《The HR Goddess Sent Me to a Fantasy World… Without a Job. So I Decided to Farm.》 Prologue: Interview with the Divine Hiring Manager There are a few universal constants: wage slavery, corporate bullshit, and the government always getting their cut. Oh yeah¡ªdeath too. That¡¯s what I was thinking about after I had just finished a 48 hour shift at my desk job. The boss had a new project coming up. ¡®All hands on deck!¡¯ ¡®No time off!¡¯ Typical corporate bullshit. I just wanted to live a peaceful life. Was that too much to ask? I stumbled down the stairs, loosened my necktie, and groaned. I saw my reflection in a glass window. I look like shit. Dehydrated, malnourished, and running on two hours of sleep. If I filed a claim for my own health, they¡¯d probably deny it. My shoulders were hunched, and everything hurt. I could barely even see straight. That must¡¯ve been why when I went to step into the crosswalk I didn¡¯t see the truck coming. Wait. No. No no no. Not like this. NOT LIKE THIS-! WHUMP. Everything went dark. Like my job¡¯s future prospects. ### Floating? No¡­ Not quite. I wasn¡¯t even sure if I had a body anymore. It felt like I was drifting, weightless, sinking deeper into nothing. No pain, no sound, just¡­ silence. Was this death? Kinda underwhelming honestly. Then a strange pressure ¨C like something pulling me upward. My vision flickered and colours blended into white. My head felt stuffed with cotton. My body jolted. And then I was just¡­ there. I groaned and rubbed at my face ¨C only to realize I couldn¡¯t feel it. Weird. Probably not a good sign. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Slowly, my vision cleared. I blinked. White. Just white. Corporate PowerPoint background white. Shit. This better not be another HR seminar about benefits we don¡¯t actually get. Before I could process whether I was in heaven, hell, or some kind of purgatory, a golden light burst into existence beside me. Dramatic much? A second later the light dimmed, revealing¡­ Goddamn. Standing before me was a woman so beautiful poets would sell their kidneys for the right to describe her. I should¡¯ve been in awe. Instead, I just sighed. I was too tired for this shit. She looked at me, eyes wide with surprise. ¡°Mortal! You actually came! I¡­ I didn¡¯t expect that.¡± She clasped her hands together, eyes shining with desperation. ¡°Please¡ªI beg of you, come to my world and save it from the demon lord!¡± Oh no. Not this again. Was she trying to get me to work overtime? ¡°I beg of you mortal! My world is dying, the people are starving, the land itself is crying out! Please come save it!¡± Huh? ¡°No thanks.¡± I shot her down immediately. That sounded like way too much work. I just wanted live in peace. Was that too much to ask? ¡°If this is heaven or whatever can we just fast-track my judgement?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t wanna work anymore.¡± She stared at me, dumbfounded. ¡°No?¡± I only nodded my response. ¡°Yep. No thanks.¡± She blinked, unable to process what I¡¯d said. Strange. I wondered when God became so misunderstood. Wasn¡¯t he - sorry, she ¨C supposed to be omniscient? ¡°But-¡° ¡°Nope. Not happening. Post a help wanted sign.¡± ¡°But I- ¡° ¡°No!¡± Maybe I needed to be more forceful? Man this whole thing was a drag. I just wanted to live in peace and quiet. Why does this type of shit always happen to good, honest, hardworking people. We do all the work meanwhile these clowns in corporate always end up taking all the credit. Buncha bullshit I tell ya. The beautiful lady just stared at me, her mouth opening and closing, trying to formulate a response. ¡°But I¡¯ll give you anything you want!¡± She was getting desperate. It still piqued my interest. Anything? Does that mean no overtime? Unlimited PTO?! Work from home benefits?!? While I was daydreaming about unlimited PTO, it hit me. Golden handcuffs. My old job pulled this trick. ¡®Great benefits,¡¯ they said. ¡®Full coverage,¡¯ they said. Then when you actually needed something, suddenly you¡¯re not eligible. Bastards. But I just had to prod her a little further, right? ¡°Anything?¡± She nodded her head vigorously. ¡°Anything at all! I swear it upon my name, Falelia, Goddess of Order!¡± I clapped my hands together. ¡°Leave me the fuck alone.¡± I was already sick of this. Couldn¡¯t someone just die in peace? The thought gave me a headache. The goddess deflated like a balloon. Clearly she¡¯d lost the will to fight back. ¡°Fine. I¡¯m sending you anyway. So just¡­ don¡¯t cause an explosion. Or do. I just don¡¯t care anymore. I¡¯ll find another hero or something.¡± She hesitated for a moment before continuing. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth you¡¯ll be going to a land of swords and sorcery. So really, please try not to blow anything up.¡± I pumped my fists in the air. A second chance at life AND I get to do whatever the hell I want? There was no way this wasn¡¯t a scam. But if the scammer is bound by some kind of divine law does that mean it¡¯s legally binding? I stretched, popped my neck, and looked up. ¡°Alright then. Beam me down, Scottie!¡± The goddess groaned, something between a laugh and a sigh. ¡°Fine. Whatever. Enjoy being unemployed in a fantasy world. Oh and try not to get eaten by a dragon.¡± Wait¡ªDragon?!? SNAP Darkness swallowed me. ¡­Again!? Oh, come on. Chapter 1: Welcome to the Middle of Nowhere Falling. One second I was floating in that weightless void of white and the next I was hurtling down like I¡¯d been dropped out of a plane. The wind ripped past me causing my skin to pull back. If anyone saw me they¡¯d probably be laughing instead of panicking. Then, before I could even scream¡­ ¡­WHUMP. I hit the ground with all the force of Wile E. Coyote, sinking a few inches into the ground. There wasn¡¯t any pain, so I figured I was fine. I rolled out of my impromptu ground angel and found myself¡­ is that dirt? And grass? It was! Grass! Soft, pillowy, divine grass! I pressed my cheek against it, drinking in the scent of real dirt, real air, real life. No stale office air, no axe body spray, no hard vinyl flooring. No fluorescent lights buzzing over me while I processed claim rejections. Just pure, glorious nature. My inner child was sobbing. Just as I was about to kiss the ground in grass-induced glee, I looked around. Nothing but flat, endless plains in every direction. ¡°¡­Wait. Am I still in Kansas?!?¡± That two-bit HR Goddess must¡¯ve filed the wrong paperwork! Just like the corporate drones who ¡®accidentally¡¯ misplaced urgent claims when they didn¡¯t want to pay out. What a loser. Okay it¡¯s fine. It¡¯s all fine. There¡¯s no problem. No job. No meetings that could¡¯ve been an email. No HR reps. No food¡­ ¡­No water¡­ ¡­No clue where I am¡­ ¡­Okay. Slight problem. Still, how often do you get to escape the concrete jungle and be surrounded by nothing but nature? It¡¯s a weird feeling, being so insignificant. Like a little island surrounded by nothing but endless ocean. I felt powerless. Welp. Might as well start walking. Hmm¡­ But where to? I wish that scam goddess had at least given me a map of some kind. Even a compass would¡¯ve been helpful. Shading my eyes I looked up at the sky, trying to get a bead on where the sun was. Looked like it was nearing its peak, so right around noon then? Dammit. That didn¡¯t help me any. I threw my hands in the air. ¡°STUPID GODDESS!!!!¡± Silence. Not even a divine apology email. Typical. I kicked a rock and stomped off in a random direction. ¡°Go save the world, she says.¡± Kick. ¡°It¡¯ll be fun, she says.¡± Kick. ¡°Unpaid overtime but I promise, I¡¯ll give you anything you want.¡± KICK. The rock hit my toe. Betrayal¡­ I picked it up and threw it with the fury of a man wronged by the universe. What a shitty situation to find myself in. First I get hit by a truck and die, apparently, then I wake up in the middle of nowhere. I crouched down, ran my hands through the soft blades of grass, and inhaled deep. Ahhh. Nature. Fresh, damp, beautiful nature. The whisper of wind over an untouched world. A symphony of pure tranquility. I just wanted to curl up into a ball and stay here forever. ¡­And then my stomach rumbled. Oh¡­ right. I needed food. And water. And a plan. Fuck. A half-buried fact from a 2AM Wikipedia rabbit hole surfaced in my brain. Three hours without shelter. Three days without water. Three weeks without food. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Or, if we¡¯re following corporate policy, three months of waiting for ¡®approved coverage,¡¯ three years of arguing with customer service, and three decades before you see a single cent reimbursed. Whatever. I¡¯d already died once so I wasn¡¯t about to test the theory. Assuming what I¡¯d read wasn¡¯t some scam posted by a neckbeard intent on tricking innocent people, the first thing I needed to find was shelter of some kind. I looked around, cupping my hands in front of my eyes like binoculars. Nope. Still just endless plains. I sighed. ¡°Of course it wasn¡¯t going to be that easy.¡± I looked back up at the sun, shading my eyes to get a better view. It had barely moved. Wait¡­ ¡­What? I did a double take Hadn¡¯t I been walking for a couple hours already? Was this sun part of a union? Was I getting scammed by interdimensional labour laws now? Maybe I really wasn¡¯t in Kansas anymore. Oh, come on. Okay. Time to adjust to that I guess. That did mean I had more time to work with though so maybe the rule of three hours without shelter wasn¡¯t exactly the same here. I mean that two-bit goddess did say it was another world, despite it still looking like earth. Well anyways. At the very least I knew I had some time before night to figure something out. Maybe I¡¯ll find a cave or a natural outcropping or something. So, instead of stressing myself out over where I was going to spend the night I just continued walking. It was peaceful, like going for a stroll in a nature park. Except I didn¡¯t have any beef jerky. I started drooling. Nothing beats nice, high quality beef jerky. Salty, savoury, spicy. Just mwah. That¡¯s where my thoughts were as I continued walking through the knee-high grass. Eventually I looked back and realized I couldn¡¯t see where I¡¯d first landed. Guess I was making progress. Good to know. Alrighty then, back to walking. If this really is a fantasy world like the goddess said then there should be magic right? I raised a hand, palm face-up and, with the straightest of faces, said the magic word. ¡°Abracadabra!¡± Nothing. ¡°Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo!¡± I thought I felt something for a second¡­ Nope. Must¡¯ve been the wind. I groaned and put my hand down. I felt like an idiot. Was this really how I was going to spend the rest of my life? The only no magic loser in a world where everyone has it? Then a thought occurred to me. Maybe if magic words don¡¯t work¡­ ¡­Is it all about intent? I furrowed my brow, focused, and reached deep within myself. Into my soul. My very essence. ¡°Do magic¡­ Please?