I fell. Everything went dark. While I floated. Among the darkness. It felt peaceful. Calm. Away from the storm. Outside. A place. That I could call home. Why? There was someone else. In my place. My home. My heaven.


    “Do you remember Heraclitus? He said something interesting.”


    Go away. I don''t know you. Don''t come near me.


    “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”


    I don''t care. Don''t talk nonsense. You hurt my ears.


    “Interesting quote, isn''t it?”


    Go away. Don''t come here. You are not welcome.


    “I can''t, because you''re here. So am I.”


    Who are you? Why don''t I know you? I can''t see your face.


    “That''s sad. I know who you are. More than you do. A man who gives up. Suicidal person but yet also a coward. You should have died a long time ago.”


    Who are you? How do you know? How?


    “I''m always here. Bleeding. Wounded. Festering. Rotting. My pus drips thickly with blood. When you forget me. But I always remember. This pain.”


    Tell me who are you? I don''t know. I don''t understand.


    “The world is changing. Maybe we will too. For no man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”


    Don''t go. Explain what you mean? What are you really?


    It fades. This darkness. It crumbles. The light comes. A new day. New horizons.


    ….


    I think I fell asleep… I was counting the cracked walls when it happened. A dream? Maybe. A nightmare? Not exactly. It felt more like staring at something unsettling yet familiar. Like déjà vu, but wrong. Was this dream trying to tell me something? Give me a clue? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask Poma later. Just thinking about it gives me goosebumps.


    The sun had started to rise, and hunger pulled me out of my thoughts. I got up and grabbed some fruit from the altar—not far from where I’d slept. Enyeka was still curled up, fast asleep. Poma was probably resting too. Or maybe she doesn’t need rest? I don’t understand how beings like her work—are they spirits? Something else entirely? I’m curious, but asking about it feels wrong. Better to leave that question alone for now.


    Maybe someday I’ll learn more about this world. But then again, doesn''t this kind of thing fall under mystical knowledge? If so, maybe it’s better not to think about it. Forget it. Focus on surviving here instead.


    I didn’t get any LitRPG-style system or overpowered abilities after coming here. All I got was the title of “chosen one,” which feels more like a curse than a blessing. Doesn’t that make me the unluckiest person in existence?


    In most stories like this, the protagonist gets some kind of cheat. Something like super strength, magic powers, plot armor. Sure, I have my own little plot armor. I met Poma, who’s helping me survive until now. But is that enough? We’re talking about a Lovecraftian setting here. A world of madness and horror. What happens when I run into an indescribable entity? Plot armor won’t save me from that. The thought alone stresses me out.


    In the middle of eating and sorting fruits, a voice echoed in my head.


    “You woke up so early. Did something happen?”


    It was Poma. Since she couldn’t always maintain her physical form, she’d gone “invisible” again. I had to get used to it—it felt like talking to a ghost.


    “A dream. But I don’t know what it means. Can you interpret dreams?” I asked.


    I didn’t know where Poma was, and the voice felt like it was speaking directly into my mind. To make the conversation feel more normal, I faced the altar, pretending she was standing there.


    “No, I can’t do that. But I’m sure you can figure it out yourself,” Poma replied.


    Didn’t I say earlier that I couldn’t? Fine, I’ll just drop it.


    “Forget it then,” I said.


    That''s how I started my day. Eating the remaining fruit on the altar and then spending time wandering around. Of course, I didn’t dare go far. Enyeka stayed by my side. Even though I was used to living without TV or internet, it wasn’t by choice—it was because I didn’t have money. If I did, maybe I’d have bought a new TV and installed WiFi.


    But stuck in the middle of a forest with no options? I was going stir-crazy. Staring at tree after tree, counting leaves and blades of grass, looking for ways to kill time. Boring. Very boring.


    In the afternoon, Poma sent Enyeka to gather ingredients for the potion she would make for me. This time, Poma appeared in her physical form again. Out of sheer boredom, I asked:


    “Is this your true form, or can you change into something else?”


    She smiled faintly, as if she’d been waiting for the question. “Sure, I can be a man if you want. Would you prefer me as a muscular guy? Or do you like me the way I am now?”


    I immediately regretted asking. What an idiotic question.


    Stolen story; please report.


    “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. I prefer you as a beautiful goddess. At least that brightens up my day,” I said quickly.


    Poma was still wearing the white robe that covered almost her entire body—the one I’d requested. Now it felt like a waste. I couldn’t see her curves or pale skin anymore. But hey, this was my decision. Becoming a decent person isn’t easy.


    “I’m glad you’re comfortable with my appearance. You’re the first person to say that in a long time. Most people don’t even remember my name,” Poma replied with a little smile on her face.


    The atmosphere grew awkward because of my stupid question. Maybe I should change the subject?


    “Are there humans who study mystical knowledge? And how rare are they?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.


    Because previously Poma mentioned people going insane from learning mystical knowledge. Dangerous stuff. So why would anyone study it? Were they just idiots looking for trouble? But considering the Lovecraftian theme, occultism must be fairly common, right? That means many might secretly dabble in it. I hadn’t thought about it before.


    “Of course, there are—or at least there were. In the past, humans relied heavily on this knowledge. But over time, it was slowly forgotten. Now, only a few people might know anything about it. That’s all I can say.” Poma explained.


    So, my guess was right. If some still study mystical knowledge, then occultism likely exists in society, even if it’s hidden. Assuming this world’s technology is around medieval levels. The usual isekai standard. Then that makes sense.


