Thalria stood at the ridge''s edge, gazing upon a landscape that defied familiarity. Jagged rock formations clawed at the sky, and an untamed wilderness stretched to the horizon. The forest, a suffocating blanket of green, had thickened with each step, its dense canopy stealing the sun, and plunging the land into perpetual twilight. Despite the passage of days, the air remained alien, a constant reminder: this world was not hers. The wind carried the scent of damp earth and strange, metallic flora, a stark contrast to the familiar, sweet pine of her homeland.


    Five days had passed since that night by the fire when she’d met Daln and Juno. They had quickly decided to move; this place was not safe. The forest was a living nightmare, its shadows alive with unseen watchers.


    The mountains—a distant, jagged promise—loomed on the horizon like the teeth of some ancient beast. They were a fragile hope, a reason to keep putting one foot in front of the other. They prayed the higher ground would offer safety, or at least a change of scenery.


    The journey since had been one of silent struggle. Hunting in the dense forest proved difficult; the small animals that roamed this strange world were elusive, and the water situation was dire. Thalria occasionally used her powers to summon water, but she was careful not to rely on it too often. It drained her more than she liked to admit. They had managed to fashion some crude water skins from the hides of animals they’d been able to hunt, but it wasn’t enough to ease the constant uncertainty.


    They had learned to rely on the forest to supplement their meager supplies—most notably, a local berry that grew in clusters throughout the underbrush. Thalria remembered the first time she’d eaten one, uncertain of its effects. Its bright red color easily stained their hands as they ate them, they had an almost unnerving sweetness.


    She had hesitated before taking the first bite, uncertainty filled her mind. The berries could be poisonous, but hunger, as always, had been a more pressing concern.


    She guessed she would be fine, even if the berries were poisonous. After all, Chosen were known to have a sort of natural immunity to low level toxins. The worst that could happen to her was a mild stomach ache—she could handle that, and then she could warn Juno and Daln.


    But as time passed, nothing happened, no discomfort, no ache, no ill effects at all. The berries seemed harmless. It had been a small relief, but it was enough.


    Another relief was the actual meat they were able to hunt today. After days of nothing but berries, she was finally going to taste something different. The animal had been caught in an animal trap, one that she crafted herself.


    Thalria’s thoughts drifted back to the days of her childhood, when she would escape the noise of the manor and wander into the nearby woods. It was there that she first became acquainted with the art of survival.


    She had met an old man, Tholmer. A hunter of small game—hares, birds, and the occasional fox. Despite his gruff exterior, Tholmer had taken an interest in her. He had shown her how to move quietly through the forest, how to find the subtle signs that animals left behind, and most importantly, how to make traps.


    Back then, her hands had worked instinctively, working with the twine, the branches, and the earth to create snares and pits. The craft had become second nature to her, something she could rely on. But now, her fingers faltered with the twine and the branches, the motions unfamiliar and clumsy. The traps she made now were nothing like they used to be, and she couldn’t help but feel that Tholmer would be disappointed in her work.


    A pang of loss and sadness tugged at her heart. She wondered where Tholmer was now, how he was doing. Regretfully, she hadn’t been able to visit him as she’d grown, her life pulling her in the opposite direction.


    Despite the loss of her skill in crafting traps with her hands, it didn’t matter. Her powers had rendered the skill unnecessary. The steps, the process, etched deeply into her memory. Now she could simply will the trap into existence, shaping it effortlessly. Of course, she kept this to herself, never letting Daln or Juno see her use her powers in this way. To them, she was a skilled trap maker, nothing more. She wondered how long she could keep the secret, and if it was right to do so.


    The scent of roasting meat filled the air, pulling her from her thoughts. The fire crackled, its glow casting shadows against the surrounding trees. Thalria sat close to the flame, hands outstretched toward the warmth, watching as Daln carefully turned the rod with the meat.


    The creature they’d caught was thankfully large enough to share. The past days had been nothing but berries, which left a constant hunger in their stomachs. Now, at last, they had something real to eat.


    Juno crouched across from her, tossed a small twig into the fire and smiled slightly. “You should’ve seen Daln’s face when he found that animal in your trap.”


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    Daln grunted, tearing a strip of meat from the rod with his knife. “I was surprised it worked,” he admitted. “Didn’t think anything would show up, not that quickly, anyway.”


    He was probably right, the saving grace was that Thalria had crushed the berries into a paste, then quietly willed a gentle gust of wind to carry the scent through the forest. It was a subtle touch, but it had drawn the creature in faster than she’d anticipated.


    Of course, there was the risk of drawing more dangerous creatures. They couldn’t afford to stay here for long. They’d need to eat quickly and move on before something larger took notice of them.


