"Child, wake up."
"Five more minutes," Ryan groaned, voice hoarse and thick with exhaustion.
Slap!
He shot upright, clutching his cheek. "What the hell was that for?!"
"Sorry! Most efficient way to wake someone up," Jake said with a smirk, far too proud of himself.
Ryan narrowed his eyes. "How did someone like you end up working for a cosmic spirit, anyway?"
Jake shrugged lazily. "Right place, wrong time. Or maybe right time, wrong universe. Who knows?"
He cracked his knuckles and continued. "Anyway, you're being sent to a world called 'Dela.' Low risk—scarce resources, low mana, weak wildlife. Barely worth a thought."
Ryan blinked. "Mana? Like… magic?"
Jake grinned. "Oh yeah, no mana on your world, right? Don't get too excited. Humans usually suck at it—especially in a world like Dela. Mana's so thin there it's like trying to drink soup with a fork. Even very gifted users—like yours truly—struggle to cast anything above low-level spells."
"Still, low-level magic can be useful." Jake raised a finger. "Lux."
A soft white light bloomed above his fingertip. He flicked it casually into the void, where it was almost immediately swallowed by the darkness.
Ryan's jaw dropped. "That's amazing. Let me try. Lugs!"
A silence hung in the air. Ryan's hand remained outstretched, empty. He blinked, then slowly lowered it.
Jake winced. "Oof. That was a pretty poor attempt. You have to pronounce the spell perfectly, and there's much more to it than that."
"Can you teach me the basics?" Ryan asked, rubbing his temples.
Jake sighed. "Alright, alright. Since you look so lost and pitiful, I'll help you out."
He plopped down cross-legged. "Mana's all around you. You pull it in by breathing—sort of like meditation from your world. Sit still, find a position you're comfortable in, and focus. Picture an energy around you—moving and flowing like water. Most animals can't sense it at all—but lucky you, you're a hero, imbued with a sliver of the spirit's power. You should be able to sense at least one element."
Ryan nodded slowly, trying to absorb the information.
"Once you've got mana, you need a spell. Lux is real beginner stuff. First one's always the hardest, but after that they come easier. Just keep at it. And don't blow anything up."
Jake paused, touching his ear. "Yes, alright Sir!... Ah, gotta go."
"Wait—what?! You're seriously leaving? Now?"
"You'll be fine! Probably." He winked. "Facere porta ad Delar."
A glowing green portal opened beneath Ryan.
"AaaAAHHH—"
Jake scratched his head. "Wait… was it Dela or Delar? Eh. Close enough." He chanted a few words, snapped his fingers and disappeared.
"AAAAghhhhhhhhhhh!"
After three excruciating minutes, the pressure from dimensional travel knocked Ryan out cold.
—Two hours later—
Ryan's eyes cracked open.
Couldn't that bastard have at least given me some warning?
He was sprawled on wet grass, surrounded by massive trees. Humid air clung to his skin. Jake was gone. His suit was damp. And he felt like he'd been dropped from the stratosphere.
Groaning, he sat up. A forest stretched around him—lush, endless, alive. Really? A humid forest? No grand arrival in a palace? Not even a village? Just mud, trees, and wet socks. Thanks, Jake.
Ryan took a breath. The air was crisp, earthy—and unbelievably clean, especially compared to the smog-choked streets of home. Birds chirped. Water babbled faintly in the distance.
He stood, brushing off mud, and began to walk. His suit clung to him in all the wrong places, making every step through the undergrowth feel like a sweaty business meeting in a swamp. Branches drooped low overhead. Roots twisted underfoot. Some of the trees were scarred—long gouges running down their trunks like claw marks. He tried not to worry too much about what made them. So he continued marching on.
Jake said something about monsters… mana… meditation? He tried to focus, but a dull headache throbbed behind his eyes, refusing to let him think straight. Lets leave trying to remember that for later.
The ground was uneven and wet, patches of moss clinging to every stone. A strange plant curled up when his shadow passed, and distant birdcalls echoed in unfamiliar patterns. Every now and then, he thought he heard something shifting just beyond his vision—but when he turned, there was nothing there. Just trees. More trees. And the constant, creeping sense that he wasn't as alone as the silence suggested.
I'll have to keep an eye out. As much as I'd love to wander around sightseeing, Jake made it pretty clear from the bits I actually remember—that this place could be dangerous to me.
This area, It is, annoyingly, stunning. Bright flowers, weird bugs—like a postcard nobody asked for. Ryan half-wanted to stop and stay here, but reminded himself of the possibility of meeting monsters if he stayed here too long.
Alright. Priorities. What are they again... Oh yeah. Water, shelter, food. Water's easy—leaves, puddles, springs. Shelter… I doubt a cave would work well—don't want to end up a monster's meal. Maybe the higher branches of a tree? Not ideal, but it'd keep me off the ground and out of reach. Food's the problem. Rivers could help—most civilisations are built around them, and there'd probably be fish too. But they'd also attract animals... or monsters... all looking for the same thing I am.
—A few hours later—
His foraging had found water and good sleeping spots. But he hadn't found a single fruit, nut, or anything remotely edible. Animals were nowhere to be seen—only the occasional rustle from deep in the bushes. The insects, too, had dwindled. No buzzing, no chirping—just the crunch of his own steps and the occasional creak of old wood above. The forest had been picked clean.
And now, the light was fading. The forest's vibrant colours dulled as shadows stretched across the undergrowth. The once-playful rustling of leaves now sounded like cautious footsteps. Somewhere in the distance, a branch cracked—a sharp, unnatural snap that echoed far too long for Ryan's liking.
With a frustrated grunt, Ryan grabbed a thick vine wrapped around a towering tree and started to climb. He kept glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting to see something—or someone—watching from the gloom.