I
I didn't hear the explosion until it was already too late.
The roof had practically caved in, and the walls shook like they'd had enough of this life. Smoke and dust filled the room, but my attention was fixed on her.
"I'm sorry, Reynard…" Her voice was calm, but her eyes told a different story—fear, guilt, and a quiet kind of desperation. "My past came back to haunt me, and now I have to go. I should be able to keep them off your back for some time, but you'll have to do your part. Live, my love… and I'm sorry…"
Then she was gone.
I stared at the baby in my arms. Leonard. Two months old. My son.
He gurgled, completely unaware of the chaos around him. Lucky kid.
The ceiling groaned, protesting its near destruction, and I glanced at one of the grunts sprawled across the floor. The poor guy looked like he was trying to decide whether to groan in pain or just die quietly.
I sighed, adjusting Leonard in my arms. "Not exactly how I pictured fatherhood," I muttered.
Ten years ago, I'd transmigrated into this world. Back then, I thought it was a rustic parallel universe—no big deal. Then came the hunters, aura powers, forbidden regions, and secret organizations, crashing into my life like uninvited guests at a party.
And now? Now I was holding the protagonist of Hunterworks, the novel I wrote back on Earth. My son. Leonard. Leon. Our baby boy.
Me?
I'm just a mundane…
Name? Reynard.
Age? 27 years old.
Status? Single father.
Feeling? Totally screwed.
The grunt on the floor coughed, interrupting my pity party. I flipped him over with my foot, his body flopping like a sack of bad decisions. He groaned weakly, his chest torn open from one of my wife's aura strikes.
Leonard babbled happily, and I turned his face away. No way was I letting my two-month-old watch what I was about to do.
I grabbed the grunt's gun and shot him in the face. Clean. No hesitation.
"Just in case," I muttered, blowing the smoke from the barrel. Aura was powerful, sure, but a bullet between the eyebrows? That was a classic.
The garage wasn't far, but my legs felt like lead as I ran. The car was still there, thank God. I strapped Leonard into the baby seat, threw my bag in the passenger seat, and peeled out of the driveway.
Three years ago, I fell in love. Hard. The kind of love that made you believe in happy endings. But there's always a catch, isn't there?
My wife had a past I never questioned, secrets I never uncovered. And now, those secrets were my problem.
Leora said she'd buy me time. How much? A month, maybe. Enough to disappear.
My priority was survival—mine and Leonard's. Everything else could wait.
By the time I reached the next city, I had a plan. Step one: clean out my bank account. Step two: buy supplies. Step three: vanish.
The shopping spree was surreal. Solar panels, canned food, a compound bow, a machete—my cart looked like I was prepping for the apocalypse.
"This is the best I can do," I muttered as I loaded the car. "And hopefully, this is enough..."
The next few days were a blur of hitchhiking and hiding. I sold the car halfway through, ditched anything traceable, and kept moving north. Leonard, thankfully, was an easy baby. Barely cried, barely ate. Probably the hunter genes.
Finally, after four exhausting days, I reached the Mivih Mountains. The air was crisp, the trees were tall, and the silence was almost peaceful.
Almost.
Leonard's cry broke the stillness, and I froze. "What now?" I muttered, trying to soothe him.
That's when I heard the rustling.
A tiger emerged from the trees, its golden eyes locked onto us.
"Of course," I said, rolling my eyes. "Why wouldn't there be a tiger?"
Before I could even think of a plan, Leonard waved his tiny hand. A fireball—an actual fireball—shot out and hit the tiger square in the side.
The beast yelped and bolted, leaving a trail of smoke behind.
I stared at Leonard, who was now giggling like he'd just done the funniest thing in the world.
"Yep," I said, shaking my head. "Definitely hunter genes."
The Mivih Mountains were beautiful in a way that didn't quite match the rest of the world. The trees were impossibly tall, their trunks thick and ancient, as if they'd been standing guard for centuries. The air was crisp, carrying a faint pine scent mixed with the earthy aroma of damp soil. Peaks jutted into the sky, jagged and snow-capped, their tips catching the golden light of the setting sun. It was the kind of scenery that would've made me pause and admire it—if I wasn't so close to losing my mind.
My head throbbed with exhaustion, and every muscle in my body screamed in protest. I'd barely slept in four days, my nerves frayed from constantly looking over my shoulder. Even now, standing in this tranquil wilderness, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching me.
Paranoia, maybe. Or instincts. At this point, I couldn't tell the difference.
Leonard was dozing off in his carrier, his tiny chest rising and falling with each soft breath. He looked so peaceful, so blissfully unaware of the chaos that had become our lives.
"Alright," I muttered to myself, setting the carrier down gently on a patch of grass. "Time to get to work."
