3rd POV:
His hands were deep in his coat pockets, a wry smile plastered on his face. Alan stood in front of the terrified Elias, though the doctor's initial 'welcome' had been less than warm. Despite his sense of satisfaction, he was deeply puzzled by his ongoing lack of information.
He was accustomed to his general ignorance, yet Elias's sudden shout, drawing all eyes, still deeply puzzled him.
'Great, now all attention is on me,' he thought grimly.
At the same time, thoughts began to race through Elias's mind, and he slowly regained consciousness, rising to his feet, his eyes fixed on the young man in front of him.
"What's wrong, Doctor? You scared us," Elrik said from beside him, shifting his gaze between the doctor and Alan.
More people gathered around him, inquiring about what had happened, and Alan caught their attention. Being a relatively small village, Branlow was like a small family; everyone knew everyone else, and they rarely married outside of the village. It wasn't a major tourist or trading hub in the north, so visitors were few and far between year-round. So, seeing a strange, new face was very eye-catching.
"Who are you?" A large, middle-aged man asked, striding over with a shovel over his right shoulder.
"Ah, hey wait!" Elias quickly got up, positioning himself between Alan and the man.
Elias: "I'll take care of it from here." He placed his hands on Alan's shoulders, pushed through the door, and they left. Alan didn't resist; he was just happy to be out of the awkward situation.
"By the way, no need to keep searching. That's our young man" Elias announced, poking his head through the door.
???: "Oh, Finally!"
???: "Has he been out all along?' What's the point of all this then?!"
???: "I can't move my shoulder."
???: "Water, someone bring me some water."
Everyone's reactions varied from fatigue to grumbling to joy as they finally stopped digging, which had taken nearly twenty minutes. The only one who wasn't as exhausted was Elrik, who arrived much later than the others.
Now that he was finished digging, he decided to go to the head of the guard, Albert, to inform him of his successful delivery of the envelope and to hand him the letter the sheriff had given him.
He mounted his horse, which was tied near the door, and headed toward Albert's hut, located near the main gate of the village, on the opposite side.
On the way, he noticed Elias and Alan walking side by side in the same direction as he was.
He approached them and directed his horse to walk to the doctor's right.
Elrik: "Is this the patient you were worried about all this time? He looks more than fine! Aside from his pale complexion, of course."
The two turned towards him. Alan's frustration grew at his lack of understanding of the language or anything around him. He didn't even know where they were going. All he did was comply with the doctor's request to follow him, which he conveyed by gesture.
As for Elias,
Elias: "Huh? Oh, yes, it's him." His voice was tired and dry, and his swaying was evident up close.
Then, like any good and polite young man, Elrik dismounted and offered to sit down. Elias' face beamed at the gesture, which he immediately accepted, settling comfortably on the horse's back.
Now standing beside Alan, Elrik noted the small age difference between them, though the height difference was, unfortunately for Alan, far more pronounced. Despite his short stature, his facial features clearly marked him as a young man of around seventeen.
Alan: 'Please don't talk to me, please don't talk to me, please don't talk to me.'
There was no one at Elrik's age in the village; the males were either much older than him or still children. He rarely met anyone his age, except outside the village, and his time abroad hadn't been long enough to build any real friendships, just acquaintances at most. This, and the fact that this young man is a stranger to the village, made him even more curious to learn more about his circumstances. There was no easier way than to start a short chat with him.
"Hello there, the doctor told me you were a patient of his. Everyone thought you'd drowned under the snow, but you're actually so fine, haha. I'm glad. By the way, my name is Elrik. May I know yours?" He said, extending his right hand towards Alan for a handshake. His voice was cheerful, somewhat loud, and full of energy. His curiosity prompted him to speak faster than he intended, but he didn't mind.
'Damn it!' Alan cried inwardly. He was neither an extrovert nor an introvert; it was just annoying to see the looks of bewilderment on others' faces when they learned of his lack of command of the language.