¡± ¡­Still nothing. This world sucks. Wait. Wait wait wait. Maybe that¡¯s now how magic works. Maybe it¡¯s not something you¡¯re born with. Maybe you have to learn it. That gave me a spark of hope. Maybe I wasn¡¯t destined to be stuck as a no magic loser. Maybe it¡¯s still possible! After all nobody wants to be a squib, right? No response¡­ Oh wait. Are those crickets I hear? Hold on a second¡­ Crickets?!? I look up at the sun again. Still high in the sky. Still annoying me. Felt like I was back at my desk, with management standing over my shoulder. Weren¡¯t crickets supposed to be nocturnal? What sort of back-asswards world did I end up in? I shook my head. I really wasn¡¯t in Kansas anymore. But anyways, I needed to continue walking with the hope of finding some civilization. My legs were starting to ache, and my breath was turning ragged. Was I really that out of shape? Damn. I continued walking in the same direction as before. Changing it up now felt like it¡¯d be a waste of time, and I probably had better chances of finding something, by sticking to my path. Right? I was starting to feel thirsty too. Which sucked. Have you ever been thirsty with no water in sight? Believe you me, it¡¯s not fun. All you can think about is water. Cool, fresh, refreshing water. Maybe garnished with some cucumber or a lemon slice. Dammit. Now I was even thirstier. I couldn¡¯t remember the last time I had water. It felt like forever ago. My last overtime shift had been so long and required so much focus that the only breaks we got were bathroom breaks. Nothing to be done for it now though I suppose. At least I¡¯ve finally escaped that hellhole. Oh wait, are those trees in the distance? I saw the very tops of the trees, a dark green overshadowing the monotonous beige of the grassy field. Maybe there¡¯s something there. I picked up the pace, starting to jog. More time passed and the trees still felt as far away as ever. These plains really do go on forever. My legs were burning by now and my breath coming in rapid wheezes. I needed to hit the gym. Even more time passed, and I slowed my pace from a jog to a brisk walk. The trees weren¡¯t getting any closer. Either I was further away from them than I thought, or they were much, much bigger than I had originally guessed. It¡¯s no matter. I don¡¯t really have anything else going on at the moment, so I figured why the hell not just keep going. When I checked the sun again I noticed it was starting to set. Panic quickly followed. I mean I¡¯d been moving for what felt like hours, but I still hadn¡¯t seen anything resembling shelter. Crap. Time to think of something then. The gears in my brain started turning and I looked around to figure out what I could do to have even some shelter for the night. Weave a bed of grass? Nope. Too much work. Make a dirt hut? What is this a 2010s video game? Eventually I settled on clearing out a small circle in the grass. It would do for now anyways. The grass came out easily. A simple tug is all it took. Must be a weak root system or something. I made quick progress, leaving all the bundles of what was basically straw piled up in the middle of my little circle. Nights were warm on prairies weren¡¯t they? I figured I probably wouldn¡¯t freeze to death. Probably. As the sun sank even further beyond the horizon I ended up with a nice pile of straw. I worked quickly trying to pat it all down into a decent enough base to lay down on. Even stuffing my shirt with some of it for a makeshift pillow. I thought I was pretty smart to come up with this. A genius if I say so myself. So yeah. I ended up with a makeshift mattress, a makeshift pillow, and piles of grassy straw to use as a blanket. It wouldn¡¯t be the most comfortable, but I¡¯d rather sleep on this than the hard floors of my office. At least out here I don¡¯t have to explain to someone why their ¡®emergency procedure¡¯ wasn¡¯t actually covered. Scratch that. Old office. I had to remind myself that I wasn¡¯t living that life anymore. I wasn¡¯t even on earth anymore. The thought sat strangely in my mind. I mean I¡¯d died and gone to purgatory or whatever. Met the goddess. It¡¯s only reasonable to feel confused about the whole thing. Now here I was, sleeping on a makeshift bed made out of grass and straw. What a strange, wonderful, absurd turn of events. I wasn¡¯t going to pray to HR for a safe night. If she really cared she¡¯d have sent me to a place where I wasn¡¯t in too much danger. Right? The sun sank below the horizon, and I marvelled at the pretty orange and red sunset. It was even more beautiful than earth¡¯s. It made me wonder if this is what freedom was truly like. As the sun went away I covered myself with the pile I was using as a blanket and closed my eyes. This new world became eerily quiet. Nothing moved at all. Maybe this is just how the world is. Tomorrow was gonna suck. Chapter 2: Welcome to Starvation Mode So yeah, there I was. Lying in a pile of grass waiting for the sun to come back up. I was itchy, cold, and covered in bugs. So basically just another day at the office. Whoever said prairies don¡¯t get cold at night needs to be sued for damages. Past me included. Ugh. This sucks. The grass was like a thousand needles digging into me. Every rustle of a grass sounded like something was coming to eat me. And, sure enough, there was a spider crawling up my leg with a death wish. At least there¡¯s only a bit of night left. I did manage to get some sleep too so there¡¯s that. But really, if this is how I have to spend every night I¡¯m going to lose my sanity long before I get eaten by a dragon. Oh is that the sun coming up over the horizon? Perfect timing. I stood up, stretched, wiped myself off, and shook off the creepy-crawlies who had made me their personal heater. Buncha pests. I emptied out my shirt and ignored whatever crawled out before putting it back on. Hygiene was dead. I had to move on. I couldn¡¯t help but think about how nice it would be to have a shower. That is, until my stomach started hurting. Was this hunger? I felt this tight knot in my stomach. I knew it¡¯d been a while since I ate, but surely¡­ this wasn¡¯t real hunger right? I needed food. Now. I took a look at my surroundings. Still nothing except the tips of trees in the distance. Okay. That¡¯s my goal. Reach trees. I rolled my neck, cracked my fingers, and stretched my legs. If I was going to seriously try to reach them today then I needed to prepare myself. Based on how long I walked yesterday they still seem to be a good way off. Time to run. I set myself into a runner¡¯s starting position like I knew what I was doing. Spoiler alert: I did not. On your marks! Get set! Go! As soon as I took a step forward I got a cramp in my calf and collapsed. ¡°SHIT.¡± Sleeping on the ground sucked balls! Carefully I massaged my leg, waiting for the cramp to subside. I knew I wasn¡¯t very athletic but seriously? This bad? Jeez. Once the pain faded I stood back up and just started walking. Was I fast? No. But the light breeze felt nice, and after sleeping on the ground any progress was good. So I walked. And walked. And stumbled, and tripped, and cursed under my breath. Each step felt like it took an eternity, but hey¡ªprogress was progress. My stomach was a twisted knot of pain and torture. Like a rabid animal looking for anything to chew on. This was definitely hunger. Not the ¡®Oh, I missed lunch¡¯ kind, but the ¡®Corporate forgot to order catering for an all-day meeting and now you¡¯re stuck pretending you¡¯re fine¡¯ kind. But hey! I think those trees are getting closer! I can see more of them now! No longer just some vague green off in the distance, I can see some brown bark too! Wow. Who knew nature was so beautiful. It still took a long time, but when I finally realized the scale of them I was almost there. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. I could actually see roots! A couple hours later (I checked by looking at the sun¡­ Still barely moving. Dick.) I was finally staring up at the trees. They were massive. Five hundred feet, easy. Either they had their own zip code or a secret tree gym membership. I went to the nearest one and gave it a hug. My outstretched arms didn¡¯t even come close to reaching around it. These things were freaking massive. Made me wonder if they were compensating for something. At this rate the only thing I could do was stare up at them and hope they didn¡¯t decide to eat me for lunch. The bark was thick and gnarled. No way could I scratch the surface, let alone tear off chunks. Not a chance in hell of building anything out of it. Not unless I spent days hacking at it with a giant sword and some magic. I tried to ignore the weird sounds in the distance. Hopefully they were just racoons or something harmless. But who knows? With my luck I was in the land of giant mutant mosquitos or rats the size of cars. I¡¯d definitely take the racoons. It was at this point I¡¯d started to wonder if I had made a huge mistake, not because I missed my old life (no, screw that), but because holy shit was this hard. Those survival documentaries always made it seem so easy. Just another corporate con I guess. Like those ¡®paid training¡¯ jobs that turn out to be unpaid internships. And I mean really. I¡¯d had an eventful 72 hours. I¡¯d been hit by a truck, met some freaky divine hiring manager who wanted me to work overtime for the rest of my life, and now I was surrounded by trees that looked like they were hitting the gym harder than me. My body ached, my stomach was trying to cannibalize the rest of me, and I could swear I could hear running water. My brain, the lying deceiving bastard that it was, kept whispering that there was a dripping faucet in the other room. Except there was no room. Just dirt. And me. It made me painfully aware that the last thing I¡¯d drank was a cup of coffee in the middle of my last shift. All I wanted was a soft mattress. Hell, I¡¯d even take the office floor at this point. Somewhere warm and safe. Well. I figured a shelter wouldn¡¯t build itself. Time to start doing something. Okay¡­ ¡­Shelter. I stared up at the massive trees, their ancient limbs creaking in the wind. The bright sky could barely be seen through their leaves, casting long shadows over the forest floor. It was beautiful in that ¡°wow, nature is amazing¡± kind of way. It was also terrifying in the ¡°wow, nature is going to murder me¡± kind of way. I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to focus. Panic wouldn¡¯t help. Planning would. Shit. Alright. Focus. Shelter. I needed a plan. First, a rope of some kind¡ªgood for tying things together. Then logs or sticks, I guess? Something to actually build the damn thing. Oh, and firewood. No way in hell was I freezing my ass off for a second night in a row. Alright, step one: rope. I could try weaving together some grass. That seemed doable. Maybe grab some extra for kindling while I was at it. I took a deep breath, turned toward the plains, and sighed. ¡°Guess I¡¯m a grass farmer now.¡± With no better option, I left the trees behind (goodbye beloved, and terrifying, giants) and trudged back to the open field. I yanked out a handful of grass and gave it a test pull. ¡°Long, dry, sturdy. Yep. This¡¯ll do.¡± I ripped out as much as I could carry and hauled it back to the edge of the forest, plopping myself down on a rock to start weaving. I had no idea what I was doing, but I was pretty sure I saw this on a survival show once. That episode had spent a lot of time on rope-making, so it seemed important. Late night marathons had failed me in a lot of ways, but at least I learned something. I grabbed a few strands of grass and twisted them together. Easy, right? Wrong. The first attempt fell apart in seconds ¨C the strands slipped loose, unraveling into a sad little pile. The second was even worse, breaking apart the moment I tried to tug it tight. By the third, I was starting to wonder if ¡°grass rope¡± was just a myth invented by survival show producers to make the rest of us feel inadequate. I gritted my teeth and tried again, this time twisting it as tight as possible. Slowly. Finally. It held. After way longer than expected I had a couple dozen sections of makeshift rope. I turned them over in my hands, testing the knots, giving them a little tug. It worked! Hell yeah! Rope acquired. +1 survival skills. Then my stomach reminded me that pride didn¡¯t put food in my belly. I was halfway through my third bundle of grass when I noticed my hands were shaking. Weird. Maybe I was just tired? I kept working, but my head was starting to feel light. My stomach twisted, an uncomfortable gnawing feeling growing sharper by the second. