The world around him was vast and unfamiliar. Endless plains stretched into the horizon, broken only by the jagged peaks of distant mountains and clusters of vibrant, otherworldly trees. The colors of Elakia were vivid and surreal—blues that shimmered like water, purples that pulsed faintly in the sunlight, and golds so bright they seemed to hum.
Changra trudged through the tall grass, his body aching from the rough landing. His clothes were torn, and the protective spell that had saved his life had done little to cushion the soreness that lingered in every muscle. He clutched the small bag Aetterus had given him, though its contents were sparse: a canteen of water, a stale piece of bread, and a few odd trinkets he couldn't identify.
"Thanks for the care package, creep," Changra muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he glanced around. "No map, no instructions. Just me and my sparkling personality."
His stomach growled loudly, a sharp reminder of how little he had eaten. He reached into the bag and pulled out the stale bread, taking a bite and grimacing. "Delicious," he said sarcastically. "Gourmet survival rations. Five stars."
As he walked, he instinctively reached for the hilt of the Crimson Dagger, but his hand met empty air. His heart sank, a flicker of panic sparking in his chest. "Not again," he muttered, spinning around as if the blade might magically appear behind him.
It was gone. Just like before.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Without the dagger, he was defenseless—no weapon, no magic, nothing to protect himself from whatever dangers lurked in this strange world.
"Perfect," he said, throwing his arms up in mock enthusiasm. "Absolutely perfect. Just me, a piece of bread, and no weapon. What could possibly go wrong?"
The grass rustled nearby, and he froze, his eyes scanning the area. The sound was faint but distinct, like something moving just out of sight. Slowly, he crouched, his fingers tightening around the bag's strap.
"Okay," he whispered to himself, his voice low. "You've got this. Maybe it's just the wind. Or a harmless little bunny. A cute, magical bunny that definitely doesn't want to eat you."
The rustling grew louder, closer. Changra's heart pounded in his chest as he stood, ready to run. A shadow moved through the grass, and he took a step back, his breath catching in his throat.
The rustling stopped, and the grass ahead of him parted. Changra held his breath, his fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. His muscles tensed, ready to bolt if whatever emerged was hostile.
A small creature stepped into view, its shimmering fur catching the light. It was unlike anything he'd seen before—or at least, anything he thought he'd seen. Its body was long and sinuous, like that of a caterpillar, but its face resembled a fox, complete with large, pointed ears and mischievous eyes that seemed to sparkle with intelligence. Its tail flicked, trailing iridescent strands that shimmered like threads of spun light.
Changra blinked, his tension fading into confusion. "Wait a minute…" he murmured, narrowing his eyes. "I know you."
The creature chirped, a soft, melodic sound, and tilted its head as if acknowledging him. Slowly, it padded closer, its movements graceful and almost playful. Changra's lips parted as the realization hit him.
"You're the one," he said, his voice soft with disbelief. "The same one I met when I first got here. The… the fox-caterpillar thing."
The creature chirped again, this time more insistently, and hopped closer. It stopped a few feet away, its tail flicking back and forth. Its gaze met Changra's, and for a moment, he swore it was smiling.
"Well," Changra said, letting out a shaky laugh, "fancy meeting you here. What are the odds?"
The fox-caterpillar chirped once more, then turned and began to slink through the grass, pausing after a few steps to glance back at him. It made another soft noise, its head tilting as if beckoning him to follow.
Changra raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "Oh, sure," he said, standing slowly. "Why not? I've got nothing better to do. Lead the way, fluffy."
He slung his bag over his shoulder and began to follow the creature, his footsteps cautious but steady. The fox-caterpillar moved with purpose, its tail glowing faintly in the dim light as it wove through the tall grass.
"Hope you're not leading me to something that wants to eat me," Changra muttered. "Because if you are, I'll be very disappointed. And dead. Mostly dead."
The creature chirped again, a sound that almost seemed to resemble a laugh, and continued forward. Changra sighed, shaking his head. "Great. Even magical caterpillars are mocking me."
As he followed, the landscape began to change. The grass gave way to a rocky path, and the air grew cooler, carrying the faint scent of water. Changra's unease lessened slightly as the creature led him further, its presence oddly comforting.
"Alright," he said after a while, his voice lighter. "You've got my attention, little guy. What's next?"
The creature paused, turning to look at him once more, its eyes gleaming with what almost seemed like recognition. It chirped softly, its tail flicking, and Changra couldn't help but smile.
"Yeah," he said quietly, "I remember you too."
The fox-caterpillar moved with determination, weaving through the tall grass and onto a narrow path lined with vibrant, glowing plants. Changra followed closely, his eyes darting around as the strange world of Elakia unfolded around him. Every sound, every rustle in the underbrush, kept him on edge.
"Not to rush you," he said quietly, "but if this is some kind of trap, now's the time to let me know."
The creature chirped in response, its tail flicking as it picked up speed. Changra sighed, shaking his head. "Right. Because that clears everything up."
The path opened into a small clearing, bathed in soft, golden light from a canopy of luminescent trees. Changra's breath caught as he took in the scene. The air was still, almost sacred, as if this place had been untouched by the chaos of the outside world.
