Neriah first Pov:
It didn't take long for me to realize the forest was crawling with horrors lurking in every shadow. Its secrets were jealously guarded.
As I walked beneath the tangled canopy, I tried to convince myself that none of this was real, that I was trapped inside some dreadful dream.
For hours, I wandered aimlessly, searching for a path, a landmark, anything that might lead me out.
Eventually, I stopped.
Slowly, I turned my head back.
Behind me, it was just... there.
A creature that refused to resolve no matter how I turned my head. Tall. Impossibly tall. Its many limbs were too long, too thin, bending in places where joints shouldn't exist. It moved through the trees like smoke, never quite solid, never quite real.
Its head was wrong in a way I couldn't name, too smooth where a face should have been, as though something had started sketching features and simply given up halfway through.
I had no idea where the thing had come from, or how long it had been watching me before it finally stepped out of the shadows.
My breath misted.
I ran.
Branches tore at my face and arms. Roots tried to trip me. My lungs burned, my legs screamed, but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Because every time I glanced back, the creature was closer. Not running. Not chasing. Just... following. Inevitable.
I just had to run. As fast as I could. I followed what I thought was a path, vaulting over fallen logs and ducking beneath low branches.
I started getting tired. From exhaustion, from blood loss, from sheer terror. And still the creature followed.
I don't know how long I ran. Time stopped meaning anything. There was only movement, only survival, only the desperate need to put distance between myself and that thing behind me.
Then the trees thinned. Light broke through the canopy, real light, golden and warm. The oppressive humidity lifted. The smell of rot faded.
I stumbled into the open air, gasping, nearly fell, and caught myself against a big boulder. My vision swam. My legs gave out. I collapsed onto grass that felt real, normal, *safe*.
I raised my head, frozen in place, half-convinced the sight before me would vanish if I blinked.
Ahead of me rose a colossal stone fortification, weathered, monolithic walls climbing so high their upper battlements vanished into the low-hanging clouds. If this world had seen fit to drop me among monsters, at least it had built somewhere to hide from them.
I twisted around, hoping, stupidly, desperately, that I'd lost the creature somewhere in the run.
Not really. At the edge of the tree line, the creature stopped. It stood there, just inside the darkness, watching.
Then it turned and melted back into the forest. Gone.
I let out a long breath.
I followed the base of the perimeter until I found what passed for an entrance: an immense iron gate, towering and silent. No sentries paced along the parapets; no watchfires burned in welcome. Cut into the thick metal of the main arch was a smaller, human-sized door, ordinary enough to feel almost insulting after everything I'd just survived.
I knocked twice, a reflexive habit I had whenever I visited someone's house.
But patience was a luxury I couldn't afford.
When no one answered, I hammered on the heavy wood with both fists, banging hard enough to shake the dust from the frame.
A rectangular iron grate screeched open. Behind the bars appeared a weathered face, a man somewhere in his forties, a pale scar bisecting his left eyebrow, his eyes steeped in the bone-deep exhaustion of someone who wished he were literally anywhere else.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" he asked sharply.
"I'm a traveler," I wheezed, leaning against the frame. "I was hoping to rest in this place after a long journey."
His gaze drifted over me, taking in my clean, strange clothes and the way I flinched at the screech of the rusty hinges.
"A traveler, huh? You don't look like one."
"I don't..." I trailed off. The real story sounded insane even in my own head. "It's hard to explain."
"Try me."
"Truth is, I don't even know where I am," I admitted, gesturing helplessly at the dark wall of trees behind me. "I woke up inside a giant glowing flower, and I've spent the last few hours running for my life from whatever lives in that forest. That's how I ended up here."
His expression shifted, the guarded suspicion melting into baffled disbelief. He looked at me the way one might look at a stray dog that had somehow wandered onto a military base: uncertain, wary, but not entirely willing to kick it back into the wild.
"Are you armed?"
"No."
"Dangerous?"
"I don't think so." I meant it to sound reassuring, but it came out pitched like a question. Honestly, I wasn't sure myself.
He let out a short breath, half-snort, half-sigh, and glanced back over his shoulder as if waiting for a superior officer to step in and stop him. When he turned back, his eyes lingered on my face, catching on whatever strange detail kept drawing second looks.
"Alright," he grumbled. "Get inside. Before I come to my senses."
The latch clicked, the narrow door groaned open, and he stepped aside to let me pass.
The moment I crossed the threshold, the world erupted. The forest had been suffocatingly quiet; this place hit me with a wall of sound. Voices overlapped in a dozen cadences, hammers rang out against glowing iron, iron-rimmed cart wheels ground over damp cobblestones, and a draft horse let out a heavy, shuddering whicker. Then came the smells: pungent woodsmoke, sizzling fat, roasted spices, and beneath it all, a faint, sugary grease like fried dough and hot machine oil.