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to keep going. Didn¡¯t work. Oh. Oh no. This wasn¡¯t just hunger. This was starvation. Enter what I dubbed: Extreme Hunger mode. My meat sticks were almost empty. I could barely move. My HP bar was about to start blinking red. I needed food. Now. I stashed my ropes next to a tree, marking the spot with a small pile of rocks so I could find my way back. Felt kinda like playing a survival game. The only thing missing was some blocky torches. Instead of lamenting the lack of square terrain, I dragged my starving body into the forest. Step two: find food. Fruits, mushrooms, bugs¡ªanything that wouldn¡¯t kill me immediately. The undergrowth was dense, the air was damp, and everything smelled¡­ alive. It was like stepping into another world. Darker, quieter, full of unknown threats lurking just beyond sight. Time to buckle up and figure it out. I was on the hunt for food. That meant fruits, mushrooms, and (Goddess above) grubs. Mushrooms were by far the easiest to find. They were everywhere¡ªsprouting from trees, fallen logs, even the dirt. I had no clue which ones were edible, so I did the only logical thing: I picked them all. Yep. Looking back, maybe not the smartest idea. Corporate bozo who¡¯s never foraged in his life grabbing random mushrooms like they were free samples at the grocery store. What could possibly go wrong? While stuffing my shirt full of fungal question marks, I also kept an eye out for anything¡­ well, meatier. And that¡¯s when I found it. An ant colony. And not just regular ant-sized ants, either. Giant ants. Each one was the size of my damn hand. Now, here¡¯s something you should know about me. I can handle a lot of things. But ants? Ants bug me. (Ha. Get it?) Still. I was desperate. I¡¯d picked up a walking stick earlier, and now, it had a new job: ant stabber. I hesitated. Just for a second. The ant stared at me. I stared back. It twitched its antennae, like a middle manager sensing layoffs were coming. I speared it. Crunch. Goo. Twitching. I couldn¡¯t help but gag. Smelled like burnt plastic and wet dog. Fantastic. Three more stabs, just to be sure. This was officially the worst meat-on-a-stick experience of my life. I forced an easy smile despite the creeping realization that I¡¯d actually have to cook and eat it. But that was future me¡¯s problem. With mushrooms, ants, and a full-blown existential crisis in my inventory, it was time to build a base. Chapter 3: Fire, Mud, and a side of Mutant Ant. So yeah, there I was. With the sketchiest meat-on-a-stick known to man, a shirt stuffed with fungus, and the enthusiasm of a tax auditor. Living the dream. I¡¯d marched my way back to where my stash of grass rope was by now, and my dinky pile of rocks helped guide me. I¡¯m counting that one as a win. Now it was time to start a base. No clue how. At least I¡¯d managed to win the fungus roulette once or twice, so I wasn¡¯t starving. Just circling the drain. Brimming with the false confidence of a man who once read a survival wiki at 2am, I decided to make a lean-to. Basically you tie some sticks together and pray it stops the wind. Not great if a mutant ant shows up, but hey- baby steps. Well, that and a fire. Truly the MVPs of survival. Right. Back on topic. I really had no idea what I was doing so I decided to rummage around. Ended up yanking some sticks, logs, and anything else that seemed vaguely useful. Like a small piece of flint. Helpful? Sure. But why? First step? Drag it all back to camp. I figured having everything in one place and organized would keep me motivated. Seeing everything lined up made me feel oddly accomplished. Like I¡¯d actually done something. Yeah I know. Setting down sticks isn¡¯t exactly an achievement, but I¡¯ll take it. I picked up one of my rope strands and tried tying together two pieces of log in a cross pattern. Tightened the knot. No slack. Rock solid. The logs immediately rolled apart. Of course. The universe saw me struggling and pulled up a chair. I shook my head and tried again. This time I stuck one end of the logs deep into the dirt to keep them from moving. It kinda worked- right up until the rope snapped, and the whole thing collapsed. Just like my will to live. Shit. Why was this harder than getting a refund from payroll? I kept trying. I kept failing. In a fit of genius (or desperation), I chucked some mud at it. And¡­ it held. Oh. Oh no. Was I really losing a battle to dirt? Leaning into my mud-based engineering degree, I crammed sticks into the gaps and slathered on more mud like glue. With enough elbow grease, I finally had something that resembled¡­ a wall? A panel? A wooden disaster held together by pure stubbornness? Didn¡¯t matter. It was mine. I leaned it up against a tree, using some leftover logs as supports. Oh. That¡¯s why they called it a lean-to. I see. At this point the sun was setting. I could see the copper horizon from here, looking over the plains. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. The view was breathtaking. My suffering? Less so. I knew the signs. Raw throat. Cement limbs. Brain on dial-up. Somehow, I¡¯d built a shelter. No clue how. My thoughts crawled at an inch a minute. Water. Need it. Ground? I turned to the hole I¡¯d dug for mud, and sure enough, there it was. Pure, brown, undrinkable sludge. I stared at it. It stared back. I couldn¡¯t believe I was about to do this. I cupped my hands, scooped up the sludge, and forced it down. It tasted like regret. Like dirt. Like every bad decision I¡¯d ever made. Did it help? No. Did I have a choice? Also no. I choked down another handful, draining the little well dry. Fuck me. But at least I wasn¡¯t going to die. Not yet anyways. Besides, if Wikipedia wasn¡¯t lying to me, I had one more day before dehydration turned fatal. Tomorrow I¡¯d have to find water. But tonight¡­ food. I tossed some grass in a pile, grabbed my flint, and struck it with a rock. Fire-making 101, right? Minutes passed. No sparks. Then my brain finally loaded in: ¡®flint and steel¡¯ required steel. Where was my lighter when I needed it? Stupid HR goddess not even sending me here with a simple survival tool. I did the trusty pocket tap, back pockets, then front pockets. And found nothing. Shocker. So how was I supposed to make a fire? Oh! Right¡ªfriction! That generated heat, and I¡¯d seen another survival show where they made something called a ¡®bow drill.¡¯ Did I know how to make one? No. Did that stop me? Also no. I grabbed a stick, some dried grass, and a flat piece of wood. Close enough, right? It was starting to get dark, so I had to move quickly or risk another cold night. Grass, stick, wood. Easy. I spun the stick between my palms like a caveman discovering fire for the first time. I felt like a genius. 20 minutes.
An hour. Still nothing. My forearms were burning. My grass wasn¡¯t smoking. I had completely, utterly failed. For the first time in my second life I felt absolutely defeated. Tech layoff levels of defeated. I didn¡¯t know what I did wrong, I didn¡¯t know anything really. I was just a guy trying to get by. Then it hit me. Water-deprived, brain fried ¡ª I¡¯d forgotten the key to everything. Rhythm. So I started whistling. Off-key, off-pitch, completely terrible. But it gave me a beat. Something to follow. I matched up the stick with the rhythm and rubbed. It still took forever. 30 minutes at least. But eventually? A wisp of smoke. A tiny ember. I scrambled, feeding it more dried grass, blowing carefully. The sun had almost vanished, making the ember¡¯s glow stand out against the dark. I fed it. Blew. Fed it again. The ember pulsed, a heartbeat in the night. Then¡ªflame. Just a small one. But a flame all the same. I sat there, barely breathing, staring at the flickering light like I had just invented fire myself. Then, in my excitement, I lost balance and landed straight in my muddy water hole. Great. But the fire didn¡¯t go out. If anything, it was growing. I crawled out, wiped off my face, and fed it some more fuel. Carefully, I arranged sticks around it, adding tufts of grass to keep the flames hungry. The night closed in, swallowing the landscape in shadow. Except my little corner. I kept feeding the fire. More sticks. Bigger pieces. It grew and grew, until eventually¡­ ¡­I had an actual bonfire. I sat there, dumbfounded. I¡¯d actually done it. Fire. Real, burning, life-saving fire. Then I realized what this meant¡­ ¡­I had to cook the mutant ant. Shit. I hesitated, not wanting to go near the damned thing. But I had to steel my nerves. If I couldn¡¯t even do this then how the hell was I going to survive the coming days? I stuck out the ant-stab-inator 3000 and waited, slowly turning it over like the world¡¯s ugliest marshmallow. The smell was sickening at first. Made me seriously reconsider every life choice that brought me here. Then, somehow, magic happened. The ant¡¯s disgusting smell faded. No more burning rubber and wet dog. No more ooze from the stab wound. Everything firmed up, even the legs started to look appetizing. Guess starvation really is the ultimate seasoning, because I swear upon the goddess¡¯s name¡ªI actually started drooling. After about 10 minutes I assumed it was finished. The outside of it had taken on a nice colour (compared to before, anyway) and the legs had stiffened up. Now the real question: how the hell do you eat this? I decided I didn¡¯t want to think about it and just took a massive bite out of the midsection. It wasn¡¯t bad actually. Wasn¡¯t good either. But definitely¡­ not bad. It kind of tasted like the driest, blandest chicken breast known to mankind. The texture was gritty, the aftertaste was strong, and overall it was fairly bitter, but I was able to keep it down. And that counted for something in my books. I had a shelter. I had a fire. And I had some unpleasant, but edible, food. Not the dream life, but at least I wasn¡¯t stuck in a cubicle. But at the very least, I knew that today had been a win. And I was proud of myself for it. Tomorrow¡¯s mission: find water. Hopefully without dying in the process. Chapter 4: The Holy Water Spirit and a Terrifying Deer-Horse-Cow So yeah. There I was. Snug as a bug in a rug under a log, with a stomach that felt like I¡¯d swallowed a handful of gravel. Truly, the height of luxury. But hey¡ªas least I didn¡¯t almost freeze to death this time. That was a win, right? ¡­Right? Because something was wrong. The moment I cracked open my eyes, the world felt different. Off. Like everything was on a timer. It took a second to figure out why. Then it hit me. 72 hours. That¡¯s how long it had been since I¡¯d had a real drink of water. Three days since I¡¯d last swallowed something that wasn¡¯t muddy disappointment in a hole. I was on borrowed time. Symptoms check: Mouth? Rough. Felt like sandpaper. Lips? Cracked. Possibly bleeding. Head? Pounding. Like a drumline going full send inside my skull. Muscles? Weak. Like I was wading through molasses. Not great. The worst part? I knew exactly what was happening to me. Stage 1: Fatigue. Confusion. General suffering. Stage 2: Delirium. Organ Failure. Death. Stage 2 was warming up, and I was next in line. So yeah. Today¡¯s mission was clear: I needed water. Actually I needed water yesterday. Go figure. First thing I did was check my glorious mud pit. Maybe, just maybe, another helping of swamp smoothie had magically appeared overnight. It hadn¡¯t. Bone dry. I let out a slow breath. Alright. Pivot. Adapt. I could try digging another hole. Deeper? Wider? Maybe I¡¯d hit an underground spring. Maybe I¡¯d just hit more dirt and disappointment. While my shrivelled raisin of a brain was trying to problem-solve, I saw something. A bush. Just out of the corner of my eye. I didn¡¯t think much of it at first. Just a weird scraggly plant sitting near the tree line. I looked back at my useless waterless hole. I needed a better idea. Something smarter. Something¡ª Wait. I looked up. The bush¡­ wasn¡¯t there anymore. I blinked. It was by my shelter now. The fuck? I swore it was over by that tree a second ago. A slow, creeping thought slithered into my head. Am I dying? Again? I tried to focus but the bush had my full attention now. It just sat there. Innocent. Unmoving. I couldn¡¯t not look at it. I started walking toward it¡ªor, at least, I tried. Everything felt off. My legs were made of lead. My balance was shot. If you¡¯ve ever been drunk out of your mind, you know the feeling¡ªlike you¡¯re walking straight, but your body decides otherwise. One moment I was aiming for the bush. The next, I walked straight into a tree. Face-first. Thud. For a second, I just stood there, cheek pressed against bark, trying to figure out where I went wrong. ¡°What a wonderful morning.