The first thing Kaito noticed was the wind. It smelled clean—like spring rain and grass after a storm. He lay there for a while, feeling the sun warm his face, before finally pushing himself upright.
"Well, hell," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Last thing I remember, I was bleedin' out on the floor of Congress. Either heaven's got one hell of a landscapin' budget, or I'm somewhere else."
The plains stretched forever in every direction. Tall green grass swayed under a wide blue sky streaked with clouds tinted gold. Kaito squinted into the distance—no buildings, no roads, just a lonely horizon.
He looked down at himself. Gone was the suit and tie. Now he wore a rough brown tunic, dark trousers, and worn boots. His hands looked younger—stronger. His chest wasn't bleeding anymore.
He patted his sides. No phone. No wallet. Just a small knife on his belt and a pouch that felt way too light.
"Great. Not even a snack," he grumbled. "Guess I'll walk 'til somethin' tries to eat me."
He started toward a distant tree line, stretching his legs. He felt stronger, lighter—his steps sure and quick. His new body moved like it was freshly tuned. His reflexes hummed, and the world around him sharpened in subtle ways. Tactical Awareness kicked in on instinct, painting the land in invisible lines and distances.
"Okay," he said softly, looking around. "Either I'm losin' my mind, or I've got myself some fancy new instincts."
Hours passed. He followed a stream downhill until he spotted a flicker of orange in the distance—smoke. Civilization. Maybe.
When he reached the clearing, he found four figures gathered around a campfire. They were eating roasted meat, the smell enough to make his stomach growl.
He raised a hand and called out.
"Howdy there! Don't shoot—I come in peace!"
All four jumped up. The tall man with a scar across his chin drew a short sword. He looked about thirty, rough but solidly built, short black hair, brown eyes sharp as a hawk's.
A woman beside him—slender, tan-skinned, long red hair tied back with a strip of leather—pulled a bow, an arrow already nocked.
The smallest of the bunch, a boy maybe fifteen, with messy blond hair and freckles, held up a wooden staff nervously. And behind him stood another man, pale and quiet, dark blond hair hanging into his eyes.
"Who are you?" the swordsman barked.
Kaito stopped a few paces away, hands raised.
"Name's Kaito Mercer. Just passin' through. Got lost."
"Lost?" The woman's voice was wary. "You don't look like you're from around here. What's your crest?"
"My what now?"
"Your house crest," the scarred man snapped.
"Ain't got one. Never been the family emblem type," Kaito said with a shrug.
The boy tilted his head. "He talks funny."
"I get that a lot," Kaito drawled. "Look, y'all mind if I sit a spell? Been walkin' since sunrise."
The leader hesitated, then lowered his sword slightly.
"Sit. But no sudden moves."
"You got it, partner."
Kaito sat near the fire, letting the warmth seep into his hands.
"So," he said casually, "what's a fella gotta do to find a town 'round here?"
"We're headed to Rivershade," the woman said after a pause. "If you don't cause trouble, you can come with us."
"Much obliged, ma'am," Kaito said with a grin. "Promise I'll keep my hands where y'all can see 'em."
The group didn't laugh.
"Tough crowd," he muttered under his breath.
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