Arion walked through the open forest, boots crunching over moss and gnarled roots. Sunlight fractured through the canopy, painting the ground with patterns of golds and greens

  Every sound felt amplified here—the buzz of insects, the creak of branches, the soft patter of droplets sliding from leaf to leaf.

  He kept a running tally in his head, the scientist in him refusing to sit still.

  After an hour of measured wandering, he stumbled upon a tree cabin tucked deep within the branches of a large tree. The structure stood intact—plank walls weathered, a slanted roof heavy with moss, a single small window blinded by years of dust.

  It looked almost familiar, like a memory pulled from his old world and dropped into this one.

  The scent of old wood washed over him—not decay, but something warmer, like sun-baked bark after rain.

  A flash.

  “Arion! Arion! Look, the tree house is finished! Isn’t it cool? It can be our secret base from Mom and Dad!”

  A child’s voice—bright, echoing from somewhere that no longer existed.

  He blinked hard, and the echo vanished.

  The lingering memory cut through him, yet he shook it off with a muttered curse.

  Now's not the time for this.

  He needed higher ground. Somewhere to map the lay of this alien land.

  The climb was short. When he broke through the treeline atop a hill, the world unfolded beneath him—a scattered forest, the distant shimmer of a river, and not a single trace of civilization.

  Then he spotted it: a thin wisp of smoke rising faintly beyond the next ridge.

  Relief flared hot in his chest.

  People.

  He took one eager step forward—then froze.

  Wait... I’m the alien here.

  “The locals will just think I’m crazy if I can’t act like a normal inhabitant… What if they think I’m some kind of heretic demon? Pinned to a stake and burned alive.”

  The image was vivid enough to send a shiver down his spine. He took a step back, jaw clenched.

  “Yeah, no. Let's focus on surviving first. Let’s keep civilization at a long, safe distance.”

  I need shelter—

  His thoughts were cut short by an internal rumbling.

  And food… then we can work on a working theory of where in the Physics am I!

  The thought gave him a viable plan, grounding him in his new body.

  At least for Arion, now there were no rules. No superior looking down on him. Just freedom, along with the razor edge of risk and danger that came with it.

  He stood there a moment longer, letting the realization settle like the weight of all responsibilities had washed over him—until movement caught his eye in the.

  Something large.

  The forest bent and groaned as if the trees themselves were being shoved aside—full-grown trunks swaying like tall grass. Vibrations rolled through the earth and up into his boots, each vibration enough to rattle his knees.

  The vibration prickled his skin. Goosebumps flared— instincts screaming.

  Whatever that is, it isn't small and most definitely not friendly.

  He spun on his heel and noped the hell out of there, back the way he had come.

  “Tree cabin it is,” he muttered.

  …

  Back at the cabin, he found the ladder and climbed inside.

  He was taken aback by how immaculate it felt. From outside it looked weathered and forgotten, but the interior told a different story.

  It contained a modest simple bed, a drawer, a sturdy chest and a small desk. Within the room's centre also sat a crudely fashioned stone container stained with old ash—a firepit, for cooking, boiling water and survival.

  It looked like it had been built by someone who lived just beyond civilization and moved light.

  Arion's finger glided along the desk, unearthing a thin veil of dust that smothered everything

  No one's been here for some time.

  He took another glance over its interior.

  Looks like the owners abandoned you, old girl.

  After a long moment of taking it in, he patted the bed, then sprawled across it with a groan of pure relief, finally able to rest his borrowed bones.

  …

  When the worst of the weariness ebbed, he rose and explored properly. On the desk sat a small circular bottle of dark glass and a quill.

  Old school, aye?

  Most of the ink had long dried, leaving splodges stained on the old wood. Whoever had lived here had clearly been a writer.

  A journal perhaps? He thought as he investigated the stained wood. He then turned to the drawer beside the bed.

  He slid open the drawer. A small leather-bound journal waited inside. He sat at the desk and opened it.

  Fortunately, he could understand the language—though it felt strange, like wearing someone else’s memories. The characters looked ancient, scribbled in an oddly cohesive hand, like staring at a foreign script you had no right to comprehend… yet somehow could.

  It was a very weird feeling. Arion didn’t know this language. The mind he now inhabited did.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  That didn’t mean he grasped everything. Many words were unfamiliar, certain terms or sentences refused to click. It was like clutching scattered puzzle pieces, trying to force them into a picture still missing half its frame.

  Still, he pieced together the core: a record of observations in the surrounding wilds. Notes on creatures, caves, hidden trails, and quiet discoveries.

  But what truly hooked him were the final entries.

  —— ? ——

  14th of Early Bloomtide

  ‘My grandfather was told by his father of an ancient structure lying somewhere in this land. He told me a story of a very powerful wielder of magic who once resided within—a man filled with unmatched knowledge, all of it recorded in his own sacred library. It was said he was obsessed with knowledge of this world and of every opening that contained one. The locals called him a madman, insane, a demon spawn from the very first Openings.’

