Chapter 2
Walking Is Still a Choice
Neychan walked.
Not because he knew where he was going.
Not because the book told him to.
He walked because stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant panic.
The grass beneath his feet was soft, almost too soft, bending instead of breaking. Each step felt like the ground was hesitating, unsure whether it should support him or swallow him whole. The wind carried a low, constant hum—not loud enough to be sound, but too present to be silence.
It made his skin itch.
"Nice place," he muttered, glancing around. "Very… breathable. Love the existential dread."
No response.
He kept moving.
The hill sloped gently downward into a wide plain dotted with stone formations that looked half-natural, half-forgotten. Some leaned at odd angles, like gravestones that had grown tired of standing straight. Others were smooth, rounded, almost deliberately shaped.
Neychan slowed.
"…Okay," he said. "Rule number one. Don't touch the suspicious rocks."
He immediately tripped over one.
"—Ow!"
He landed on his side, rolling once before stopping in the grass, staring up at the sky again. It was still blue. Too blue. The kind of blue that felt painted on.
He lay there for a moment.
Then he laughed.
Not loudly. Not proudly. Just a short, breathy sound.
"Wow," he said. "I haven't even been here an hour."
He sat up and brushed dirt off his clothes. His hands were shaking again. He shoved them into his pockets to hide it, even though no one was watching.
I'm really here, he thought.
This isn't a dream.
The realization settled slowly, like a weight being lowered onto his chest one inch at a time.
He stood.
Far ahead, something moved.
Neychan froze.
It wasn't the monster from earlier—thankfully. This shape was smaller. Upright. It moved with a rhythm that suggested intention rather than hunger.
A person?
"…Please be a person," he whispered. "I am very bad at being eaten."
He approached cautiously, every step deliberate. As he got closer, the shape resolved into a figure cloaked in layered fabric, hunched slightly, walking with the aid of a crooked staff.
Humanoid.
Old.
Relief flooded him so suddenly his knees nearly buckled.
"Hi!" Neychan called, raising a hand. "Hello! I'm—uh—lost!"
The figure stopped.
Slowly, it turned.
Its face was human enough. Too human, maybe. The eyes were a little too large, the skin too smooth, stretched tight like it had forgotten how to wrinkle properly.
The old man stared at him.
"…You came from the hill," the man said.
His voice was dry, like leaves rubbing together.
"Yes," Neychan said quickly. "I fell down it. Very professionally."
Silence.
The man studied him, head tilting slightly, as if listening to something Neychan couldn't hear.
"…You don't belong here," the man said.
"Yeah," Neychan replied. "That's been a recurring theme today."
Another pause.
The man laughed.
It was short. Sharp. Almost surprised.
"You're alive," he said. "That's unusual."
"I try," Neychan said. "Most days."
The man gestured with his staff. "Walk with me."
Neychan hesitated.
Then shrugged.
"Sure. Worst case scenario, I get eaten again."
The man did not deny this possibility.
They walked side by side through the plain. The stones grew more frequent, forming loose paths and broken circles. Some were carved with symbols Neychan didn't recognize—lines intersecting at strange angles, spirals that hurt to look at too long.
"Those are markers," the man said, noticing Neychan staring. "They tell the land where it's allowed to remember."
"…The land remembers?" Neychan asked.
"Yes."
"Oh," Neychan said. "Of course it does."
They continued.
After a while, Neychan realized something unsettling.
They had been walking for a long time.
His legs should have been tired by now.
They weren't.
Not sore. Not aching. Just… normal.
He didn't mention it.
They reached a cluster of low buildings made of stone and wood. A village—small, quiet, almost timid. People moved about slowly, deliberately, like they were afraid of making mistakes.
Every single one of them stopped when they saw Neychan.
Their eyes followed him.
Not hostile.
Just… aware.
"He's not marked," someone whispered.
"Why is he breathing like that?"
"Is he broken?"
Neychan waved.
"…Hi."
No one waved back.
The old man led him to a well in the center of the village. The water inside was dark, reflecting the sky like a mirror that didn't trust what it showed.
"You should drink," the man said.
Neychan leaned over, peering into the well.
His reflection looked normal.
Too normal.
"Is it safe?" he asked.
The man considered this.
"…It will not kill you," he said.
"That's not a no," Neychan muttered, but he cupped his hands and drank anyway.
The water tasted like nothing.
Not bland.
Like nothing.
The moment it touched his tongue, something in his chest loosened. The tightness he hadn't noticed until now eased slightly.
He exhaled.
"…Wow," he said. "That's actually kind of nice."
The villagers murmured.
The old man's grip tightened on his staff.
"You drank," he said slowly.
"Yes?"
"…You chose to."
Neychan frowned. "I mean, yeah. I was thirsty."
The man stared at him like he had just confessed to a crime.
"You are not from a marked world," the man said. "You are not bound. You are not claimed."
"I'm… flattered?" Neychan offered.
The old man looked away.
That night, they gave him a place to sleep.
It wasn't kindness. Not exactly. It felt more like curiosity wrapped in obligation. Neychan didn't mind. A roof was a roof.
He lay on a thin mat, staring up at a wooden ceiling that creaked softly with the wind.
His mind refused to slow down.
There's a mission, he thought.
I don't know it.
I might already be failing.
He laughed quietly into his sleeve.
"Classic," he whispered. "Dropped into another world with no instructions. Very on brand."
Something warm brushed against his chest.
He froze.
Slowly, he reached into his shirt and pulled out the book.
It hadn't been there before.
The cover was warm to the touch now, faintly glowing.
The pages flipped on their own.
New words appeared.
PROGRESS: 1%
Neychan stared.
"…Progress?"
The book closed.
The glow faded.
He lay back down, heart pounding.
"I did something," he whispered. "I don't know what. But I did something."
Outside, the village slept.
The stones hummed softly.
And the world—quiet, patient, and watching—adjusted itself around him.
The first world had noticed Neychan.
And it had begun to respond.