The road west was not a kind one.
Thrain quickly learned that even with all his knowledge from his past life, he was not immune to the discomforts of long-distance travel. His boots were already caked in dirt, his cloak smelled faintly of horse, and the sun seemed to have a personal vendetta against his skin.
His only consolation? He wasn't traveling alone.
"Remind me again why I agreed to come with you?" grumbled the man walking beside him. Aric, a mercenary with the soul of a disgruntled retiree, had somehow become Thrain's reluctant traveling companion.
"Because I saved your life," Thrain replied simply.
Aric snorted. "You threw a chicken at a bandit's head. That doesn't count as 'saving my life.'"
"The chicken did most of the work, yes, but I was the strategist."
"And yet, I'm the one carrying all the supplies," Aric muttered, adjusting the heavy pack on his shoulders.
Atop his shoulder, a tiny, furry menace named Nibbles was currently gnawing on his hood.
"Hey—stop that!" Thrain grumbled, nudging the little beast off him. Nibbles tumbled onto the ground, rolled twice, then sprang back up as if nothing had happened.
The small, fox-like creature stretched, flicking his oversized ears, before trotting ahead, completely ignoring Thrain's frustration.
Aric, who had been trudging beside him with a general aura of exhaustion, watched the scene unfold with barely contained amusement. "So what's its story, you took in a stray? You can barely take care of yourself."
"He's not a stray," Thrain muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. "He's an ancient magical beast—a noble companion."
Nibbles immediately tripped over his own tail and landed face-first into the dirt.
Aric raised an eyebrow.
"...He has his moments," Thrain added defensively.
As they continued westward, passing from the rolling plains into a thick, untamed forest, Nibbles entertained himself by biting random things—twigs, bugs, Aric's boots. It wasn't until they reached the abandoned village that the little creature suddenly stopped, ears twitching.
Thrain noticed immediately. Nibbles wasn't the type to sit still. If he was alert, that meant something was wrong.
Something unseen.
Then, the unnatural silence settled over them.
Aric, ever the pessimist, muttered, "This place has 'bad idea' written all over it."
Thrain ignored him and pressed forward. Sure enough, a collection of old wooden houses appeared between the trees, their windows dark and hollow like empty eye sockets. The air smelled stale, untouched by life for who knew how long.
"Looks abandoned," Thrain murmured. He stepped forward, only for a sign to creak in the wind. It was faint, but he could just make out the words: DO NOT SPEAK AT NIGHT.
Aric groaned. "Okay, see, that's the kind of warning that makes smart people turn around."
Thrain smirked. "Good thing neither of us are particularly smart."
Aric grumbled but followed him into the village. They searched a few houses, finding only dust and broken furniture. As the sun dipped below the treetops, they set up camp in what looked like an old inn, barricading the doors and windows. Just as they settled in, Aric shot Thrain a serious look.
"Listen, I don't know what your deal is, but if we hear anything weird tonight? We run. No playing hero."
Thrain gave a mock salute. "No heroics, got it."
Of course, the universe took that as a challenge.
The moment darkness swallowed the village, the whispers began.
At first, they were faint, like wind slipping through cracks. Then they grew louder, forming words—words Thrain recognized. His own name, whispered over and over again.
He sat up, heart pounding. Across from him, Aric was clutching his sword, eyes wide.
"What did I say about weird noises?" the mercenary hissed.
The temperature in the room plummeted. A thick mist curled around the door, creeping toward them. Thrain's breath came out in a fog. The whispers turned into laughter—soft, lilting, and utterly inhuman.
Then, a voice spoke directly into his mind. "You are not supposed to be here yet."
Thrain's vision blurred. Suddenly, he was somewhere else.
A battlefield—bodies scattered across the ground, flames licking at the sky. He saw faces he knew, faces he had once called allies, now lifeless and still. In the center of it all stood a figure cloaked in darkness, their presence suffocating.
"Who are you?" Thrain called out, but the words barely left his lips before the world lurched back into focus.
He gasped awake, his body trembling. Aric was standing over him, shaking his shoulders.
"Oi! Don't die on me! I'm not carrying your body back."
Thrain's mouth was dry. "The voice… it said I wasn't supposed to be here yet."
Aric took one look at the creeping mist and grabbed his pack. "Yeah? Well, I say we get the hell out of here."
For once, Thrain didn't argue.
As they fled the village, the laughter followed them, a haunting echo in the night. And for the first time since starting this journey, Thrain felt something he hadn't expected.
Doubt.
What if he really wasn't meant to be here yet? What if, despite all his knowledge of the past, he was already walking into something he wasn't prepared for?
One thing was certain: the West held secrets far beyond what he remembered. And someone—or something—was watching him.