The desert's embrace is harsh, its sands a scalding blanket beneath me. I'm sprawled there, the sun a relentless overseer in a sky too blue to be real. It's like waking from one dream only to find myself ensnared in another, but the heat—that's no illusion. It sears through my clothes, promising nothing but an endless march through this golden wasteland.
I push myself up, the grains slipping through my fingers like the remnants of my old life. The Gourmet Galaxy, Chef Romsay, the clatter of dishes—they're all a world away now. Here, there's only the whisper of the wind, carrying the weight of solitude and the sting of sand against my skin.
I start walking because that's what you do when you're lost—you move. I search for a sign, a sliver of hope on the horizon. And as if summoned by my desperation, a shape emerges from the heat haze—a pyramid, ancient and enigmatic, a beacon in this barren expanse.
My feet carry me forward, each step a defiance of the part of me that wants to collapse, to surrender. But I'm Haruto Elric, damn it. I've faced down Chef Romsay's temper and the drudgery of a job that tried to cage my dreams. I won't be broken by a bit of sun and sand.
The pyramid looms closer, and atop it, a figure watches. Not just any figure, but one that seems torn from the pages of mythology—a creature of wings and mystery.
My gaze locks with it, a pair of eyes that seem to cut right through me. They see me, Haruto, the man who's stumbled into this madness. A screech, sharp enough to split the sky, tears through the silence, and she's moving—a streak of raw energy, her form a blur that rends the air itself. It's a display of power that defies belief, her speed reaching beyond the bounds of sound, a sonic boom trailing in her wake. It's terrifying, a dance of chaos that leaves me breathless in its wake.
I'm moving too, instinct taking over where thought has no place. The sand shifts beneath me, and I'm rolling away, feeling the rush of air as she passes overhead. My heart's a drumbeat in my chest, pounding out a rhythm of survival and fear.
She lands with a powerful force, the impact sending shockwaves rippling through the desert. I'm thrown backward, the blast nearly knocking the breath out of me. Sand stings my face, and I scramble to my feet, heart pounding. If I'd been hit, I'd be done for—no question about it. The realization hits me like a second blow, cold and stark: she could have killed me.
I catch my breath, and there she is, a figure from a myth. Her wings are like a nightfall, painted with the colors of a dying day—black, purple, magenta. They're vast, commanding, a display of strength that's both a warning and a wonder. And her attire, it's more absence than fabric, bandages hugging her form in a way that speaks of battles fought and scars earned.
This is no game, no anime and no animation. This is real, and it's happening now. My mind races, trying to piece together the fragments of this puzzle. How did I get here? What does she want? And why, why does she look so familiar?
As she circles back, I realize who she is—Tricky, the harpy dragon VTuber. But this is no digital avatar; this is flesh and blood and feathers. The memories come flooding back, hours spent watching her streams, the sound of her voice, the screeches that were her signature. It's surreal, seeing her here, in this place that defies explanation.
Racking my brain for a way to calm her, I remembered the screeches Tricky would make in her streams. Mimicking the sound as best as I could, my attempt at a screech was far from perfect but seemed to have some effect.
"Like this? Is this what you're used to?" I asked, attempting another screech.
Tricky relaxed slightly, cautiously approaching me and letting out another screech of her own.
"Okay, okay, I'm getting the hang of this," I chuckled nervously, trying to match her pitch and tone.
Every time Tricky shrieked and came towards me, I tried to screech back. Slowly, we started talking and narrowing the gap between both of our worlds.
Just as I was about to properly greet her, there came an inconsiderate yell that broke the fragile moment of calm. A group of bandits emerged from behind the dunes, gunning in my direction. So shocked by their sudden appearance, and such a harsh reality that this world also had its dangers, guns included, for one moment I was paralyzed.
Before I could rightly get it in my head, Tricky let out a blood-curdling shriek-the sound cut through the air like a knife. The robbers flinched, their attention finally broke. In a blur of feathers and fury, Tricky shot toward a gap in the pyramid, her wings rent through the heat haze with graceful ease.
I didn't have a moment to think. Recovering from their shock, the bandits' eyes now blazed with intent. Something deeper inside me took over, and I flung myself aside. A bullet whined past my head, where my head had been, my heart thudding in my chest with each beat, reminding me of how close I was to dying.
Rolling onto my feet, I grabbed a fistful of sand and flung it into the face of the nearest bandit. The bandit reared backward, cursing, as I leaped forward and caught him with my fist to send him sprawling. Another charged at me, and I dodged under his swing to kick his legs out from under him; he crashed to the ground.
I was quicker, though: I closed the distance and knocked the gun from his hand. We rolled around in a mad tangle of arms and legs, soaked in surging adrenaline, until I caught him off guard and rolled him backwards into the sand.
Panting, I turned around. Down but far from out were the bandits, meaning I needed to move. The form of Tricky was about to dissolve into the dark entrance presented by the pyramid-a beacon of hope in this chaotic desert.
The next second, I sprinted after her, the shouting bandits grudgingly growing fainter with every step I took toward the shadow of the pyramid.
As the bandits were only temporarily taken care of, I once more headed back to the pyramid. Tricky had vanished in some opening up higher. I gritted my teeth and started the heavy climb.
I finally reached the top and stopped to catch my breath. "Damn, that was my workout for today," I grumbled, wiping the sweat off my brow. The entrance loomed before me-much darker now and more forbidding. Stepping inside, I found a tunnel going downwards spiral with long stairs leading the way.
"Oh hell nah, there is no way I'm going all the way back down those stairs again," I said, already out of breath.
I cursed under my breath-what seemed like endless descent-and began down the stairs. My legs complained at every step as I descended deeper; the coolness of the air was welcome after the desert heat above. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I reached the bottom.