Part of me had been bracing for high fantasy, floating streetlights, unlit torches blazing with blue flame, robed mages murmuring incantations in back alleys, some undeniable proof that I had landed in a realm of magic where I could grind levels and learn spells.
Instead, I got gritty, industrial reality. It should have been grounding. Instead, it sent a hollow pit opening in my stomach.
"Who's that?"
"Is he human?"
The whispers followed me down the street. Heads turned. Fingers pointed and quickly dropped when people realized I was looking back. A burly man watched me with the narrow-eyed wariness usually reserved for a rabid dog. A young woman a few paces away stared with open curiosity until the man beside her gripped her arm, muttering a sharp rebuke and pulling her along.
They were all seeing something about me that I couldn't see myself. Then the environment clicked into place. I wasn't just in another world; I was in another century.
Cobblestone roads branched in every direction, flanked by narrow buildings leaning haphazardly against one another. Some were squat timber-and-brick structures, while others rose three or four stories high, complete with wrought-iron balconies and bay windows misted with indoor steam. The crowd moved in brimmed hats, wool scarves, and long duster coats cut like something out of a late nineteenth-century frontier town, only rendered with impossible vibrancy, every edge razor-sharp, looking more like high-definition animation than reality. Like a masterpiece from the kind of high-budget anime adaptation I'd once dreamed of working on.
Uniformed watchmen patrolled the walkways. A street vendor bellowed prices over a wooden cart loaded with strange, bumpy fruits, bantering good-naturedly with a customer who had no intention of paying asking price.
Nearby, an open-fronted smithy breathed orange heat into the street, rhythmic hammer strikes ringing out like a steady pulse. Somewhere in the distance, a low, mechanical whine droned, gears meshing, or the steady chug of a boiler.
Horse-drawn wagons rattled past a man who casually adjusted a heavy revolver in a leather holster at his hip as casually as checking a pocket watch.
If magic existed here, it was buried deep beneath coal dust, iron, and sweat.
Couples walked arm-in-arm. Children darted between legs, chasing a rolling wooden hoop. Youths loitered near an alleyway, laughing at a joke I couldn't hear. None of them looked at each other with suspicion; they were simply living their lives, unaware of the cosmic absurdity that had just dropped into their midst.
The sheer vertigo of it struck me, every person around me had a whole history, a family, a past, and I was an uninvited ghost.
I shoved my hands into my hoodie pockets, hunched my shoulders, and tried to look like an ordinary kid on a casual walk. It didn't work.
A few yards down, I caught sight of a large pane of glass in a shop window and stopped dead.
The first thing I noticed was my age. I wasn't twenty anymore. The boy in the glass looked sixteen, maybe seventeen at most, standing around a modest five-foot-eight.
I didn't look like anyone on the street. Most of the townsfolk had dark, earthy hair, weathered skin, and sharp, grounded features. I looked like a foreign asset rendered in a different art style. My clothes didn't help either: the same cobalt hoodie, dark trousers, and white sneakers I'd worn to work, except they were immaculately clean, without a scuff or thread out of place, as if fresh out of the packaging.
Whoever's responsible for my appearance went way overboard, I'm way better-looking than I ever was on Earth.
The face was still mine. I recognized the shape of my jaw, my nose, the curve of my brows. But every detail had been turned up several notches. It wasn't wrong, it was unnervingly perfect. My eyes were a brilliant, crystalline azure blue, lined with impossibly dark lashes.
I looked like the concept art I used to sketch in my free time, back when I was studying animation in college. I used to imagine myself as a cool anime protagonist.
And then there was my hair.
It wasn't silver or gray; it was pure, luminous white. It caught the ambient sunlight and reflected it like frost on water, every strand possessing an impossible sheen.
I reached up, my fingers brushing the locks. It felt real. Soft. Mine, whether I wanted it or not.
If I really had been dropped into this world the way I suspected, the way every fiber of gamer instinct in me wanted to believe shouldn't there have been a character screen somewhere? Sliders, options, a menu asking me to choose a face, a class, a reason? Instead, I got dropped into a flower bud, chased by an overgrown terrifying bug, and handed a face that screamed trouble.
The hunger from my old life chose that exact moment to reassert itself. My stomach growled, loud and unapologetic, practically announcing my presence to the entire block.
I clamped an arm across my midsection and looked around sheepishly. No one seemed to notice the sound, but a few pedestrians were still staring at my hair.
