Jin staggered to his feet, gripping the sword like a lifeline. The hot wind scorched his face, and the endless dunes blurred into the golden horizon. The battle cries had faded, replaced by an eerie silence. He wasn't on set anymore—that much was clear.
His head pounded, and the dull ache in his ribs flared as he moved. He remembered the sandstorm swallowing the set, the cries of the crew muffled as darkness consumed everything.
Now, he stood in a battlefield of scattered weapons and abandoned shields. The air reeked of sweat and blood. Where's the reset? Where's the crew? His thoughts raced, but before he could find an answer, a low growl reached his ears.
Jin spun around. A warrior charged toward him, sword gleaming in the sunlight. The man's face was a mask of fury, and his movements were anything but rehearsed.
Jin's body froze. He tried to raise the sword, but his hands wouldn't obey. His chest tightened as the soldier's blade came down.
The strike never landed.
A spear flew past Jin, embedding itself in the attacker's chest with a sickening thud. The soldier collapsed, and Jin turned toward the source of his salvation.
A man strode through the sand, his tattered armor streaked with dirt and blood. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a face hardened by years of battle. His eyes were sharp, assessing Jin in a single glance.
"What the hell are you doing?" the man barked. His voice was deep and commanding, cutting through Jin's haze of confusion.
"I… I don't know!" Jin stammered, his breath hitching.
The man groaned, stepping closer. "Great. Another idiot who thinks this is a game. If you want to live, stop shaking and hold that sword like you mean it."
Before Jin could respond, the man turned back to the battlefield. His movements were efficient, deliberate, as if every step had a purpose.
Jin stared after him, his mind spinning. "This has to be a dream," he muttered. "It's just… an extended method exercise."
But deep down, he knew better. The heat was too real, the weight of the sword too heavy. He couldn't wake up, no matter how hard he willed it.
A sharp whistle cut through the air. Jin whipped around to see the man motioning for him to follow. "You want answers? Move!"
Jin hesitated, glancing at the dead soldier sprawled across the sand. The blood looked so real, and the stench turned his stomach. This wasn't the controlled chaos of a film set. This was something else entirely.
His mind flashed back to the real world: the cluttered apartment he could barely afford, the ramen cup balanced precariously on the edge of his desk. He'd spent years chasing roles, scraping by on odd jobs and the occasional extra gig. His girlfriend had left weeks ago without even a goodbye text.
Back home, he was nobody. Here, he wasn't sure what he was.
"Are you deaf?" the man shouted, snapping Jin back to the present.
Gripping the sword tighter, Jin stumbled after him. Each step felt heavier than the last, the oppressive sun leeching his strength.
The man led him toward a cluster of jagged rocks that jutted out of the sand like the ribs of some long-dead beast. He crouched behind one, motioning for Jin to do the same.
"Stay down," he ordered, scanning the horizon.
Jin collapsed against the rock, gasping for breath. "What is this place?"
The man didn't look at him. "A battlefield."
"That's not what I meant—"
"I don't care what you meant," the man cut him off. "This isn't the time for questions. You either fight, or you die. Simple as that."
Jin's mouth went dry. "But I'm not a fighter."
The man finally turned to him, his expression unreadable. "Then you'd better start learning."
Above them, the sun began to dip, casting long shadows across the dunes. The battlefield was quiet now, but Jin could feel it—the calm before the storm.
For better or worse, he was trapped here. And if he didn't figure out how to survive, he'd never make it out alive.