At the quiet study room, the camel-red wool carpet lay beneath the desk, and the morning light filtered through the window, casting a soft shadow across the figure behind it.
Tiny dust particles floated through the air, illuminated by the sunlight. A slender, crystal-clear hand held a wine glass, its contents gently swaying in the glass.
Suddenly, a dark purple hexagram materialized in front of the desk, disrupting the calm of the study. The space cracked open, and a tall, dark purple figure emerged from the void.
With a graceful figure, a whip-like tail, hooves, and narrow, seductive eyes, the figure stared intently at the one behind the desk.
The atmosphere was charged with tension, but it abruptly halted as the succubus's purple lips parted slightly:
"Pululu Pulu—"
A cool breeze swept past, causing the wine to ripple in the glass. The young and handsome figure was caught off guard. "What...?"
The succubus licked her lips with her nimble tongue: "Pulu Pulu Pupu Pupu—"
More saliva sprayed out, splashing onto his cheek with a stench far worse than mud.
The young man, too stunned to react, instinctively raised a hand to stop it. At that moment, the boy huddled in a pile of hay suddenly woke from his dream.
A pig passed by with a snort, wagging its tail, its scent oddly similar to the succubus's.
The boy, still yearning for the warmth and the succubus, fell back into the haystack, which still retained a little residual warmth.
His baggy blue pajamas were covered in mud, and his black hair was streaked with dirt.
The sky outside the thatched hut was overcast, and rain drizzled down. The drops splattered from the roof's holes, contributing to the rude awakening.
Today marked the third day since he had crossed through that mysterious door into this world.
After wandering the forest for hours in search of the culprit—a carved wooden door that appeared and disappeared without warning—Annan, feeling too vulnerable to remain in the woods where wolves howled, finally stumbled upon a town at dusk that seemed like something out of the Middle Ages.
Thus began his strange, thrilling, and often starving new life.
But this was no ordinary Middle Ages.
The townsfolk, with their strange skin and eye colors, communicated in a language entirely unknown to Annan.
"Hehe—"
A filthy pig's head poked through the fence under the shabby hut not far from him.
But pigs are still pigs, and the sun and moon still rise and set.
Annan waved at it. As the drizzle faded, he climbed out of the haystack and prepared for another day.
He pushed aside the hay beneath him and stuffed the copper coins he'd earned over the last two days into his pocket.
The dark sky, still thick with mist, made the air damp and chilling.
Annan wrapped himself tightly in his dirty, damp pajamas and walked along the narrow, sewage-filled alleys to the busiest street in town. There, he joined a group of ragged, smelly beggars and began his daily work.
Unable to speak the language, begging was his only option.
Even though he was inexperienced, his daily earnings were still a fraction of what the other beggars made—usually one copper coin, sometimes three.
He would spend just one copper coin a day to buy a small loaf of bran bread mixed with sawdust, unappetizing but filling, and save the rest for emergencies.
But it would be unfair to say that Annan simply begged. He had learned a phrase in the local language: "Get out of here," which could also mean "it's so dirty," "don't block the way," or "it's so filthy."
A shadow darker than the clouds fell over him, followed by an incomprehensible voice.
"Looks like my luck is good today. Someone is willing to give me charity quickly."
Annan looked up, and the first image that came to mind was Tom's mistress from Tom and Jerry.
He imagined she might say something like, "Oh, poor child," "He needs food, clothes, and money." But the greed and pity in her fleshy eyes seemed to say, "Oh, delicate darling," "He needs a warm bed and a hug."
The woman, full of desire, waved at Annan, who wanted to shout at her. But what could be worse than freezing to death on the street from hunger?
A few minutes later, the weak and helpless Annan followed the bear-like woman. The beggars around them eagerly fought over the pile of grass left behind.
As Annan stood on the street, a malnourished pony pulling a cart of goods passed by.
"Oh, poor little pony."
---
As dusk turned to night, three figures stood whispering by the window.
The sturdy figure patted the person beside him and said, "Martin, go get some bread and clothes. He must be starving. Drinking only soup will make his stomach hurt."
"Right."
The figure called Martin left the window, grabbed an oil lamp and a linen coat, and rushed to the kitchen. He tucked the lamp under his arm and grabbed a loaf of black bread from beneath the cloth.
Meanwhile, Annan waited nervously, unaware of the commotion outside. The unknown terrified him, and the woman's presence made him uneasy. But at least there was a bowl of hot, fragrant meat soup to warm his heart.
Bang—
Annan, who had been sipping the broth, looked up in surprise as the door suddenly opened. A long, thick shadow crept in from the doorway, cast by the oil lamp.
---
Annan almost lashed out at the family who had taken him in.
He gratefully accepted the bread and clothes. He instinctively wanted to thank them, but then he remembered they spoke a different language. Instead, he could only offer a quiet smile.
The black bread and broth filled him up in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. Soon, the woman and a thin, dark middle-aged man carried a bed into the room, pointed to Annan, then to the clothes.
Annan understood and put on the faded linen coat. It was a bit large and rough, but much better than the dirty pajamas now caked with mud.
Sitting on the low steps in the yard, Annan gazed up at the night sky.
The woman and man were in the bedroom next door. The young man had gone out, and no one knew where he went.
Now that he was full and warm, he finally had time to think beyond mere survival.
Staring at the sparse stars under the moonlight, Annan began to miss the hustle and bustle of Earth, the delicious food, and...
Suddenly, a ball of flame erupted outside the town, lighting up the night sky. Two figures were battling in the distance, emitting strange lights and explosions.
It wasn't an illusion or trickery; it was magic.
As the two figures moved away, the flames dimmed and vanished, leaving only the rising night that swallowed Annan's face.
And with it, his longing for home faded away.