Alan turned to him, trying to explain that he didn't even understand his language by sign language, but was interrupted by Elias.
"He's a foreigner. He can't speak our language. Unfortunately for you, you won't get any interesting stories from him. Just leave him alone." Elias decided to step in and explain to the curious mass moving nearby.
Hearing this, Elrik lowered his head in frustration and turned his gaze back to the road ahead, oblivious to Alan's sigh of relief.
Although he understood what Elias said, Elrik found it strange. He didn't know whether people outside the Empire spoke the same language as him, but even if they did, why would he come to a semi-isolated village in the north? He had always believed that anyone, given the choice and sufficient funds, would prefer major cities or even the capital, just as he would.
"Are you also heading to Albert's cottage?" Elias interrupted his train of thought.
He refocused on the road ahead, surprised to find Albert's cottage two houses ahead. He lost himself in thought, and time passed quickly.
Elrik: "Yes, I came to inform him of my receipt of his envelope, and to deliver a letter from the sheriff, and you?"
Elias: "I came to discuss this short tramp with him."
Elias made no effort to hide his annoyance with Alan. Elrik hadn't noticed the blow he'd received earlier, so he was wondering about the reason for his annoyance.
'Maybe because he'd exhausted himself digging?' He thought as he stood at the threshold of the cottage. He knocked three times before hearing Albert's usual deep voice permit him to enter. Normally, Albert would have been doing his routine rounds of the village to check on things or check on the two guards at the main gate, but knowing that Elrik was about to return, he decided to wait for him in his office first. Although he hadn't expected Dr. Elias and the stranger to arrive, he easily recognised him after seeing him in his coma.
'Hello, Captain, how are you?' Elias said as he sat down on the only chair in front of the desk.
"Fine," he replied briefly, turning his gaze to Elrik, who took a rolled-up piece of paper from the duffle bag strapped to his waist.
"After I handed the Sheriff the envelope, he told me to deliver this letter to you", he said as he placed the letter in Albert's hands.
He opened the letter and began scanning it. The room fell silent for a few moments before he placed the paper in one of the desk drawers and returned his gaze to Elric.
Albert: "Anything else?"
Elrik: "No, the letter is all I was given."
Albert: "You're free to go then."
"Ha!" After giving the military salute, he walked out towards his home, leaving Elias and Alan alone with Albert.
He turned his gaze to Alan, examining him. Ignoring his pale complexion, he looked healthier and more energetic than before. The doctor had even been generous enough to give him his favourite coat, it seemed.
"Any progress?" Albert asked in his deep voice, his fingers intertwined and tucked under his chin.
"If you're talking about treatment, it was done two days ago. As for his identity, his origins, or any other information about him, no, not even a single step. He doesn't seem to understand anything we're saying, so asking questions is futile." Elias followed his words with a long sigh.
Meanwhile, Alan was debating with himself whether to stay or run away.
Alan: 'Stay? How long? Run away? To where? Who knows what those old men are babbling about? If I had to guess, I'd say they intend to sell me in the nearest slave market. A young, strong man like me would make easy money! You think I'm just going to watch? Naaah!'
While Elias recounted to Albert what had happened in the past few days, Alan, standing behind him, struggled to catch a word or two. From his wanderings around the village, he could guess words like 'give me that,' 'how much is this,' 'good morning,' 'stop,' and other simple vocabulary. But the conversation was fast-paced, and he couldn't keep up. In the end, he gave in.
Alan: 'Where's that damn translation button when I need it? I'd even take Clippy from Microsoft Word at this point...'
A few minutes later, Elias finished recounting everything, and unfortunately, no new information was obtained.
'It's okay, it's not like that's my business anymore,' Albert thought calmly, leaning back. "Well, that's it for today. Thanks for your work, I'll pay for your treatment later," he said, standing up from his chair and clearing his desk of all papers and documents.
"What?" Elias quickly stood up, blocking Albert's way. "Wait a minute, you haven't told me the most important thing yet." He added.
