A shadow loomed—thick and heavy, swallowing sunlight whole.
Joshua barely had time to register the shift before a giant of a man stepped into his path, cutting off the way forward with a presence that demanded attention. No, not just attention—submission. Like an immovable boulder had decided to grow legs and block his path.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
The man was massive. Easily over two meters tall, with shoulders so broad they threatened to eclipse the sky. His skin was dark and weather-worn, his frame built like a monument to war. Muscles bulged with every breath he took, the cords of his arms wrapped in taut strength. In one hand, he held a spear—not some clumsy farmer's tool, but a weapon. It looked ancient, handmade, and brutal. The steel tip glinted like a predator's tooth.
Joshua's breath caught. His own 185-centimeter height suddenly felt like a joke—some childish attempt at manhood compared to the sheer scale of the figure before him.
The stranger's voice rolled out like distant thunder, guttural and raw.
"Var'zu korthas jin?"
Joshua blinked. The words meant nothing, but the tone—sharp, demanding—cut straight through him.
The man's grip on the spear shifted. Subtle. Precise. A practiced warrior's movement. His body angled forward, just slightly. A stance of warning.
"Shen vak n'kor!" he barked.
The spear jabbed forward. Not enough to strike—just enough to send a message.
Joshua's instincts surged, screaming in every fiber of his being.
He raised both hands, palms open, the universal symbol of peace. His heart pounded loud enough to drown out the world.
"I—I don't understand!" he said, taking a cautious step back. His voice was too high, strained. "I'm not a threat!"
The man didn't flinch.
Joshua pointed to himself, then frowned in confusion, shaking his head slowly. He pantomimed walking, turning his hands upward in a helpless gesture.
"Joshua," he said, tapping his chest. Then, vaguely motioning around, "Here? Where?"
The man's stare burned into him like smoldering coals. Then, without a word, he reached forward and grabbed Joshua by the arm.
The grip was iron. There was no hesitation—no room for protest.
"Wait—wait! What the hell are you doing?!" Joshua yelped, stumbling as the man yanked him forward.
The villagers watched as he was marched—no, dragged—down the village path like a captured beast. Their eyes followed him. Not with kindness or even curiosity, but with something sharper. Suspicion. Caution. Fear.
Some children peeked from behind fences, their tiny hands gripping the wood like prison bars. Mothers pulled them back quickly, whispering hushed words. Old men narrowed their eyes, their hands instinctively resting near hunting blades and walking sticks.
Joshua's gaze darted around. The village was small—no more than thirty houses, made of dark timber and straw thatch. A well stood at the center, its stone walls damp with moss, surrounded by baskets of laundry and a scattering of chickens. Smoke curled from chimneys, carrying the scent of wood and broth.
And yet… no warmth reached him.
The man said nothing as they approached a large structure near the back of the village—larger than the rest, its beams heavier, reinforced, its door thick enough to weather a siege.
With a loud boom, the man slammed the butt of his spear against the door.
Silence followed. For a moment, Joshua thought no one would answer. Then, the heavy wood creaked open.
Two figures stepped out.
The first was a wall of muscle and steel. Even older than the one dragging Joshua, yet somehow more imposing. His beard was streaked with gray, his eyes sunken yet bright—like a blade that had tasted blood and still gleamed in the firelight. His armor, if it could be called that, was leather hardened with years of wear, stained with the kind of marks only real battles left behind.
But it was the second figure that stole the breath from Joshua's lungs.
She moved like liquid—elegant, effortless. Dark hair flowed down her back like a silken river. Her skin was sun-kissed bronze, unblemished, her features carved with the precision of a master sculptor. Her eyes—emerald and bright—cut through the space between them and pinned Joshua in place.
She studied him.
Then turned to the man holding him. "N'varu?" Her voice was soft, but the words held authority.
A brief exchange followed—sharp, clipped, foreign.
Joshua's head swam with incomprehension. He clenched his fists. Damn it, what are they saying?
The woman stepped forward, never breaking eye contact.
She raised a hand.
Fingers like silk pressed against his forehead.
Then—pain.
White-hot, piercing pain that tore through Joshua's skull like shrapnel. He screamed. The world tilted, twisted, and collapsed inward.
He fell.
The ground struck his knees, then his shoulder. He writhed, unable to breathe, every neuron firing with agony.
It was like drowning in boiling water.
Symbols—alien, ancient, impossible—seared into his brain. Words he had never heard roared in his ears. A hurricane of sound and meaning battered his mind.
Time unraveled. Was it seconds? Minutes? A lifetime?
Then—clarity.
The pain receded like a tide. Slowly, the burning fog lifted. He lay there, twitching, gasping for air. His skin was slick with sweat. His heart pounded in his throat.
A voice reached him.
Calm. Measured.
"Can you understand me now?"
He opened his eyes.
The woman knelt beside him, her face unreadable.
Joshua swallowed, his voice barely a whisper. "…Yeah."
She smiled.
A beautiful, terrifying smile.
The older man folded his arms. His gaze, however, had not softened. "Who are you?" he demanded. His voice rumbled like thunder through stone.
Joshua coughed, tried to sit up, failed. "My name… is Joshua," he said. "I am… a traveler. I don't remember how I got here."
A beat of silence passed. The air thickened.
The woman tilted her head, examining him. "You woke up alone?"
Joshua nodded. "On a hill. Just outside the village."
She hummed in thought. "You remember nothing?"
He hesitated. "Only my name. And that… this place isn't my world."
The old warrior grunted. "Then you are an outsider."
The word hung in the air like an accusation.
Joshua raised his hands again. "I don't want to cause trouble. I'm just trying to understand where I am."
The woman turned to her father. "I sense no falsehood in him."
The man didn't respond at first. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"You may call me Amador," he said. "Chief of Irene."
He gestured toward the woman. "My daughter, Maydee."
Joshua nodded shakily. "Thank you. For not killing me."
Amador's eyes narrowed. "We still might."
Joshua froze.
Maydee laughed, a musical sound that didn't match the tension in the room. "He's honest. I like him."
The chief didn't smile. "You are not welcome here," he said.
Joshua's heart sank.
"…But," Amador added, after a long pause, "you are not unwelcome either."
He turned away and walked back toward the large doorway.
The guards flanking the entrance parted without a word.
Maydee extended a hand once more. "Come."
Joshua hesitated. Then reached out and took it.
Her touch was warm.
He followed her into the heart of the village.
And as the doors closed behind them, one thought burned into his mind:
This place was not what it seemed.
It was quiet. Too quiet. As if the land itself held its breath.
Danger wasn't just a possibility here.
It was a certainty.