    Thalria leaned back on her hands. “You’re not the only one, “ she said, her voice low, but firm. “I wasn’t expecting it either. The trap’s a little… rusty.”


    Daln raised an eyebrow, eyeing her with a half-smile. “Rusty, huh? Looks fine to me.” He took another bite of the freshly cooked meat. “Me, I’ve never had the patience for hunting. All that stillness, all that waiting… Give me a good, hard sprint any day.”


    Juno looked up from the fire, her voice quiet. “Um… where did you learn to do that, Miss? I was wondering—if you wanted—maybe you could teach me a little about it?”


    Thalria gave a small, thoughtful smile and looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers. “Well… it’s a bit tricky, honestly,” she said, her voice light. “But… I could show you the basics, how to find the right branches and gather the twine. It’s all about patience and knowing where to look.”


    “And for where I learned it from—or rather, who I learned it from…” Her voice softened, a hint of nostalgia creeping in as a smiler tugged at her lips. “An old friend.”


    Juno’s face brightened, her eyes wide with excitement. “Thank you! That would mean a lot to me.”


    With that, a comfortable silence settled between them as they continued their meal, the small fire filling the space between them.


    An hour slipped by. As the last of the meat was eaten, the sound of crackling flames masking the world’s silence, something caught her attention. It was subtle at first—a faint rustle, a shift in the shadows—but it was enough to make her senses heighten. Her eyes scanned the area beyond the firelight, narrowing in on the movement.


    Daln must’ve noticed too, his posture shifting subtlety, hand drifting to rest on the hilt of his knife, ready. The tension in the air thickened, and even Juno, sensing the shift, inched closer to Daln.


    And then, a figure stepped from the trees. A man, wearing a worn leather chest-plate, reinforced with tarnished metal studs, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Patches of what looked like quilted cloth covered his arms and legs, offering a meager defense. The leather was cracked and faded, bearing the marks of countless journeys, and the metal studs were bent and dull.


    “Hello there!” The man chirped, his voice surprisingly light and high “Fresh arrivals, I’m guessing?”


    Thalria and Daln both tensed, their movements quick and defensive. Thalria noticed Daln''s stance was more rigidly professional, a stark contrast to her own trained response. She wondered what his past was, what battles he had fought, and what scars he carried.


    The man held his hands up even higher, palms still facing them, a wide smile stretching across his face. His armor, though dented and worn, gleamed oddly in the firelight. “No need for such…formalities,” he said. “I’m a friend. Or, at least, I''d like to be.”


    Daln’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering over the man’s armor, searching for any hidden weapons or inconsistencies. “A friend?” he echoed, his voice low and cautious.


    “Indeed!” The man said. “Listen, I know exactly what''s going through your head. You wake up in a strange land, disoriented, wondering where you are. It’s a common experience here.”


    ‘Common?’ Thalria thought, her gaze never leaving the man’s eyes.


    "Best to explain everything now," the man sighed. "You''re not the first to wake up here, and certainly not the last, I reckon."


    He paused, his gaze sweeping the clearing. “I’m from a settlement—Haven—a few days'' travel from here. There was a Fellstorm back home, wasn’t there? Before you woke up…here?” He continued, his voice a low murmur. “Nobody’s sure why, but every time the Fellstorm makes landfall…some people end up here.”


    “There are more people here?” Thalria asked.


    “Oh…plenty. Hundreds. Thousands. Maybe Tens of thousands. Scattered across the world.” The man answered. “Our settlement has a couple hundred people. We send out search parties every year to search for new arrivals.”


    His eyes drifted towards the beast’s remains, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Though, it seems like you all are adapting quite well.”


    ‘More people? Thousands? Settlements?’ Thalria’s mind raced, she couldn’t decide whether this was good news or bad. More people meant more potential allies, maybe even a way home. But thousands also meant potential threats.


    Daln stood firm as he took in the man’s words. “How can we trust you? How do we know this isn’t a staged ambush? A lure to draw us in?”


    The man shrugged. “You can’t. And you shouldn’t trust anyone, especially not here. But staying out here? That’s a guaranteed death sentence. So, your call.” He gestured towards the thick forest. “This place is teeming with things that would make the Fellstorm look like a gentle breeze. You’ve been lucky so far.”


    Juno’s eyes darted between Thalria and Daln, her voice barely a whisper. “Um…I think… maybe we should go?”


    Thalria and Daln exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgement of the shared danger—an unspoken agreement to proceed with caution.


    Thalria spoke up first. “Fine, we’ll go with you,” she said, her voice sharp and commanding. “Your name, then?”


    The man’s smile returned, even wider this time—somehow. He performed a mock bow. “Jovian Quip, at your service.”