Albert: "Hm? What is it?"
"Where do I put this tramp?!" Elias demanded, his sudden pointing of his index finger at Alan caught the latter's attention, oblivious to the insult he had just received.
Albert: "Isn't it obvious? His hut has become a giant ice cube, so it's clear that you, the doctor, will take him in. He's still considered your patient, after all."
Elias: "Please no, he's a walking pile of shit. One more day with him and I'll go crazy." His voice was filled with exhaustion and urgency.
Albert: "You're just exaggerating things around, don't worry, it's for two days at most."
Alan's POV:
We left the hut immediately after the old man, who seemed important, and headed back the way we'd come. The doctor's expression was clearly upset and annoyed from the moment we left. It must have been because of something the old man had told him. He signalled for me to follow.
I looked up at the sky and saw the sun was less obscured by clouds than a few hours earlier. The weather was also warmer, perhaps only because of the coat. The villagers were also moving about. Some were carrying axes, others bows and arrows. I assumed they were out hunting.
Normally, I would have said it was a bad idea given the weather, but they were probably used to it. They moved with casual ease, a testament to their experience.
To my right, I saw a row of stables with six horses inside, and a young man feeding them. Wasn't this the same guy who had accompanied us a moment earlier? Never mind.
The only two bakeries I saw welcomed a significant number of villagers. As for the senile blacksmith, he was still as I'd left him.
Slowly, we began to approach the stone hut where I'd spent unforgettable memories, unfortunately, in a negative light.
Would all this take me back to the same place where I almost died? What a caring and compassionate doctor!
I felt I'd stepped on something. I bent down to take a look. Most of the snow had been removed from the path, and the rest had melted on its own, so it was easy to make out the 'something'—There they were. My glasses, lying in the snow like a plot device with trust issues..
Seriously, this is scaring the shit out of me.
I picked them up and wiped the dust and dirt off them with my coat sleeve. I thought I'd lost them forever after entering the old lady's house, and speaking of which, I was standing in front of it.
The doctor turned to the house and knocked on the door. Moments later, the old lady opened it with the same smile on her face. Wow, wow, wow! Was he her husband! After the old lady took me into her home, I felt guilty about hitting her husband. I still believed he deserved it, but I couldn't help feeling a pang of guilt gnawing at my conscience.
The doctor gestured for me to come in, his expression still brimming with resentment. Had he been angry about the beating all this time? Bad news for you; there's nothing you can do about it.
I nodded at the old lady, managed a small smile, and reclaimed my place near the fireplace. After locking the front door, the couple headed toward the door opposite mine, where the stairs were.
There's not much to do. I might as well take a quick nap.
Elias POV:
What's up with this tramp? He slumped back on the couch, folded his arms, and put his legs on the table, acting like he owned the house.
"Why are you staring at the young man like that?" I heard Christina's voice behind me in the kitchen, busy preparing soup, and I glanced at him.
"Nothing." I risked my life, wasted most of my money, and exhausted myself treating you. And what do I get for it? A blow to the head! Just two days, two days, and I'll throw him into the nearest cave, or off the nearest cliff, or—
"I thought it would suit him, and I didn't want it sitting in the closet uselessly. It's grown too small for you for a long time."
"What?" I turned to her questioningly. What is she talking about?
"Hmm? I thought you were looking at your coat he was wearing. Didn't you notice it?" She said it in a calm, almost indifferent tone, unless she actually cared.
I took a few steps back to the kitchen door and looked at the tramp on the sofa. It was really my coat! I could barely make it out.
"Are you in your right mind!? Why did you give it to him?! Wait a minute—when did you meet him, anyway?" I felt a torrent of questions about to overflow, and I resisted the overwhelming urge to pounce on that ungrateful brat and retrieve the coat.
