land is protected by a god?
"Protected?" Gail almost smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "It's bound. And so am I. That's how I found you in that forest. Not luck. Not chance. Resonance."
Amir's mouth went dry. You… you're a Tuner, aren't you?
The air grew heavy. Silence stretched like a blade between them. Amir could feel his heart beating in his throat.
Finally, Gail spoke, his voice barely a whisper but sharp as broken glass:
"Yes. I am a Frequency 1 Tuner."
"I see," Amir said quietly.
Gail kept his head low, offering no reply. Just then, Reil hurried toward them, her expression tense.
"Brother—I've been searching everywhere for you."
I was showing our guest the village, Gail replied evenly. What is it?
They're here. Already.
It's early for their visit.
The king grows greedier by the day, Reil whispered.
Quiet, Gail said sharply. Do not speak of the king's hounds. I will not have you targeted.
Amir glanced between them. Who is coming?
The Coin-Cogs, Gail stated flatly.
Amir nodded with a strained smile. Ah… yes. The Coin-Cogs.
Gail studied him, eyes narrowing. Do not tell me a city dweller knows nothing of the Coin-Cogs.
Reil stepped closer, her voice soft. "They collect a portion of our earnings each month. Every citizen of the Iron Republic must pay—for the nation's growth, its defense… its improvement.
Improvement? Gail's tone turned cold. "They demand back-breaking labor, pay starvation wages, fail to keep bandits or wraiths from our doors—yet when it is time to collect, they arrive armed and eager."
"Brother, please, Reil urged, "they're here."
An armored steam-wagon rumbled into the village square, marked with a symbol of a gold coin falling into an open hand. Two other wagons followed, bearing the emblem of the Cog-Watch: a gear entwined with a hammer, and beneath it, the words: Cog Watchers.
Farmer Jimmy cut the engine of his steam-tractor and stepped down, his face dark with quiet anger. Amir understood—the Iron Republic's officials were not welcome here.
A lean, sharp-faced man stepped from the armored vehicle, a humorless smile on his lips.
"The highlight of the month, good people of Oakhaven."
Behind him emerged two enforcers fitted with mechanical arm enhancements, imposing and silent. Cog-Watch guards followed, rifles held at the ready.
Amir eyed the firearms. That design… it resembles an MP35. I saw one in a museum back on Earth. Some things echo across worlds.
Gail stepped forward. You are early. The crops are not yet in. The people have nothing to give.
The official waved a dismissive hand. "The king has ordered collections ahead of schedule. Tensions at the border wait for no harvest."
It is too soon, Gail insisted.
Rifle barrels lifted toward him.
The official's smile did not reach his eyes. Save your breath, peasant. The king's decree is clear: interference is punishable by death. No exceptions.
"Lies!" Reil shouted.
The man's gaze snapped to her. Careful, child. Do you wish to join your gods so soon?
His guards chuckled lowly. Jimmy quickly pulled Reil back, covering her mouth.
"My apologies—she is young and speaks without thought. We will pay. Do not trouble yourself with her words."
One by one, the villagers stepped forward, reluctantly placing coins into the tax collector's iron lockbox.
Amir watched, a cold understanding settling in his chest. Tax collectors—but with the air of conquerors. This world is wounded.
When the last villager had paid, the official turned to Amir.
You are new.
Amir offered a tense smile.
Gail spoke for him. He is from the city. Like you.
The man laughed dryly. We are all equal under the weight of tax.
Yet not all are equal under the promise of protection, Gail countered.
The official's amusement faded. "You are fortunate I am patient. Cross me again, and you will hang from the town gate." He turned back to Amir. "Your payment?"
"He has none—" Gail began.
"He is a businessman from Steelhaven, Gail interjected. He came to Gearbrook on affairs, but thanks to the Crown's sterling security, he was set upon by bandits along the road."
The man's demeanor shifted instantly. He bowed. My deepest apologies, sir. This will be investigated promptly.
Amir thought, Money speaks the same language in every world.
Your name, sir?
Amir Zen.
"I did not recognize you—forgive my oversight. A man of the capital… We will find those responsible." He motioned to his guards, and they began returning to the steam-wagons.
Just as they prepared to leave, the official glanced back.
Pardon my asking, Mr. Amir… but what brings you to this… remote village?
Gail's jaw tightened, but Amir answered calmly, The fresh air.
The man offered a thin smile. I see. Very well. Until we meet again, Mr. Amir.
With a roar of steam and machinery, the tax collectors departed, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.
