Chapter Text
Cicadas chirped, accompanied by the whistle of the wind raking through foliage. The faint scent of petrichor permeated the air. It was perfectly cool and quiet, the kind of atmosphere that would let someone sink back into dreamland.
Unfortunately, I was not in bed. The rocks digging into my spine and whatever insect my arm flung away were more than enough proof of it.
Usually, there were only a few reasonable answers for why anyone would wake up feeling grass under their skin. Fewer when accounting for the migraine, the aches everywhere, and the burning bite on my bicep. Pranks were out of the running, because last I was aware of my family lived in an urban jungle and nowhere near a literal one.
The groan that escaped my dried, flaky lips reverberated in my chest, dredging up a raspy cough. It rattled up into my skull, pressing into my eye sockets. My fingernails sunk into the moist soil.
God, I was going to hurl.
The bile climbed up my esophagus, and I forced it down through tears.
Come on, think. How had I gotten here?
Well, obviously I—
I...
What was I doing before? I... I'd probably done my usual routine..? Wait, no, there was a message from, uh, from—
A strangled whimper left before I could muffle it. Oh God, my head.
Okay. Different subject then.
So, my wrists weren't bound, neither were my legs. That's good. For now. Unless I'd been left here for dead.
... And that's not helping.
I instead blinked, willing moisture to aid my crusty eyelids. Faint moonlight peered through the silhouette of... leaves? I was under a tree then. Good observation, me.
The stars were oddly bright. Colors were fading in, and the sky was painted in vibrant purples and blues unseen from the cityscape pollution. I couldn't help but stare. How far was I from home that this was what I'm greeted by? Even back in the countryside, it hadn't quite looked that way, it was almost otherworldly.
But that would be ridiculous. Had I gotten drunk then? Ugh, surely not, last I had a beer was a year ago, and it was a single can on a birthday!
I exhaled. Wiggled to confirm all limbs were there, and attempted to sit—
A wave of electricity coursed through my muscles, locking me in place. Teeth clicked shut, molars grinding. The pounding in my cranium increased, and the world spun violently. Ringing in my ears.
Stop.
Acid at the tip of my tongue. It burned.
Please, stop!
Yet, no amount of pleading miraculously took the pain away. It had the vindictive pleasure of rising and falling, punishing every twitch and rasp. An ebb, and then the force of a dam battering my head until I tasted iron. Sweat rolled down my neck, sending a chill.
I laid still for a long, long time.
In the back of my mind, I knew that I couldn't just stay put. The moon slowly moved, marking the passage of time that I couldn't keep wasting in the unknown.
Would it hurt again?
What a foolish question.
I gritted my teeth, pushing myself up. Gravity and vertigo conspired to drag my head down like a bowling ball. The tinnitus swelled, almost drowning my own thoughts. I dry heaved, feeling saliva dribble down my chin.
I'd many unkind words for whatever brought me here. Truly.
Despite everything, I moved to scoot... somewhere. For more than grass, dirt, and the sting in my palms.
Rough. Wood? Ah, the tree. The texture was not a favorite, but I welcomed it the same. It felt strangely cool, or perhaps I was burning more than I could ever imagine.
Eventually, I found the strength to open my eyes again.
... Whoa.
The edge of the cliff bared a dizzying drop to the ocean, stretching far and wide. There was an adjacent, connecting landmass, where beyond the fields and dense woods peeked a snowy mountain from the veil of clouds and fog. It was the very picture of a European vista on a postcard someone would send from the other side of the world—or somewhere not on Earth entirely.
Subconsciously, I pressed myself closer to the tree. I'd say this was some crazy dream, but dreams had no pain. Dreams weren't intimately intricate in its torture, and a new wave of pain slapped that wishful thinking straight into the stratosphere.
Oh, heights. Not the greatest topic.
It was as high as the keening sound that scraped its way out, raw, sharp, but not broken. Iron and bile, nerves and numbness, and a will that refused to submit.
And so, I slammed my head into the tree.
Spittle flew at a garbled expletive. Another spot of pain. Yet, I could focus on it, on the throbbing at my crown rather than the indeterminate everything that came all at once.
Spite? Desperation? A bit of both, actually.
The human mind was good at blocking pain for the sake of sanity. Just a dose of adrenaline and a primal instinct to survive. Who was I not to take advantage of it?