I scouted the area first, making sure we weren't about to stumble into a den of tigers or worse. The forest was dense, but I found a small clearing not far from a freshwater stream. It wasn't perfect, but it would do for now.
The next hour was a blur of activity. I cleared the ground of rocks and debris, using the machete to cut away some underbrush. Then, I set up the tent—a compact, lightweight thing I'd bought in the city. It wasn't much, but it would keep us dry if the weather turned.
Next came the fire. I gathered sticks and dry leaves, arranging them in a neat little pile before striking the camp lighter. The flame sputtered to life, warm and comforting in the growing darkness.
As the fire crackled, I unpacked some of the supplies: canned food, a pot for boiling water, and a few solar-powered lamps. My hands worked mechanically, my mind running in circles.
What now?
That question had been haunting me since Leora left. She'd bought us time, but how much? A month? A week? And what was I supposed to do with that time? Hide out in the mountains forever? Train Leonard to survive in this insane world?
It was painful feeling so uncertain.
Trusting Leora wasn't the issue.
"It felt so wrong to be ignorant…"
I stared at the fire, the flames dancing and crackling like they had answers.
The truth was, I had no idea what I was doing. I was just a mundane guy trying to keep my son alive in a world that didn't make sense anymore.
The shadows stretched long as night settled in. The forest came alive with the sounds of rustling leaves, chirping insects, and the occasional distant howl. I tightened my grip on the machete, every noise setting my nerves on edge.
Leonard stirred, letting out a soft whimper. I reached over and gently rocked his carrier, humming a lullaby I barely remembered from my childhood. He settled down, his little fingers curling into a fist.
For a moment, the weight of it all felt unbearable. The fear, the exhaustion, the crushing responsibility of keeping this tiny human alive—it pressed down on me like a mountain of its own.
But then I looked at Leonard, his peaceful face illuminated by the soft glow of the fire. And somehow, that was enough to keep me going.
"Alright, kid," I whispered, leaning back against a tree. "We made it through today. Let's see if we can make it through tomorrow."
With that, I closed my eyes, the machete resting on my lap, and let the exhaustion pull me under.
I knew it was a dream. It could only be a dream.
I was standing in the middle of a street, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and scenery. Everything felt so alien yet disturbingly mundane. The language around me sounded familiar, the people looked like they could have been neighbors from my childhood, but I was utterly lost.
Seventeen years old. I had just finished Senior High School. Back then, I had plans, a future. And then, in the blink of an eye, it was all gone. The next day, I woke up homeless in a world that wasn't my own.
Transmigration. Isekai. Parallel reality. Call it whatever you want—it didn't matter. At the time, I thought it was awesome. Maybe this "other" world would be something out of my favorite stories, full of heroes, powers, or adventures. I was naive, young, and stupid.
But no. It wasn't some magical or futuristic world. It was painfully ordinary. Mundane in every sense of the word.
Reality hit hard, and I adjusted as best I could. Being homeless sucked. Every night was a fight to find a place to sleep, and every day was a struggle to survive. But I worked hard. Scrimped and saved until I could afford my first laptop. I poured myself into writing stories, clinging to the hobbies and dreams of the life I'd left behind.
It wasn't the life I'd imagined, but I made it work. I got used to the mundane. The quiet monotony of a world that didn't ask for much but also didn't offer much in return.
And then, like some cruel twist of fate, this "plot development" came crashing into my life.
When I woke up, the relief was immediate. I was still in the forest. Still hidden. Still safe—for now.
I sat up, glancing around the small camp I'd set up. The morning air was cool, the light filtering through the trees casting dappled shadows on the ground. It should have been peaceful, but my mind was racing.
"This is too much," I muttered under my breath. Everything was happening too fast.
I rubbed my face, trying to calm myself down. I looked over at Leon, still asleep in his bundle of blankets, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. For a moment, the sight of him calmed me.
"I just want to be a good dad," I whispered.
But even as I said it, the weight of everything pressed down on me. The truth I'd been avoiding stared me in the face, unrelenting and cruel.
This wasn't just some setback. This wasn't a rough patch I could power through with grit and determination.
"This is the end of the world for me," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
And in that moment, I knew it wasn't hyperbole. This wasn't the life I'd planned or wanted, but it was the one I had now. The mundane world I'd once adjusted to had turned on its head, and now I was left clinging to the scraps of a reality I could barely control.
I took a deep breath, standing up and brushing the dirt off my pants. The forest was quiet, but the silence wasn't comforting—it was foreboding.
I had no idea what was coming next. All I knew was that I couldn't afford to stop. Not for me. Not for Leon.
If this was the end of the world for me, then I'd face it head-on.
Because I had no choice.
~001