Amir looked at Reil, her small frame trembling with suppressed emotion. He walked over and gently patted her head. That simple gesture broke the dam. Reil hugged him tightly, crying into his shirt. Amir held her, his voice soft.
It's alright. You are the bravest girl I have ever seen. To stand up like that… to speak against such oppression… that takes a courage many adults never find.
A gentle smile touched his lips. Reil felt a warmth spread through her chest—a feeling she hadn't known since her parents passed away. Gail, who had been standing with his head bowed in anger, glanced over. Seeing his younger sister finally smile, a faint, unexpected smirk slipped through his hardened expression.
Uncle Jimmy nodded slowly, then turned and headed back to his steam-tractor. The other villagers, one by one, began to disperse and return to their daily routines. But Gail remained, motionless, as if trapped in his thoughts.
Reil still held onto Amir. Gently, he loosened her embrace. How about you go play with the other children? I think they're waiting for you.
He gave her head one last pat. Reil nodded, wiping her eyes, and ran off toward the sound of playing kids.
Amir approached Gail, who stood like a statue. He placed a hand on his shoulder. I think they're gone. It might be best if we just try to forget—
Before he could finish, Gail finally broke.
What does it matter if they're gone?! he shouted, his voice raw. "They will come back! Again and again, until every last one of us is dead!"
A single tear traced a path down his cheek.
They killed our parents… accused them of working with rebels. It was a lie. We were farmers. We had a happy life… until the Iron Republic took everything. His voice dropped to a pained whisper. My sister never felt a parent's love again.
Tears now flowing freely, Gail turned and began to walk away, his steps heavy with rage and grief.
Amir called after him, "You're a Tuner… you have power. Why don't you fight back?
Gail stopped dead. His shoulders tensed. If only it were that simple, he said, barely audible. Then he continued walking, disappearing between the cottages.
Amir sighed heavily, the weight of the moment settling around him.
The scene shifted to a deep, shadowy cave within the Wicked Forest. Four women in dark robes chanted in a low, guttural tongue, surrounding a sinister symbol etched into the stone floor. Skulls and bones lay scattered about. Upon a broken, makeshift throne sat Madam Eliza, her expression venomous.
If that incompetent fool hadn't made such a rookie mistake, she muttered, "today, I would have been…" She snarled and hurled the wine cup she was holding against the cave wall.
Suddenly, one of the robed women rushed forward. Madam! We did it, Madam, we did it! In her haste, she tripped and fell at Eliza's feet.
Eliza kicked her sharply in the face. Keep your wretched face away from me, brat.
The woman clutched her cheek, tears welling in her eyes. We found him… the man's location. He is not far. He's in Oakhaven village.
A slow, seductive smile spread across Eliza's face, her purple lipstick glinting in the dim light. "Finally, you've done something useful. Oakhaven…," she purred. "We need his heart. With it, we can summon the Goddess of Lust. A low, menacing laugh escaped her. "Tonight is the night. Send the werewolves and the wraiths toward the village." She paused, a cruel thought forming. You know what? Send mercenaries, too.
"But, Madam Eliza," the kicked woman stammered, "we are running low on coins. We can't afford—
"Tell their leader, Aggresus, to meet me alone," Eliza interrupted, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He has… desires… beyond money." She slowly licked her lips. "If I give him but a glimpse of what he truly wants, he would die for me. After all, we are the Followers of Lust. We understand a man's heart better than anyone."
Back in Oakhaven, Amir walked through the village, trying to appreciate its simple beauty. Children played, and life seemed to continue, but he couldn't shake his concern for Gail. He asked several villagers if they had seen him, but no one had.
He found himself standing near the statue of Heliaus, worrying, when he saw a naked man running wildly toward him. Amir recoiled, making a startled face.
"What in the world—? He ducked behind an elderly woman. Auntie, save me!
The woman chuckled. Do not worry, child. That is just Crazy Jake.
Crazy Jake?
Her expression grew somber. "He was once the greatest fortune teller in Oakhaven. His predictions were always right. Some even believed he was a Tuner. But one day… he changed. He tore off his clothes, started dancing, and lost his mind. Rumors say he tried to commune with fallen gods for greater power and paid the price with his sanity." She sighed deeply and walked away.
Amir watched as Crazy Jake laughed hysterically, pointing at the sky. "Everyone will die! Everyone will die!" he chanted.
A sudden, cold dread washed over Amir. His instincts screamed that something was terribly wrong. Why do I feel like I need to run?, he thought. What is this dreadful feeling?
