The last thing Rayan remembered from Earth was the blue glow of a monitor at 2:13 a.m., the kind of hour where logic felt optional and decisions felt permanent.
He had been debugging a tool that nobody asked for. A tiny script that mapped patterns inside noisy data. The goal sounded harmless. Find the signal, filter the junk, print a clean report, go to sleep.
Then the report printed something else.
A prompt.
Not on the terminal. Not on the screen. Inside his head, like a pop-up ad that had learned where thoughts lived.
SYSTEM NOTICE: New environment detected.Migration wizard started.Proceed.
Rayan tried to laugh. The laugh stayed in his throat, as if his body had hit a loading screen too.
His room blurred. The air folded. Gravity got offended and left. The blue glow stretched into a ribbon and snapped like a cable pulled too hard.
Then he landed face-first into dirt.
Warm dirt. Real dirt. The kind that smelled like rain and worms and someone's terrible life choices.
He rolled over and stared at a sky that looked painted by a person with a grudge against symmetry. Two moons. One thin and sharp. One fat and smug. Stars arranged in clustered spirals like somebody had tried to sort the universe and gave up halfway.
A breeze brushed his face.
It carried distant voices. Metal clinking. Something that sounded like a goat arguing with a wall.
Rayan sat up slowly, checked his arms, checked his legs, checked his pockets.
Phone. Gone.
Wallet. Gone.
Dignity. Also gone.
At least the hoodie survived, which felt like the universe offering a joke and expecting gratitude.
He stood. The forest around him had trees that looked familiar until he looked longer. Their bark ran in thin geometric lines, like natural circuit traces. Leaves shimmered faintly, catching moonlight the way glass did.
Rayan's brain tried to file the scene under "dream." The scene refused.
Then the voice returned.
Not a voice. A clean interface tone, polite and dead inside.
STATUS: Local ruleset loaded.Mana layer detected.Unauthorized access detected.Granting limited sandbox privileges.
A translucent panel hovered in front of him.
No projection source. No device. No hologram emitter.
It floated, steady, with the confidence of something that never asked permission.
Rayan blinked. The panel stayed.
It displayed:
USER: RAYAN-INSTANCE-07CLASS: NONEAFFINITY: UNKNOWNCHEAT MODULE: "ROOTKIT" INSTALLEDWARNING: MODULE ORIGIN UNVERIFIEDTIP: Do not lick glowing mushrooms.
Rayan stared at the final line.
Then he looked down at a cluster of pale mushrooms beside his boot, softly glowing like they had a night shift.
He moved his foot away from them with the care of a man who had seen enough medical forums.
"Okay," he said out loud, because silence felt like surrender. "This is either a fantasy world, or the worst corporate onboarding in history."
The panel pulsed once, like it appreciated his honesty.
NEW OBJECTIVE: Survive first night.
BONUS OBJECTIVE: Avoid being eaten by anything with more than six legs.
Rayan swallowed.
Somewhere in the trees, something clicked. Slow. Deliberate. Like a lock turning.
Rayan's eyes scanned the darkness.
The panel gave him one more message.
NOTICE: Security systems active.
They will attempt to identify foreign processes.
Recommended action: Act normal.
Rayan nodded.
He had never acted normal in his life, but the suggestion felt fair.
Rayan found the road by following the sound of humans being disappointed in each other.
The path cut through the woods and opened into rolling hills dotted with stone fences and squat trees that grew fruit shaped like slightly angry pears. The air smelled like smoke, bread, and livestock regret.
A village sat ahead, tucked into a shallow valley. Warm lanternlight glowed from windows. Wooden rooftops leaned at odd angles like they were tired. A watchtower stood near the gate, thin and practical, as if the architect had learned hope was expensive.
The gate guards spotted him fast.
Two people, both wearing leather vests, both holding spears like spears were a personality trait.
The taller one raised a hand. "Stop there."
Rayan stopped there.
The shorter one narrowed her eyes. "Name."
Rayan opened his mouth, then hesitated. He had learned in life that names caused problems when spoken to strangers with weapons.
The panel flickered gently at the edge of his vision.
TIP: Provide minimal data.
"Rayan," he said.
"From where?"
"Far," Rayan answered, and hated himself for sounding like a side character in a bad play.
The tall guard squinted. "Far where."
Rayan decided to keep it boring. "Forest."
The short guard leaned closer. "People do not come out of the Graywood at night."
Rayan lifted his hands in a peaceful gesture that also doubled as a silent apology to his past decisions. "That feels like solid advice. It arrived late."
They studied him like he was a broken tool sold at full price.
The tall guard spoke again. "No crest. No trade mark. No traveler tag. No pack."
Rayan looked down at his empty hands. "The pack part sounds like a skill issue."
The short guard stared, unblinking.
Rayan smiled, then stopped smiling when he realized that humor did not translate well across spear distance.
The tall guard lowered his voice. "Are you touched."
Rayan paused. "By what."
The short guard nodded once, as if that confirmed something. "By the air. By the layer. By the shimmer. Call it what you like."
Rayan remembered the panel's mention of mana.
He picked a safe answer. "Probably. The forest felt… loud."
Both guards exchanged a look that contained several years of tired.
The tall guard sighed. "If you are cursed, it becomes paperwork."
Rayan tried a different smile. A smaller one. "No curse. Only mild confusion and a strong desire to sit down."
The short guard tapped the butt of her spear against the ground. "Confusion also becomes paperwork."
The tall guard gestured toward the gate. "In. Do not start trouble. Do not ask about the lights under the well. Do not mention the sky being wrong. People get upset."
Rayan stepped forward. "The sky is wrong."
The short guard's eyes sharpened. "Do not."