¡± I peeled my face off the tree and turned back toward the bush. It had moved again. This time, it was right by my old firepit. It was checking out the ashes. What the fuck? Do bushes move in this world? You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. I shook my head. No. No, of course not. That¡¯s ridiculous. Right? But there it was. Just sitting there. Like it hadn¡¯t been on the other side of the clearing just seconds ago. I tried again, stumbling toward it. As soon as I got within reach¡ª It grew legs. And ran. It grew legs?! And ran off?!? I collapsed. Couldn¡¯t think. Couldn¡¯t swallow. Couldn¡¯t move. But then. Then I saw it. Tiny damp footprints, trailing away into the unknown. I blinked hard. Was I seeing things? No. No, they were real. Damp meant water. Water is love. Water is life. I forced myself to move. Crawling was all I could do. Every inch forward felt like dragging my body through a bed of nails. My arms trembled under my own weight. My elbows scraped against dirt and twigs, leaving behind tiny streaks of blood. Didn¡¯t matter. I had to follow those footprints. I knew I was going insane. I could tell. The lack of liquid was warping my thoughts, twisting everything in my head. But if there was a chance¡ªeven the slimmest, stupidest chance¡ªthat these footprints led to water? I had to take it. So I kept crawling. Sometimes, I thought I saw the moving bush ahead of me. Other times, I thought it was right in front of my face. Once, I swore I heard it whisper my name. Through it all, I crawled. At some point, the logic in my head shattered. It was obvious now. This wasn¡¯t a bush. This was a divine being. A spirit. A sacred messenger of hydration, sent from the heavens to guide me. O¡¯ Holy Bush, O¡¯ Divine Provider of Life, I submit myself before thee. Figures. The HR Goddess had forsaken me, but the Spirit of Water had not. O¡¯ Holy One! Where art thou? Why dost thou hide? I kept crawling. I couldn¡¯t stop. Not now. Not when the spirit itself had descended to save me. Then, suddenly, it got easier. For a brief, fleeting moment, the pain vanished. It was like my body unlocked the last reserves of energy buried in my bones. I thought I was dying. Terminally ill patients always had a final moment of lucidity before the end. I remembered that from orientation. Apparently I was getting mine. It was good timing though. Thanks to it I was able to stand. My aches and pains? Gone. My body? Weightless. For just a moment. But that moment was all I needed. I lifted my head. And there it was. The Holy Bush. Waiting for me. Standing atop a shimmering reflection of the sky. A pond. I sprinted. Or, at least, I thought I did. In reality, I probably just stumbled forward like a corpse on strings. Didn¡¯t matter. Nothing mattered except getting to the water. I collapsed by the edge and plunged my head in. Cool. Crisp. Heavenly. I drank. Gulp after gulp. A wave of pure relief crashed over me. My brain, dead and shriveled just moments ago, suddenly lit up like a power surge. (And just like that, my brain sparked to life.) For one glorious second, everything felt perfect. And then-¡ª Wrong pipe. I jerked my head up, choking violently. My lungs screamed. Water exploded out of my mouth. I heaved, gasped, sputtered. Hacking up every drop I¡¯d just swallowed. It was vile. But in the middle of all that coughing, the fog in my head started to clear. I could think again. Slowly I cupped my hands into the pond. Smaller sips. This time I drank properly. Handful after handful. Until I couldn¡¯t drink any more. I sat back, letting my breath slow. Took in my surroundings for the first time. I hadn¡¯t explored much beyond my little base. I had no clue where I was. So yeah. Just another day in paradise. On the other side of the pond, I saw it. The bush. It was leaning over the water. Drinking? Oh, Holy Bush. Oh, Magic Bush. Oh, how I love you. I crept forward, circling the pong with the utmost reverence. It sat there, content, serene, enlightened. A divine being partaking in the very essence of life itself. How lucky was I to witness such a sacred moment? Oh boy, did I ever know the feeling. Still, I moved with care. I could not disturb the spirit. I had to earn its favour. And when I got close enough¡ªwhen fate itself deemed it was time¡ª I lunged. I snatched it up, cradling it in my hands like a relic of the gods. Tiny beetle-like legs dangled in the air, twitching. I felt tears sting my eyes. O¡¯ Holy Spirit! O¡¯ Divine Angel of Water! Come with me! I shall follow you forever! It twitched. It recognized me. I had been chosen. Huzzah! I lifted it high, presenting it to the heavens like Simba. ¡°This is the first day! They shall speak of this day in the history books! The day of the Holy Water Bush¡ª¡± And then it bit me. The little cocker bit me. I yelped, dropped it, and immediately dropped to my knees. I bowed my head so low my forehead scraped the dirt. ¡°O¡¯ great wise sage, please do no forsake me!¡± The bush didn¡¯t even acknowledge me. It just waddled back to the pond and resumed drinking, like I didn¡¯t exist. A test. Surely this was a test of my devotion. I pressed my forehead deeper into the dirt. ¡°I beg of you, don¡¯t forsake me. I shall be the most devout follower.¡± The bush did not respond. Perhaps, one day, it would. Perhaps, one day, I would be worthy. A branch snapped. I froze. Something rustled behind me. Slowly, I lifted my head. I turned¡ª And came face to face with a nightmare. It had the head of a deer, the body of a horse, and the legs of a cow. If I had to describe it, that would be how. But descriptions didn¡¯t do it justice. Its limbs were just a little too long. Its movements were just a little too smooth. I blinked. It didn¡¯t. I swallowed. It didn¡¯t. Unmoving. Unblinking. I felt every hair on my body stand on end. It was watching me. And I didn¡¯t know why. I ran. Didn¡¯t think. Didn¡¯t look back. Just ran. I tried to retrace my steps back to my shelter, but I had no idea where the hell I was. Didn¡¯t matter. Getting anywhere but here was the priority. Then, mid-sprint, it hit me. I¡¯d forgotten the Holy Water Spirit. Ah well. It was a spirit, so it would probably be fine. At least, I¡¯d found water. I wasn¡¯t dying today. Not yet. And that? That was a win. I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. For the first time since arriving in this godforsaken world¡­ I was going to survive. Chapter 5: The One With the Magic Mushrooms So yeah. There I was. With my back turned to the most horrific nightmare I¡¯d ever seen and my legs moving automatically away from lifesaving, precious water. But I wasn¡¯t going to die! ¡­Probably. After running for only about five minutes (despite literally being on the verge of death moments ago), my body started to remind that I was, in fact, mortal. Everything hurt. My heart was hammering out of my chest, my legs burned, my lungs were on fire, and my head throbbed like I¡¯d just taken a crowbar to the skull. So I slowed down. Then I walked. Then I completely stopped. And only then did it hit me. Where the fuck was I? I looked around. This¡­ wasn¡¯t where I was supposed to be. I thought I was heading back toward my little shelter. But¡­ yeah, no. Nothing here looked familiar. Shit. Guess I¡¯m homeless now. I sighed and rubbed my face. Okay. Okay. Think. I needed a plan. But this time, there was no Holy Bush to conveniently bail me out. So I did the only thing that made sense¡ªI sat down. The ground squelched under my weight. Fantastic. Bur for the first time since getting here, I could actually think without being immediately in danger. Alright. What did I know? I knew how to make rope out of grass. I knew mud worked as glue to hold sticks together. I knew mutant ants could go straight to hell. ¡­Wait. Wasn¡¯t there something else that used mud and sticks? I sat there, wrist bent under my chin, looking like a goddamn statue. I¡¯d definitely read about something like that before¡­ somewhere. Mud walls? Mud-brick houses? Wasn¡¯t that a thing? Like, and ancient construction method? I racked my brain, trying to remember where I¡¯d learned that and if I could actually use it. ### GRRRRRRHHH. My stomach groaned. Welp. Thinking burns calories. Good to know. New plan: food first, construction revolution later. I stood up and brushed myself off. Still looked like I¡¯d shit myself. Whatever. Then, in a flash of absolute genius, I thought¡ªwhat if I climbed a tree? These things were massive. If I got to the top, I¡¯d get a better lay of the land and maybe find fruit or something to eat. I¡¯d read a WikiHow on this once. It had pictures. I was basically a pro. All I needed was a tree that wasn¡¯t too wide. ¡­Which turned out to be a problem. Took me a solid five minutes of scouring the area, but I finally found one. I took off my shoes, rubbed my palms together, and nodded to myself. I had a feeling this would work. Oh boy, was I ever wrong. I wrapped my arms around the trunk and jumped, catching myself against the bark with my feet. Or at least, that was the plan. What actually happened was I jumped way too hard, caught myself way too late, and smacked into the tree like a goddamn cartoon character. I wheezed out a tiny, pathetic, ¡°Shit.¡± Guess I wasn¡¯t having kids anytime soon. I was still clinging to the tree for dear life, so at least I had that going for me. Could¡¯ve been worse. ¡­Nope. Spoke too soon. My arms started shaking. Oh boy. Gym membership officially added to the apocalypse survival plan. I tried to hold on¡ªreally, I did. But gravity had other ideas. THUD. Right onto my back. Head smacked a protruding root. Perfect. Just lovely. So climbing trees? Hard no. My ancestors would be rolling in their graves. The thought made me pause. I still hadn¡¯t seen another person since arriving here. ¡­Was I all alone? The idea hit me like a gut punch. Nope. Not thinking about that. I shoved the existential crisis to the back of my mind to focus on more immediate problems. Like my grumbly-ass stomach. Alright. Food. Mushrooms worked last time. Pretty sure I ate the blue ones. So I set out to find them. Turns out mushrooms love this place. Must be the muddy soil, damp air, and the overwhelming smell of decay. Good for them. Bad for me. Because there were no blue ones. Red ones, green ones, white with bright pink polka dots¡ª Why? Guess it was corporate policy. But no matter how many mushrooms I found, there were no blue ones. Welp. Guess it¡¯s time for another round of¡ª This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Spin the Wheel! Lovely. I picked a deep scarlet mushroom that looked almost like a shiny apple. Seemed harmless enough. So, like an absolute idiot, I closed my eyes and bit into it. Instant regret. At first, the taste wasn¡¯t bad. Mild. A little chewy. Then¡ªfire. BURNING. SPICY. My throat ignited. My tongue screamed in protest. Shit shit shit. Water. Where¡¯s the water?! ¡­Oh. Right. Nightmare by the water. Nuh uh. I forced myself to swallow the fiery death fungus. Then, in a desperate bid for survival, I yanked some random leaves off a tree and shoved them into my mouth. ¡­Huh. They actually tasted good. Slightly bitter, with hints of nuts and a smoky aftertaste. And bonus¡ªthey killed the spice. New favourite snack unlocked. I grabbed every leaf within reach, stuffed them into my shirt, and kept chewing as I wandered aimlessly. Still needed a plan. If tree climbing was off the table, then I had to figure something else out. Time to improvise. I picked up a stick. Tossed it. It spun, landed diagonally to my left. That¡¯s how middle management made their decisions. ¡®Which employee gets promoted? Spin the stick!