  ‘I’ve searched for months, but the trek back and forth takes too much of a toll. That’s why I’ve set up a forward outpost for the time being. If I could only just find it…

  Father, I won’t fail you.’

  —— ? ——

  Fingers slipped between the pages, flipping to the next. The handwriting had turned jagged, letters rushed, dark ink spots where the quill must have trembled with excitement or fear.

  —— ? ——

  17th of Early Bloomtide

  ‘I found it!

  An ancient structure—hidden by the forest itself. It has to be it. Most of the area was overrun with creatures; no wonder no one ever found it… or lived to tell anyone about it. I had to push far past my Vitalis limit just to reach the entrance.’

  ‘I’m cautious of what could be inside. More creatures? Possible. I’ll rest for two days to recover fully, and then return to explore its secrets.

  I’ve made sure to note down my trail—alas, I forget my way.’

  —— ? ——

  The only words after the last entry were a careful sketch paired with directions of the adventurer’s route to the ancient structure deep within the forest.

  Arion picked up the dried quill, an instinct of his old self rather than deliberate—maybe to add a line of his own within the journal that no one had read, except him. Was he trying to continue the stranger’s story, or simply record his own existence in it?

  That, he did not know.

  The quill kissed the page, then lifted again and returned to its glass home. He chuckled softly. “What the hell am I doing…”

  His voice sounded wrong here—too loud in the quiet, as if the walls hadn’t yet learned its echo.

  The ink had faded to the colour of dried blood. Some letters bled together; others were pressed so deep they scored the paper, as if emotion had guided the hand more than the quill. He traced a half-erased name in the corner and felt a strange, quiet sympathy for the man who had written it.

  He caught himself wondering how many nights the owner had sat here, writing until the sun fell behind the horizon—the same way he used to stare at monitors that lit the room with artificial light, far into the late hours.

  He sighed and closed the journal, fingers lingering on the groove of someone else’s handwriting.

  “Seemed like they were someone that chased knowledge,” he murmured.

  Yet, the world always seems to charge interest… He thought, glancing around the dust layered interior.

  The thought landed heavier than expected. It wasn’t fear; it was recognition. The universe had always collected on curiosity—atoms split, species burned, progress paid in pieces of someone’s sanity.

  The signs that the owner had succeeded seemed fleeting to Arion, the fact that there was no new entry did not fill him with confidence.

  Is this world the same, I wonder…

  Before he could spiral further, a low growl interrupted him. It wasn’t subtle, but loud enough to echo in the rafters. His stomach was staging a full revolt, dragging him out of his thoughts.

  “Welp. That’s my cue to think about food.” He pushed off the desk. The weight of the thought fell away, replaced by simple, urgent hunger.

  He searched the cabin, half hoping for anything edible, but of course found nothing. Whoever had lived here had stripped it clean before their final journey.

  Well… not everything.

  A glint of metal caught his eye beneath the pillow. He pulled it free—a crudely made knife, balanced for throwing, gutting and survival.

  “He seemed prepared… and maybe a little paranoid. Well, this is better than nothing, I guess.”

  Still, the problem of food remained.

  Then an idea struck.

  …

  Arion stood at the edge of the same river that had humiliated him earlier—but this time he held a makeshift spear: a sturdy branch lashed tight with fibre, the knife secured at its tip.

  “Now, let’s not get too full of ourselves…” He said with a half grin. “Well, I guess not everyone can be a natural master of survival.”

  Grinning with blind, reckless confidence, he steadied the spear.

  “Now where are you…”

  I need to stay still.

  Be a statue, a plain old inanimate statue. Statues don’t move.

  They won’t react if they don’t feel movement.

  Time stretched. Then—a flicker of silver in his peripheral vision.

  The plan worked.

  His arm slowly tensed, muscles unwinding as he—

  Growwwllll…

  His stomach betrayed him with immaculate timing, a warning the fish took instantly, darting away. Arion lunged anyway, calculating its trajectory, he hurled the spear.

  A miss.

  “Son of a—! You couldn’t wait one more second?”

  He glared down at his own stomach like it had personally let them both down.

  The second attempt followed. No growl this time—but the spear still splashed harmlessly past its target.

  “Gah! Dammit! Why does this always look so easy in the movies?”

  SPLOSH!

  “Gah!”

  SPLASH!

  …

  —— ? —— —— ? —— —— ? ——

  Many misses later…

  Panting, head bowed in defeat, he leaned on the spear like an old man with a walking stick.

  “T-This is impossible! Surely there’s a better way—”

  His tantrum cut off mid-sentence as his mind clicked into gear, an idea forming.