My father's coat had always held great value to me. He had worn it in his youth and given it to me, along with his hat, when I began working as a doctor and a healer. I had always longed to have a son, teach him the trade, and give him the coat. But fate decreed that I never had any children, so the coat had hung for years in the bedroom closet, gathering dust and memories.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," she placed the spoon she'd been stirring the soup with in the metal pot and continued. "I woke up by chance in the middle of the night. I opened the windows slightly to let in some air, and suddenly I saw his body lying on the road in front of the door. I went out quietly and dragged him, then placed him on the sofa. I healed some cuts and bruises on his arms, legs and chest. I gave him the food and the coat, and he left some minutes later. That was before you woke up."
"And you didn't think to tell me until now?"
Christina: "Said the one who ignored me when I tried to tell him." The scowl and disappointment were clear in her voice.
Ugh, I remembered now. I slapped my forehead in regret. I turned my head toward the boy again. It wasn't easy to notice the coat myself. I honestly didn't care what he was wearing, and even if I had focused on it, I wouldn't have discovered it. Despite its great sentimental value, it wasn't particularly valuable; it wasn't of a distinctive style, anyone could find. The coat, as I last saw it, was full of rips and frayed edges. I'd only wear it in my younger years, and I bought another one after it became too small for me. Christina must have re-sewn it.
"Okay, I'll take it right away when he wakes up" I said, heading for the stairs.
Christina: "No, you won't."
"Huh?" I took a step back and positioned myself in front of her. "For what reason exactly?"
"There's no reason? You're not even wearing it. Do you plan to bring it with you to your tribe?" She said sarcastically, raising her eyebrows.
"Simple. It's mine, and I want it back."
Christina: "To leave it hanging, gathering dust in the closet."
"It's like a family treasure to me."
Christina: "I've never heard of anyone leaving their treasure tattered and dirty without care."
"You know what, I'm too old for this, he can keep that damn thing."
My nerves felt like they were about to snap. I was already tired from digging in the morning without breakfast, and the blow to my head was still hurting. I hurried upstairs to the bedroom to rest.
Christina: "Something tells me you don't care about giving away the coat as much as you care about the young man taking it." Her voice was low, almost a whisper.
I went back down the stairs, letting out a deep sigh before addressing her.
"Look, he's an ungrateful flea, but that's not what makes me act like this... Whoever this person is, he is a walking disaster. I can sense trouble coming with him." I tried to lower my voice so I wouldn't wake the boy.
Christina's eyes settled on me before-
"Hahaha, I didn't know you were so exhausted. A little sleep will keep these hallucinations at bay," she said in a cheerful voice and a smirk.
Hallucinations? Yes, that must be it. A good sleep will fix everything, I hope so.
Alan's POV:
I smell something, something liquid. Don't ask me how I know it's liquid. Hot and nearby. Meat!
A scent hit me—warm, meaty, and unmistakably close. I opened my eyes and glanced at the table in front of me. Sure enough, I found a plate of meat and vegetable soup in front of me, ready to serve. I hope I'm not dreaming, because the nap has really whetted my appetite.
Judging by its temperature, I think the old lady had set it out a few minutes ago at most. Speaking of which, I think she's in the room across from me. I hear footsteps and... the sound of pots and pans, maybe? The room must be a kitchen in reality.
Anyway, mealtime!
I don't know if the soup tasted delicious because of the lady's skill or because I was extremely hungry. It was probably both.
After I finished the soup, I felt bored. I didn't think I could sleep. As I said before, there really wasn't anything I could do. I wish I could go back in time, but I doubt anyone would be able to build a time machine out of wood and stone.
I wonder if Aisha and the twins are okay... I guess it's okay. I've taken some precautions in case something happens to me. They'll be fine.
I'm thinking about taking a look around the kitchen. If I'm discovered, I'll pretend I was bringing the utensils I ate with.
I got up from my seat, carrying the crockery slowly, and walked on tiptoe toward the kitchen until I reached the door.