¡¯ ¡®Where¡¯s the budget going? Spin the stick!¡¯ ¡­I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll work just fine for survival. New plan: Follow the magic stick. And keep eating the leaves. Because damn, these things made me feel good. Full of energy. I stuffed more into my mouth. Mmmmm. Not quite beef jerky, but I¡¯d take it. While wandering I mulled over my shelter situation. Didn¡¯t want to go through another lean-to period. That chapter of my life was done. This time, I had actual skills. And then¡ª It hit me. I could make a mud house! Just like in those YouTube videos I used to fall asleep to. That was a great idea. And a thatched roof? Even better. Oh man, today started off horribly, but it kept getting better and better. ¡­Which of course meant something had to go wrong. ### I ran into a problem. Because of course I did. Right in front of me was a giant pit of mud. Not normal muddy-lawn mud. This was an abyss. Massive. Empty. Nothing but sludge as far as the eye could see. No trees. No animals. No life. I squinted at it. A little too perfectly placed. So I pulled out my trust direction-point-inator. Might as well make the most of it while I can. I tossed it into the air. It landed. Pointing directly at the mud pit. Oh no. Absolutely not. Hard pass. I spun the stick again. Still the mud pit. Again. Mud pit. Again. Still. The. Fucking. Mud. Pit. I narrowed my eyes. This was a scam. This was some corporate bullshit. Like those motivational posters they hung up in the office. ¡°Hard work is like a river¡ªcarve your way through the mud!¡± Yeah? Tell that to my 401k. The abyss stared at me. And if you stare into the abyss long enough¡ª It starts to stare back. A deep unease settled over me. Like I was being watched. NOPE. Not dealing with whatever fresh horror lived in there. That¡¯s someone else¡¯s problem. I cut a sharp right turn and booked it the hell out of there. After some time, my hunger faded. The mystery leaves? Oh yeah. They were working overtime. I felt unstoppable. Limitless energy. I needed to find out what kind of tree that was. But first? Escape. That deer/cow/horse hybrid abomination was probably tracking me. So I picked up the pace. I felt amazing. Why not run a little? I picked up into a light jog. Then things started to blur. Uh-oh. Oh no. I knew what was happening. That mushroom was coming back to haunt me. I felt it in my stomach. That deep, tight nausea. Not the kind that makes you throw up. The kind that makes you feel like you need to take a massive, life-changing shit. Except¡ªI had nothing to shit out. Oh god. Something shifted. The trees breathed. The sky pulsed. I blinked¡ªonce, twice. Everything felt too loud. My heartbeat echoed. My skin tingled. ¡­Oh, fuck. Rolled. Landed face-first in the mud. And suddenly? I felt fucking fantastic. Laying on my back, covered in mud, I stared up at the trees. Their canopies stretched infinitely. The branches were alive. The leaves sang to me. Goddamn. I felt like singing back. So I did. It was great. Then, the colours came. Bright pinks. Deep purples. Swirling golds. They danced. Shifted. Formed¡­ A woman. She was gorgeous. Tall, elegant, shimmering. She stood over me, shaking her head. Did I do something wrong? I tried to apologize. ¡°Hngh, grr, urgh, burgh.¡± (Nailed it.) She spoke. Her voice was divine. It went in one ear and out the other. But I didn¡¯t care. She was so pretty. I wanted to sing for her. But I was too shy. Then the colours took her away. And that made me sad. Hours passed. I lay in the mud, staring at the sky, lost in thought. Reflecting. Thinking about my entire life up to this moment. Damn. This trip was hitting harder than my student loan debt. Really, I was kinda glad the truck hit me when it did. I let the thought settle. If the truck hadn¡¯t hit me¡­ ¡­Would I have done it myself? No, I shook my head. Not really. Probably. The worst part? I couldn¡¯t tell if I was joking. That thought sat there, heavy, pressing against my ribs like a vice. But then¡ª I inhaled, the sharp scent of damp earth filling my lungs. This world might suck. And I might be a magic-less loser. But at least¡ª I¡¯m free. And that? That¡¯s just perfect. ### Even more time passed before I finally snapped out of it. Holy shit. That was one hell of a trip. I blinked up at the sky. Still alive? Yeah. Probably. Pretty sure that mushroom wasn¡¯t meant to be eaten. I pushed myself up, groaning as my body protested. Everything felt sore. Drained. Like I¡¯d been hit by another truck. Which, to be fair, was an improvement over how I¡¯d felt a few hours ago. I wiped my face. Wait. Oh god. Did I just break the company sexual harassment policy? I definitely saw a woman in that trip. HR would have a field day with this one. Best not to think about it. Instead I pulled a leaf out of my pocket. Started chewing. Instantly, the energy returned. My limbs stopped screaming. My brain rebooted. Oh. This was dangerous. What the hell had I stumbled across? A miracle drug? A performance enhancer? Some god-tier survival food? Too many questions. No answers. Just a nagging realization. I was still lost. Still homeless. Still hungry. Beautiful. And to top it all off¡ª I lost my stick. My trusty, fate-deciding stick. Gone. Tragic. But I¡¯m a man of solutions. So I spun in a circle, arm outstretched, closed my eyes, and counted to three. One. Two. Three. I opened my eyes. Picked a direction. And started walking. Apparently I got lucky. After about 45 minutes of trudging through mud and despair, the trees started to thin out. The plains. My beautiful, open plains. Finally, I was back home. And then¡ª I heard it. A gurgling whoosh. Fast. Rushing water. A river. That meant water. And rivers meant¡ª Fish. Food. Survival. I grinned. I knew exactly where I was going to build my new base. Right here. Chapter 6: I Fought the River and the River Won So yeah. There I was, A rushing river to my left, open plains to my right, and a dream. A mud hut. Not just any mud hut either, but a cozy little fortress. Walls thick enough to keep the wind out, a grass roof that won¡¯t collapse on me, and maybe even a tiny fireplace if I got ambitious. A real home. ¡­Or, at least, a slightly upgraded dirt hole. How to build one? Not a clue. But I¡¯d figure it out eventually. I popped a leaf into my mouth. The second the leaf hit my tongue; my whole body jolted awake. It was like someone had drop-kicked my brain into overdrive. One second, I was half-dead, sore, and borderline catatonic. The next? I was a god. My heart kicked into second gear. My fingers felt electric. I had the sudden, overwhelming urge to write a 20-page research paper, run a marathon, and solve the mysteries of the universe all at once. I am unstoppable. I am productivity incarnate. I am¡ª Staring at a field of grass, realizing I have no idea where to start. ¡­Oh. ¡­Oh no. ¡­Shit. Stop. Think. What was step one? Aha! Step one was to make some room. I reached down, grabbed a handful of grass, and pulled. ¡­Nothing happened. I pulled harder. The grass did not give a single fuck. You¡¯ve gotta be kidding me. I dug in my heels, braced my back, and yanked like my life depended on it. POP. The grass ripped free all at once¡ªand I immediately launched myself backward onto my ass. Dirt flew up into my mouth, which was both disgusting and oddly fibrous. So yeah. Grass-clearing? Not as easy as it looked. But eventually, and with enough work, I ended up with a decent amount of open space and a huge pile of raw resources. This was good. I could use grass for rope, as kindling, and even as materials for my future hut. I was officially a grass farmer now. Oh well. Small price to pay for a peaceful life. Hours passed as I kept clearing more room. My back ached. My hands were raw. I had somehow managed to get dirt in places I didn¡¯t even know existed. This was actual manual labour. I was not built for this. Until eventually I had a massive space to work with, and an even larger pile of grass. I stood there, hands on my hips, surveying my glorious, barren patch of dirt. ¡°Alright,¡± I said out loud, as if I had a plan. ¡°Phase one: complete. Phase two¡­¡± Silence. ¡­I had no goddamn idea what phase two was. ¡°think, think, think¡­¡± I muttered, trying to summon my inner survival expert. Nothing. Just static. ¡­¡­ ¡­¡­¡­ Then my stomach growled. Right. Food. I¡¯d been ignoring it so far thanks to the magical energy leaf, but the hunger wasn¡¯t going away. What were my options? I rubbed my chin. Hunting? No. That would 100% end in disaster. Maybe I could eat more of the energy leaves? I¡¯d probably survive, but I¡¯d also vibrate into another plane of existence. Mutant ants? Absolutely not. That left fishing. That sounded doable. I stood at the river¡¯s edge, staring at the water like it had personally offended me. ¡°Alright. Time to fish.¡± I took off my pants¡ªstrictly for practicality, not fashion, though I wouldn¡¯t say no to a fresh wash. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. As soon as I stepped in, the cold hit like a tax audit from hell. Every nerve in my body instantly regretted my choices. My brain: Oh we¡¯re dying? Cool, cool, cool. My body: RETREAT! RETREAT! Too late. I was committed. On the bright side, there were fish. Tiny little things, sure, they were only about the size of my hand after all. And if this was the worst the universe could throw at me then this would be easy. Or so I thought. Attempt #1: Stealth Mode. I stood perfectly still in the water, convinced that if I became one with the river, the fish would come to me. Ten minutes in: Nothing. Fifteen minutes in: I was starting to cramp. Thirty minutes in: A fish swam right up to me¡­ then veered away, like it could sense my failure. Unbelievable. Alright alright. Pivot to attempt 2: The Human Bear Trap. I climbed out of the water and leaned over the edge; hands poised like a hungry bear. A fish swam by. This was it. My moment. I lunged¡ª ¡ªAnd slapped the water so hard it looked like a failed karate move. The fish? Completely unharmed. Just chilling. Fuck. Alright. Time for attempt #3: Direct combat. No more kid gloves. Time to fully commit. I launched myself at a fish. I caught it. For half a second. Then it thrashed like a demon-possessed eel. Before I could react, I was airborne. SPLASH. I went down like a corporate drone at a mandatory ¡®fun¡¯ event. I came up spitting sand and cursing the aquatic gods. That was fucking humiliating. There had to be a better way. I lay on my back, staring at the sky, soaking wet and defeated. ¡°Alright. Think, dumbass.