The stream guided Clark through the forest, its gentle babbling the only companion to his thoughts. He followed it cautiously, scanning his surroundings for any sign of civilization—or more of those glowing-eyed wolves.
The midday sun warmed his back as he pressed on, the forest gradually thinning. The air smelled cleaner here, fresher, as if untouched by pollution or modernity. Despite his situation, Clark found himself marveling at the beauty of it all.
His stomach growled, interrupting his appreciation. He hadn't eaten since… well, since Metropolis. He crouched by the stream and considered his options. Fishing with his bare hands was out of the question without his super reflexes, and he didn't know which plants were safe to eat.
"Great," he muttered. "Guess I'll just starve."
The sound of a snapping twig jolted him upright. He turned, his muscles tense, expecting another attack. Instead, he saw a figure emerge from the trees—a young woman, no older than twenty, dressed in a tattered cloak and carrying a basket filled with herbs.
Her eyes widened when she saw him, and she froze, clutching the basket tightly.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice sharp but trembling.
Clark raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm… lost."
The woman's eyes narrowed as she studied him. "You don't look like you're from around here."
"You're right about that," Clark admitted. "I don't even know where 'here' is."
Her suspicion didn't waver, but she stepped closer, her gaze flicking to the stream. "You're in the Wylderwood. And if you're smart, you'll leave before nightfall."
"Trust me, I'm trying," Clark said. "Do you know where I can find a village or a town?"
The woman hesitated, then pointed downstream. "Follow the water. It'll lead you to Eldhaven. It's a half-day's walk."
Clark nodded, relief washing over him. "Thank you."
She didn't respond, turning to leave, but stopped after a few steps. "You're unarmed."
"Yeah," Clark said. "I wasn't exactly planning on being here."
The woman sighed, muttering something under her breath. She rummaged through her basket and pulled out a small, rusty dagger. Tossing it to him, she said, "You'll need it. The forest isn't safe."
Clark caught the dagger awkwardly, staring at it for a moment. "Thanks, but I don't—"
"Keep it," she interrupted. "You'll be wolf food without it."
Before Clark could protest further, she turned and disappeared into the trees, leaving him alone once more.
...
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Clark emerged from the forest onto a dirt road. His legs ached, and his stomach protested loudly, but the sight ahead gave him hope.
In the distance, nestled at the base of a hill, was a small village. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the faint glow of lanterns flickered in the growing dusk.
Clark quickened his pace, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. When he reached the outskirts of the village, he saw a wooden sign that read "Eldhaven."
The village was modest—thatch-roofed cottages, cobblestone streets, and fields of crops stretching into the horizon. The scent of baking bread wafted through the air, making Clark's mouth water.
As he walked into the village, he drew a few curious stares. His clothes were plain but unfamiliar, and his youthful face carried an expression of confusion that likely marked him as an outsider.
A burly man stacking barrels near a tavern called out to him. "You look lost, boy. New to Eldhaven?"
"You could say that," Clark replied, forcing a polite smile. "I'm just passing through. Is there an inn where I can stay the night?"
The man jerked a thumb toward the tavern. "The Wandering Stag. Speak to Maren. She'll sort you out."
Clark nodded in thanks and made his way inside.
…..
The tavern was warm and lively, filled with the hum of conversation and the clatter of mugs. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
Behind the counter stood a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. She spotted Clark immediately.
"Room or meal?" she asked.
"Both, if possible," Clark said, realizing he had no money to pay with. He hesitated, then added, "But I don't have any coin."
Maren raised an eyebrow. "No coin, no service."
"Please," Clark said earnestly. "I'll work for it. Anything you need—just let me stay the night."
She studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Fine. We've got a shipment of firewood out back that needs chopping. Do that, and you'll earn yourself a meal and a cot."
Clark nodded, relief flooding him. "Thank you."
Out back, Clark found a pile of logs and an axe. He picked up the tool, testing its weight. It felt heavy in his hands, unfamiliar compared to the feats of strength he was used to.
He swung the axe, splitting the first log in two. The motion was clumsy, but satisfying. He continued, finding a rhythm despite his lack of experience.
As he worked, he noticed something strange. The longer he chopped, the lighter the axe felt, and the cleaner his swings became. His muscles burned, but in a way that felt… good. Natural.
After finishing the pile, he paused to catch his breath. A soft chime echoed in his head, and the glowing blue screen appeared again.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
[Congratulations, Kal-El! You've unlocked your first stat: Strength +1.]
Clark stared at the message, a mix of confusion and hope filling him. Was this the system's way of rewarding effort?
He smiled faintly, setting the axe down. Maybe Mxyzptlk's "game" wasn't entirely rigged.
A Warm Meal
....
Inside the tavern, Maren handed him a bowl of hearty stew and a chunk of bread. Clark ate gratefully, savoring the warmth of the food. For the first time since waking in the forest, he felt a small sense of normalcy.
As he finished his meal, he glanced around the tavern. Conversations buzzed about bandits on the road, strange lights in the forest, and rumors of a rising warlord in the north.
Clark leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. This world was already proving to be more dangerous than he had imagined.
But as he sat there, surrounded by the chatter of villagers, he realized something: he wasn't alone anymore.
Tomorrow, he'd start figuring out how to help these people—and maybe, just maybe, how to get back home.