The scream echoed off wooden walls, bouncing back distorted. Ren's eyes snapped open to darkness punctuated by something that glowed like bioluminescent fruit had mated with a nightlight and produced offspring with anxiety disorders.
Not dead. Probably. Unless afterlife has really committed to the rustic aesthetic.
His shoulder throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat, wrapped in bandages that smelled of herbs and better decisions than he'd made. The arrow was gone, leaving only the memory of purple poison and the certainty that someone had saved him.
Which means I owe someone. Fantastic. I can't even die without accumulating social debt.
The room—generously calling it a room—was six feet by eight feet of "someone built this while drunk and hoping." Walls of rough wood, ceiling that leaked existential dread, and a floor that had given up on being level. The bio-luminescent thing in the corner pulsed blue-purple-blue, like it was trying to communicate in color.
"Perfect," Ren muttered, testing his voice. Still worked, though it sounded like he'd gargled gravel and chased it with disappointment. "Isekai'd, shot, poisoned, and now imprisoned in fantasy world's worst Airbnb. One star, would not recommend."
He tried to sit up. His body filed several complaints, his shoulder screamed in protest, but he managed vertical-ish. The world spun lazily, like it was considering whether to let him stay conscious.
Status check: Alive but poorly. Location: Tree jail, probably. Quest objective: Don't die again. Difficulty rating: Dark Souls with a hangover.
The door—heavy wood reinforced with iron and bad intentions—didn't budge when he tested it. Locked from outside, because of course it was. The window was too small and too high, though it did offer a view of more trees having an ominous contest.
"Hello?" he called, then louder: "Hey! I'm awake and relatively not dead! Anyone want to explain why I'm in forest jail?"
Silence, broken only by something outside making a sound like glass being born backwards.
Right. Mysterious saviors who shoot first and ask questions maybe. Standard isekai protocol suggests they're either beautiful elves or horrible monsters. With my luck, probably horrible monsters who think they're beautiful.
Time passed. Hard to tell how much—no clocks, no sun visible through the tiny window, just the bio-luminescent fruit thing cycling through colors like a very boring screen saver. Ren dozed fitfully, dreams full of purple mist and Other-Ren's knowing smile.
When the door finally groaned open, he was almost grateful. Until he saw what came through.
Three figures flowed into the room with the kind of grace that made gravity look optional. Elves, because of course they were elves. But not the helpful merchant kind or the wise mentor variety. These were elves who'd graduated from the Murder Academy with honors in Intimidation and a minor in Making Humans Regret Existing.
They looked like premium gacha game characters—the SSR units that made players dump their life savings. Light armor that was more suggestion than protection, placed strategically to highlight rather than defend. Curves that defied physics and probably several laws. Faces sculpted by artists who'd been told "make them beautiful enough to kill for" and took it literally.
Great. Murdered by supermodels. There are worse ways to go, but the irony stings.
The one in front had short white hair and crimson eyes that burned with the kind of intensity usually reserved for final bosses. Her hand rested on a sword hilt with the casual confidence of someone who'd used it recently and would happily use it again.
"Name yourself," she commanded in accented English. No, not English—his brain was translating somehow, turning their musical language into words he could understand. "What are you doing near the cursed lands?"
Ren opened his mouth. What came out was: "Hghk."
Smooth. Really showing that human superiority. Next try interpretive dance.
He swallowed, throat dry as his dating prospects, and tried again. "I'm Ren. Human. Very lost. Please don't kill me. I have very little to offer except sarcasm and disappointment."
The elves exchanged glances that conveyed entire conversations in eyebrow movements.
"Human?" White-hair said it like he'd claimed to be a unicorn made of cheese. "Humans are extinct. Have been for ten thousand years."
"Well, someone forgot to tell me. Inconsiderate of them, really." The words came out before wisdom could intervene. "Look, I don't know what you think I am, but I was just buying cup noodles when the world ended. Now I'm here, wherever here is, and you shot me with a poison arrow, which was rude, and I'd really like to not die again today if that's possible."
More glances. More eyebrow conversations. The middle elf whispered something that sounded like music having an argument with itself.
Then a fourth figure entered, and the room temperature dropped ten degrees from sheer presence alone.
She was tiny—maybe thirteen, maybe ageless, definitely too young to radiate that kind of authority. Golden hair cascaded in waves that caught light that didn't exist, adorned with silver chains and bells that chimed with each movement. A green sapphire the size of a walnut rested on her forehead like a third eye.
But it was her actual eyes that made Ren's brain stutter. Ancient. Older than her body, older than the forest, maybe older than the concept of old. They looked at him and saw through him, into him, past all the sarcasm and self-deprecation to the frightened NEET desperately trying not to die.
"So," she said in a voice that carried winter's promise, "you're what crawled out of the mist."
Rating: 10/10 for intimidation, 0/10 for hospitality. Would not recommend to fellow humans. If there were any.