The night deepened, wrapping the collector's residence in a hush that felt earned after the whirlwind of the day. Arjun and Priya lay entwined, their breaths steady and slow, the warmth of their shared intimacy lingering like a soft blanket. Sleep claimed Arjun fully, pulling him under without resistance—for once, no chaotic numbers or machines haunted the edges of his mind. But as the hours slipped by, a new dream took root, vivid and unyielding.
He stirred on cool, damp earth, the ground pressing unevenly against his back. A gentle breeze whispered through the air, carrying the scent of moss and ancient wood. Arjun's eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dappled light filtering through an impossibly tall canopy overhead. Trees soared like skyscrapers, their trunks thick as cars, bark textured with deep grooves that spoke of centuries untouched.
He sat up slowly, disoriented. The breeze picked up again, brushing across his skin—his bare skin. He glanced down and froze. Naked. Completely, utterly naked. "Now where the hell am I?" he mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep and surprise. "Did someone really pull a prank on me on my wedding night? Bro, this isn't funny. Hey, anybody here?"
The words echoed faintly, swallowed by the forest's vastness. No answer came, only the rustle of leaves high above. Then, in the distance, a low, eerie howl pierced the air—a wolf's cry, raw and primal. Arjun's heart skipped. "Oh god, where the fuck am I? Is this one of those weird dreams again?" He reached up and pinched his arm hard, wincing at the sharp sting. Pain bloomed real and immediate. "Shit, it still seems real. How is this possible?"
He scanned the surroundings, breath quickening. The trees were unlike anything he'd seen—towering giants, their leaves broad and vibrant, no sign of human touch. "There are no such tall trees left anywhere on Earth," he thought, mind racing back to documentaries from his old life. "This looks... prehistoric. But dreams aren't supposed to hurt like this."
Panic edged in, but Arjun forced it down. He'd faced worse disorientation in his transmigration—waking in a new body, merging memories. This? This he could handle. Step one: cover up. The breeze was chilly against exposed skin, and vulnerability gnawed at him. He spotted oversized leaves nearby—each one as large as a beach towel, thick and pliable. "Wow, they're big," he muttered, plucking three. From one, he peeled away fibrous roots that came free like natural strings—strong, flexible.
He found a sharp-edged rock on the ground, its surface glinting like flint. Using it, he poked holes along the edges of the other two leaves, careful not to tear them. He gathered two more leaves for good measure, now with four in total. Threading the root strings through the holes, he fashioned a makeshift skirt—wrapping it around his waist, tying it secure. It reached mid-thigh, rudimentary but effective. "Better than nothing," he said aloud, adjusting it with a wry grin. At least now he felt less exposed.
Next, protection. The wolf howl echoed again, closer this time? He couldn't tell. Spotting a cluster of fallen branches nearby, he selected the straightest one—about as tall as he was, sturdy wood. He dragged it to a flat stone and began sharpening one end against the rock, using another sharp stone as a tool. Sparks flew faintly as he worked, honing the tip to a crude point. Then, he rubbed the lower end smooth against the stone, creating a better grip—calluses forming on his palms from the effort.
Staff in hand, he gave it a test spin—twirling it like a bo staff, the air whistling softly. Memories of old action movies and a fleeting interest in martial arts from his previous life bubbled up. He struck a pose, thrusting forward. "Hai! Yo! Take this! Yah!" The moves mimicked silambam, the Tamil stick-fighting art he'd seen in films—fluid swings, imaginary dodges. For a moment, he lost himself in it, even breaking into a silly jig—jinga lala hu, hips swaying, feet stomping lightly on the earth. "IQ of a chunibyo, I know," he laughed to himself, breathless. "But what do you expect? Someone acts all serious after their first night, then gets tossed into a realistic weird dream? Nah, gotta roll with it."
The absurdity lightened his mood, but reality—or whatever this was—pressed on. Thirst gnawed at him now, his mouth dry from the running thoughts. He roamed cautiously, staff gripped tight, ears attuned to every snap of twig or rustle of leaf. The forest was alive: birdsong high above, distant calls he couldn't identify. After what felt like an eternity of weaving through underbrush, he heard it—the gurgle of running water, a stream perhaps.
Relief surged. He pushed toward the sound, parting thick bushes with his staff. The foliage gave way to a clear, babbling brook—crystal water tumbling over smooth stones, inviting. Arjun knelt at the edge, cupping his hands to scoop a drink. The water was cool, pure, quenching the parched feeling instantly. He splashed some on his face, sighing.
But as he lifted his head, wiping droplets from his eyes, his gaze locked on something across the stream. There, partially hidden in the shadows of ferns, stood a creature—sleek, scaled, with piercing yellow eyes fixed on him. It tilted its head slightly, a low whistle escaping its throat—like a signal, sharp and echoing.
Cold sweat broke out on Arjun's back. "That's... a raptor," his mind screamed. The build, the claws, the intelligent gaze—it screamed prehistoric predator. He'd binge-watched Jurassic Park in his old life, knew the lore: velociraptors, pack hunters, deadly smart. "And they never hunt alone."
He bolted upright, staff clutched like a lifeline. The creature whistled again, louder, and Arjun didn't wait— he turned and ran, feet pounding the earth, skirt leaves flapping wildly. Branches whipped at his arms, roots tripped him, but he stumbled on, heart hammering. Behind him, more whistles erupted—multiple, closing in. The pack was on him.
Adrenaline surged, sharpening his senses. He veered left, dodging a low-hanging vine. Rustling exploded from the right ahead—another raptor? He swerved sharply left again, breath ragged. But in that instant, movement blurred from the shadows: a hidden ambusher, leaping with terrifying precision.
Claws raked, jaws clamped. Pain exploded in his neck—hot, tearing. Arjun's vision tunneled, the world spinning red. One swift, merciless strike, and everything went black.
He jolted awake in the bed, gasping, sheets tangled around him. Priya stirred beside him, mumbling sleepily. The residence was still, the dream's forest gone. But the phantom pain lingered, a echo in his throat, leaving him wide-eyed in the dark.