"This is ridiculous, Even my stomach sounds like an alien monster."
"Watch it! You wanna die?!"
The bark shattered my train of thought. A young patrolman in a crisp navy-and-brass uniform marched across the street, his heavy boots clapping against the stones. He stopped right in front of me, hand dropping to his hip. In one fluid scrape of metal, a steel broadsword cleared its scabbard, the tip coming to rest inches from my nose.
"You're not from this city,"
I took a hasty step back, raising both hands open-palmed. "I'm just a traveler. Really. I'm not looking for any trouble."
He closed the distance again, blade unwavering, his eyes narrowing.
"Identification."
"I... I don't have any on me."
"Traveling without papers inside the outer ring is a direct violation of municipal code, You're coming with me to the station."
For a split second, I considered bolting. He looked barely older than me, and with his armor, I might have outrun him in a straight sprint. But running in a strange city with zero knowledge of the layout was suicide. I was also exhausted.
So instead I did the only other thing I could think of. I dropped my gaze, furrowed my brow, and clenched my trembling fists at my sides, leaning hard into the role of a traumatized victim.
"Bandits," I said, letting my voice crack with just the right amount of distress.
I let the word hang in the air, giving him room to imagine the worst.
"I was on the high road,"
I continued, keeping my eyes glued to the cobblestones.
"They ambushed my caravan. Someone struck me from behind, and everything went black. When I came to, my pack, my coin, my papers, everything was gone. I've been wandering in a daze for days. This city was the first thing I found."
It was a complete fabrication, but desperate times called for shameless improv. I kept my head down, shoulders slumped under the weight of an entirely fictional tragedy.
When I finally risked looking up, the officer's rigid stance had softened into uncertainty. His sword lowered slightly, though he kept his grip tight on the hilt.
He began circling me slowly, inspecting my silhouette. He paused at my side, his free hand lightly touching the synthetic fabric of my hoodie, rubbing the weave between two fingers.
"What kind of cloth is this? I've never seen a loom produce something so seamless." He stepped back around to my front, tilting his head.
"And your hair... that's not dye, is it?"
He leaned closer, scrutinizing my face.
"Your clothes make no sense. Your hair makes no sense. Even your eyes look unnatural. What are you? You look human, but barely."
His eyes suddenly went wide with a strange, breathless revelation.
"Wait. Are you... a Saint Guardian?"
He stared at me with an odd, desperate flicker of hope in his eyes.
If I say yes, does he let me go?
"I... am a Saint Guardian," I said, placing a solemn hand over my heart. I tried to look noble, though I suspect I mostly looked like I had indigestion.
The officer blinked, glancing at my empty belt and lack of any armor, doubt immediately creeping back into his eyes.
"If you think I'm lying," I added quickly, "I swear it's the truth. You have to believe me."
He straightened up and scratched the back of his neck, visibly conflicted.
"Claiming to be a Saint Guardian isn't something to joke about, Humanity hasn't produced a Saint Guardian in centuries. The old legends say one will appear when we need them most, but even if you are one... how did you get beaten by a bunch of roadside bandits? Saint Guardians are supposed to be the apex warriors of the realm. You'd have to be pathetically weak to lose your gear to common thieves."
"I'm not weak!" I blurted, scrambling to salvage the lie. "I was ambushed! There were ten of them, fully armed, surrounding me in the dark!"
I pressed two fingers to my temple, pretending to struggle against amnesia.
"Look, my memory is completely shattered. All I know is that those words keep echoing in my mind: *Saint Guardian*."
The guard's mouth twitched into a competitive grin. "Then prove it."
"Prove it?"
He thumped his chestplate with a mailed fist. "Spar with me. Defeat me in combat, and I'll believe you're what you say you are."
Well, damn. The quiet survival strategy was officially off the rails.
"I don't think that's a good idea," I said quickly, backing off.
"You'd destroy me. I'm... severely weakened from the ambush, and frankly, I don't like senseless violence."
"Hah! You're terrified," he boasted, sheathing his blade with a theatrical flourish. "Felt the overwhelming pressure of my power, didn't you?"
"Oh, absolutely," I agreed shamelessly.
"Trembling where I stand. You're clearly far stronger than me."
He laughed, clearly satisfied by the flattery, and extended a gauntleted hand. "You're not bad, kid. Consider us friends. My name's Jack. Do you remember yours yet?"
I shook his hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, Jack"
Just then, a low clatter echoed from the cross street. A squat, rectangular metal carriage chugged past on heavy iron-banded wheels, belching thin plumes of white vapor from a rear exhaust. The collision of the familiar engine rumble and the archaic brass fittings hit me with a jolt of pure cognitive dissonance.
