He was suspended in the in-between, in a moment of waiting before the end of his journey. He had been forced to leave, never to return, all to protect those he had left behind from those who will inevitably sense him.
Eventually, the space receded.
A rift tore open.
And he was thrust through.
Gravity took hold, and the ground rushed up to meet him.
A violent surge of pain racked his entire body, not from the fall.
The mana… it was overwhelming.
Gasping, he collapsed to the earth, frantically sealing his mana circuits before the pressure could tear him apart from the inside.
When the agony finally ebbed into a dull throb, he let out a jagged breath.
"I should have expected that," he muttered to himself, his voice raspy. It was always the unaccounted variables that proved the most lethal.
Thankfully, most of his circuits were still intact, though there were those that were fried. They would need to be restored over two or three days. But that was an easy fix. The real problem was the environment itself. Until he could reinforce his internal pathways or dampen his body's ravenous sensitivity to this mana, he was effectively crippled, forced to rely on his core alone.
It was a dangerous weakness. He would need to be at full strength to survive their pursuit when they find him.
Shaking, he forced himself upright to face his new reality, the place where he'd spend the rest of his life.
The world before him was a vibrant, impossible green. It was a landscape pulled from the pages of a fairy tale. There were rolling plains, endless grass, and a horizon crowded with ancient trees.
The old records called this place the origin, its name, Kallithra.
A stark contrast with the world he had fled— a world of steel skyscrapers and suffocating asphalt, where "nature" was something caged in a council-protected zone.
Here, the trees pulsed with a visible aura, their branches, their leaves were thick with mana, some more than others. There were some with particularly dense mana, these probably had spirits lying dormant within. He wasn't quite sure though, spirits had never existed back home after all.
He didn't allow himself to admire the view for too long. He needed information.
He needed to find some poor local and "politely" get the info out of them.
Scanning the treeline, he spotted a figure a few hundred meters away. She looked human but she had one small difference, her skin was a deep, iridescent blue that shimmered in the sunlight.
A Nix.
He didn't hesitate. They weren't human after all. He wove a veil of invisibility around himself, wincing as he did so, his movements silent as he closed the distance. As he reached her, he cast a sleeping charm. She slumped into a deep slumber, unable to sense him even when he stood right in front of her.
Hand on her temple, he delved into her mind. The old records he'd read were hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of years old, there was no way it could still be correct, well, unless time moves differently in the two dimensions.
Within seconds, he began to sift through her memories, cataloging the nuances of Nix culture and a rough map of the continent's major powers. This woman, Maya, was a second-rate mage at best, but her memories provided a glimpse into how the locals harnessed mana. He made a mental note to study it later.
For now, safety was the priority. He couldn't trust himself to not be attacked if he went camping outside. That this was a risk he wasn't willing to take, especially since his circuits were damaged.
He found what he needed, there was a lizardman city roughly four kilometers to the north. Apparently, Maya was headed there before he knocked her out. Satisfied, he withdrew from her mind and rewove the cloak of invisibility around himself.
Maya's eyes snapped open. She sat up with a start, her face a mask of confusion and lingering sleep. She muttered a soft curse under her breath and scanned the tall grass, her posture now rigid with caution. Sensing something was amiss, she picked up her pace, glancing over her shoulder as she hurried toward the city.
He waited until she was a safe distance ahead before dispelling his veil. Keeping low in the swaying grass, he began to follow her tracks, using her as his unwitting guide into civilization.
He reached the city outskirts forty minutes later. By then, his circuits had stabilized enough for him to manage fueling a disguise.
Closing his eyes, he wove a delicate shroud of illusion over his form. He watched as the magic took hold; his pale skin deepened into a rich, iridescent blue, and his short hair lengthened, flowing down his back in the style of the local mages. Even his out-of-place attire faded away, replaced by the woven tunics and practical traveling gear typical of this world.
He caught his reflection in a roadside puddle. To any passerby, he was no longer an alien interloper, he was simply another Nix traveler approaching the gates. It was a shallow deception, and maintaining it felt like a constant, prickle against his scorched circuits, but it would serve its purpose.
The gates were a hub of controlled chaos, a steady stream of merchants and travelers flowed through the stone archway under the watchful eyes of lizardman sentries. These guards were imposing figures, their scales shimmering like dull emeralds beneath leather armor as they methodically checked traveler identities.
He slipped into the queue, keeping his head low and his breathing steady. When he finally reached the front, a guard blocked his path with the butt of a halberd, a flickering crystal device strapped to his wrist.
"Identification," the guard grunted, his reptilian eyes slitted and suspicious.
He reached into his tunic and produced a card he had conjured just moments ago. As he handed it over, he felt the guard's thumb hover over the activation stud of the magical scanner.
Forget, he whispered in his mind.
He exerted a subtle, precise pressure on the guard's consciousness, creating a momentary blind spot in his short-term memory. The guard's eyes glazed over for a fraction of a second. He looked down at the card, nodded vacantly, and handed it back without ever raising the scanner.
"Welcome to Herkum, Nix," the sentry muttered, already looking toward the next person in line.
He took the card back, his heart thudding against his ribs. The manipulation had been small, but in his weakened state, the effort left a sharp, metallic taste in his mouth. He stepped through the threshold and into the city, the checkpoint fading into the noise of the bustling streets behind him.
Under normal circumstances, securing a room without a single coin would be… difficult to say the least. For him, it was merely an administrative task.
Having grown up in the gutters of his old world, he had mastered the art of "borrowing money" long before he'd ever learned to channel mana. As a child, he had successfully lifted purses from high-ranking mages. Compared to them, the travelers in this queue were practically statues.
He had worked the line with practiced, invisible efficiency. A slight stumble here, a gentle brush of a shoulder there, by the time he reached the gate, several heavy pouches had migrated from the belts of wealthy merchants into the hidden folds of his cloak. None of his victims had even blinked.
Guided by the stolen memories, he made his way toward the "Blue Scale," arguably the finest establishment in the district. It was a far cry from the luxury he was used to, but for a provincial lizardman city, it was remarkably clean and well-kept.
He entered the common room, the scent of roasting meat and cedarwood filling his senses. With a few flickers of the stolen currency, he secured a private room for the week. The innkeeper barely looked up from his ledger, preoccupied with the heavy clink of the coins.
Only then did he allow his shoulders to drop. He moved to the window, peering out at the alien stars and the vibrant, pulsing life of the city below. It was beautiful. It was safe. It was a paradise compared to the grey world he had left behind.
He hated it.
A bitter laugh caught in his throat, choking him. He had traded everything and everyone he ever loved for a green cage. Collapsing onto the stiff mattress, he closed his eyes, the exhaustion finally dragging him under. He was alive, but as the silence of the room settled around him, he had never felt more like a ghost.