    But Poma’s explanation left gaps. If humans once depended on mystical knowledge. Then this is very strange. Let''s say if there is a world that has magic, shouldn''t the magic there develop more and more over time? Of course, the direction of development will depend greatly on what happens there. But the impression I get. It seems like the mystical knowledge in this world was forgotten on purpose? There must have been an era where mystical entities were more active than the current era. Is there something blocking them? Or are they doing it on purpose? This makes me a little curious.


    Then I shook my head. No point overthinking it. I didn’t want to lose my mind chasing answers I wasn’t ready for.


    At times like this, I regret not reading more horror stories. Especially Lovecraftian ones. My knowledge of the genre is limited. Why? Because reading Lovecraftian horror is depressing. My life is already hard enough without adding that kind of bleakness to it.


    How could it not be? Reading those stories at night just amplifies the hopelessness and helplessness I already feel. It’s like staring into a mirror that reflects everything wrong with existence. Just thinking about it makes me irritated.


    At the same time, Enyeka returned. Before heading out to gather ingredients, Poma had strapped a small bag onto her back. At first, I doubted she could manage it on her own—she’s just an animal, after all. How could she collect items and stuff them into that tiny bag? But she did it. Inside the bag, I spotted leaves... and twigs? Then there were mushrooms and also some kind of small red berries.


    With the ingredients gathered, Poma led me to one of the temple’s intact rooms. There was a mortar and pestle, along with the pot of water I’d filled the day before. Somehow, Enyeka had managed to carry both the water and me while I was unconscious. Because of that now Poma could make the potion.


    “I''ll do this once. Next time you have to do it yourself.” Poma said.


    I nodded silently as I watched her work. She began by crushing some leaves and twigs in the mortar, mixing them together. Then she poured in water and closed her eyes, chanting something under her breath. A spell or a mantra? Maybe. I wasn’t sure.


    Afterward, she added the small red berries, crushed them again, and stirred the mixture. From where I stood, it looked like she was just throwing random junk together. It seemed way too simple… almost insultingly so.


    But then, the water started steaming. Boiling, even. How? Was the mortar secretly a portable stove? Did she order this thing off some mystical Amazon Prime delivery? For the first time, I witnessed something that could be called “magic.” Sure, it wasn’t flashy like fireballs or wind blades, but it still felt… magical. Even though it feels like a ''low budget'' kind of magic.


    “This process should use fire, but I figured you wouldn’t know how to make it, so I had to use my powers. Also, there’s a special ritual that requires incantations using my name,” Poma explained.


    Somehow, her words felt sarcastic, but she wasn’t wrong. I could only accept the truth. After all, I’m just an ordinary person from the 21st century. Survival skills like making fire or building a bed weren’t exactly part of my skill set back there. Unless you count ordering takeout and assembling IKEA furniture as survival skills.


    It’s ironic. Once upon a time, those were basic, everyday skills, but now, in the modern era, most people can’t even start a campfire without Googling “how to make fire without burning down the forest.” Too much dependence on technology isn’t always a good thing.


    Then I noticed some mushrooms left unused. What were they for? Don’t tell me Poma messed up the mix?


    “So, what are the mushrooms for?” I asked, pointing at them.


    “They’re for you to eat. After drinking this potion, you need to eat these mushrooms at least twice a day. The potion’s effect lasts three days.” Poma replied.


    Three days is long enough, but why do I have to eat the mushrooms separately? Why not just mix them into the potion from the start? I didn’t get it. But since I didn’t know any better, I just nodded.


    After Poma gave me a detailed explanation about the ritual and walked me through the potion-making process, I decided to try the potion right away. Since there was no glass, I drank it straight from the mortar.


    I lifted it slowly—it was heavier than I expected—and took a cautious sip. The taste was bitter, with a hint of mint leaves, and there was something gritty, probably bits of the twigs that hadn’t been fully crushed. By the time I finished, my head started to throb slightly.


    Remembering Poma’s instructions, I immediately grabbed one of the mushrooms and ate it raw. To my surprise, the texture was soft, almost like marshmallows. It felt spongy, but the edges were tough and chewy, which was… unexpected, to say the least.


    “Are there any side effects? My head feels dizzy. Then my legs feel a bit weak.” I asked.


    Poma just stared at me. Her eyes seemed to scan my body. As if seeing my response after drinking the potion and also eating the mushrooms she gave me.


    “It''s normal, you''ll get used to it. Don''t forget to eat the mushrooms tonight. At least twice a day, remember that.” Poma replied. Her face was like a doctor lecturing his patient.


    After finishing the potion, my mind felt calmer. The stress that had been weighing me down seemed to vanish. I don’t know why, but this was exactly what I needed. Since the potion seemed to work, Poma disappeared again. With everything feeling more peaceful, I could finally relax. At least I didn’t have to worry about my nightmares returning. Based on what Poma said, they should get better. I hope she’s right.


    Later, I looked up at the sky. The moon and stars were breathtaking—so beautiful I couldn’t imagine ever getting tired of them. Hopefully, they’d stay like that. Because let’s face it, the days ahead would likely be just as boring. For the first time, I realized boredom could be stressful. But staring at those stars made me feel… better.


    Compared to a day full of nightmares, these boring days are safer. More comfortable. Sure, it feels like a bad isekai story where the main character does nothing meaningful and just plays it safe. But honestly? If I were the protagonist, I’d probably do the same. I wouldn’t be a hero or a savior—I’m too selfish for that. Or maybe… it’s because this world doesn’t feel real to me yet. Maybe, deep down, I’m still waiting to wake up.


    Yeah. That’s me. A boring character. Stuck in a world full of Lovecraftian horror. Trapped in a stupid story. Written by a madman.