I peered out and saw the lady sitting on a low wooden chair, her back against the wall directly in front of me. She raised her eyes from the soup she was quietly drinking and looked at me.
I didn't even last five seconds. I'd forgotten how dangerous old women are, except for their hearing, of course.
I lifted the empty plate with the wooden spoon inside and smiled an embarrassed smile.
She smiled back and motioned for me to come closer. As soon as I was in front of her, she lifted the lid off the large metal pot and began to pour the soup onto my plate with a metal ladle.
Okay, that's not what I came for, but I don't refuse free food!
I nodded my thanks, after which the lady returned to her chair and continued drinking her soup.
It took incredible self-control not to burst out laughing with happiness.
I'll make sure to return the favour; maybe I can help her wash the dishes.
Before leaving and returning to my place on the sofa, I took a quick look around the kitchen curiously. Like the living room, there was nothing particularly special: wooden drawers on the right, and various herbs and plants, most of which I didn't recognise, on the left. Behind me, above the lady's head, were two wooden windows, wide open, providing good light. Although the air was cold, the wind was very still and calm.
I sat on the couch, placed the plate on the table, and began eating with a spoon, slowly and deliberately. Who knew if I'd ever get another meal? This might be the last good meal I'd ever get for a long time.
Despite the relatively good treatment I'd received so far, I still didn't feel comfortable here. I haven't felt that way in days. If it weren't for my extreme exhaustion, I wouldn't have been able to sleep soundly.
They might be planning to sell me. No one would be interested in selling an unknown foreigner like me, and it would also bring them good money. Or maybe they're up to something else. Anyway, I'll respond to any attempt to harm me with everything I have.
I previously assumed I'd gone back in time to the Middle Ages, but not necessarily that far. The descriptions and details I've seen so far also apply to border villages in northern countries in Asia, Europe, and North America in the 18th or late 19th centuries. I hope I haven't gone back too far. The closer, the easier it is to live in. If we ignore the two world wars and some civil wars... After thinking about it, all past times were dangerous. I'm cooked.
What if they aren't up to anything? Even if that's the case, I don't plan to stay here like a tramp. I'll try to help out in some way, and who knows, I might even be lucky enough to get a job. I think I'll try to leave this village and go to a more populated area.
After finishing the soup, I headed back to the kitchen and found the old woman washing the plate she'd been eating from. Nearby was a barrel of water. She dipped her spoon in it, then took it out and wiped it with a dry towel, doing the same for the plate. I approached it slowly, and she turned to me when she heard my footsteps. She reached out to take the utensils, but I gestured to her that I would do it myself. She refused at first, but after a few attempts, she agreed.
I took her place on the chair and washed my plate and spoon, then placed them in the drawer near me on the left.
Meanwhile, I noticed the old woman walking up the stairs (who puts stairs in a kitchen?) Perhaps she'd gone for a nap. It was the middle of the day, and the atmosphere was already sluggish.
A mortar and pestle caught my attention under the hanging herbs. There were remnants in the mortar from the last grinding. I picked one of the herbs and immediately held it away from my face. It smelled awful and repulsive, despite its adorable pink colour.
I held the pink herb to my nose again. It didn't smell as awful this time. Actually... it smelled like fresh oranges. What the hell? I blinked. The herb's colour shifted—barely. From pale pink to lavender, right in front of my eyes. Okay, that's new. Great. First language problems, now psychedelic herbs.
I looked up to take a closer look at the herbs, and as with the first time, I couldn't identify a single one. It's not as if I know all the herbs, only the essential and common ones such as mint, ginger, turmeric, cinnamon, etc. Were herbs much more diverse in the past? It'd been years since I'd felt such a severe lack of information as I do now. I feel unbearably stupid and ignorant.
I have to get used to my current situation sooner or later, so I must learn the language first. I happen to be good at languages, but unlike the modern era, there's no green owl to teach you. I wish someone would teach me, but I doubt anyone would understand my desire to learn or waste their time with a foreign stranger.
