As consciousness slowly returned, he felt a gentle warmth on his skin and the dull ache of his body waking up from what seemed to be a deep slumber.
His eyelids fluttered, heavy, resisting the pull of awareness.
Faint sunlight streamed in through the wide-open mud window, casting golden streaks over his face.
With a bit of force, he pried his eyes open.
The world appeared in twos at first, but after a brief strain, his vision cleared, and the world quickly came into focus.
The first thing he did was look around.
Above him, a ceiling made of thatched reeds swayed gently in the breeze, casting shadows on the rough-hewn walls.
He was lying on a simple mat, its coarse structure scratching at his back, though not enough to break the skin.
The air was light, mixed with the faint scent of herbs, and there was the rhythmic hum of wind whistling through the trees outside, accompanied by the distant chirping of birds.
Lucian tried shifting, but his muscles were sore, as though they hadn't been used in days.
He was inside a small, modest hut, its walls lined with woven baskets, dried plants, and tools made from bones and stones.
A small fire pit sat in the corner, its embers smoldering softly, casting a dim glow across the room.
The place didn't seem dangerous, yet his heart began to race as questions flooded his mind.
Where was he?
How did he get here?
The last thing he remembered was attempting to fuse with the stone.
When he had touched his Magus core, his perception had been blown away by a powerful ripple of golden energy, and after that, everything went blank.
The thought brought him back to the Void Stone, and his eyes darted around the room, searching for it, but to no avail.
Apart from the simple mat, there was nothing beside him on the floor.
"Where is it?" he muttered to himself, but his thoughts were interrupted when the cloth covering the entrance was pushed aside, and a figure slowly walked in.
It was an old woman.
Her skin was weathered and creased like the bark of an ancient tree, and her gnarled hand gripped a staff carved from dark, knotted wood.
Her back was hunched with age, and each step was deliberate and measured, yet Lucian sensed a quiet strength in her frail frame.
Though the person before him didn't radiate any dangerous aura, he instinctively kept his guard up.
He shifted back into the bed, preparing his muscles to spring into action if necessary.
However, his fears of hostility didn't materialize as she settled down gently before him, placing her staff on the ground.
Only now did Lucian notice the large bowl in her hands.
She opened it, revealing a stew made mostly of meat and a strange broth he couldn't identify.
"You have slumbered through the turning of two moons," she said to him, her voice unusually clear for her age.
Lucian's eyes narrowed at her words before they widened in shock, finally grasping their meaning.
"I've been unconscious for two months?" he exclaimed in disbelief.
The idea of being knocked out for two entire months was unimaginable.
"Be surprised not, for some heavenly gaze still allows you to draw breath when others would have perished," she replied calmly.
"Eat, and regain your strength. You've survived on nothing but water and its energy since…" She gestured toward the bowl of stew, but Lucian shook his head.
"I'm not hungry," he muttered.
"Or you find it hard to trust," she said with a knowing chuckle.
Lucian remained silent.
She was right.
Though she seemed harmless, he wasn't about to lower his guard and take food from a stranger.
Step. Step. Step.
The sound of footsteps echoed closer, and the entrance covering was pushed aside again.
Two figures stepped in.
They were tall, incredibly masculine men, towering over him like giants.
Their bodies were covered in strange tattoos, and around their necks hung chains of bones.
They wore trousers made of animal skins, and Lucian's eyes narrowed.
'Are they Aboriginals?' he wondered, realizing they were likely natives of this land who had found him during his unconscious state.
It was the only explanation he could come up with.
"Grandmother," the two men said in unison, their voices booming through the hut as they knelt behind the old woman, bowing with respect after they shot Lucian cold, indifferent glances.
"You can thank my sons, Theo and Leo, for bringing you to the settlement"
"It is because of them and their haste that you are still alive," she said, gesturing toward the two men.
Lucian bowed his head slightly. "Thank you," he said.
"There's no need to thank us. If we'd found you conscious, you'd already be dead," one of the men said coldly, his tone as harsh as his words and with a dried scar running at the side of his jaw.
The old woman chuckled, but Lucian felt a chill run down his spine.
Both men's arms were twice the size of his legs, and they reminded him of fearsome beasts.
He doubted his skull would have survived their grasp had they wanted to kill him.
One could only say he truly was lucky, but Lucian's eyes turned cold as he remembered something.
"I had a stone! A black stone and a scroll. Where are they?" He demanded, unable to keep his voice calm.
As much as he wanted to be polite, those two items were the last remnants of his life's work, and the only reason he was still alive.
He couldn't afford to lose them.