I'd felt a rush, as if I'd breached the surface after being submerged below sea level. The chanting for relief quieted. It wouldn't last long.
'Forgive me, just this once.'
At least... At least I'm... okay?
Yeah. Let's go with that.
... I'd be better off investigating now, when I was still able.
There was debris on top of a pile of sand next to me. Overgrown shrubs and wildflowers warred with broken stone walls and the weathered pillars. There was a strange contraption in the center of the old, paved brickwork. It was a half moon—or a wheel?—with a golden-tipped arrow in the middle, the latter supported by a curved piece of rusty metal. By its feet were three triangles, but one looked to be broken.
I frowned. A sundial, wasn't it? Were these the ruins of some sort of religious site?
I turned my attention back to my immediate surroundings. A huge, intricately decorative arch, seeming to be the remains of an entrance, loomed over the area. Crest the hills above, and you could even see a column in the distance, where perhaps an even greater building of history awaited. The mix of pine and cedar trees stood in between these structures, slowly reclaiming the land.
All that gave me precisely not much to work with other than remote and abandoned.
Great.
At least, it confirmed that people lived here at one point. Whatever happened to make them leave, they surely wouldn't wander that far off to reestablish themselves. Hopeful thinking, but I really needed help. And ibuprofen.
I paused. I usually kept a medicine case in my messenger bag. But had I gone outside? I must have had done so, unless someone broke into our house.
The message... was it a friend? A family member? Maybe I'd left to meet up with either?
I had no other reasons to somehow be here. If only I could remember. Why was it blank?
Gnawing at the corner of my lip, I gingerly patted around for a sign of my belongings or anything of use. My arms, thin and almost bony, felt oddly short as I swept aside grass.
Wait.
I flexed each finger. They moved accordingly, but these weren't as stubby and misshapen. Callouses built from hours of writing weren't there. The scar on my middle finger from an incident with a can lid only had smooth skin, as did the lack of a dark indent on my palm after getting punctured by a nail.
In an almost trance-like state, I looked down at myself.
I wore nothing but a gray, shapeless dress, the lower half stained brown and black as if it'd been repeatedly dipped in a tie dye tub—or oxidized blood. That... alright, not the greatest analogy and its implications were pretty bad. Was it the worst thing in the world? Not quite, since I had bigger concerns. I hurriedly bunched the rags up to my knees, and my eyebrows shot up.
My muscle mass was absolutely on the emaciated side, something I'd definitely been on the opposite spectrum to. I wasn't that sick—
No, I had. When I had pneumonia. When I was five years old...
I was... I looked...
... Sure. Haha. Why the hell not.
My shallow breathing evened out. I'd figure out the mysteries of de-aging when I had my bearings. No biggie.
That meant surveying the place. Surveying meant standing, then walking. One at a time.
Attempting to stand took a pitiful amount of tries. My knees wobbled like a newborn fawn, which wasn't helping. The bark of the tree scraped at my skin as I fought for balance. My gut churned uncomfortably, but I managed to stay upright. The breeze caressed my nape, almost taunting in its presence.
Nope, not scared.
Next, I aimed to put one foot in front of the other. Simple enough.
The dirt in my mouth said otherwise.
Wow. Graceful as a toddler, weren't we.
I spat it out. My knees screamed. Massaged my poor sternum, because the wind had knocked the sails out of my already rickety boat. A boat I hadn't consented on boarding in the fucking first place—
Nope. Calm yourself. Anger wouldn't help now.
It couldn't be helped that my height was half of what it was originally. There wasn't a choice but to get used to it, especially if I wanted to get the hell out of wherever this was. It was already a miracle I hadn't been mistaken for easy pickings by a random animal.
My shoulders slumped. This was going to be a long night.
By the time I was able to waddle about, the moon had dipped behind the horizon. The sun was rising, and it too, brought a new host of sounds. Birds mostly, and smaller critters going about their day. They skittered away from me, however. I'd only really been observing them to make sure they were, you know, relatively normal. Thankfully the squirrels, lizards, and insects weren't mutated or hybrids.
Yay, small victories.
Other than that, I inspected the sundial. It had a base with carved marks, though I couldn't read the inscriptions. The symbols were vaguely familiar, not that it helped much at the moment. Although... There was a particular lack of weeds around it. This was being cared for, or at least, recently visited.
