Zane slumped into the wooden chair like a war veteran returning from the frontlines—soul shattered, eyes hollow. The dimly lit dining area didn't help his mood. It was a far cry from his favorite diner back home, where the worst thing on the menu was the overly salty fries.
Before him sat a bowl of greenish liquid that could only generously be called soup. It glistened ominously in the candlelight, the occasional soggy tree bark lazily bobbing to the surface like a shipwreck survivor.
Every fiber of Zane's being screamed do not eat this, but the growling in his stomach was louder than his common sense. Hunger, like a persistent debt collector, couldn't be ignored.
With the trepidation of someone defusing a bomb, Zane picked up the wooden spoon. It wobbled slightly in his grip, betraying the existential dread he felt. Slowly, he dipped it into the "soup," scooped up a piece of soggy bark, and brought it to his mouth.
The taste hit him like a poorly aimed slap. He froze, letting the flavor—or lack thereof—sink in. Like a true connoisseur of fine dining (or suffering), he smacked his lips together, tilting his head as though deep in thought.
"Hmmm... mossy," he mused aloud. "With a wooden aftertaste. Oh, and the spices—what is that? Boiled despair with a hint of regret?"
Sylphie, who had been standing to the side with an expectant smile, perked up. "I'm so glad you like it, Master! I added extra bark this time for flavor!"
"Ah, yes," Zane said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "A real masterstroke. Truly, the bark adds a... rustic charm. Quite exotic."
Sylphie beamed at the compliment, clearly missing the undertone.
Zane placed the spoon back in the bowl and looked at her, his face now the picture of forced serenity. "Sylphie..."
"Yes, Master?" she replied, her voice bright and cheerful.
"Is that a knife in your hand?"
Sylphie blinked, glancing down at the blade she'd been holding absentmindedly, likely from cutting bread—or more tree bark, judging by her culinary track record. "Yes, Master."
"Perfect. Please, would you do me a favor and shove it right here?" Zane made a heart-shaped target over his chest with his hands. "Let's put an end to my suffering, shall we?"
Sylphie gasped, her face flushing with panic. "Master! You mustn't joke about such things!"
"Who's joking?" Zane muttered under his breath, glaring at the soup as though it had personally insulted him. He sighed, leaning back in the chair with a defeated expression. "Tell me, Sylphie, how exactly do people here survive on this culinary crime scene?"
Sylphie fidgeted, her hands clasped tightly together. "W-Well, Master, the village isn't exactly wealthy, and resources are scarce... so we make do with what we have. Tree bark is very nutritious, you know!"
"Oh, I bet it is," Zane replied dryly. "Probably does wonders for the teeth. Gives them that lovely petrified wood aesthetic."
Sylphie frowned, clearly unsure whether he was mocking her or genuinely interested. "I could try to make it better next time, Master!" she offered earnestly.
"Next time?" Zane looked at her, horrified. "Sylphie, if I have to eat another bowl of this nightmare soup, you won't need to worry about cooking anymore—I'll be haunting this place as a ghost."
Sylphie's shoulders slumped, and guilt stabbed at Zane like one of the forks he wished the meal had come with. He sighed and waved her over.
"Alright, alright," he said, mustering a faint smile. "You're doing your best, and I appreciate it. I just... let's call this 'character building' for me, yeah?"
Sylphie nodded hesitantly, her face brightening just a little. "I'll do better next time, Master!"
"Please don't," Zane muttered, picking up the spoon again with the resignation of a man walking to the gallows. As he took another bite, he consoled himself with the thought that at least things couldn't possibly get worse.
He immediately regretted thinking that.
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"Think, Zane, think," he muttered to himself, crouched low to the ground in a pose that screamed angsty superhero origin story.
Sylphie's voice broke through his musings. "Master, why are you squatting down like that, talking to yourself?"
"You wouldn't get it," Zane replied, his voice tinged with the melodrama of a man carrying the weight of two lifetimes. He rose from the floor in a motion that was probably more dramatic in his head, brushing imaginary dust from his clothes.
"Sylphie, is the whole village's situation as dire as ours?"
Sylphie tilted her head, her brows furrowing. "Not yet... but the planting season will start soon, and people will need to spare whatever grains or crops they still have for it."
"So, what you're saying is, we'll all be eating tree bark eventually." Zane let out a sigh, his hands on his hips as he looked at the sad excuse for soup still sitting on the table. "I should name this place... hmm... how about 'Despairington Village'?"
Sylphie blinked. "That sounds... ominous, Master."
"It's either that or 'Treetopia,' where the bark is better than the bite," Zane muttered to himself.
He sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. Despite everything, he couldn't bring himself to spiral into self-pity. He'd died, sure. But he was alive now, wasn't he? And if he was alive, he had to deal with this life's affairs, no matter how absurd they were.