What met my eyes took my breath away: beautiful fountains of crystal-clear water glittered in the dim light, with invitingly shining piles of gold laid beside them. White spiders scurried about, their presence unsettling yet somehow fitting in this place.
Shaking off my confusion about the spiders, I focused on what mattered most—Tricky.
Tricky suddenly launched at me, her expression fierce and furious as she pinned me to the ground. WHO ARE YOU? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? ARE YOU A BANDIT OR HATER TOO?!" she was shouting, her voice thick with the essence of anger.
My heart was racing, but my voice seemed to come out steady. "No, no-I am neither a bandit nor a hater," I reassured her as soon as possible.
"YOU SURE?!!" she snapped now suspicious; her eyes narrowed. "OR ELSE I WILL KILL YOU RIGHT NOW."
A chill ran down my spine as a dark purple sphere formed in her palms, crackling with dangerous energy. Hard, I swallowed as the reality of the situation hit me with the weight of a ton of bricks. I had to show her that I meant no harm, or I wasn't going to leave this room alive.
"I swear, I am not here for any ill," I persisted, trying to keep my voice steady as this feeling of fright started to seep in. "I do not have any weapons with me, and I have no ill intentions."
Tricky's fingers loosened a bit, but her stare remained piercing, as if looking for some signal of falsehoods. The purple sphere held in her hands crackled ominously, a blatant reminder of the power she had.
I continued, pleading in my voice, "I just. I just want to help. I saw that you were hurt and I could not just leave you here all alone. Please, you must believe me."
Tricky hesitated, and the tension was thick in the air. For one moment, time appeared to stand still as we stared at each other, neither of us knowing what would follow. With a heavy sigh, she released me. The dark sphere dissipated into thin air.
"Fine," she said finally, her voice softer now, tinged with exhaustion. "But one wrong move, and you're done for. Got it?
I nodded, a wave of relief washing over me. "Got it," I said, glad for an opportunity to prove myself. Now, all I had to do was find a way to gain her trust and help her break free from this weird place.
Tricky's command was clear, her voice a mix of authority and discomfort. "Fetch the alcohol from the kitchen, will you?" she said, her arm weakly gesturing down the corridor to her right. "It's just down there."
I followed her pointing hand, my eyes tracing the dimly lit path that veered away from the room's disarray. With a nod, I set off toward the kitchen, my footsteps resonating in the quiet of the hallway, each echo a stark contrast to the earlier tumult.
Arriving at the kitchen, I hesitated, surveying the unfamiliar yet oddly mundane setting. "Which shelf is it on?" I called back to Tricky.
"To your right, above the stove," she responded, her voice strained.
My gaze swept across the kitchen, finding the stove and the shelf above. Reaching up, I grasped the bottle of alcohol. As I did, my eyes roamed, taking in the details of this world. They have these things here too, I thought, the alcohol, the mundane… The only real differences are the magic… and Tricky.
Alcohol in hand, I returned to find Tricky with a collection of bandaids, eyeing me with suspicion. "What took you so long?" she questioned. "You didn't swipe any food, did you?"
"No, it just took a moment to locate it," I assured her, handing over the alcohol.
She accepted the bottle and perched on the fountain's edge, wincing. "This bullet wound is killing me," she muttered. With a magical gesture, the bullet rose from her wound. She tried to bandage her wing, but it proved difficult; her wings were too big.
"Do you need my help?" I offered, my concern evident.
Tricky wavered, torn between pride and need. Finally, she conceded. "Yes," she accepted, and I moved in to aid her.
After tending to her wounds, I stepped back to inspect my handiwork. "All set," I announced, my tone soft but laced with the weariness of the task. "You should rest now, you'll be alright."
I gave her a comforting smile, one filled with assurances of safety and care. Tricky, her wings now neatly bandaged, looked up at me, the pain replaced by a deep fatigue. She nodded weakly, accepting my advice.
"Rest does sound appealing," she agreed, embracing a rare moment of vulnerability.
Her intense stare cut through the dimness. "Your name?" she demanded, seeking honesty.
I hesitated, contemplating the choice before me. Should I cling to my old identity, or embrace the new name I've always desired? I've left that world behind; this is a fresh start.
"I'm Astro," I declared with conviction. "Astro Elric."
Tricky considered me for a moment before nodding. "Astro," she began, her voice weary but firm, "you saw a door halfway down the stairs. There's a spare room behind it. You can rest there. I'm sure you're exhausted as well. I'll be resting too."
Her gaze locked with mine, a stern warning in her eyes. "And if you make a wrong move… I'll turn you to dust."
"Understood," I replied quickly, a trace of amusement in my tone despite her serious warning.
Turning toward the stairs, I inwardly groaned at the thought of climbing them again. But as I ascended, Tricky's voice halted me.
"Astro…" she called out, softer now. "Thank you."
I glanced back, a sincere smile on my face. "
I pushed the door open; hinges whispered into the quiet of the room. As I crossed the threshold, my brain couldn't help but whirl with those incidents of the day.
The suddenness of it all-the collision with the truck, the sudden plunge into this new fairy-tale world-was just too much to bear. The desert sun had relentlessly seared my skin in an unappealing immediate warning of the cruelty of this real world I had tumbled into.
Then there was Tricky, that attacked me. The bandits, the fight, the close call with death, and finally, the quiet moment where I patched her up—it was a lot to process.
"Man, what a day," I muttered to myself, though the words were lost in the vastness of the room. Then I just collapsed onto my bed, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, the mattress welcomed me with comfort. Heavy eyelids and, as sleep overcame me, it came as a tide that gently pulled me from the chaos of the day.