Rein felt rays of light pass through his unopened eyeslids. Slowly opened them and then rubbed his eyes.
"Ugh"
It felt like he was drunk... Which was weird because he hadn't taken anything alcoholic at all last night. Not that he could, anyway. He was only eighteen years old.
He sat up, supporting his body with his left hand, feeling a dry leaf crunch beneath his hand.
"Huh...?"
It took him a moment to realize that was wrong.
His eyes opened to pale light filtering through thin branches. Not a ceiling. No familiar roomm nor any walls, no scent of food or spilled juice from the night before. The air was dry and carried the faint smell of old bark and dust. He sat still, staring upward, waiting for his memories of what happened to catch up.
Nothing came. He had expected a wave of memory to ram into him, explaining how he had ended up here but there was Quite literally nothing.
Dry leavs clung to his sleeve and fell away when he moved. The forest around him was sparse, Thin trunks rose from the ground at uneven intervals, their branches bare or half-dead, letting daylight pass through without resistance.
Rein sat up fully.
"What the hell…"
The last thing he remembered was laughter and a cacophony of Voices overlapping, glasses clinking, someone complaining about the music. His house had been full.
His little brother had hosted the party, and he had to attend, out of obligation more than desire, and by the time midnight had rolled around, he had already been counting the minutes until everyone left.
That had been last night.
This was not his house.
"What the fuck... Where am I..."
He blinked many more time and then said in a loud voice
"Hello? .... Is anybody here!"
Nothing returned except Echoes of his own voice.
He got to his feet slowly, brushing leaves from his clothes. They were the same clothes he had worn to the party, plain black pants and white shirt, tucked in and black boots.
His unbuttoned sleeves fell over his hands. And the black boots.... Did little to hide his rather short stature.
He had been told multiple times by his mother to wear something a little less formal... And perhaps more for a birthday party, but he denied.
Not only because he couldn't be bothered to decide but also because if was going to be pushed into a social event, he would do so looking like how he wanted to be.
'where even am i?'
He turned in place, scanning the forest. There was nothing around him except trees laid sparsely and dry leafs on the ground.
A faint pressure settled in his chest.
Not fear. Not exactly, it was more like anxiety, no.... Not even that
It was something akin to.... Rein couldn't find the exact words to describe it
Uncomfortable, Confusion maybe.
Rein ran a hand through his hair, black strands slipping easily through his fingers.
He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. Panicking had never helped anyone think. If this was a dream, it was unusually detailed. If it was not, then wasting time standing around would not improve his odds.
He took a step forward.
'uh, what'
That was when he noticed the weight in his right hand.
Rein stopped and then He looked down.
A sword rested in his grip, its presence so natural he had not questioned it until now. It felt just right to hold it, like it was made entirely for him
The scabbard was black, smooth, marked with white adornments that traced faint patterns along its length. A longsword, heavy and long, the blade easily over a meter in length
His fingers tightened around the grip without thinking.
'this isn't mine....'
He adjusted his hold, testing the balance. It felt right. Too right. As if his hand had been shaped for it.
Rein swallowed hard. He noticed that intricate carvings on the sheath of the blade.
He brought the blade closer to his face, and then with one hand over the sheath and the other on the handle, he carefully unsheathe the blade.
Then he froze.
The sensation came without warning.
A sharp pull, like a hook catching somewhere just behind his sternum. His breath hitched, and his body reacted before his mind could process why.
Danger. A primal sense of something amiss. Or perhaps.... The exact opposite of that.
The certainty of it was immediate and absolute.
What unnerved him was where it came from. It did not rise from his gut or his instincts the way fear usually did. It felt external, as if something had reached into him and flipped a switch.
He turned.
The monster was already there.
It burst from between the trees with a sound like wet bone scraping against earth. Its body was gaunt, skin stretched tight over a frame that looked unfinished, wrong. Its lower half was gone entirely, torn away or rotted beyond recognition. It moved on four arms instead, each one long and thin, joints bending at angles Rein did not like to look at.
The arms slammed into the ground, propelling the creature forward with terrifying speed.
Two small white eyes fixed on him. Below them, a wide maw opened, rows of uneven teeth glistening in the daylight.
Rein did not have time to think.
He barely had time to breathe.
The thing lunged at him.
Something struck it from the side with a sharp metallic crack. The impact twisted its body mid-motion, sending it skidding across the forest floor in a spray of leaves and dirt.
Rein staggered back on instinct, heart slamming against his ribs.
"Shit," he shouted, his voice coming out in a gasp.
A heavy metal ball lay half-buried in the ground near where the creature had been hit. A chain trailed from it, taut, disappearing off to his left.
Rein did not look toward its owner.
The monster was already pushing itself up.
Its arms dug into the soil, fingers clawing for purchase. One of them bent the wrong way, but it did not seem to care. Its head snapped toward him again, mouth opening wider.
Something in Rein shifted.
The confusion dulled. The noise in his head faded.
What remained was sharp and cold.
Survive.
The thought did not feel like his own, but he accepted it without resistance.
Rein drew the sword.
The sound of steel leaving its scabbard rang through the trees, clear and clean. The hilt and guard were black, matching the scabbard, while the blade caught the light in a muted silver sheen.
He felt it then.
Strength flooded his limbs, subtle but undeniable. His grip steadied. His footing felt firmer. The world seemed to slow, not enough to notice consciously, but enough that every movement around him became easier to track.
He did not stop to question it.
The monster launched itself again, but not at him.
It twisted mid-leap, angling toward the figure still out of sight behind him.
Rein moved.
He stepped forward and brought the blade up, putting it in the monsters path from the side and baced for impact. The impact rattled his arms, the force of its momentum nearly knocking him off balance. He stumbled sideways, boots scraping against leaves and dirt.
The resistance he expected was more then what he was actually met with, in fact, he had expected the blade to completely fly off his hands, yet it didn't.
The blade bit deep, cutting off one of its four arms.
A spray of dark black fluid hit his white shirt. The monster shrieked, the sound high and broken, and crashed into the ground.
Rein barely had time to recover before the chain snapped taut again.
The metal ball swung overhead and came down hard, crushing the creature's skull wit laud sound. The body went still.
Silence returned to the forest.
Rein stood there, breathing hard, sword still raised. His arms trembled, not from exhaustion, but from the delayed shock of what had just happened.
He forced himself to straighten.
A few steps away, a hooded figure pulled the chain back in with a practiced motion. The weapon revealed itself fully now. An axe with chained flail attached to the bottom of the handle, its edge worn but well cared for.
The figure's armor was cloth, layered and odd in construction. Reds, muted oranges, and hints of green overlapped in a way that should have clashed but did not. Strings tied the sleeves to the shoulders in neat rows, allowing flexibility without exposing skin. It looked functional, though Rein could not immediately tell how.
They faced each other.
Rein pointed his sword first at the monster's corpse, then shifted it toward the figue, Just enough to make his position clear.
The hood tilted slightly.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Then the figure lowered the axe.
"Y-you're not a cultist," she said. Stuttering