Shaking it off, he turned away. I should find Gail.
The sky was golden as afternoon settled gently over the village. Exhausted after hours of searching for Gail with no success, Amir spotted Reil sitting quietly, drinking from a small cup. He walked over and sat beside her with a weary sigh.
"I am so tired," he murmured.
Reil glanced at him. "Would you like some orange juice?"
"No, thank you, young one. You enjoy it."
Amir gazed at the beautiful, darkening sky as the sun began to set. After a moment, he turned to Reil. "Where is Gail? I've been looking for him all day."
Reil smirked softly. "Do not worry. He's probably in the Wicked Forest."
Amir's eyes widened. "The Wicked Forest? Isn't that the same place I was chased by that… creature?"
"Yes."
"Then why would he go there? Why would anyone go there?"
Reil laughed lightly. "You are such a scaredy-cat. You may be grown, but you speak just like the children."
Amir raised an eyebrow. "A child calling an adult childish? Interesting."
They both laughed together. Then Reil's expression softened. "You are very funny… like Gail used to be." Her smile faded slightly. Before our parents died, he was always lighthearted—always joking, never serious She sighed deeply, then smiled gently. "Gail is the best older brother I could ask for.
Before Amir could respond, she continued, "Gail is a Frequency 1 Tuner… of the Sky-Sunder Line.
Sky-Sunder Line? Amir asked.
"It is the Gear of the Wyrm King Heliaus."
I see, Amir said softly.
They sat in comfortable silence, watching the sunset paint the horizon.
Well, Amir said finally, I am quite tired. I should return to the cottage and rest.
Reil opened her mouth as if to say something, but hesitated, not wanting to burden him further.
"Did you want to say something?" Amir asked.
"No," she replied softly.
Amir stood from the bench and made his way back to the cottage. Inside, he removed his shoes, entered the bedroom, and lay down, his mind swirling with thoughts of this strange world, his own life, his parents, and Captain Squawks. Before long, his eyes closed.
He dreamed of an endless hallway where seven tall figures stood shrouded in mist.
"Who are you?" Amir called out, but there was no reply.
Suddenly, he smelled smoke. The screams started—pained, agonized. The seven figures began to laugh, a cold, mocking sound, as flames erupted around him.
Amir woke with a start—only to find his room blazing with real fire.
His eyes shot open. He rolled from the bed, kicked the bedroom door open, and rushed into the hall. The entire cottage was engulfed. Dodging flames, he stumbled to the main door and threw it open.
The scene outside froze his blood.
The whole village was burning. Bodies lay scattered in the streets. Masked figures armed with rifles stalked through the chaos, firing at anyone still moving.
But what made Amir's body turn to ice was the small body of a child—one who had played with Reil that afternoon—their organs strewn across the ground. Worst of all, a wraith with thousands of needle-like teeth was devouring the child's liver.
Amir's mind went blank, frozen in a state of sheer disbelief. Yet, through the numbness, memories of Reil and Gail surged forward—their voices, their faces, their fragile moments of peace. He clenched his jaw, steadying himself. Though fear screamed in his veins, urging him to flee, he refused to surrender to it.
The wraith continued its gruesome feast upon the child's remains, blocking Amir's path. With careful, silent movements, he managed to slip past the creature without drawing its attention. Once clear, he broke into a desperate run, scanning the burning village for any sign of Reil or Gail.
But everywhere he turned, there was only devastation—flames consuming homes, bodies lying motionless in the streets. Hope began to fade like the dying light.
Then, through the smoke, he saw a group of villagers fighting back against several wraiths. Among them was Uncle Jimmy, his face set in grim determination as he stood with the others.
Amir rushed toward them, but his foot caught on something solid, and he stumbled forward with a gasp. He looked down, and his blood ran cold.
It was not a stone or piece of wood that had tripped him—it was the lifeless head of the elderly woman who had spoken to him earlier about Crazy Jake.
There is no time for grief, Amir told himself, pushing down the horror. Only survival.
He forced himself to his feet and sprinted toward the defenders. "Uncle Jimmy!" he cried out.
Jimmy turned, and a look of profound relief washed over his face. "Amir! You're alive! I feared you had fallen."
"I escaped the flames," Amir replied breathlessly. "Where are Reil and Gail? And who are these attackers?"
"We do not yet know," Jimmy said, his voice heavy. "Armed raiders descended without warning—and with them, wraiths and werewolves. The unnatural part is… those creatures are natural enemies. Yet here they are, fighting alongside humans. None of it makes sense."
