Frustration bubbled within me. I tried to force a word out, anything, but only a guttural moan escaped my lips. The flickering firelight on the wall danced and distorted, morphing into a silhouette with flowing hair bundled beneath a thick cloak. Then, with a swiftness that startled me, a face materialised before me, bathed in the warm glow of the flames. Recognition flickered in the recesses of my mind, like a forgotten melody. It was a girl, her hair a cascade of fiery orange strands framing a face pale as winter snow, dusted with a smattering of freckles. Her lips curved into a gentle smile as she spoke, her words a melody of unfamiliar sounds. "ƇЀ₣ Ɠɧīʝƙł ʍŋøþ Ɋɾƨŧμ," she uttered, the alien syllables tumbling off her tongue.
My stomach lurched. This language held no resemblance to anything I knew – not the European tongues I'd dabbled in, nor the familiar lilt of Japanese. A helpless silence filled the room as I struggled in vain to formulate a response. Another string of musical syllables rolled off her tongue – "Ðŋɧμɰνӽβ₣þŧʝƙ." – and a horrifying realisation dawned on me. It was absurd, preposterous, yet undeniable. I was no longer where I belonged. Transported? Resurrected? Whatever the reason, I found myself adrift in a world utterly alien to mine.
A strange duality warred within me. One part, a yawning chasm of despair. My suffering during the sixteen years, my life, all seemingly rendered meaningless. A fresh start, yes, but a terrifying one. The other, a shameful flicker of excitement. Mythical creatures, civilizations of breathtaking grandeur… These were the whispers of stories, now, perhaps, a tangible reality. Each mundane moment, every clash of war, could be a chapter in a grand, untold story. Yet, the weight of the unknown pressed down on me. The only thing I can do is lay down helplessly, relying on a person I have never met before to aid me - without knowing even if I can compensate for it.
Regardless, It was getting dark, and once again I fell asleep. The very first turn of the day brought with it a shift in light, darkness surrendering to the dawn, which in turn would eventually fade back into night. Life at the place I decided to call "Red Head House" began uneventfully, at least for the first month. It didn't take long, however, to realise that my caretaker, the girl with the fiery hair, possessed a distinct lack of knowledge when it came to proper medical attention and bandaging techniques. Every time she changed my dressings, it became a bizarre display of unconventional knots and awkward wrapping methods. Though, in my incapacitated state, complaining wasn't exactly an option.
Shortly after, I was exposed to a thing that can only be called "magic" from novels and movies . She took out a yellowish green plant from her brown poach, grinding it and applying it to a crimson piece of paper. And after a particularly clumsy attempt at re-bandaging, she would hold a crimson paper scrap over the wound, muttering unintelligible words that caused a warm yellow light to engulf me. The light offered a reprieve from the constant discomfort, though it left her visibly drained and dizzy afterwards. Communication, thankfully, began to develop not long after my arrival. It started with rudimentary gestures: her extended pinkie finger accompanied by a soft, "Rena," followed by the same motion and a mumbled, "Ryo." Our conversations primarily revolved around hand signals and crude drawings, both mine and hers, which often left room for misinterpretation and frustration. Despite the awkwardness, a silent understanding settled between us – for now, recovery remained my top priority. My body still refused to obey my commands, any sudden movement met with a searing, throbbing pain.
Mornings found her perched beside my bed, a thick, dusty book retrieved from a neglected shelf. It resembled an encyclopaedia, filled with an assortment of languages. Dragging a chair closer, she launched into a tedious recital, meticulously reading every entry in an attempt to pinpoint my native tongue. Each session concluded with her collapsing dramatically beside me, face etched with exhaustion.
Her afternoons were dedicated to hunting sessions. She'd disappear for extended periods, returning with fresh scratches adorning her arms and cheeks. Often perched on her shoulder would be some strange creature – a bright blue bird with splashes of red on its wings, a winged boar creature that defied all logic, or a lizard sporting miniature wings. These encounters not only left me bewildered by the world's seemingly nonsensical evolutionary path, but also incredibly hungry. The meals she prepared from her hunting spoils were undeniably delicious. And by the next day, her wounds would be inexplicably healed, the cycle beginning anew.
One detail, however, remained persistently puzzling. Despite her daily hunting trips, the sword she carried never bore a trace of blood. The seemingly ordinary steel blade held a peculiar quality – faint, rippling patterns etched into its surface, occasionally pulsing with an ethereal blue light. Could this be another manifestation of her magic? That said, for the first five months, my glimpses of the outside world were only fleeting moments captured through the open doorway. Snow, blanketing the ground in a blinding white, was the first sight I encountered. Two months later, a warm yellow light bathed the room, followed by a flurry of autumn leaves swirling through the doorway, carrying on the wind's breath. And then, a final shift – an enigmatic violet light filled the room. As twilight settled, the girl would often retreat to the door stop. Her gaze drifted downwards, occasionally straying to a pendant nestled against her chest, a veil of sadness cloaking her face. Once I drifted off to sleep, she would vanish into the night, presumably to hone her combat skills.
I have been not keeping track of the time I spent in the house and I was contemptuous with just staying there. I have a lot of excuses to stay inside, the danger that roams in the forest, my injury or the fact that I have nowhere to go. The girl neither did say anything to me either, it dawned on me that I am just lying to myself. I'm just simply scared. But things had to change, and the realisation was inevitable.
She prompted me up on the table, my face grazing past her hair- emitting a delightful aroma. The last of my bandages, now dry, came tumbling down on the floor, revealing an array of mellow but hideous scars on my body.
Rena glanced sympathetically for an instance, before letting me borrow her shoulder and approach the door. It felt like I completely forgot how to walk, my legs felt dull and hopefully weak. I took the door handle, pushing it down and applying just enough force to open it. The door slowly opened, making a sound creek in the process. The quiet breeze of the forest touched my skin, as my bare feet felt the soft grass just in front of the door. We walked a few metres forwards before I took a seat and laid down on the grass, staring at the bottomless sky. We were in a completely different region than the one I first arrived in. It was more temporal and bright, with emerald green leaves almost shining on the trees. The canopy above was thick yet vibrant, allowing slivers of sunlight to cascade down in golden beams. The forest was alive with the sound of rustling leaves and distant bird calls, nothing I haven't seen before though.
Rena is lying beside me, also gazing towards the endless azure sky. After a few seconds, she turns her head towards me, forming a grin from cheek to cheek. A smile which I might never understand in a lifetime.