(Third POV)
The scene shifts to the ruthless lands of the Begaritt continent.
Dunes as far as the eye could perceive baked beneath the sun's scorching heat, but another dangerous entity soared above the desert.
Its surface glittered bright silver and gold, and the object hovered high in the sky, its purpose unclear.
Then, from the top of its gleaming surface, something dropped.
Halfway down, it became clear—it was a person. A boy, upon waking mid-fall, screamed in sheer terror before crashing into the desert below. A shockwave of dust erupted outward on impact.
As the dust settled, the boy stirred from the pile of sand, coughing and spitting, sand coating his mouth, ears, and even places no sand should ever reach. He winced, shrank in on himself, and stood shakily, brushing off the worst.
He looked down, confused. His clothes had changed and were unfamiliar. A grey leather robe with pockets and belts, black boots, jeans, and white gloves—none of it looked familiar.
But before he could think further, a shadow passed overhead.
A Griffon, previously hesitant to descend near the glittering entity in the sky, now plummeted with predatory intent. Its wings spread wide, and its eyes locked onto the boy like hawks eyeing prey.
The boy barely had time to react.
He lunged to the side with sudden force and unexpected speed just as a razor-sharp claw smashed into the sand where he'd stood. Dust flew again, and the Griffon let out a furious shriek.
And the boy? Ran off into the distance at the same time he was dodging.
At first, it was instinct—barely controlled panic. His feet slid on the hot sand, his boots sinking with every stride. The sun burned overhead. Sweat blurred his vision. But the beast chased relentlessly, wings beating the air in rhythmic bursts.
A gust of wind—he dove to the side again. A claw slashed down, carving deep furrows in the ground.
He rolled, scrambling up, panting hard. The griffon flapped into the air and soared after him. The boy ran in zigzags, doing anything he could to make himself harder to catch.
The sun glared straight in his face. Sand got into his eyes, his mouth, and his boots. His legs ached. His lungs burned. But he couldn't stop.
Behind him, the griffon's shadow reappeared.
It dove straight at him.
The boy hurled himself forward just in time. The claws missed his back by inches. He hit the ground hard, pain lancing through his ribs, but he forced himself to roll and keep moving. There was no room for rest.
The chase dragged on.
Over dunes and cracked earth, through the breathless heat of midday. He stumbled over a dune and saw rocks sticking above the ground. A formation. And perhaps, shelter from the relentless beast.
He made for it.
The griffon shrieked again, frustrated.
He dodged behind a boulder just as claws smashed into it, showering him with grit. He screamed, scrambling again, turning a sharp corner, and skidded to a stop.
Dead end.
The griffon landed behind him with a heavy thud. Its wings stretched wide, casting a massive shadow; hunger burned in its eyes.
He backed up against the wall, arms raised.
Then, a pressure in the air. A ripple. Something of primal power.
The griffon froze. It turned, uneasy. Something else was here—something stronger, a presence that made even this predator hesitate.
With one final shriek, the griffon beat its wings and lifted off. It flew away, retreating fast, vanishing into the desert horizon.
The boy collapsed to his knees, gasping, drooling, sweat pouring from his chin.
He didn't know what had saved him.
But someone was watching.
As he heaved for breath, another figure approached—slow, silent.
Too tired to react, the boy rolled onto his back, eyes half-lidded. Another presence drew closer. He opened his eyes slowly—
And met a pair of piercing golden eyes.
He flinched and scrambled back, blinking up at a tall man in a white mantle, silver hair flowing around his shoulders. His eyes glowed gold with slit pupils, his face frozen in an expression of constant stern contempt.
But behind that cold face, his gaze looked... curious, but still hostile.
"What is it, Orsted?" came a voice behind the man.
A young woman peeked out, long black hair falling past her shoulders. A full mask covered her face, and her tone was analytical.
The boy, now sitting up and blinking away sweat, looked maybe fifteen years old. He had brown, messy hair, was wearing a grey leather robe, black boots, and white gloves. But it was his eyes that caught the woman's attention.
Heterochromatic—right eye green, left eye blue both with silver slit pupils, bright and unnatural.
"Boy," said the silver-haired man, Dragon God Orsted. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
"…"
The boy couldn't answer, not because he didn't know what to say, but because he understood the man's words in a language he didn't think he could understand.
"{Hey, do you understand this?}" Nanahoshi Shizuka asked in Japanese, hoping he might be from her world.
"…"
Still nothing. No response, just a dumbfounded look. Not from fear. But because one overwhelming, surreal thought had taken root in the boy's mind.
'Did I get isekai'd by that truck?'
***
From a far distance, far enough for Orsted not to get alarmed, the slimy form of Kagami stood on top of the revived Kajakut, watching the events play out to his liking through a handheld telescope, mentally smirked at the successful integration.
Rudeus, now in the body of a fifteen-year-old and with his memories reset to before he got hit by the truck, is on his way to becoming the disciple of the strongest being in the world.
'There's no way Orsted won't seize the opportunity of gaining a capable ally like that. It's a perfect win-win. Well, not really. Rudeus is the only one gaining anything after this world collapses.'
Everything was set, and Kagami could now watch from the shadows and see how the greatness unfolds as the now nameless Magician becomes the Dragon God's subordinate.
///