"But Reil and Gail—" Amir began.
Before he could finish, a long, piercing howl cut through the chaos.
A single werewolf stood atop a burning rooftop, its silhouette sharp against the fiery sky. It pointed directly toward Amir and the villagers.
In an instant, a pack of wolves surged forward, descending on the group with terrifying speed and brutality. Villagers fell before they could even raise their tools in defense.
One of the creatures slipped behind Amir, silent as shadow—but Uncle Jimmy was already moving.
Clang!
Jimmy's rake met the wolf's claws in a shower of sparks.
"Face someone your own size, you foul creature!" Jimmy roared, shoving the beast back.
The werewolf was massive, all muscle and rage, but Jimmy stood firm. He moved not like a farmer, but like a man who understood violence—each swing of his rake was measured, each dodge deliberate. He fought with the grit of someone defending everything he had left.
For a moment, it seemed he might hold his own.
But the wolf was faster. It feinted, then lunged again—this time, its claws ripped deep into Jimmy's shoulder. He grunted in pain but did not yield.
"Is that all you have?" he spat, blood now staining his shirt.
The wolf seemed almost to smirk before it launched one final, blinding attack. Jimmy raised the rake to block—but the weapon shattered under the force. In the same motion, the beast's other claw shot forward like a blade.
There was a wet, sickening sound.
Amir stared, breath trapped in his throat.
The werewolf's claws had pierced straight through Jimmy's solar plexus. The old farmer stood for a second, eyes wide with shock more than pain. He coughed, a trickle of blood escaping his lips.
Amir run he whispered.
Then his body went limp.
The wolf ripped its claws free, and Uncle Jimmy collapsed to the scorched earth, motionless.
The werewolf turned slowly, its yellow eyes now fixed solely on Amir.
Amir scrambled backward, hurling rocks and whatever debris he could grab from the scorched ground. The werewolf barely flinched, its yellow eyes locked on him with cold, predatory focus. Step by step, it backed him into a collapsed section of fence—nowhere left to run.
This is it, Amir thought, bracing himself.
But just as the beast lunged—
SHHHHLASH!
A silver blur cut through the air. The werewolf's head tumbled to the ground, its body collapsing moments later.
Amir stared, stunned, at the glistening claws that had torn through flesh and bone. They weren't a blade—they were… organic. Metallic, yet alive.
He looked up. Standing over him, silhouetted against the burning village, was Gail. A faint, tired smirk played on his lips.
"You've got guts, city boy. I'll give you that."
Amir blinked. "Are… are you a werewolf, too?"
Gail's smirk vanished. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You brainless… ugh. No, I am not a werewolf." He held up his hands; the silvery claws retracted smoothly into his knuckles. "I'm a Tuner. Or did you forget already?"
"Right, the… Gear thing."
"The Sky-Sunder Line," Gail said, patience clearly thinning. "Frequency 1 allows me to manifest Wyvern Claws. Not wolf claws. Wyvern claws. There's a difference."
"Ohhh," Amir said, nodding slowly. "So… big lizard energy. Got it."
Gail stared at him, utterly deadpan. "You are a disappointment. A pure, unrefined, city-slicking disappointment.
Amir kept his voice low, urgency threading through his words. "Where is Reil?"
Gail's eyes remained fixed ahead, scanning the path through the smoke. "She is waiting for us at the village exit."
"How many survivors are with her?"
Gail's expression darkened, the lines on his face deepening with a grim finality. "None."
A heavy silence fell between them. The crackle of flames and distant screams seemed to grow louder.
"We must get out of here quickly," Gail said, his tone leaving no room for debate.
They moved with haste toward the edge of the village, but as they neared the main path out, a figure emerged from the haze, standing motionless and blocking their way. His face was shrouded by a heavy scarf, one arm was entirely mechanical, and a long sword hung at his waist.
The stranger's voice cut through the chaos, cold and deliberate. "Gail Willson… we meet again."
Gail stopped dead, his posture tightening in recognition. "Aggresus. So the rumors were true. You survived."
"I am not here for a fight, Aggresus stated, his gaze shifting to Amir. "It would be wiser if you simply handed over the man beside you.
Gail glanced at Amir, then back to the scarred mercenary, his own resolve hardening. "And if I refuse?
A slow, cold smirk spread beneath Aggresus's scarf. He drew his sword, the steel whispering as it left the scabbard. "Then we do this the old way.
Gail's wyvern claws slid out with a sharp, metallic shing. "Amir—stay back. Don't look into his eyes."