Nestled in the center of the clearing was a group of fox-caterpillar creatures, their shimmering fur reflecting the light like tiny, moving constellations. There were at least six of them, each slightly different in size and color. They chirped softly to one another, their movements slow and deliberate.
But one of them was different. It lay curled on the ground, its fur dull and matted, its movements sluggish. The others hovered close, their chirps low and mournful. The creature that had led Changra here chirped sharply, rushing to the injured one's side.
Changra froze, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. "What's going on?" he muttered. His gaze shifted to the injured creature, and his chest tightened. "Oh no. No, no, no. I'm not a vet. Or a doctor. Or… anything helpful."
The fox-caterpillar that had brought him turned, its eyes wide and pleading. It chirped loudly, pawing at the ground before looking back at the injured one.
"Great," Changra said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm being guilt-tripped by a magical caterpillar. This is officially rock bottom."
He stepped closer, his movements hesitant. The other creatures didn't flee but watched him cautiously, their luminous eyes glinting in the golden light. Changra knelt down slowly, keeping his hands visible.
"Alright, alright," he said softly. "Let's see what's going on here."
The injured creature let out a faint, pitiful chirp as Changra approached. Its breathing was shallow, its body trembling slightly. Changra grimaced, his fingers twitching at his sides. "I don't know what to do," he muttered. "I don't even know what you are."
The fox-caterpillar beside him chirped insistently, nudging his hand with its head. Changra looked down at it, his jaw tightening. "You think I can help? I can barely help myself."
The creature chirped again, more forcefully this time, and nudged his hand toward the injured one. Changra sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, fine. I'll try. But don't blame me if this goes horribly wrong."
He knelt closer to the injured creature, his eyes scanning its body. Its side was matted with a dark, sticky substance—blood, or something close to it. A deep gash ran along its flank, and Changra winced at the sight.
"Alright," he said, his voice steadier now. "Let's see if I remember anything useful from first aid class."
He reached into the small bag Aetterus had given him, pulling out a strip of cloth and a small vial of liquid that smelled faintly of herbs. "Thanks for the mystery supplies, creepy guy," he muttered.
Pouring a bit of the liquid onto the cloth, he pressed it gently against the wound. The injured creature flinched, letting out a weak chirp, and Changra paused. "Hey, hey," he said softly. "It's okay. I'm trying to help."
The fox-caterpillar that had brought him chirped reassuringly, nuzzling its injured companion. Changra took a deep breath and continued, his hands surprisingly steady as he cleaned the wound and wrapped it with the cloth.
"There," he said after a few tense minutes. "That's the best I've got. No promises, but it should hold for now."
The injured creature chirped weakly, its eyes fluttering open. The others let out a series of soft, melodic sounds, almost like a song of relief. The fox-caterpillar beside him nudged his hand again, chirping gratefully.
Changra leaned back, his heart pounding. "Well," he said, forcing a faint smile, "looks like I'm a magical caterpillar doctor now. Add that to the résumé."
Changra leaned back, his hands resting on his knees as he stared at the injured creature he had just tended to. The soft chirps of its family filled the clearing, their glowing forms moving around him like tiny, living stars. For a moment, he let himself get lost in the strange beauty of it all.
But the moment didn't last.
The reality of his situation hit him like a wave, crashing over him with a suffocating weight. He was alone. Truly alone. No Jane's steady presence. No Thorne's unpolished humor. No Aria's sharp remarks or Merrick's calming wisdom. Just him, a bag of scraps, and a family of creatures he barely understood.
His chest tightened, and his hands trembled as he clenched them into fists. "This is it," he muttered to himself, his voice cracking. "This is my life now."
He tried to fight it, to push the emotions back like he always did, but the dam broke. Hot tears welled in his eyes, blurring the golden light of the clearing. He pressed the heels of his palms against his face, letting out a shaky breath.
"I didn't even say goodbye," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Not really. Not to Jane. Not to anyone."
The tears came harder now, and he hated himself for it. "Pathetic," he muttered bitterly, his voice choked. "Crying like a damn kid. Like that's gonna fix anything."
He felt a soft nudge against his arm and lowered his hands slowly. The fox-caterpillar that had led him here was looking up at him, its glowing eyes wide with concern. It chirped softly, its tail flicking as it nuzzled against his side.
"What… what are you doing?" Changra asked, his voice hoarse. The creature chirped again, this time more insistently, and nudged him harder. It climbed onto his lap, curling up against his chest like a warm, comforting weight.
Changra froze, his breath catching. He didn't move for a long moment, staring down at the small creature nestled against him. Its fur was soft, its rhythmic chirps soothing in a way he couldn't explain.
Slowly, hesitantly, he raised a hand and rested it on the creature's back. "You're… trying to make me feel better?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The fox-caterpillar chirped in response, its tail flicking gently. Its family watched from a distance, their glowing forms pulsing faintly as if echoing its intent.
Changra let out a shaky laugh, though it was tinged with sadness. "Guess I'm not completely alone, huh?" he said softly, his hand moving in small, tentative strokes along the creature's back. "Thanks for that, little guy."
For the first time since his exile, the crushing weight in his chest lifted just slightly. The tears didn't stop, but they flowed more freely now, less like a dam breaking and more like a steady stream. The fox-caterpillar stayed curled against him, its presence a quiet reassurance.