By who? Were they zealots, worshippers, or tourists? Was it the same person or people who brought me here? There were a number of labels the hypothetical strangers were, and good or bad felt too early to define them as. I'd get nowhere with assumptions.
I had debated on immediately scaling down the mountain, but first: my stamina was atrocious. Second: my headache was slowly returning, and sudden movements reacquainted myself to ground more times that I wished to. Third: my survival odds were poor.
Creating a campfire signal would bolster my chances, but waiting around for rescue only to die of dehydration, starvation, or mauling wasn't ideal. That's a start, but I wouldn't classify myself as an outdoor survivalist. Far from it, I was a homebody whose last camping trip was ages ago in high school, which had been part of a mandatory extracurricular. I remembered bits: troop hierarchies, semaphores, and square knots—the last was probably the only thing I used on a day-to-day basis.
I picked on a loose thread of my dress. There had to be something. Come on brain, think. Useful tips. Those late nights scrolling had to have been productive somehow... Oh!
There's the rule of three, wasn't it? Three hours in a harsh environment. Three days without water. Three weeks without food.
Okay. I had a deadline. Informative.
What else?
Uh. Clay from riverbanks and creeks? Vines... Or was it fibers from thin plants that could be woven? Sap or resin could be used as glue? Where was 'how do I find the nearest water source before I turned into a shriveled husk?'
God, I wished I had photographic memory. The ocean view was kind of ironic in that regard.
'Must be a beach somewhere down there. Weather's nice, perfect for sipping cocktails and snacking while under an umbrella.'
... I hadn't taken my family to the beach yet, had I? We promised we'd go, if one of us had a lucky break. It'd been years since we took a vacation.
How long had it been since I disappeared? Hours, days, months or years? That hole in my memories was a blessed curse, a walking contradiction that soothed and aggravated me. I had no way to know, no way to know if it was possible to know.
So, what's possible now?
If I had three days without water, then that was what I had to prioritize. Next one was finding shelter, preferably next to my first priority, somewhere to store things and where I could build my strength up.
That's the barebones of a plan then.
After one final circuit of the sundial 'room', I made my way to a faint dirt path. It branched two ways, up to where that column was, and down to the entrance arch. Both appeared not too bad of an incline, and the sun was pleasantly warm.
An uphill battle would produce more sweat though, and I was already straining myself.
So, I chose to hobble down. The entrance had a short set of stairs, which my calves protested to. These ruins were extensive, and following the winding path appeared to lead to a seemingly endless expanse of land without any immediate signs of civilization. Soon, the greenery thinned enough to behold another piece of forgotten architecture, nested in between the steep side of the jagged peak. It.. was wobbling?
My blotchy vision nearly caused me to pitch forward. I swore under my breath.
Ringing again. Time's up.
Before I could tumble down even more bloody stairs, I'd maneuvered towards the solitary wall next to some brambles and another tree. There was a niche to squeeze in, enough to cover a small body like mine.
I just needed a breather. That was all.
I closed my eyes.
The deep grumble made me jolt awake. I opened my mouth to call out, but the feeling of sandpaper heralded nausea. Eyes blown wide, my arms uselessly banged against rough surfaces boxing me in. For one, terrifying second, I thought myself buried alive.
Then, the individual dents, particles of dirt, and moss over the stone sharpened in detail. The blue sky spilled between the crevices and the shadow of trembling digits. It clicked then, that I wasn't condemned to my final resting place.
Shelter. The mountains. The quest to find help.
I was still here.
Fuck.
There was a heaviness that draped itself like the cloak of an overly familiar stranger. It lingered, as did the taint of an ugly seed blossoming underneath my ribs. I'd been unconscious for much longer than I wanted to.
But... the migraine was muted. That had to count for something.
Getting up was a struggle. But I had to, even if my bones felt like jelly. Metal entwined itself into the taste of old saliva and stomach fluid. I crawled out of the impromptu hidey hole, squinting at a world too vast and dreamlike in its serenity.
Thus, when the colonnade came into view, I was most struck by the fact that dreams were best left to the imagination. Dreams paled in comparison to the decrepit, yet tranquil landscape in front of me. It might have once been a courtyard, part of a garden neatly trimmed and decorated, and a shallow pool of water at the base reflected the glory of yesteryears. Each hand chiseled notch, clean patterns of a master craftsman poring their heart out, worked in tandem with an architect of the same caliber.
To which higher being were these made for? I hadn't a clue. They must have been loved dearly, for these to withstand the test of time.
