"How the hell did you lose your sword in your first battle?" Harald growled, his face a mix of anger and disbelief.
Kaiden hesitated, fumbling for an answer. "I… uh… I went back to look for it, but they wouldn't let me!"
Harald's face turned red. "Of course, they didn't let you! You fool! What's fallen is theirs now—they've won the battle! You think they're just gonna hand it back?"
Kaiden blinked, confused. "So… what now? Are they going to be our new lords or something?"
Harald froze, staring at Kaiden like he'd grown a second head. "What the hell are you saying?" he hissed, his tone low but dangerous. "Stop right there."
Taking a step closer, Harald grabbed Kaiden by the shoulders and sniffed at him, his expression turning suspicious. "Did you drink?"
Kaiden flinched, pulling away. "Hey, I'm not drunk!"
Harald's glare didn't soften. "Then why are you talking nonsense, huh? New lords? What kind of idiot talk is that?"
Kaiden rubbed his temples, trying to shake the dizziness and confusion swirling in his mind. He stammered, "I—I just meant…"
Harald cut him off with a sharp laugh, though there was no humor in it. " We're just paid to fight beside them."
The words hit Kaiden like a blow, and a flash of memory jolted through him—too vivid to ignore.
Fields of golden wheat. The rhythmic thud of a scythe cutting through stalks. The smell of dirt, sweat, and the sunburned skin of his calloused hands.
His voice came out in a whisper, overlapping almost perfectly with Harald's, as though they were recalling the same bitter truth:
"We're only farmers."
The group trudged along a dirt path far from the battlefield, their steps heavy and labored. The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the horizon in streaks of orange and red. Harald adjusted the straps of his backpack, which sagged under the weight of their meager supplies. Kaiden's dented armor clanged faintly as it swung from the side of the pack.
Harald sighed, his frustration boiling over. "Gods, what's Father going to say about this?"
From somewhere behind him, Kevin—a wiry man with a crooked smile—spoke up. "Hey, that sword was nothing but junk, like the rest of ours. I don't think you could even slice bread with it."
Harald turned sharply, glaring at Kevin. "Yes, Kevin, that sword was junk, but it was my father's junk!"
Kevin raised his hands in mock surrender, a smirk still plastered on his face. "All right, all right. No need to bite my head off. Just saying, it's not like you lost a royal treasure or something."
The group fell silent, their collective exhaustion dampening any further bickering. They marched through the evening until the faint sound of running water greeted their ears. Harald stopped and pointed toward a small riverbank.
"We'll set up camp here for the night," he announced. "Everyone, drop your packs and rest. Kaiden, make a fire. We'll catch some fish for supper."
Kaiden, who had been lagging behind, blinked and looked at Harald. "Fire? Sure, just give me the matchbox."
A strange silence settled over the group. Kevin and a few others exchanged puzzled glances. Then Kevin chuckled. "Matchbox? What are you talking about?"
Kaiden frowned. "You know, a matchbox. To light the fire."
Kevin burst into laughter, slapping his knee. "Oh, you mean one of those fancy tools rich folk use? We don't have anything like that. You'll find a spinning wooden drill in my bag—or just use some stones like the rest of us."
Kaiden's face fell. He glanced at the group, who all seemed genuinely confused by his request. The realization hit him like a cold splash of water: Right. I'm not in my old world anymore.
Harald narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to his younger brother. "From the moment we left that battlefield, you've been acting… different. First, you lose Father's sword, and now you're asking for some nonexistent tool like you're a noble or something."
One of the men, still amused, muttered, "Maybe he got hit on the head while running away from the fight."
The group burst into laughter, all except Harald.
Harald's face darkened, and he took a step toward Kaiden, raising a hand to Kaiden's head. "Hold still," he said, his voice firm but not unkind.
Kaiden flinched but didn't move as Harald gently touched his scalp, his rough fingers searching for any sign of injury.
Harald crouched beside Kaiden, the light of the full moon bathing the riverside in an ethereal glow. Despite the night's calm, Harald's expression was tense as he gently pressed his fingers against the back of Kaiden's head. Kaiden winced, sucking in a sharp breath.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" Harald muttered, squinting to examine the wound. There was a small cut, crusted with dried blood.
Kaiden frowned, a flicker of memory surfacing. The muscular man. The battlefield. Being thrown to the ground. That must've been it.
Harald pulled out a small wooden box from his bag. He opened it to reveal a tiny vial of a pale green lotion. With practiced hands, he poured a bit onto his fingers and said, "Keep your head still. This might sting."
Kaiden nodded and bent his head lower for better access. The cool touch of the lotion sent a soothing burn across the wound.
But as Kaiden lowered his head, something caught his eye.
The river.
Its surface shimmered like glass, reflecting the night sky. But it wasn't the soft glow of a single moon that illuminated the water. Kaiden's heart skipped as he realized the truth.
