Jacob stood there, heart pounding, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as he tried to process the battle he had just witnessed.
The behemoth's massive body still lay a few feet away, its chest caved in where the spear had struck. It was undeniable now—this wasn't Earth.
The sheer size of the creature and the raw power displayed by the young man who had thrown the spear shattered any lingering doubt. His mind raced, reeling from the shock of it all.
He had never seen anything like it. No animal on Earth could compare to that hulking beast, and as far as he knew, no human could send something so massive flying through the air with just a single throw.
There was no denying the overwhelming strength and strange abilities these people possessed. It terrified him… but also intrigued him.
Could I gain power like that? Jacob thought, his curiosity bubbling to the surface despite his fear.
Slowly, Jacob raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his movements deliberate.
He didn't want to make any sudden gestures that could be misinterpreted as a threat.
These people clearly didn't trust him, and he had no intention of giving them a reason to act on that suspicion. With a deep breath to steady himself, he began speaking, his voice measured and calm.
"Hi, my name is Jacob… I'm not from here. Can you help me get out of this forest?" He enunciated his words carefully, hoping that somehow they would understand.
But as expected, they just stared at him, their expressions ranging from confusion to wariness. The language barrier was obvious.
One of the middle-aged men, the one who hadn't been injured in the fight, exchanged glances with the others before stepping forward. He brandished his weapon as he approached, its edge gleaming menacingly in the fading light.
Though his posture was restrained, it was clear the show of force was deliberate—an unspoken warning for Jacob not to try anything foolish.
Jacob swallowed hard as the man loomed over him, easily towering a full head taller. His presence was imposing, his weathered face set in a stern expression as he barked something in a language Jacob couldn't understand.
The man's voice dripped with arrogance, and though the words were foreign, Jacob could sense what he was being asked—identify yourself.
How am I supposed to explain anything? Jacob's mind raced as he tried to think of a way to communicate, but before he could respond, a familiar warmth bloomed from the ring on his finger—Mr. Will's ring.
The warmth quickly intensified, and then—pain. A sharp, searing pain lanced through Jacob's skull, and he doubled over as the sensation gripped him. It was as if someone had driven a spike directly into his brain. He gasped, clutching his head as his vision swam. Voices. He could hear voices.
They weren't external—they were inside his head. Six distinct voices, all overlapping, all speaking in rapid succession. One of them was the man standing before him, and though Jacob still couldn't make out complete sentences, fragments of thoughts—scattered and disjointed—began to make sense. The sensation was overwhelming, like trying to listen to six people talking at once, each vying for his attention.
The pain was unbearable. His veins bulged, the strain clear on his face as his entire body trembled under the pressure. Sweat poured down his brow as he fought to contain it, his knees threatening to buckle from the effort.
The man in front of him stepped back, startled by Jacob's sudden change in demeanor.
His eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he raised his weapon, ready to strike. The others quickly followed suit, weapons drawn, their stances shifting to attack positions. The tension was palpable, and the air itself seemed to thrum with anticipation.
Jacob's vision blurred. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe—the cacophony in his head growing louder and more erratic with every passing second. Just when he thought he couldn't bear it any longer, everything went black.
He collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
The group surrounding him exchanged confused glances, their weapons still raised. The man who had confronted Jacob cautiously approached, his eyes never leaving the stranger's still form. He prodded Jacob with his boot, and when there was no reaction, his brows furrowed in disbelief.
The woman from earlier stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over Jacob's limp body. She muttered something to the three younger men who had been tasked with gathering the fruits.
They hesitated for a moment before nodding and quickly moving to pick Jacob up. Together, they hoisted him between them, careful not to disturb his ring-covered hand, and carried him away from the clearing.
Jacob awoke groggily, his head throbbing as he blinked against the dim light.
He was lying on a bed of soft hay, the rough texture of it itching against his skin. As his vision cleared, he realized he was inside a barn. The scent of animals and manure hung thick in the air, and he could hear the faint rustling of hooves nearby.
In the stalls beside him were creatures that vaguely resembled horses—though their coats shimmered in the low light, and their eyes glowed with an unnatural intelligence.
He groaned as he sat up, startling a few of the foals, which in turn roused the larger horses. The barn erupted into a chorus of restless neighs and snorts, the animals growing anxious from the sudden disturbance.
Jacob winced, trying to quiet them, but his efforts only seemed to make them more agitated. Their stamping grew louder, echoing in the small space, until finally, a booming voice called out from outside the barn.
"What in the hell are you making all that noise for? You've already been fed!"
The barn door creaked open, and an old man appeared in the entrance, squinting through the shadows at the commotion. His face, lined with years of hard labor, split into a grin when he spotted Jacob struggling to calm the animals.
"Ha! You're awake, kid. No use tryin' to settle them down now—they're all riled up," the old man said with a chuckle as he strolled in, his steps casual.
Jacob blinked, momentarily taken aback. The old man was speaking the same language as the group from before, yet… Jacob could understand him perfectly. What is happening? he thought, his mind racing.
The old man must have mistaken Jacob's shocked expression for confusion about his situation. With a shrug, he launched into an explanation.
"Some warriors from the Red Sparrow House dragged you to the market square and left you there like a sack of grain," the old man said, shaking his head in disapproval. "I figured some slaver would snatch you up, and I didn't feel right letting that happen. Lucky for you, I've been needin' a hand around here, so I brought you back with me."
Jacob rubbed his temples, trying to process what he was hearing. He wasn't a slave—yet—but the old man had made it clear that he wasn't exactly here out of kindness. Where am I? he wondered.
"Old man," Jacob started, his voice rough, "Where am I? Is this still the United States? Am I even on Earth?"
The old man frowned, scratching his head in confusion. "Kid, I don't know what the hell you're babbling about, but you'd better pull your weight around here if you want to stay. If you understand me, grab that shovel over there and start cleanin' out the stalls."
Jacob's shoulders slumped in defeat. Instead of answers, he'd gotten chores. But what choice did he have? He didn't know where he was, and for now, this old man was the only person he could rely on.
With a resigned sigh, he picked up the shovel and set to work.