My hand twitched for a pen, so instead I drank the sight in.
Wait, roll that back. Actual water?
Hesitant, I padded over to the edge of the pool, disturbing the water from a pebble I accidentally kicked into it. The image of myself wavered for a moment, but...
It's so clear, I could see those godforsaken eyebags. My hair was a bird's nest, chopped haphazardly into a boyish cut that only highlighted the gaunt features. Bruises littered pale skin, and honestly, I looked like a ghoul.
Yet, it was confirmation. That crooked nose from getting kicked in the face once. The fucking thick eyebrows. That's me.
A hiccup, laughter, whatever you wanted to call it, spooked the birds hiding in the tree-line. There was no one to hear me anyways. No one could see how much that mattered.
God, I was all over the place. Alright, come on. Back to business.
Was it clean? Maybe. I was about 80% sure this wasn't stagnant water, considering its general appearance—no unnatural foam or cloudiness. You could never be too careful however, and there were ways to make water safer to drink: filtering and boiling. Methods that unfortunately needed tools I had to craft.
Without any online tutorials or actual expert to ask, improvisation was going to be paramount. I could explore further for anything other than a glorified puddle, but was the risk worth it?
Not really.
My physical age was a contributing factor. It was unused to the version of me that was acclimated to a lifetime of bad habits and health scares. I was approaching the age when knees were ready to buckle unless I actively chose to workout. Now...
The face in the reflection wore a sharp, manic gaze unbefitting the age it looked to be. They said children bounced back quickly, but they also were damaged easily. Here, nature wasn't considerate for the young in the slightest.
Ha. Well, everything about this was the farthest from considerate. I doubt whatever brought me here took any of that into account. Or was the gift of knowing who I was and how in over my head I was its idea of a boon?
Ugh. Spiraling into this nonsense would go nowhere.
Rising, I deigned to gather a couple resources I knew I'd make do: sticks, stones, and such. Not wet kindling, since that was harder to burn. For filters though, when was the last time I'd hand woven a basket? Too long ago. These clothes would probably be a decent alternative, if I scrubbed them hard enough.
I swerved past a hollow trunk and the tall weeds. I blinked, then doubled back. No, not quite hollow.
Inside the trunk was a bag: a knapsack caked in mud. It's stiff as a board. The material was coarse, but sturdy enough—it had to be to survive the outdoors this long. Linen? It's a shame one of the straps that had been exposed to the elements was about to fall off.
The contents of the bag weren't surprising, yet still disappointing. There was an empty plain pouch, paper scraps of indiscernible ramblings mixed with soiled, but plain ones, two halves of a snapped pencil, and a handkerchief that might have once been white.
It at least solved my filtering problem.
I cleaned the handkerchief first, though it only went from a crusty brown to a light, spotty tan. There was embroidery of a flower—a white one of a species I couldn't name but I should know because it was making my headache start again—and a name stitched in a foreign language.
Well, I'd assume it was a name. These particular letters were in a script that... I wasn't honestly sure. It was different from the one on the sundial. This one made me go cross-eyed, like, I swear it was English but not really?
Why was this also so, so familiar?
Damn it, maybe the headache was getting to me.
Back to the task at hand, the pouch was next to be prepped. Considering that my arms would probably fall off before I managed a spark of fire, two filters were what I'd compromised with. A rudimentary stand—just sticks stacked crisscross until they reached an adequate height—would hold them. I scooped some water with the pouch first, then placed the handkerchief under it, making sure to check for any impurities.
My first cup failed, mostly because it wouldn't stay in a cone shape due to its size. The next iteration, when I used two larger leaves and hooked them together with one of its own stems, filled up fine.
I swirled the liquid around, fascinated. Barely any leaks.
Ramen eating tricks, for the win.
What wasn't a win was coughing at the pure rush of cold. I thumped a fist at my chest, yet the grin on my face grew exponentially. Treating it like a shot wasn't the brightest, but goddamn, that was good.
The next four cups were balms to this weary soul. I greedily lapped it up like a man out in the desert, afraid the mirage would disappear. Soon, it was as if the fuzziness I hadn't even realized existed in my peripherals dissipated.
I leaned back, content.
Blacking out once more was an unwelcome, but expected turn of events. A part of me wished some bullshit game system powers notified me that I was 'well-rested' and the pain would be a thing of the past. No such luck.