Jack noticed me staring and grinned like a proud local.
"I'm Neriah, by the way," I offered, snapping back to attention.
"Neriah. Never heard that one before, but at least you've got your name back."
"Some bits of memories are coming back"
He nodded toward the rattling vehicle.
"I lost my mind the first time I saw one of those, too. It's a steam carriage, brand-new design. Runs entirely without beasts of burden."
"No horses? Just steam?"
"That's what the engineers say. Valcrest perfected the boilers a few years ago, and now every workshop in the district is racing to build their own."
I nodded along as if taking serious notes. Honestly, my brain was too fried to process the logistics of an industrial revolution. My eyes drifted to a pair of horses tied to a hitching post, looking utterly unbothered by the iron monstrosity clattering past them.
"I think I saw something like that in the distance earlier," I mentioned. "A massive iron serpent moving along parallel rails, with smoke billowing from its head and people sitting inside."
Jack let out a laugh. "That's a locomotive train. Same principle, just ten times the size."
"Right. Fascinating."
He cocked his head, his expression softening into something more genuine.
"Must be rough, waking up with your head full of fog, trying to piece the world back together."
"It is what it is," I sighed. "Better to learn what I can now than mourn what I've forgotten."
Everyone else in the district had treated me like a venomous insect, but Jack despite the initial sword-in-my-face introduction, was treating me like a person. It relieved an ache in my chest I hadn't realized I was holding.
Feeling a bit braver, I asked, "Do you know how to ride a horse?"
Before Jack could answer, a gravelly voice cut through the street noise like a whip crack.
"Report."
A senior officer strode toward us from an adjoining lane. A leather rifle sling crossed his broad chest, the strap worn soft and dark from years of duty. He walked with the effortless, heavy grace of a man who had long since stopped needing to prove his authority to anyone.
Jack instantly snapped to attention, heels clicking against the cobblestones.
"Sir! Found a suspicious individual claiming to be a traveler and a Saint Guardian. States he was ambushed by bandits and suffered memory loss. No identification."
The older officer's eyes swept from Jack to me, cold and calculating. "And why are you blocks away from your post at the east gate?"
"I... I left my post to apprehend and investigate, sir!"
The veteran held his subordinate's gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment before turning his attention to me.
He looked at my unblemished skin, my posture, and my tired eyes.
"If he's an infiltrator, holding him in the middle of a crowded thoroughfare is reckless," the veteran said flatly. And if he's telling the truth, leaving an injured civilian on the street is dereliction of duty. Escort him to the nearest clinic. Have a physician examine him for head trauma."
He turned back to Jack, his tone dropping into dry disapproval.
"You're relieved of street duty. Report to your father's foundry for the next month. Perhaps a few weeks of shoveling slag will teach you that vigilance requires discipline, not glory-hunting."
Without waiting for a reply, the veteran turned on his heel and walked away, his heavy boots striking the pavement in a steady, unhurried cadence until he disappeared around the corner.
Jack stood frozen in mortified silence.
"...He suspended me, On my first day?!"
I felt a genuine twinge of guilt. "Hey... don't let it get to you. You were just doing your job. You'll bounce back."
Jack sighed, rolling his shoulders as he clicked his sword back into place. "Yeah, yeah, easy for you to say. Honestly? The city guard is a joke anyway. I didn't even want this post."
Despite his complaints, the guy was built for it, broad-shouldered, athletic, and disciplined enough to snap to attention without thinking. He was the only guard in the district wearing some kind of knight armor. He had the physical presence of someone who trained every day. It did nothing for my self-esteem. Compared to him, I looked like an underfed desk jockey who got winded climbing a flight of stairs.
"Whatever," Jack muttered, turning toward the central avenue. "Come on. Let's get you to the nearest clinic. Maybe a walk through the street will knock some sense back into that head of yours."
I stepped forward to follow him, but the moment my weight shifted, the horizon tilted violently. The cobblestones beneath my feet seemed to lurch like the deck of a ship caught in a squall.
Right below the HUD, bright luminescent text flared to life, accompanied by a robotic voice:
\[Warning: Player Vitals Critical]
\[Rest Required]
\[Shutdown in: 5... 4... 3...]
Wait, what…
My knee buckled, smashing down onto the stones with a sharp, sickening crunch of bone against rock.
"Look at over there!" a bystander shouted. "Is he invoking a spell?!"
"...he's collapsing you idiot! And he looks nothing like a fairy, for that matter"
Jack spun around, shouting my name, but the world was already fading out. My vision tunneled into black as gravity pulled me face-first toward the cold pavement.