¡± I could¡­ make a spear? No, I¡¯d probably stab myself. Maybe build a dam? No, that sounded like work. Then, as I absently twisted some grass in my fingers¡­ it clicked. Wait. Rope. Net. HOLY SHIT. If I made some rope thin enough¡­ wouldn¡¯t that basically just be twine? And if I could tie twine into loops¡­ that¡¯s basically just a net. And a net could catch fish. I was a genius! I sprinted over to my massive grass pile, plopped my ass down, and started experimenting. Problem #1 was that the rope I¡¯d made before was way too thick. The solution? I needed finer fibers. So I grabbed a rock that fit perfectly into my hand. Pretty sure I¡¯d seen this in a survival show once. Started pounding the grass, breaking it down into finer fibers. Started twisting it into rope, the familiar motion coming naturally to me. And after what felt like a thousand years, I had something twine-like. I held up my first attempt. It looked solid as can be. Then I pulled it slightly¡ª Snap. ¡­Back to square one. I tried again. This time the twine wasn¡¯t tight enough and the entire thing unraveled before my eyes. So if I twisted it too tight the fibers weren¡¯t strong enough to hold the tension. And if I didn¡¯t twist it hard enough at all the twine would just unravel on me. Shit. Time for some good old fashion trial and error. I spent the next couple hours experimenting, adjusting the pressure of the twine as I went along. Until eventually I finally had a decent twine sample. And bonus, it actually looked like real-world twine. I sat back in amazement, running my fingers over the strand. It wasn¡¯t very long, but at least now I had a proof of concept. I could do this. I stood up and stretched, reaching my hands out towards the sky¡­ ¡­Bad idea. My back popped like a cheap glow stick. I couldn¡¯t even take a moment to bask in my accomplishment though. Not a second to waste. Next up? The net itself. Turns out, nets are just a bunch of knots. How hard could it really be? Spoiler alert: Extremely Hard. Even just tying together enough of the strands took the better part of an hour, once I¡¯d figured it out. Then actually tying the knots into my long piece? Shocker. It took even longer. But eventually I tied my final knot and lifted up my masterpiece. It looked like a net. Felt like a net. I tossed a rock at it just to be sure. And the rock sailed straight through a hole the size of my entire torso. ¡°¡­Okay. That¡¯s a problem.¡± I painstakingly went through and undid every single knot. My fingers were bleeding, cramping, and I was deeply regretting every life choice I had ever made. But I refused to quit. After redoing the same knot four times and resisting the urge to scream, I finally had something that didn¡¯t look like a disaster. ¡°If this doesn¡¯t work, I¡¯m eating dirt¡­ or ants.¡± But at least it looked like it might actually function as a net. Gently, I walked over to the river, doing everything in my power to not ruin the net before I even got a chance to test it. Once I was standing over the edge I took a deep breath and locked onto a fish. This was it. I hurled the net¡ª SPLASH. ¡­Nothing. The fish wasn¡¯t even close. In fact, it almost felt like it paused to watch me fail. Like, if it had a tiny notebook, it would¡¯ve jotted something down. ¡°Subject: complete dumbass. Can¡¯t throw for shit.¡± It even gave me a little wiggle before swimming off. Was that a taunt? That felt like a taunt. I squinted at the water. ¡°Oh it¡¯s personal now.¡± The fish did another wiggle. ¡­Oh, you son of a bitch. Okay. Adjust aim. Try again. This time, it landed just right. The fish swam straight in, and¡ª YES! GOT IT! I reached for the net and the fish immediately started flopping. Oh no you don¡¯t¡ª It almost slipped right out of the net and through my fingers. I scrambled, lunged, and finally grabbed it like a man possessed. ¡°VICTORY!¡± I shouted, holding it up like a legendary artifact. Then I bonked it with a rock. Time to start a fire. I already knew how to do this with friction, so why try something else? I left the fish in my cleared out patch of dirt and went to fetch some sticks and logs for fuel. Grabbed some grass, shredded it up, and made a little pile. Then, using a straight branch, I started rubbing the pile of grass hoping it would catch fire. 10 minutes. Nothing. 20 minutes. More nothing. Just smoke. I took a deep breath. I will not ragequit survival. Finally, after what felt like a century, the grass ignited. I started feeding it slowly, blowing on it between batches of kindling to keep the fire burning. Eventually I had a solid bonfire going. I skewered my prized fish on a stick and propped it up to roast. The smell of roasting fish filled the air. My stomach growled like an angry god. I pulled the fish off the fire, blowing on it to cool it down. The skin was perfectly crispy, the juices sizzling. I hesitated. What if it tasted awful? What if it made me sick? What if¡ª I looked at my stomach. It growled back. ¡­Screw it. I took a bite¡ª And nearly cried. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was hunger. Maybe it was the fact that for the first time in this godforsaken world, something actually went right. Either way? Best meal of my goddamn life. I leaned back,, letting the fire warm my aching hands. I did that. Me. I wasn¡¯t just surviving anymore. I was thriving. Food? Handled. Fire? Mastered. Next step? Shelter. So yeah. There I was. A rushing river to my left, open plains to my right, and a dream. A mud hut. How to build one? Not a clue. But I¡¯d figure it out eventually. Chapter 7: Failing Forward: How I Lost a Battle to a Rock So yeah. There I was. For the first time since getting unceremoniously dumped into this backwater of reality, I wasn¡¯t hungry. My stomach was full, my throat wasn¡¯t dry, and the constant, gnawing panic of immediate survival had finally eased. And now? I had a whole new problem. An overwhelming, crushing, soul-suffocating amount of work ahead. I still dreamt of a mud hut. A solid roof. Walls that didn¡¯t whisper in the wind. A home, instead of just a patch of dirt I happened to exist on. Did I know how to make one? Absolutely not. But blind confidence and aimless wandering had gotten me this far, so maybe with enough time spent stumbling around like an idiot, inspiration would strike. Off I went, looting the forest like a goblin on a scavenger run. Branches, ferns, rocks¡ªif it looked even mildly useful it went in the pile. After a while, I wasn¡¯t even thinking. Pick up stick. Toss it onto the pile. Repeat. It was pure, mind-numbing drudgery. Not the soul-crushing corporate kind though¡ªthis wasn¡¯t endless emails and meaningless reports. No, this was the ¡®mindless office busywork¡¯ kind. The kind of repetitive task that let you zone out, question your life choices, and ponder whether God made a mistake putting you on Earth. If my old job was ¡®see paper, deny claim, move on,¡¯ then this was ¡®see stick, grab stick, move on.¡¯ Difference was? This time, it actually mattered. By late afternoon, I had amassed a truly impressive hoard of random crap. At some point, my brain just shut off. My body entered full auto-pilot mode. Collect. Stack. Repeat. Time blurred. My shoulders ached from lugging my loot pile around, and my legs burned from crouching and standing a hundred times over. If my body had a complaints department, I was about to get a full inbox. But for the first time in days, survival wasn¡¯t a desperate scramble¡ªit was just¡­ work. Then reality smacked me in the face. I straightened up, stretched my back, and surveyed my little empire of twigs, rocks, and leaves. And it hit me. Was I actually making progress? I had infinite water. I had food, mostly handled. Shelter? Ehhhhh. I looked around. The same pile of grass. The same cleared-out patch of dirt. No real shelter. No real tools. I¡¯d spent the last few days playing survival mode. I needed to start playing long-term. My body was tired, sore, and already planning to riot. But I still had some rope left over from my net-making adventures. Meaning¡­ It was time for tools. A knife, an axe, a shovel¡ªbasic caveman essentials. Surely, I, a modern man with an internet addiction and zero practical skills could figure this out. All I had to do was:
  1. Put rock on stick.
  2. Tie it down.
  3. Glue it together with something sticky.
Easy, right? Oh, so fucking wrong. The first attempt was an instant disaster. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. I swung attempt 4 at the branch, putting my full weight behind it¡ªonly for the axe head to detach mid-swing, sending me stumbling forward as it cartwheeled into the river like a traitor. I stood there, watching my one success sink beneath the surface. I sat down. Stared at the rippling water. This was supposed to be the easy part. I wasn¡¯t trying to split atoms. I just wanted a stick with a rock on it. Why was this so difficult?! I exhaled, rubbing my forehead. It should¡¯ve been just annoying. A minor setback. But instead, something settled in my chest. If I couldn¡¯t even make a basic axe, how the hell was I supposed to build a hut? And if I couldn¡¯t build a hut¡­ Then what the hell was I doing? The cold breeze cut through the trees, raising goosebumps along my arms. It had been background noise before. Now? It felt sharper. Realer. A warning. I wasn¡¯t surviving. I was stalling. Winter. Storms. Hell, even just a bad week. If I didn¡¯t figure this out, I wouldn¡¯t die. But I wouldn¡¯t be living, either. That thought hit harder than expected. I clenched my fists. Fine. Fine. If the universe wanted to be difficult, then two could play that game. I wasn¡¯t about to get outsmarted by a rock. I needed a new plan. I needed glue. I needed mud. I grabbed a stick, dug a little hole in the riverbank, and added water. And shockingly, I made mud. Progress. I scooped up a handful and kneaded it like bread dough, adding more dirt until it felt right. (Whatever ¡°felt right¡± meant. It was mud. I had no clue what I was doing.) But hey, I had a plan. Now, time to make it work. I slapped a generous chunk of my homemade mud-glue onto Axe 3.0, pressing it into the grooves of the stick like some kind of primitive arts and crafts project. It held. ¡­For about two seconds. Then, with a sad little plop, the axe head slid right off and landed in the dirt. I blinked. Do I not even know how dirt works?! I picked up the crumbling, useless mess and glared at it, as if sheer hatred could hold it together. Nope. Still garbage. I sighed and rubbed my forehead. I needed something that would actually hold. That¡¯s when it hit me¡ªa memory from childhood. The only time I¡¯d ever willingly touched mud was as a kid, playing outside. I remembered pressing my hands into the dirt, shaping little mud balls¡­ and then coming back hours later to find them hard as rocks. Didn¡¯t they bake bricks or something? That gave me an idea. I got a fire going (finally, something I was good at) and started experimenting. First up: Ash. Immediate disaster. The mud turned into wet cement, and when I tried to mix it, it coated my hands in thick, sticky sludge. I lifted my fingers, watching gray goop drip off like some eldritch horror. ¡°Congrats, dumbass. You just made worse mud.