I left the kitchen after closing the windows. Another storm might start, with the couple sleeping. I left the house, calmly closing the front door.
Contrary to what I expected, not everyone was home. There was a fair amount of activity between adults and children. Women were hanging their clothes in front of their houses in the sun, children were running around like crazy, men were unloading a pile of wood from a cart, and other daily activities.
Boredom had been bothering me for a while, so I thought a little wandering might amuse me. Although I had already seen the entire village, it wasn't that big. I bet the population was no more than fifty.
I kicked pebbles in different directions with my foot, trying to find something interesting to distract me from my boredom, but nothing.
Time travel seems much more exciting in the movies. At least I didn't have to run around trying to escape the 'cosmic police' for breaking the laws of time.
I kept wandering around like a lost tourist without a phone, a map, or a grasp of the local language, my hands tucked into the pockets of my coat, which, theoretically, weren't mine. The snow crunched beneath my boots, and for a brief moment, I considered asking someone if they'd seen a discarded time machine. I bet they'd laugh and throw a stone at me.
The villagers glanced at me occasionally, often with pity, some with suspicion, and one looked like he wanted to trade me for a chicken. Never mind. I didn't come here by choice.
As I approached the blacksmith's shop, a sudden whistle sounded from inside, followed by the blacksmith himself stumbling out, smoke pouring from his beard and burn marks dancing across his eyebrows like a failed chemistry experiment.
He spotted me, coughed twice, and exhaled what sounded like, "Too much powder... again."
Behind him, I spotted something that would later make me question the last seventeen years of my life: a bright orange rune, glowing in the air, then fading like a wet firecracker.
I blinked. I rubbed my eyes.
No. It was still there. For a while. Then it was gone.
At first, I thought I was hallucinating. Maybe there was something strange in the soup. Maybe the air here was just more concentrated than nonsense. But no—what I was seeing was real, or...
"Okay," I muttered. "Okay. A hologram. A gas leak. Or maybe... maybe it was just light reflecting off some... soot... in the shape of an old, flaming letter."
Yes. That made perfect sense. I'd obviously inhaled something in the kitchen. The pink powder. That stuff smelled of sadness and regret.
The blacksmith waved at me nonchalantly, as if floating fire symbols in the air were part of his morning routine. Not only he, but even the other villagers didn't seem to care much about what had happened.
I was in the middle of trying to justify the "burning floating letter" when the blacksmith came back in with the same spontaneous energy of someone refilling a teapot. Smoke was still billowing from his beard, and he didn't seem concerned that he'd accidentally invented floating alphabet soup.
I squinted at the pale rune.
No. No. I don't believe it. I poked my head into the smithy's doorway like a curious cat. "Maybe it's a projector. Maybe you guys are more advanced than you look. Hidden steam technology? Clever light tricks? Gas pockets that ignite into symbols because this place is built on a goddamn amusement park?"
The blacksmith turned to me and raised an eyebrow. Then he let out a playful, completely incomprehensible grunt before moving his finger across the anvil in strange patterns, as if writing with his finger. A short column of fire, about 20 centimetres long, erupted from the anvil—blue in colour, glowing, staying there for a few seconds, then fading brightly like a badly executed Pokémon move.
'Okay. You've got to be kidding me.' I turned around, laughing like a man about to break down. 'No! No! It's... magnets! Hidden wires! Maybe... a phosphorescent fungus that reacts to moisture!'
The blacksmith nodded proudly, then sneezed—and from his nose, a small spark shot out of the fire, igniting a flame on the wall.
I glanced at the flame. A small, confident smile stretched my face.
'Static electricity.'
I turned and walked out of the smithy, muttering the gibberish of a man whose worldview was unravelling thread by thread.
I returned to the village, determined to find something normal to look at. A goat. A pile of logs. Dirt. Anything that doesn't glow with Disney Channel energy.
