Alex's senses returned to him slowly, like a man surfacing from the depths of a dark sea. His body ached as if he'd been struck by lightning, and the damp, earthy scent of soil filled his nostrils. He opened his eyes to a sky painted with shades of amber and violet, the dying light of day casting long shadows over a lush meadow.

Confusion gripped him. One moment, he'd been walking home from work, his mind numb from another long day in a monotonous life. The next, he was here, lying in the grass of a world that felt simultaneously alien and familiar. The wind carried not the hum of traffic but the distant toll of a bell and the faint neigh of horses. He sat up, the chill of the breeze making him acutely aware of his surroundings.

Before him stood a road, its dirt path winding toward a village nestled against rolling hills. Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys of small wooden homes, and beyond them, he could make out the silhouette of a fortress perched on a distant hilltop. The sight might have been beautiful if not for the pit of unease growing in his stomach.

"This isn't… right," Alex muttered to himself, his voice breaking the silence. His hoodie and jeans were an absurd contrast to the rustic setting before him. He checked his smartwatch—dead. No signal. No explanation.

A clattering sound broke through his thoughts. Alex turned sharply, instinctively stepping back. Emerging from the treeline was a cart pulled by a pair of horses, their manes matted and sweat-soaked. The driver, a wiry man in a patched cloak, held the reins with practiced ease. His weathered face twisted in suspicion as his eyes landed on Alex.

"You there!" the driver called out, his voice gruff. "What are you doing out here? This road's no place to be wanderin', especially dressed like that."

"I…" Alex hesitated, unsure how to respond. What could he say? That he had no idea how he'd gotten here? That he wasn't even from this world? He settled for a partial truth. "I'm lost."

The driver squinted at him, clearly unconvinced. "Lost, eh? You don't look like no traveler I've seen before. You got a name, stranger?"

"Alex," he said cautiously.

"Alex," the man repeated, as if tasting the unfamiliar name. "Well, Alex, you're lucky I came by. Bandits like to roam these parts, and they ain't the kind to ask questions."

Alex's stomach knotted. Bandits? He glanced at the treeline as if expecting ambushes to emerge at any moment. "Thanks for the warning. Can you tell me where I am?"

The driver raised an eyebrow, then barked a laugh. "You don't even know that? You're in Valior, boy. Closest village is Riverend, just down that road. But you'll need more than a kind face to get by here. Folk around these parts don't take kindly to strangers who don't know their place."

Valior. Riverend. The names meant nothing to Alex, but the man's tone was clear. This wasn't a world that would greet him with open arms.

"Hop on if you've a mind to," the driver said, nodding to the back of the cart. "Riverend's close, and you look like you could use a warm meal. But keep your hands where I can see 'em. I don't trust strangers."

Alex nodded and climbed onto the cart, his mind racing as they began their journey down the dirt road. The driver introduced himself as Garron, a former soldier who now made his living transporting goods between villages. His suspicion of Alex lingered in every sideways glance, but Alex couldn't blame him. He was a foreigner here in every sense of the word.

By the time they arrived at Riverend, night had fallen. The village was small, its streets illuminated by flickering lanterns. Villagers moved with purpose, closing up shop and hurrying home before the dark fully claimed the sky. Garron pulled the cart to a stop outside a modest tavern.

"This here's The Resting Boar," Garron said. "The innkeep's a decent man. If you've coin, he'll give you a bed and a meal. If not, you'd best find work quick. Folk around here don't take kindly to freeloaders."

Alex climbed down, nodding his thanks. "I appreciate the help, Garron."

The older man grunted. "Don't mistake this for kindness. I've seen plenty of strangers pass through these parts, and most of 'em end up dead or worse. If you've got any sense, you'll keep your head down and stay out of trouble."

With that, Garron snapped the reins, the cart rolling away into the darkness. Alex stood alone, the weight of his situation pressing down on him. He pushed open the tavern door, the warmth of the firelight and the scent of stew welcoming him. Conversations died as the patrons turned to look at him, their gazes sharp and questioning.

An older man behind the bar gave him a once-over, his bushy eyebrows drawing together. "You look like trouble," he said bluntly. "What's your business here?"

Alex hesitated, feeling the weight of every eye in the room. "I'm just passing through," he said. "Looking for work."

The man snorted but gestured to an empty seat. "Well, you won't find much here unless you're willing to get your hands dirty. The fields always need workers, and the roads always need guards. But if you've got no coin, you're already in debt for standing under my roof."

Alex sat down, a pit forming in his stomach. He had nothing—not money, not a plan, not even an understanding of this world. But as he looked around the room, at the hardened faces and wary eyes, he felt a flicker of determination. He didn't know why he was here, but one thing was clear.

If this world wanted him to stay down, he'd rise. If it wanted him to conform, he'd defy it. And if it wanted to break him, he'd become unbreakable.

This was a world where strength ruled. And Alex would find his place in it—no matter what it took.