¡± I flung the useless mess away before it could consume my soul. Next up: Shredded palm leaves. It was closer. Too bad closer wasn¡¯t the same as functional. I grabbed the failed mix, stood up, and hurled it into the woods. Somewhere, a bird screamed in protest. I sat down, frustrated, and stared at the piles of grass scattered around my camp. That¡¯s when it clicked. Grass. Grass had never let me down. I used it for rope. I used it for nets. Why not mud? I grabbed a fresh handful of dirt, threw in a generous helping of dried grass, and kneaded it together with determination. The texture felt different. Stronger. I packed it onto Axe 4.0, smoothing it into place, and carefully set it over the fire to dry. The fire cracked and spit embers as I sat cross-legged, watching my mud experiment like a medieval alchemist. Smoke stung my eyes. My stomach growled. My patience wore thin. If this failed, I was going to start taking it personally. But this time? It held. I grabbed a small branch for the test swing. My fingers curled around the handle, my heartbeat picking up. I refused to get my hopes up. I could already see it in my head: the axe flying off, the stick snapping, some cosmic force ensuring my failure. But if this worked¡ª Took a breath. Swung. THUNK. I blinked. I looked at the stick. A jagged cut, right through the wood. Holy shit. It actually worked. I had a survival tool. Not a great one. But something. And something was infinitely better than nothing. Then I noticed the sun sinking. The cold crept in, sharp and uninvited. The warmth from my fire felt suddenly pitiful, barely enough to push back the creeping chill. Tools were great. But I still had nowhere to sleep. I shivered, remembering how bitterly cold the plains got at night. If I had to go through another freezing night with nothing but hope and a pile of grass, I was going to lose my mind. I quickly tossed some rocks into the fire (primitive heating pads, right?), gathered a sad little pile of grass for a bed, and tried to convince myself I wouldn¡¯t freeze to death. ¡­Probably. Which, really, given my track record, wasn¡¯t the reassurance I was hoping for. But now? I had a tool. I had a plan. And, most importantly? I had a chance. For the first time since getting thrown into this mess, I wasn¡¯t just reacting. I was moving forward. Even if I had no clue what I was doing. But that was tomorrow¡¯s problem. Tonight? My only mission was simple: Don¡¯t freeze to death. Don¡¯t wake up as an animal¡¯s midnight snack. Maybe, just maybe, sleep in peace for once. ¡­Easy, right? Chapter 8: Mud, Sweat, and Tears: My Attempt at Housing So yeah. There I was. Survival tool in hand. Fire crackling, Bugs crawling all over me like I was hosting VIP bottle service for the insect elite. Another night on the plains. Honestly? It should have sucked. Sleeping outside. Getting eaten alive. Rolling over onto a rock at least three times in my sleep. But compared to my first night here? This was luxury. I had food in my stomach. I had a fire keeping me warm. And, for the first time since arriving, I actually had a plan. A plan that didn¡¯t involving panicking, eating random mushrooms, or almost dying. Progress! The sun creeping over the horizon was my alarm clock. No blaring beeps. No commute. No corporate overlords looming over my shoulder, demanding I ¡®circle back¡¯ to the same useless conversation for the third time this week. Just golden light spilling over the grasslands, painting the world in warm red hues. It was almost peaceful. Almost. Five blissful seconds of peace. Then the sun stabbed me directly in the eyes like a divine executioner. ¡°Ugh¡ª¡± I groaned, rolled onto my side, only to¡ª Thunk. Rock. Right to the ribs. I yelped, flailed, and somehow managed to knee myself in the face. A truly inspiring start to the day. I bit my tongue, hissing through my teeth as I rubbed my sore spine. Nature was beautiful. Nature was also a dick. I sat there for a moment, letting my joints creak their way into functionality. Everything ached. The constant labour, the awkward sleeping position, the fact that I still didn¡¯t have an actual bed¡ª all of it was taking its toll. But compared to the corpse-level exhaustion of my first night here? This was manageable. I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and stretched, cracking my neck like an old glowstick. Alright. Today¡¯s main mission: Build a house. Not a dirt hovel. Not a glorified lean-to. My very own fantasy-world dream home. Funny how fast perspectives change. Day one? I¡¯d laughed at the idea of a mud hut. Now? Mud hut was the dream. A palace. A monument to survival. A big fuck you to the HR Goddess and her corporate cronies that had dumped me here with nothing but the clothes on my back. But, uh¡­ first things first. Breakfast. I pulled my makeshift leaf-wrapper from beside the fire and unwrapped my leftover fish from yesterday. The smell hit me immediately¡ªsmoky, slightly charred, but still miles better than eating bugs. It wasn¡¯t as fresh as yesterday, but edible. I took a bite, chewing slowly. A little dry. A little salty. But real food. Hard-earned food. And damn if that didn¡¯t make it taste ten times better. I took another bite, chewing with grim satisfaction. Survival was starting to feel¡­ real. I grabbed an energy-boosting leaf from my stash and popped it into my mouth. Still dangerous. Still probably addictive. Still didn¡¯t care. The moment I started chewing a sharp tingle zapped through my jaw, followed by a rush of clarity. My body still ached. My joints still protested. But my brain? Wide awake. I sighed, shaking my head. Wiped my hands on my pants. Time to work. Today, I build a house. With food in my belly and my brain running normally (thanks to magical energy leaves) I took stock of my precious materials. Basically, caveman Home Depot. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. And just like Home Depot, I had no idea what the hell I was doing. Alright. Step one: Frame. Houses had frames. Right? Wooden beams. Structural support. Things that kept them from collapsing like my will to live. I couldn¡¯t just stack mud and pray for the best. So, I grabbed the tallest sticks from my pile¡ªones that were about my height¡ªand drove the first one into the ground. WHUMP. It fell over immediately. I frowned. Narrowed my eyes. Tried again. Shoved it deeper. Patted the dirt around it. WHUMP. Still fell over. Annoying. I gritted my teeth and grabbed my axe, flipping it around to use the handle as a hammer. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. The stick sank a little deeper. Then¡­ WHUMP. The universe was laughing at me. I was losing a battle against a stick. I ran a hand down my face, inhaled through my nose, and took a longer, harder chew on my magic leaf. Okay. Think. Mud worked for tools. Could it work here? I¡¯d seen construction sites before¡ªreal buildings had concrete foundations. And if concrete was good enough for skyscrapers, then damn it, prehistoric concrete was good enough for me. Maybe if I dug deeper holes, filled them with mud, and then set the sticks, they¡¯d actually stay upright. ¡­Worth a shot. I grabbed my axe and got to work. Chopping. Hacking. Digging. Every swing sent dirt flying. My arms burned. My back ached. Sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging like hell. ¡°Why¡ª¡± THUNK. ¡°Won¡¯t¡ªyou¡ª¡± THUNK. ¡°Cooperate?!¡± THUNK. ¡°Listen, you stubborn piece of crap, I am trying to respect you as a geological entity here.¡± THUNK. ¡°But if you don¡¯t start behaving, I swear to whatever gods are listening, I will personally dig you up, stomp on you, and yeet you into the stratosphere.¡± THUNK. ¡°Yeah? You like that? That¡¯s what I thought.¡± The dirt didn¡¯t respond. Because it was dirt. After what felt like a lifetime in the ninth circle of digging hell, I finally had four uneven, lopsided pits. Zero will to live. But progress is progress. I wiped my forehead, breathing hard. My fingers trembled. Now, for the moment of truth. I grabbed my precious mud¡ªthe upgraded ¡°fancy mud¡± I¡¯d figured out before¡ªand slathered it into the holes. The texture was¡­ questionable. Sticky. Thick. A little too reminiscent of corporate cafeteria mystery meals. ¡­But if it worked, I wasn¡¯t gonna complain. I took the first stick, jammed it in, and pushed down with all my weight. At first? Nothing. Then, slowly, it sank into place. I stared at it. It wasn¡¯t falling. It wasn¡¯t moving. It was standing. HAH. I did the same for the other three. Mud. Stick. Press. Success. Finally. Four vertical beams. The start of an actual structure. I let out a breath I didn¡¯t realize I was holding. Sweat dripped down my spine. My muscles ached. My blisters had blisters. But I grinned like an idiot. It had taken way too much trial and error, but the basic skeleton of my house was finally standing. And yeah, okay¡ª It was lopsided as hell. One of the poles was leaning like it had pre-gamed too hard before a party. But it was mine. I took a slow step back, rubbing the sore spot on my shoulder. It looked like a house. Well. Sort of. Like the world¡¯s most pathetic skeleton of a house. ¡­But it was progress. I swiped at the sweat on my forehead, taking a moment to admire my handiwork. Alright. Time to build the roof. I grabbed some sturdier sticks, cut them to roughly the same length, and tied them into triangles. Boom. Structure. Easy. ¡­At least, in theory. In reality? Absolute fucking disaster. But for the first ten minutes? I was living the dream. I even started whistling¡ªoff-tempo, off-pitch, but who was gonna judge me? The HR Goddess? Screw her. I was happy. Until I wasn¡¯t. I tried tying the first triangle onto my frame. It wobbled. Then twisted. Then collapsed directly onto my head. THUNK. Everything went dark. For a second, I was pretty sure I¡¯d died again. When I woke up, I was flat on my back, staring up at the half-finished skeleton of my disaster hut. Either no time had passed, or I¡¯d been unconscious for a solid ten minutes. Hard to tell. All I knew was my head hurt, and I was now lying in a pile of broken sticks, shattered triangles, and crushed dreams. I groaned, rubbing the sore spot. ¡°¡­Okay. That didn¡¯t work.¡± The air smelled different. Crisp. Damp. Did I have a concussion? Did concussions do that? Maybe I was imagining it. So. Triangles were a no-go. Would squares work? I wasn¡¯t an architect, but hey¡ª Couldn¡¯t be worse than getting smacked in the skull again. I gathered the wreckage of my failed triangles, squinting at the splintered remains like some kind of primitive engineer. Step one: Stack. Step two: ¡­Pray? I lashed the broken pieces together, reinforcing the joints with mud and rope like the world¡¯s most questionable craftsman. It actually looked decent. Solid. Sturdy. Promising. I grinned, feeling that rush of success. Maybe this would work. First square? Up on the frame. Tied down. Second? Easy. Third? No problem. Fourth? Chef¡¯s kiss. I stepped back, hands on my hips, admiring my handiwork. It was looking stable. It was looking¡­ I squinted. I¡¯d done something wrong. I could feel it. But what? The squares had worked. The frame was solid. Everything was¡ª I blinked. Oh. I hadn¡¯t built a roof. I¡¯d just given my house a taller ceiling. Which was great! If I was starting a medieval cathedral. For the local birds. Just, uh¡­ Not what I was going for. ¡°¡­Shit.