Chapter 2: The Voice Beneath the Roots
When Aren woke, the sky was grey.
A mist hung low over the valley, clinging to his skin like breath from something sleeping beneath the earth. The remains of the creature he had killed lay a few feet away — or what was left of them.
The bones were gone. Only roots remained, crawling over the spot like vines reclaiming a forgotten grave.
Aren sat up slowly, every muscle screaming in protest. His hands were raw. His right arm trembled when he tried to move it.
He wasn't a fighter. He wasn't even supposed to be here.
For a moment, the memory of his old world surfaced — the hum of the city, his apartment light flickering at midnight, his reflection in the cracked mirror staring back like a stranger.
Then it was gone, swallowed by this too-green, too-living silence.
> "I really… died, didn't I?"
No answer. Only the wind whispering through the grass.
He stood, swaying a little, and looked around. The land rolled into endless hills of emerald. A dark forest lay in the distance, its treetops shivering under the fog.
His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since—
Actually, he couldn't remember when.
> "Food first," he muttered. "Then… figure out if I'm hallucinating."
He followed the faint sound of running water until he found a small stream winding through the rocks. He dropped to his knees, cupped the clear water in his palms, and drank.
It was cold. Too cold.
And it tasted like the air before a thunderstorm.
He splashed some on his face, gasping at the chill. When he looked down again, something strange caught his eye — faint lights drifting in the water. Tiny, luminous motes, like fireflies trapped beneath the surface.
They swirled around his reflection, gathering near his eyes.
Then — a whisper.
The world remembers pain.
Aren froze. The voice again — soft, low, carrying both sadness and warmth.
He looked around quickly.
> "Show yourself!"
Nothing. Just the sound of the stream.
Then the ground behind him shifted with a wet, dragging sound.
Aren spun, heart hammering.
The remains of the beast were gone completely. In their place, the grass had turned black. Roots as thick as fingers wriggled out of the soil, weaving themselves into strange spirals before sinking back down.
It was as if the world was swallowing its own dead.
> "You're cleaning up after yourself now?" he whispered. "How considerate."
He tried to sound calm, but his voice cracked.
The air pulsed once — faint, but enough to make his chest tighten. It was like standing next to a giant heartbeat buried miles below.
Then came the voice again, whispering through the pulse.
You are not the first to bleed on this soil.
But you are the first to listen.
> "Listen?" Aren frowned. "To what? You?"
To life.
The whisper faded.
Aren sank down beside the stream, rubbing his face with shaking hands. His thoughts were a storm — confusion, fear, exhaustion. None of this made sense. He hadn't been summoned by mages or gods or armies. He hadn't chosen this.
Yet the world kept speaking to him like an old friend who had been waiting too long.
> "If you really brought me here," he murmured, staring into the water, "then tell me why."
The stream rippled gently. His reflection wavered — and for a heartbeat, it wasn't his face staring back.
The reflection smiled.
Aren's heart stopped.
He blinked, leaned closer. The image mimicked him perfectly… except for the eyes. They glowed faintly, same as the motes in the water.
Then the whisper came, soft as a sigh.
Welcome home, Aren.
He stumbled backward, fell hard onto the ground. His pulse roared in his ears.
When he looked again, the reflection was normal — just his face, pale and afraid.
But the air around him felt heavier now. The soil trembled beneath his palms. Somewhere deep in the distance, thunder rolled — though the sky above remained clear.
> "Welcome home?" he muttered. "I don't even know what you are."
The wind answered in a long, low breath that rustled through the trees, bending the grass toward him — as if bowing.
Aren swallowed hard, eyes darting across the endless green.
He wasn't sure whether this world was welcoming him…
or warning him.
---
End of Chapter 2.
---