  He dropped the spear like a failed experiment and stood motionless—eyes closed, body still.

  A faint splash downstream, a wiggle in the current.

  When the fish drew near, Arion’s eyes snapped open. He thrust his hand forward, releasing the internal energy he’d been quietly circulating through his arm.

  In an instant the river answered. The energy pulsed outward, twisting water into motion. But this time he wasn’t shaping flow or temperature, he was forming a bubble of air.

  The moment it swelled around the fish, the creature dropped helplessly inside, flopping on the surface of the dome, stunned by the sudden absence of water.

  Why didn’t I think of this earlier!

  But then he felt the fish fight back, vibrations rippling back through his control, clamping his muscles as they struggled to hold the bubble.

  “Crap!”

  The shock forced him to stabilise the bubble with extra effort. Without thinking, he willed it upward, dragging it through the air toward himself.

  He wasn’t letting this one go.

  The bubble shot from the river with such speed the poor fish must have felt like it was preparing for launch, crushed by invisible G-forces.

  A grin split Arion’s face.

  Victory… finally.

  Then his grin dropped.

  “Oh shit.”

  Smack!

  The fish slammed directly into his face—tail first, for maximum insult.

  Both collapsed. The fish hit the ground first and began flopping desperately toward freedom.

  Arion groaned with a curse, then watched his dinner attempt to escape, and lunged for the discarded spear.

  “Spear! I’m sorry for throwing you away! Let’s get this sucker!”

  He hurled it and the spear soared, piercing the fish into the bank just before it reached the water.

  Clean hit!

  “Ha! I finally did it!” said the manic, desperate man to his food.

  Arion snapped the spear from within the moist earth—the fish gave one last flop as the spear lifted in front of him.

  His eyes narrowed on his successfully hunted prey. “Thought you could slither away…”

  You're strangely normal, I was expecting more… Alien looking? He thought, shrugging to the afterthought.

  Then his voice cracked into laughter, unable to hold back the triumphant cackling.

  Pressure and flow—that’s all it is. The same way air moves when you swing a hand through it fast enough. Internal energy pushes, water yields, air rushes in to fill the gap.

  “Not exactly magic, is it? Just playing around with physics.” he snorted.

  A smile tugged at his lips, now able to grasp these mysterious, law-breaking concepts.

  With a successful fishing method—and a sore cheek—Arion continued until the sun began to retreat and the sky turned gold and violet.

  —— ? —— —— ? —— —— ? ——

  With a smug grin, Arion lounged in his newly claimed—and, admittedly, stolen—tree cabin, enjoying the spoils of his hard-won hunt. Cooked fish sizzled beside the small firepit he had managed to rekindle.

  It hadn’t taken much. A few strikes with the knife’s edge, and an ember caught in the dry tinder.

  As the fire grew, he stared into its dancing light, mind drifting back to the strange energies—the so-called magic—he’d been toying with.

  “Ha, feels just like school all over again,” he muttered with a half-laugh. “Like a kid discovering the periodic table or the laws of physics.”

  He took a swig from his newly claimed (and equally stolen) waterskin, filled with river water, then tore another bite from the fish.

  Teeth crunched on something that wasn’t meat—solid and round.

  Pulling back with a grimace, he noticed a faint glint inside the flaky flesh.

  “Unbelievable, what is this food service?” he said, prying it free.

  A tiny, round, glittering orb rested in his palm—smooth, too smooth and faintly luminous. As he turned it over, it seemed to respond to the hum of his internal energy, like two tuning forks vibrating in perfect sympathy.

  Intrigued, he leaned closer, narrowing his eyes.

  Now, what are you, exactly?

  The surface shivered. Hairline cracks began to creep outward from where his fingers touched, spider-webbing across the whole sphere.

  “No you don’t—!” He blurted out as he jerked back, hands shielding his face.

  But the orb didn’t explode—it simply fractured, collapsing into fine glitter that scattered like sand and vanished almost instantly—a brittle existence, as if the exposure caused a reaction.

  For a moment he just stared at the empty air where it had been.

  “Not an organ… maybe some kind of mineral buildup?”

  Hell, it could be anything at this point. The only thing on the board is that it can't seem to exist for too long outside a vessel…

  He sighed, jotting a mental note.

  Right. Let's remove the orbs before eating the fish.

  With a full stomach and mild satisfaction, he stretched out on the wooden chair.

  The fire crackled softly. The smell of cooked fish lingered in the cabin air. His spear rested within arm’s reach—just in case.

  He sat there, chewing on his evening meal whilst flipping through the journal.

  Within minutes, Arion drifted off, half-smiling as sleep claimed him.

  …

  Outside, as Arion slept, the river trickled along its banks—a quiet symphony of water and stone.

  Above the trees, a broad black shape drifted in slow circles, hunting for its prey.