There weren't just one or two moons.
There were three.
One moon glowed like the Earth's—silver and bright. Another blazed crimson, its surface textured like flowing magma. The third shone a soft pink, its hue almost comforting, like the petals of a blooming flower.
Kaiden's breath hitched, his eyes wide in disbelief. The moons hung in perfect harmony above, casting overlapping reflections on the river.
"Kaiden," Harald said, breaking his trance. "Hold still."
Kaiden barely registered the words. The surreal sight before him had stolen his attention. This isn't Earth, he thought. This world… it's not just different. It's something else entirely.
"Kaiden," Harald repeated, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.
"Huh? Yeah," Kaiden muttered, trying to focus.
Harald finished applying the lotion and sat back, his face softening slightly. "It's not too bad. You'll live. Just don't go losing your head again—literally or figuratively."
Harald packed up the box and stood, glancing at Kevin, who was tending the fire. "I'll handle this," Kevin said casually, waving Harald off.
Harald hesitated, giving Kaiden a brief, worried look. "Fine. Just don't burn anything down," he muttered before heading toward the others, who were already pulling fish from the river.
Kaiden remained where he was, his gaze drifting back to the sky. He tilted his head upward, taking in the full sight of the three moons. They hung above him like silent guardians, their colors vivid and otherworldly.
"You really are acting weird today."kevin said.
Kaiden didn't respond. He was too busy studying the moons, wondering .
What kind of world have I landed in? he thought.
"Harald's worried about you, you know," Kevin added, his tone lighter. "Even if he's too stubborn to admit it."
Kaiden blinked, pulling his gaze from the sky. "Yeah… I know."
After sometimes Harald and the others returned with some fishes , their laughter carrying across the camp.
As the group sat around the fire, the freshly caught fish sizzled on makeshift skewers. The savory aroma filled the air, and for a moment, the world felt calm. Kaiden chewed in silence, the taste of the slightly charred fish grounding him in the present.
Harald, sitting across from him, glanced up mid-bite. "Eat up, Kaiden. Tomorrow's another long walk. You'll need your strength."
Once the meal was over, Harald clapped his hands together, signaling the end of their makeshift dinner. "All right, boys. We've got another stretch to cover tomorrow. Let's get some rest."
Kevin stretched, yawning loudly. "I'll take first watch."
Harald nodded. "Fine. Don't let the fire go out. We don't need wolves sniffing around."
The camp was quiet except for the occasional crackle of the dying fire and the soft rustle of leaves in the cool midnight breeze. The others were deep in slumber, their breaths slow and steady. Kevin sat by the fire, eyes scanning the surrounding darkness, his posture alert.
Kaiden, however, couldn't sleep. His mind was restless, thoughts swirling with fragments of the day and the lingering loss of the blue stone. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of that fight, the stone slipping from his grasp, and the overwhelming chaos.
Kevin glanced at him, frowning slightly. "Hey, Kaiden," he said, breaking the silence. "Since you're not sleeping anyway, your turn for watch. I need some rest."
Kaiden nodded absentmindedly. Kevin stretched, muttered something about keeping an eye on the fire, and laid down.
Left alone, Kaiden felt the weight of the stillness pressing down on him. After a while, nature called, and he got up, walking toward a tree at the edge of the camp.
The cool air bit at his skin as he relieved himself, but a strange sensation crept over him—an instinctive prickling at the back of his neck. It felt as if someone's eyes were boring into him.
He glanced over his shoulder. The camp was still. Everyone was sound asleep, their forms motionless under the silvery glow of the three moons.
Shaking his head, he muttered, "Just my imagination," and turned back.
But as he finished and turned to leave, a sharp, low whistle cut through the silence.
Kaiden froze. His heart pounded.
The sound had come from ahead, where the shadow of a massive tree loomed against the moonlight. Squinting, Kaiden saw something—or someone—sitting casually on one of the higher branches.
The figure leaned back, one leg dangling lazily, while the other rested against the branch. They whistled again, a low, mocking tune. In their right hand, something glittered faintly, catching the light.
Kaiden's breath caught. It was his blue stone.
His first instinct was to yell, but before a sound could escape his lips, the figure moved with unnatural speed. A flick of their hand, and something small and sharp darted toward him.
Kaiden barely registered the glint of the needle before it struck his neck.
The chilling sensation of the ice needles in his neck and legs rooted him to the spot, each stab of cold sending shivers through his body. He strained to move, but his limbs refused to respond, as though the frost had seeped deep into his muscles.
Panic gripped him as he stumbled back. His eyes darted to the camp, hoping someone would wake up. But the fire flickered peacefully, and his companions remained undisturbed.
The figure leaped down from the tree, landing soundlessly. He straightened, his movements fluid and deliberate. The blue stone glowed faintly in his hand as he approached.