I need air
Real air. Unglowing, unfire-breathing, unrune-infused, unenchanted, a normal mix of nitrogen and oxygen.
I sprinted out of the smithy like a man escaping a haunted laser tag arena. My mind was racing, stumbling, practising mental gymnastics worthy of a gold medal in Olympic denial.
"I'm hallucinating,'' I muttered. ''It's the altitude. Or PTSD. Or maybe I just lost it. That's it. I'm crazy. Bananas. Crazy as a parka in the snow.''
I had just turned the corner near the communal well, about to sit on a log and question every choice that had led me here, when one of the kids was chasing a chicken.
And just like the typical foolish child that he was, he fell to his knees. He slowly got up from the ground, fighting back tears, and suddenly, I heard a scream in the distance. I turned to the source on my right to see the old lady approaching the kid. She must have wanted to comfort him.
The child walked up to the old lady, rubbing his knee and sniffing as if he'd bruised his shinbone. She bent down slowly, cupped his face in both hands, and muttered a few soft words in her strange tongue.
I stared. Something glowed faintly between her palms—like a soft green ripple. As if someone had sneezed on a glowstick.
And suddenly... the child stopped crying. His pants were still torn, but his knee? It looked fine. Not just 'rubbed some dirt on it', more like 'digitally restored'.
My jaw didn't drop, but it wanted to. Instead, it hovered around a 'mild yawn of horror.'
No. Absolutely not.
Okay, I'll explain. He has nanobots. Yes. Or... maybe he's a mutant. This is just an early stage X-Men, isn't it?
I leaned closer to get a better look. The old lady looked at me, smiled a sweet, grandmotherly smile, and the green glow faded.
I froze.
Okay. So, that's two. Two different people. Two different strange lights. One fiery, the other leafy.
If someone else starts glowing, I'll need a new theory.
I turned around slowly, trying not to look suspicious. My mind was negotiating with the universe.
No more lights. Just wood, stone, boring villagers. Let me go back to pretending this is an old frontier movie with bad plumbing.
Then I saw him.
Across the road, a man staggered out of a hut clutching his chest, panting like a broken accordion. It was Elias. Of course. Because if anything strange was going to happen next, it had to be the cynical, coat-snatching healer, patiently stoking a haystack.
He stumbled forward—dramatically, I might add—and fell to his knees.
People gasped. I didn't.
"Maybe he choked on a cookie," I said, trying not to help anyone, as I approached.
Then she arrived. The old woman again. Floating—well, walking, but with alarming grace. She touched the doctor's chest.
Glowing green this time.
Green. I was collecting these things like Pokémon cards.
A few seconds later, he sat up, rubbed his chest, and whimpered as if he'd just woken up from a good nap rather than a near-death episode.
I blinked. Hard.
No, no, you know what? I'm not doing this. I spun around slowly, arms outstretched as if addressing a hidden camera crew. Three people. Three. All with glowing hands... glowing. Fire. Nature. Whatever that was—sunlight sneeze? Are you telling me this is real? I took a deep breath. Okay. Okay, Alan. Think. What's the most plausible explanation?
Silence.
Mass hallucination? Drugged food? Elaborate prank show? Alien technology disguised as a medieval masquerade?
I sat down on a tree stump. My eyes twitched. Come on, universe! Bring it on!
Then the blacksmith passed by again, carrying a—no exaggeration—lit bucket. The bucket. Was. On. He didn't seem to care.
"Okay!" I stood up, nearly tripping over my own legs. "You win. Magic. This is magic. Can you hear me, universe? Okay. I'm in a magical world. Congratulations!"
"...Alright," I whispered to myself. "I surrender. You win, weird village. Flaming letters. Chicken bombs. Medieval bone healers. I'm officially in a magical world. Congratulations... magic is real, huh. True. Good to know. Cool. Nice. Lovely."
A bewildered villager walked by and gave me a strange look. I gave him a thumbs-up. "Magic. Wonderful. Completely normal. I look forward to my dragon insurance plan."
