The clearing was quiet as the morning sun bathed it in soft, golden light. The fox-caterpillars chirped softly, their glowing forms weaving through the tall grass around Changra. They moved with a strange grace, their luminous tails flicking in unison like a silent farewell.
Changra stood at the edge of the clearing, his bag slung over his shoulder, his heart heavy. He had spent the last few days with them, mending wounds, sharing what little food he had, and listening to their soft, melodic chirps. For a fleeting moment, he had felt something he hadn't experienced in what felt like forever—peace.
But he knew it couldn't last.
The smallest of the creatures—the one he had first met—chirped loudly and hopped closer to him. It nudged his leg with its head, its glowing eyes full of concern. Changra crouched down, his fingers brushing over its shimmering fur.
"Hey, little guy," he said softly. "You've done enough for me. It's time I kept moving."
The creature chirped again, more insistently this time, and pawed at his bag. Changra frowned, opening it cautiously. Inside, he found a small collection of glowing berries and a neatly folded bundle of silken threads, faintly shimmering with an iridescent light.
"What's this?" he asked, looking down at the creature.
It chirped and nudged the bag again, its tail flicking. Changra sighed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Guess this is your version of a care package, huh? Way better than what Aetterus gave me."
The other creatures approached, their chirps rising in a harmonious melody. They circled him, their movements slow and deliberate, as if performing some kind of ritual. Their glowing forms pulsed with light, and for a moment, Changra felt a warmth he couldn't explain.
"Alright, alright," he said, his voice softer now. "I get it. Thanks for everything."
He straightened, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. The smallest fox-caterpillar chirped one last time, its gaze fixed on him. Changra hesitated, then knelt down and rested a hand gently on its head.
"You're a good friend," he said quietly. "Take care of your family, okay?"
The creature let out a soft, almost mournful chirp as Changra rose to his feet. He turned toward the open path ahead, his heart heavy but resolute. With one last glance at the clearing, he began to walk.
The dirt path stretched out ahead of him, winding through the tall, swaying grass. The breeze carried a faint, sweet scent from the strange plants that dotted the landscape, but Changra barely noticed. His boots kicked up small clouds of dust as he walked, the rhythmic crunch of his steps the only sound in the still air.
"Well," he muttered to himself, his voice cutting through the silence, "guess it's just me now. Me, the great outdoors, and my sparkling personality. Real cozy."
He glanced at the bag slung over his shoulder, adjusting the strap. "Not that I'm complaining," he added, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Because who wouldn't want to be hurled halfway across the world by a creepy illusionist and left to fend for themselves? A dream come true, really."
The breeze picked up, rustling the grass around him. Changra let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, let's think this through," he said, his voice a little steadier. "Step one: don't die. Solid start. Step two… yeah, I got nothing for step two."
He kicked a loose stone on the path, watching it tumble ahead of him. "Maybe find a town? Village? Some place where people don't immediately try to kill me. That'd be nice. A low bar, but I'm an optimist."
The silence pressed in again, and Changra exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "God, I'm losing it," he muttered. "Talking to myself like some kind of lunatic. But hey, what else is new?"
The grass around him seemed to stretch endlessly, broken only by the occasional cluster of shimmering trees. The landscape was beautiful in an otherworldly way, but Changra barely noticed. His mind wandered, his thoughts twisting in circles as he tried to make sense of everything.
"What am I even doing here?" he asked aloud, his voice tinged with frustration. "Elakia. Magic. Prophecies. It's like some kind of twisted fairy tale, and I'm the idiot who got dragged into it."
He stopped for a moment, looking up at the sky. The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the landscape. "I didn't ask for this," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "I didn't ask for any of it."
The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his words hanging in the air. After a long pause, Changra shook his head and started walking again, his steps slower now.
"Alright, enough pity party," he muttered. "Focus. Survive first, complain later. That's the plan."
He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and straightened his posture, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The path ahead was uncertain, but it was the only way forward.
Day 1
The sun blazed overhead, its light harsh and unrelenting as Changra trudged through a barren stretch of land. The tall grass had given way to cracked soil and scattered rocks, the air dry and oppressive. His lips were parched, and the small canteen of water slung at his side felt impossibly light. He scanned the horizon, searching for anything that resembled shade or a source of water. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and red, Changra collapsed against a boulder. "Great first day," he muttered bitterly, his voice hoarse. "Ten out of ten. Would recommend."
Day 5
Changra sat beneath the twisted trunk of a crimson tree, its gnarled branches casting a patchy shadow over him. The berries he'd found earlier—small, blue, and slightly bitter—sat in a pile beside him. He poked one with his finger, eyeing it suspiciously. "These better not kill me," he said, popping one into his mouth. The taste was sharp and tangy, but it didn't burn or sting. "Huh. Could be worse." He spent the rest of the afternoon collecting more berries, his focus shifting to survival as the gnawing hunger in his stomach became impossible to ignore.
Day 12
Rain poured down in relentless sheets, soaking Changra to the bone. The path ahead was a muddy mess, and his boots squelched with every step. His hair clung to his forehead, and the cold seeped into his skin. He stumbled upon a hollowed-out log and crawled inside, shivering as he tried to wring out his cloak. "Rain's great," he muttered through chattering teeth. "Love the ambiance." He spent the night curled in the log, the sound of the rain lulling him into an uneasy sleep.
Day 25
The landscape shifted again, the muddy paths giving way to dense woods. The trees here were a kaleidoscope of colors—violet trunks with emerald leaves, golden vines winding around them like veins. Changra moved cautiously, his eyes darting between the shadows. Strange sounds echoed in the distance, clicks and hums that set his nerves on edge. He gripped a sharpened stick he'd found earlier, his makeshift weapon offering little comfort. When a low growl rumbled behind him, he froze, his heart hammering in his chest. The creature—a four-legged beast with scales and fur—emerged from the shadows. Changra's breathing hitched as he slowly backed away, the stick trembling in his hand. To his relief, the beast snarled once and retreated into the woods. "Okay," he muttered shakily, "so that's a thing. Noted."
Day 40
The sky was a brilliant expanse of stars as Changra sat by a small fire he'd managed to build. The warmth was a welcome reprieve from the biting chill of the night. He stared into the flames, his thoughts drifting. "Three months," he murmured. "That's what they said. Three months and I'm still out here." His voice softened, almost wistful. "I wonder if they're thinking about me… Jane, Thorne, Aria…" He shook his head, forcing a faint smirk. "Probably not. Out of sight, out of mind, right?" The fire crackled, offering no response.
Day 70
Changra's hair was a mess, his clothes tattered and stained with dirt and sweat. He had grown leaner, his body adjusting to the constant strain of travel. The terrain had grown more forgiving—a mix of rolling hills and scattered groves. He spotted a herd of strange, deer-like creatures grazing in the distance, their antlers glowing faintly. He watched them quietly, marveling at their grace. For a brief moment, he felt a strange sense of peace, a connection to the world around him that he couldn't quite explain.
Day 90
The village appeared on the horizon, its buildings small and clustered together in a valley. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the faint hum of life reached his ears—a sound he hadn't heard in months. Changra stopped at the crest of a hill, his breath catching. His reflection in a nearby stream startled him: his hair was wild, his face gaunt, his eyes haunted. He took a deep breath, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, starting down the path toward the village.