At first, Andres didn't panic.
That was important to understand.
Because panic implies you still believe something can be corrected quickly.
And in his mind—
This was still fixable.
"I just need to find a settlement."
He said it out loud.
Not to convince the world—
But to convince himself.
He chose a direction.
Not because it made sense.
But because not choosing felt worse.
And so he walked.
The grass beneath his feet was unfamiliar. It bent differently than Earth's grass—thicker in some places, softer in others, as if the land itself had a different biological logic.
The wind passed through the field in slow waves, carrying a faint scent he couldn't recognize.
Not floral.
Not earthy.
Something in-between.
Something alive in a way he couldn't explain.
At first, he tried to stay optimistic.
"This is how these stories go," he muttered.
"I just need to walk long enough… and I'll find something."
So he walked.
Day 1
The sun moved differently in this world.
Or maybe it was his perception of it.
Two suns meant two shadows, and at certain angles, they overlapped in strange ways that made distance perception unreliable.
By midday, he realized something unsettling.
Everything looked… similar.
No landmarks.
No trees that stood out.
No rivers.
No paths.
Just endless repetition of nature.
"I should've seen something by now…"
He frowned.
But kept going.
Day 2
His optimism began to thin.
Not dramatically.
Not all at once.
But in small, quiet ways.
He started noticing that his footsteps felt heavier.
Not physically.
Mentally.
Each step carried more uncertainty than the last.
He stopped speaking out loud.
Not consciously.
It just… felt unnecessary.
Occasionally, he would look back.
Then forward again.
Then slightly to the side.
As if expecting the world to rearrange itself when he wasn't looking.
It didn't.
By evening, the sky dimmed into a deep orange-purple gradient, the dual suns sinking at different speeds.
The effect was beautiful.
And disorienting.
He sat down that night without fire.
Without shelter.
Just the ground beneath him.
"…This is harder than I thought."
His voice was quieter now.
Not defeated.
But less certain.
Day 3
Hunger arrived.
Not immediately intense.
But persistent.
Like a thought that wouldn't leave.
His stomach tightened occasionally, reminding him of something basic and unavoidable.
"I'll find food in the next place…"
He said it again.
But this time—
It sounded less like belief.
And more like negotiation.
He started observing more carefully.
Plants.
Insects.
Anything that looked edible.
But everything here felt slightly wrong.
Leaves had thicker veins.
Some plants shimmered faintly under sunlight.
Even the insects moved in patterns that felt too coordinated.
"…Is everything in this world like that?"
He wondered.
By midday, fatigue began to set in.
Not exhaustion from movement—
But from lack of certainty.
Because the worst part wasn't walking.
It was walking without knowing if it meant anything.
By nightfall, he stopped again.
This time longer.
More silent.
He looked at his hands.
Felt them.
Flexed his fingers.
"…I'm still human."
That was important.
He needed to confirm that.