...but I swear, if anyone turns into a toad, I'm out.
I felt like someone told me that gravity was optional.
My brain felt cooked as I got up and headed straight for the cabin, avoiding the strange stares from the doctor and the old lady.
I lay down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.
It will take me some time to digest all of this. Is magic real? Was it real in the past? Or am I not actually on the 'Earth' I know? And why did all this happen to me anyway?
When things like this happen in movies and anime, it's usually for a reason: a mad scientist or a nation that wants humans from outside their world as weapons. But I didn't get any kind of reception. It's not like I'd prefer either of those things to happen to me. And where is my super power?!
I heard the door open behind me, with the old woman putting her husband's arm behind her head as she ushered him into the house. Could he have fainted from suffocation? Maybe sick or something. I turned to the table to my right and found a spilt glass, its contents dripping with a suspiciously ominous purple liquid onto the carpet. The idiot poisoned himself. What a doctor.
I stared at the ceiling like it owed me an explanation.
I came here thinking I'd frozen to death. Or maybe I was in a coma. Or maybe someone hit me really hard with a shovel, and this is all a hallucination designed by a mentally unhinged weather app.
But no. There's glowing magic, floating runes, herbal LSD, and old women who can casually resurrect people like it's part of their knitting club.
I sighed.
"Fine," I muttered. "Tomorrow, I'll figure things out. As for now, I'm just going to close my eyes and pretend I still live in a world where the weirdest thing is pineapple on pizza."
I pulled the coat tighter around me and closed my eyes.
Let the magical fever dream continue.
— • — 6 Hours later, 21:00 — • —
I slowly opened my eyes, trying to get out of the mental fog that accompanies waking up. I think I've slept for too long. The heater is off, and I can't catch any rays of light.
I put on my glasses and slowly got up from the sofa. I reached sideways and forward haphazardly to orient myself until I reached the kitchen, where there were threads of white light coming from the cracks in the wooden window.
*Crick!*
I heard something behind me. I turned quickly, but it was too dark. I tried to focus and track the source of the sound, but to no avail. Maybe it was just the wind, or that one of the couple was awake upstairs.
I sighed in relief. Now, where are the candles? I hope they have one somewhere here...
I reached out and grabbed a hand reaching for me from behind. I lifted its owner onto my shoulder, throwing him onto the kitchen stairs, which made a loud clatter in the deadly silence of the hut.
The alarm bells rose to their highest pitch in my head. I jumped back a few steps and positioned myself around the corner. That person wasn't alone. I heard the sound of another footstep. I assumed a defensive stance, waiting for any attack. I might not be able to see in the darkness, but I could at least detect movement by vibrations from the floor, albeit with difficulty.
There was another voice! From where, from where, from... behind me?!
I quickly jumped to the right, narrowly avoiding a hand that burst through the wooden wall like it was paper. Another hand followed, tearing a second hole, and then a hulking figure widened the gap into a crude doorway. Now, with the moonlight filtering in, I could see more clearly.
Three people: the first, the one I'd thrown earlier, had just gotten up from the ground; the second, the bulky one who'd just broken through the wall; and the third, standing motionless by the kitchen door. They had black masked faces and were wearing what looked like military fatigues. Oy oy oy, I was just joking about the cosmic police!
I wanted to figure out what was happening, why, and who these people were, but no, a second's distraction would mean the end of the game for me.
Should I try to escape through the breach in the wall or what? My instincts, as usual, didn't bode well.
I picked up a piece of wood from the wall and tried to hit the big man with it, but with insane speed, he grabbed my throat and lifted me off the ground.
"Ukh!" What a monster! Is it possible for someone to move their arm that fast without breaking it?!
I tried to kick him in the face, but he responded by tightening his grip on my neck.
Slowly, I instinctively began to move my limbs in search of oxygen. I was really going to die this way. My strength was slipping. The world bleached to sand, then drowned in pitch-black.
And then...