Aggresus didn't run. He flowed—like shadow given purpose. His first strike was a feint; the real attack came from the side. Gail blocked, but the impact rattled his bones.
"You rely on strength," Aggresus said, his voice echoing slightly. "But strength is a lie when your mind betrays you."
Suddenly, the world split. Three copies of Aggresus lunged from different angles. Gail dodged the first, parried the second—but the third was real. A shallow cut opened on his arm.
"Illusions…" Gail growled.
"Not illusions," Aggresus corrected calmly. "Possibilities."
The ground seemed to melt under Gail's feet. The air filled with phantom screams—voices of villagers who'd already fallen. Gail shook his head, fighting the mental invasion. He couldn't trust his eyes, so he trusted his instinct—the wyvern's instinct.
He moved not where Aggresus was, but where he would be.
Clash! Clang! Spark after spark!
For minutes, they were a blur—Gail a storm of silver claws, Aggresus a phantom with a blade that seemed to cut the light itself. Gail landed hits—a deep gash on Aggresus's shoulder, a slash across his leg—but each time, the mercenary leader only smiled wider.
"You fight well… for a Frequency 1."
Then Aggresus paused. His mechanical arm whirred softly.
"Let's show you what Truth really looks like."
Gail's vision swam. He saw Reil—not a memory, but a vision—tied up and weeping. His heart lurched. It was so real… too real.
In that moment of hesitation, Aggresus struck.
Not with an illusion—but with pure, unforgiving speed.
His blade slipped past Gail's guard—not through it, but around it, as if bending reality—and plunged deep into Gail's chest.
Gail staggered. His claws retracted. He fell to one knee, breath catching.
Aggresus stood over him. "A good fight. But truth always wins."
Gail's eyes were not on Aggresus. They found Amir—wide-eyed, horrified, watching from a distance.
With his last bit of strength, Gail spoke, blood staining his words but his voice clear and firm:
"Amir… I knew you weren't from this world… But still… protect my sister…"
Then, Gail Willson slumped forward.
His body lay still on the scorched earth, a faint, peaceful smile on his lips.
After Gail fell, Aggresus turned to seize Amir—but the young man was gone.
He slipped away during the fight, Aggresus realized, irritation burning in his chest. He scanned the burning ruins, then stalked off in the direction of the village square to search.
Amir, meanwhile, hid behind the corner of a smoldering house, heart pounding. As soon as Aggresus moved away, he slipped from the shadows and sprinted toward the village exit, stepping past scattered bodies without allowing himself to look too closely. His only thought was Find Reil. Get out.
When he reached the meeting point, she was nowhere in sight.
"Reil!" he called out, voice strained. "Reil!"
Suddenly, a small foot kicked his shin. He looked down—it was her, crouched low in the brush.
"Quiet, you fool! They will hear us!"
Amir's relief was immediate. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
Reil's eyes widened. She pulled him down beside her. Do not make a sound.
A group of armed figures marched past, one barking, Search this way!
When they were gone, Reil turned to Amir, her voice small. "Where is my brother?"
Amir hesitated, then lied. "He is helping the survivors. He told me to take you and go. He will find us later.
Reil's eyes narrowed with doubt, but Amir pressed on gently until she reluctantly agreed.
"Very well," she said. "But first, we must enter the Wicked Forest."
"The forest? Why would we go there?"
"There is an ancient temple deep within. It is usually swarming with wraiths, but now most will be drawn to the village. We may find artifacts there—ones that hold god essence. If we can craft a Harmonic-1 artifact… I could become a Tuner."
Amir finally understood. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. Lead the way.
On a distant hill overlooking the burning village, Madam Eliza stood wrapped in shadow.
Have they located the man? she asked coldly.
One of her robed attendants bowed. "Not yet, my lady. But they are searching.
Hurry. My patience wears thin.
Amir and Reil moved quickly through the darkening Wicked Forest, the air growing cold and heavy.
"We are almost there," Reil whispered.
But as she hurried forward, her foot caught on a fallen branch. She stumbled, catching herself—and in that moment, a blade flashed through the shadows.
Swish.
Reil's head fell silently from her shoulders. A single tear traced a path down her cheek before her body crumpled to the forest floor.
Aggresus stood over her, sheathing his sword.
Finally, he murmured. The Willson line is ended.
Amir stood frozen, unable to process the horror before him. The trauma of the day crashed down all at once.
Before he could move, armed mercenaries emerged from the trees, surrounding him.
Aggresus looked at him, his expression merciless.
No more running, kid
End of Chapter 1