Rayan nodded quickly. "Understood. Sky is perfect. Sky is employed. Sky pays taxes."
They let him through.
Inside, the village streets were narrow and packed with life. Vendors closed stalls with quick hands. A man hauled buckets and complained the entire time, like it powered his muscles. Children chased each other between houses, laughing too loud and too late. A dog watched Rayan pass with an expression that said it had seen worse.
Rayan moved slowly, taking everything in.
He saw carvings on doorframes. Not decorative. Functional. Thin runes carved into wood, spaced with the care of someone laying down wiring. Some glowed faintly.
A world with magic.
And a world with rules.
The panel appeared again, smaller now, tucked near the corner of his sight like a polite parasite.
ROOTKIT MODULE: ACTIVEMODE: STEALTHTOOLS AVAILABLE:
1.Scan
2.Inspect
3.Patch
4.Spoof LIMIT: Low throughput. High risk.
Rayan's heart sped up.
That list was not fantasy magic. That list was his language, wearing a costume.
He focused on Scan.
A pulse of information swept outward, almost like a breath.
Then data returned.
OBJECTS DETECTED:
Lane lantern, heat source, oil combustion.Rune seal, threshold ward, low voltage mana pattern.Human, stressed, carrying bread, health 78 percent.Dog, suspicious, health 96 percent, attitude 100 percent.
Rayan blinked. "That is unfair."
A nearby woman carrying a basket stopped. "What is unfair."
Rayan froze.
He had spoken aloud.
He turned to her. She had flour on her sleeves and the tired calm of somebody who woke up at dawn and hated everyone equally.
He tried to recover. "The dog. The dog has an attitude problem."
The woman looked at the dog.
The dog stared back, offended on principle.
The woman nodded once. "That one bites thieves."
Rayan pointed at himself with an open hand. "No stealing."
The woman's gaze drifted over his hoodie, then his shoes, then the fact that he had nothing else. "No money either."
Rayan exhaled. "That part is accurate."
She shifted the basket. "Work gets food. Food gets sleep. Sleep gets less stupid choices tomorrow."
Rayan respected the economy.
"I work," he said quickly. "Any work."
She tilted her head. "Any."
Rayan nodded, then regretted nodding, because "any" always included things like sewer duty and emotional labor.
The woman gestured down the street. "Inn, two turns. Ask for Lessa. Say Mina sent you. Do not lie. Lessa smells lies."
Rayan started walking, then paused. "Mina."
She nodded again, like names were weights she handed out carefully.
Rayan offered a small bow, half awkward, half sincere. "Thanks."
Mina shrugged. "Thanks later. Stay alive first."
Rayan walked toward the inn, eyes scanning signs until he found a wooden board painted with a sleeping fox and the words:
THE DROWSY VIXEN
Inside, warmth hit him. Smoke. Stew. Wet wool drying. The noise of people trying to forget the day.
A stocky woman behind the counter looked up. Her hair was tied back hard. Her gaze was sharper than the village gate.
Rayan approached. "Lessa."
Her eyebrows lifted. "That is my name."
"Mina sent me," Rayan said.
Lessa's eyes flicked across him, then down, then back up. "Mina sends strays. Sit."
Rayan sat.
Lessa leaned forward slightly. "Name."
"Rayan."
"Skill."
Rayan hesitated. He had plenty of skills that did not sound useful in a medieval-ish fantasy village. Debugging. Pattern recognition. Making computers do things they did not want to do.
Then he remembered the panel.
He decided to test a lie that was also a truth.
"Fixing things," Rayan said.
Lessa's expression did not change. "Fix what."
Rayan glanced around. He saw a cracked mug on a table. A lamp that flickered too much. A door that did not sit right on its hinges. He saw a rune-mark on the hearth that looked chipped.
He felt the Rootkit itch behind his eyes, like a tool begging to be used.
"Whatever breaks," Rayan said.
Lessa stared at him, long enough to make time feel embarrassed.
Then she said, "All right. First job. The well light."
Rayan's throat tightened.
The guards had mentioned lights under the well.
Lessa watched his reaction with the calm patience of someone reading a book with a predictable plot.
Rayan forced a casual tone. "People get upset about that."
"They get dead about it," Lessa replied.
Rayan nodded slowly. "That sounds worse."
Lessa turned and grabbed a small lantern, then placed it on the counter with a soft thud. "Midnight. Bring this. Do not bring fear. Fear makes noise."
Rayan stared at the lantern like it might bite him.
The panel flashed a small warning.
NOTICE: Unknown signal source detected near village center.
Possible origin: non-human.
Rayan swallowed.
Aliens, he thought. Or whatever counted as aliens here.
He looked at Lessa. "Why me."
Lessa shrugged. "Mina said you walked out of Graywood alive. Either lucky or useful. Luck runs out. Useful lasts."
Rayan picked up the lantern.
It felt heavier than it should, like it carried responsibility in the metal.
He forced a grin that did not reach his eyes. "Midnight. Well light. No fear. Simple."
Lessa nodded. "If it stays simple, it means someone lied."
Rayan stepped back from the counter.
The room swelled with laughter at another table. Someone shouted about dice. Someone else shouted louder. The dog from outside pushed through the door and sniffed the air, then fixed Rayan with the same judgmental stare.
Rayan stared back.
He whispered, "No biting."
The dog sneezed, which felt like an insult delivered in a foreign language.
Rayan sat in a corner with a bowl of stew and a mind full of alarms.
A fantasy world without gods still had forces. Systems. Rules. Machines pretending to be magic.
And somewhere under the well, something broadcast a signal strong enough for his Rootkit to notice.
Midnight waited.
And the village already sounded like it had lost people to whatever lived beneath it.