However, Michael hadn't even fully adapted to his new surroundings when every instinct in his body screamed at once.
A prickling sensation crawled across the back of his neck, the unmistakable weight of danger pressing down.
Though this was a virtual construct, it mimicked reality almost too well. The weight of the spear in his hand, the uneven earth beneath his boots, the whisper of the forest breeze—all of it carried an edge of authenticity. Aurora's technology had advanced frighteningly far in the last centuries.
Michael pivoted sharply, head snapping to the right.
A hiss cut through the silence.
An arrow.
It sliced the air with deadly precision, weaving past his cheek close enough that he felt the faint brush of displaced air against his skin. It buried itself into the trunk of a tree behind him with a solid thunk, vibrating from the force of impact.
Michael's grip on the spear tightened.
So soon?