Instead, the crick in my neck and the sensation of pins and needles made themselves known. I was awkwardly sat by one of the colonnade legs, and pushing off had me bracing reflexively. No other pains came, thankfully, and swallowing hadn't hurt. There was a goose egg from my earlier stint, but it was negligible.
It had to be the next day again. The sun was at its peak, and the wildlife resumed their chorus, giving me a wide berth.
I glanced back at the filter rig, untouched bar the butterfly that was perched at the top. Both the pouch and handkerchief were dry, so a day, give or take, had definitely passed. The world was still quiet aside the wind's lullaby, and the sudden yawning of a beast.
I jerked into a crouch, nearly giving myself whiplash.
It's too close, where—
I clawed at my stomach, grimacing.
Ah, right. I breathed deeply, in and out, until I could ignore it. Best to treat it like a fasting experience.
I'd also yet to properly establish a temporary base. Luck that I hadn't actually woken up to be accosted wasn't reliable.
My gaze flitted to the knapsack.
Decisions, decisions.
There were the pencil and the paper. Maybe I should map out my route? The small pile of resources would also be a good thing to tinker with, maybe to fashion a rudimentary dagger? Or even a pointy stick to walk and defend myself.
Almost robotically, I set up my filter and chugged three cups.
Bowls and cups were easy. Carrying water so I could explore wasn't, not without some sort of canteen. So, should I spend the day building a base?
I stayed still for a moment, mind running.
Oxygen itself honestly felt like it was thinning, because God, would I give for a sign.
Then, a faint whistle.
It was at first, unnoticeable, just water ripples from wind. Then, a distortion in reality, for the air itself coalesced, swirling into a form beyond comprehension. Water splashed, then unbelievably followed an unseen current. Motes of green, a thrumming that felt wholly dangerous, run, RUN cascaded in the courtyard. There was a floating orb and jagged geometry inside a hurricane.
An Eye of the Storm. An enemy easy to beat at low AR, as long as you had long range methods.
...
What?
'You can't be fucking serious.'
The Eye of the Storm couldn't give me a room to scream, because it zoomed towards me. It vibrated, shearing the space I once occupied.
I'd already ran, managing to snag the knapsack.
I'd bolted for downwards terrain, yet was immediately thwarted. Two heavily-bandaged figures, whose wild manes and horned masks blew in the wake of a raging storm. There was an unnatural, guttural shriek when they pointed clubs at me, and so I turned tail.
'Go up, go up, go up! I need cover!'
The sundial glinted in front of me. Religious site. Temple. The Thousand Winds' Temple.
"Ya!"
Three masks, and one glowed an ominous green.
Oh, come on!
'Where the hell did all of these guys come from?!'
I yelped, ankles twisting when I dodged vines sprouting up the ground. Then, a concentrated blast of wind exploded beside me, grass and dirt chunks pelting me. Why was it so persistent?!
Eyes scoured the area for anything to save me, and it drifted up to that column. 'Was it there?'
I hastily retreated, and not a moment too soon when something whizzed by my ear.
'I regret these signs, someone—'
Whether that thing was there or not, I had a better chance of hiding.
The dizziness was growing, but I pushed forwards. Past the plants I knew glowed in the night, and even more of those things that yelled as I blitzed by. Steep staircase and burning lungs be damned, the ancient amphitheater and unlit monuments came into view.
It's there.
The rumbling left me tilted, and the only saving grace was the walking, hulking machinery from afar had its back turned.
Questions had to wait. Questions for when I survived.
I dived sideways just as the Eye of the Storm tried to slam into me. Scrambling to reach the higher grounds, I saw the Ruin Guard—it had to be, oh my God—lock onto the newcomer in its territory.
There was an unholy screech, inorganic and supernatural at odds. The Eye of the Storm reacted immediately to the bigger threat, a slash of condensed wind knocking me off my feet. Though it hit square on, the Ruin Guard barely flinched, the singular eye flashing red. The hiss of steam and grinding of gears rivaled the quickening pulse, and the unusual pressure that grew from the angered sentient tornado.
Of course, there would only be one winner, and that was going to be the Ruins Guard with the missiles.
I dared not stick for much longer, half-crawling before I could hoist myself further up the amphitheater stands. There was a staccato of explosions, and the whole place trembled from the force.
Then, silence.
I collapsed into a niche, sobbing into my hands.