"As they say in science," Zane muttered, pacing the room, "you have to tackle problems step by step. And step one? Fixing my immediate issues. Because, Sylphie, if I have to eat another serving of tree soup, I might just climb that apple tree again."
Sylphie gasped. "Master! Don't say such terrible things!"
"Relax, I'm joking." Mostly, Zane added silently. He turned to her, his sharp mind already calculating. "Sylphie, what kinds of magic can you use?"
"Just the simplest kinds, Master," she said, clasping her hands nervously. "I can produce a bit of water... and a small fire."
Zane nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm. Not bad, not bad... and me? What kind of magic do I have?"
Sylphie gave him a blank stare that could have rivaled a disappointed parent.
"Don't look at me like that!" Zane threw his hands up defensively. "I forgot for a moment, okay? I know, I know—I'm as magical as a rock. Thanks for the reminder."
Sylphie smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, Master."
"Yeah, yeah." Zane waved her off and tapped his chin, thinking hard. He needed food—real food, not the barky abomination he'd just consumed. His stomach growled in agreement.
"Do you know any good hunting spots around here? A place with rabbits, perhaps?"
Sylphie perked up, placing a finger on her lips as she thought. After a moment, her face lit up with excitement. "Oh! The forest near the village is full of grey rabbits, Master!"
"That's it!" Zane snapped his fingers, his brain shifting into inventor mode. "Sylphie, go fetch me a few things. I'll need some sturdy string, two sticks—one long and one short—a small sapling branch, and some bait. Clover or something rabbits like to eat."
Sylphie tilted her head, confused but eager. "Right away, Master! But... what are you planning?"
Zane smirked, crossing his arms. "Let's just say it's time for this 'master' to outsmart some rabbits. The first step in my glorious redemption starts now."
As Sylphie dashed off, Zane leaned against the table and allowed himself a small, confident grin. Step one: Food. Step two: Figure out how to survive without becoming tree bark soup's number one fan. Step three...
He paused, glancing at the smoldering fireplace Sylphie had lit earlier. His smirk widened. Step three: Take this world by storm.
"Maybe step three should be getting myself a clipboard."
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Zane led the way through the forest with the confidence of a man who had absolutely no idea what he was doing. His eyes darted between the vibrant plants and the peculiar insects flitting about, some of which were straight out of a fever dream. A beetle the size of a baseball buzzed past him, its iridescent wings shimmering in the dappled sunlight.
"Yep," Zane muttered, nudging an oddly glowing mushroom with the tip of his boot. "Definitely not in Kansas anymore."
Sylphie trailed behind him, carrying the supplies he'd requested in a neatly bundled pack. Her cheerful demeanor remained unshaken, even as Zane occasionally muttered under his breath about how "weirdly aggressive" some of the flowers looked.
As they ventured deeper into the woods, Zane couldn't shake a creeping unease. The forest seemed alive—not just in the usual way, but in a way that felt... aware. The leaves rustled even when there was no wind, and every so often, he swore he saw something darting just out of view.
Then there was the sound.
A high-pitched screech echoed through the trees, sharp enough to make Zane flinch. He paused mid-step, his nerves on high alert.
"Sylphie," he said slowly, his voice low, "are you absolutely, positively sure there aren't any wild animals around here? You know, the kind that would love to eat me more than you love eating tree bark?"
Sylphie tilted her head, her expression as innocent as ever. "I'm certain, Master! The only population in this part of the forest is the grey rabbits. In fact, some villagers say their numbers have gotten out of control, so hunting them will be like killing two birds with one stone!"
Zane let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "The thought of meat seems to have gotten you all riled up," he teased. "With all the tree bark in your diet, I was starting to wonder if you were secretly a vegetarian."
Before Sylphie could respond, a piercing screech cut through the forest again, louder and closer than before.
"That," Zane said, freezing in place. "What was that?"
Sylphie blinked at him, her innocent demeanor unshaken. "That's the grey rabbit, Master."
Zane's lips twitched uncontrollably, his confidence visibly faltering. "The... grey rabbit," he repeated, his voice trailing off.
Sylphie nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! They're harmless, Master. Though some of the villagers do say they're quite feisty."
"Feisty," Zane echoed, more to himself than to Sylphie. He adjusted the strap of his pack, his eyes scanning the increasingly dense forest. "Right. Feisty. Totally fine. Nothing to worry about."
The two continued deeper into the woods, the screeches becoming more frequent and unnervingly varied in pitch. Zane's nerves were now fraying at the edges, though he stubbornly refused to admit it. It's fine, he told himself. This is fine. It's just a bunch of rabbits. Rabbits are cute. Fluffy. Harmless.
Still, as another ear-splitting screech tore through the air, Zane couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "Things will go well, right?"
The forest didn't answer.