¡± I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temples. I had just invented fantasy-world vaulted ceilings. A true Renaissance architect. Da Vinci would weep. Now if only I had literally any walls, a functioning roof, or basic human dignity. Alright. Plan C. I grabbed the last of my sturdy sticks and went full caveman mode. No more geometry. No fancy beams, no perfect angles, no bullshit engineering. Just sticks, rope, and prayer. I laid them flat across the top, tying them down with as much force as my aching fingers could manage. Then, I jammed clumps of grass and mud into the gaps, pressing everything tight together like some crappy, organic roofing insulation. Was it ugly? Yes. Was it structurally sound? Absolutely not. Was it better than nothing? ¡­Barely. I stepped back, wiping sweat off my forehead. I had a roof. Sure, it was lopsided as hell. Sure, I had zero confidence it would hold up against a strong breeze. Sure, it was probably a lawsuit waiting to happen. But progress was progress. Mud. My saviour. I stepped back, wiping sweat off my forehead. I was admiring the day¡¯s work when¡­ ¡­A cold gust of wind slapped me across the face. I blinked. The breeze had been gentle all morning. But this? This had bite. I looked up. And immediately regretted it. The sky had changed. The soft, lazy clouds from earlier? Gone. In their place¡ªthick, dark masses rolling in. The wind whistled through the grass, stronger than before. The air smelled¡­wrong. A storm. My half-finished walls. My not-so-waterproof roof. Shit. I¡¯d been building at my own pace. Figuring things out slowly. Now? I had to move. Fast. Because if that storm hit before my hut was finished¡­ ¡­I might not make it through the night. Chapter 9: The Storm Cometh, and So Do My Terrible Life Choices So yeah. There I was. A half-finished hut with a dodgy-ass roof, a stone tool that could barely be called an axe, and the full unrelenting force of nature bearing down on me. So yeah. Just another Tuesday. The air was thick, pressing down on me from all sides. The sky was turning ugly¡ªfast. The wind had picked up, kicking dust into my face. The distant scent of rain clung to me. Hours. Maybe less. That was all the time I had before this storm came down on me like the wrath of God. I looked up. Overhead, the black clouds churned, twisting into like a plug had been pulled in the sky, an infinite vortex of darkness. The whole sky looked like a beast waiting to swallow me whole. My breath caught. The universe, in her infinite wisdom, had decided I wasn¡¯t allowed to have nice things. I needed a plan. Now. I scanned my surroundings, brain firing on all cylinders, desperate for anything¡ªanything that could keep me from getting flattened into a greasy stain on the dirt. Nothing. My mind was just pure, useless static. I could feel my heartbeat¡ªnot just in my chest, but in my fingers, my throat, behind my eyes. Like a war drum, steady and deafening, drowning out all thought. Fight or flight? Ha. More like flight or flight. I had nowhere to go, no safety net, no backup plan. No rescue team to come find my dumb ass if I got swept away. It was me vs. nature. And nature didn¡¯t give a single fuck. I clenched my fists, tried to slow my breathing. Tried to think. But my hands were trembling. My legs felt like they weren¡¯t mine. I was seconds away from freezing up completely. No. Move. I shook my head, slapped my cheeks hard enough to sting, and popped another focus leaf. The shaking started almost immediately, nervous energy racing through my veins like overclocked caffeine. My fingers twitched. My breath came sharp and fast. But my mind? Laser sharp. Finally, some breathing room. Think, brain. Think. What the hell were my options? Finishing the hut? Not a shot in hell. It was barely a structure, just a pile of sticks with commitment issues. Finding a cave? If one existed, I would¡¯ve already found it. No natural cover, no high ground. Nothing but open land begging to get flattened. Resources? None of it screamed ¡°stormproof shelter.¡± None of it screamed a thing except ¡°you¡¯re fucked.¡± Wait¡­ What if¡­ I sprinted to my pile of random bullshit, grabbed as many sturdy branches as I could carry, and hauled them back to my half-assed hut. Hands moving on autopilot, I tied everything together in a frantic mess of rope and desperation. It was ugly. It was weak. It was something. Right? ¡­Right? This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. I barely had time to finish that lie to myself before I felt it. A single, ice-cold drop of rain. Dead. Centre. On my skull. I froze. A live wire sent shocks down my spine, settling somewhere in my gut. I shivered, a chill taking hold¡ªnot from the rain, but from the realization. Time was up. I looked up. The sky was churning faster, the clouds thick as oil. A second drop of rain hit my cheek. Then another. And another. No. No, no, no. I could feel it. The storm was breathing down my neck. There was no way in hell I was trusting my life to this rickety pile of twigs and wishful thinking. This was karmic retribution. I¡¯d been having too easy a time. Everything had been going suspiciously well. And now? Just like middle management at the quarterly meeting, the universe decided it was time to cut costs. I had minutes. Maybe seconds. Think. Options. Okay. I had an axe. Could I use it? I¡¯d already used it to dig holes for the poles¡­ Could I use it to dig a hole for myself? What if I buried myself under a pile of grass, sticks, and rocks? It was dumb. It was desperate. I had no other choice. This was it. The only plan I had. No backup. No second options. So I got to work. Immediately. The axe bit into the dirt, sending chunks of wet soil flying. Each swing ripped open the ground, throwing dust and rocks into my face. Sweat dripped into my eyes. My arms screamed from the effort. But I didn¡¯t stop. Each handful of dirt I scooped out was another few inches between me and whatever the hell was coming. I was running out of time. I could hear the rain now. Not just droplets¡ªgreat sheets of water coming down like millions of tiny bullets raining from the heavens. Dig. Harder. Faster. Everything hurt. My back arched, my arms screamed in pain, and my lungs burned from the short, ragged gasps of air. I wasn¡¯t just digging a hole. I was digging a grave. And if I didn¡¯t finish in time, that¡¯s exactly what it would become. I scrambled out of my future grave, breath ragged, fingers numb from clawing at the dirt. Not deep enough. Not fast enough. My arms burned. My back screamed. No time. I sprinted to my pile of random crap, scanning desperately for anything useful. My eyes locked onto a flat, jagged edged rock. Something good for scraping. Grabbed it. Bolted back. Worked better than the axe. Way better. Dirt and pebbles flew in wild arcs, my hands shoving and scraping, widening the hole by inches. Progress. Finally. Then¡ªthe lightning came. A flash so bright it seared the inside of my eyelids. I flinched. Froze. Started counting. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four Mississippi. Five Mississippi. Then¡ªBOOM. The sky ripped open. The sound wasn¡¯t just noise¡ªit was force. A hammer strike against my chest. I stumbled. Nearly fell into the hole. A mile away. Assuming that trick still worked. I didn¡¯t have time to wonder if ¡®one mile per five seconds¡¯ was an actual law of physics of just childhood folklore. All that mattered was the next flash could be closer. And the one after that? On top of me. Move faster. I dug. And dug. And dug. My fingers bled. My shoulders screamed. My lungs burned. The rock was slipper with sweat and dirt, cutting into my palm. I switched hands. Didn¡¯t help. Not deep enough. Keep going. If I wasn¡¯t actively having a nervous breakdown, I might¡¯ve been proud of this hole. Every guy loves digging holes, right? But this wasn¡¯t the beach. This wasn¡¯t fun. This was a race against time, and I was losing. The wind picked up, slicing through the gaps in my shit-tier walls. It shrieked, high and thin. Unnatural. Like a whispering voice just out of earshot. Like something was coming. And then, I felt it. A feeling that had nothing to do with logic or reason. A premonition. This was it. I was going to die. Again. I didn¡¯t stop digging. I couldn¡¯t. Not yet. Not yet. Shoveled dirt like a madman. Threw aside rocks, fingers raw and shaking. The hole was barely big enough. Not deep enough. But it would have to do. I bolted to my pile of sticks, and rocks, and grass. The wind howled, flinging debris into my face, biting against my skin. I grabbed everything I could carry, stuffed it into my net, and nearly tripped as I spun back toward my box. Heart slamming. Lungs screaming. No time. Then¡ªlightning. A world-ending flash. For a split second, everything was white. And then¡ªBOOM. Not thunder. Not sound. A physical force. It slammed into me like a tsunami. The ground shook, the air itself vibrated, my bones felt like they¡¯d crack apart. The world lurched. The dirt beneath me trembled. Somewhere in the distance, a tree split clean down the middle. The smell of burning ozone filled my nose. I dove into the hole, drug my net of debris over me, and made myself as small as possible. My face was pressed into the dirt. Another flash. Another explosion. The ground groaned, deep and unnatural, like something ancient was waking up beneath the earth. This was it. I knew I was going to die. Another flash. Another boom. The pressure was deafening. My skull felt like it was about to cave in. Then¡ªsomething popped inside of me. Not a bone. Not a muscle. Something else. Like a leaf caught in the storm, I shook. The sound of thunder ringing in my ears. And then¡ª The thunderclap was black. Chapter 10: Buried, Beaten, But Not Broken So yeah. There I was. My ears were ringing. My hands were shaking. And my world was darkness, dirt, and pain. Really, just a wonderful way to weather a storm. The weight of my makeshift barrier pressed down on my back, digging into my skin like an impatient grave. I stayed as still as possible, doing everything I could to calm my breathing. Inhale. Exhale. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Don¡¯t hyperventilate. Don¡¯t panic. Outside, the storm raged. I could feel the tremors in the ground, each one a deep, guttural growl that sent vibrations up my spine. This wasn¡¯t just wind and rain. This was fury. A storm with intent. Back on Earth, I¡¯d lived through bad weather before. Thunderstorms. Blizzards. The occasional hurricane warning that everyone ignored. This? This was something else entirely. The air felt charged, electric, unnatural. Like the sky wasn¡¯t just tearing itself apart¡ªit was watching. This wasn¡¯t just a storm. It was a vengeful prophet. A message sent straight from the universe itself. "YOU SHALL NOT SURVIVE." Oh, wonderful. Fantastic. Friggin¡¯ brilliant. And here I was, a complete dumbass in a glorified hole in the dirt, trying to convince myself this was a valid survival strategy. I clenched my jaw, biting down against the raw frustration bubbling up inside me. I should have started making a real shelter days ago. From the moment I found water, from the moment I realized this world wasn¡¯t going to hand me a safety net. Instead, I took my time. I told myself I¡¯d figure it out eventually. And now? "Eventually" had run out. I was hanging by a thread, and I knew it. I¡¯d known it this whole time. Yet, despite knowing better, I still took things at my own pace. And now, trapped in a hole, feeling the weight of a world that wanted me dead, I did the only thing left to do. I thought. I thought about everything that brought me here. And that brought me back to my final days on Earth. ### It was just another Tuesday. HR had called an all-hands mandatory meeting. That was never a good sign. My inbox was already on fire, my actual work was stacking up, and now I had to drop everything to play corporate trust falls with people I barely tolerated? Fantastic. I sighed quietly, pushed back from my desk, and joined the slow, zombie-like procession toward the bullpen. At least I was getting paid for this. Small victories. The HR rep¡ªa woman with the dead-eyed enthusiasm of someone who had clearly sold her soul for dental benefits¡ªstood at the front, waiting for everyone to gather. She clapped her hands together. ¡°Alright everyone! Thanks for coming down! Before we begin, we just want to note that this will count as your break for the day.¡± A low grumble rippled through the crowd. She ignored it. ¡°But!¡± she continued, with a bright, forced smile, ¡°Since we know that means you won¡¯t have time to grab lunch, we bought pizza!¡± I narrowed my eyes. This had to be illegal, right? But who the hell was I going to report this to? HR? HR was the villain. No escape. No survivors. Only pizza. I made my way over to the sad little pizza table. It was cheap garbage from the hole-in-the-wall place down the street¡ªthe kind of pizza that looked greasy but somehow still tasted dry. The cheese? Fake. The pepperoni? Sparse. The crust? A crime. Truly, the bare minimum. Ah yes, nothing says ¡°we appreciate our employees¡± like spending ten dollars to feed thirty people. I grabbed a slice, slapped it on a plate, and stalked back to the main crowd. HR clapped again. ¡°Today, we have a very special event for you guys! We¡¯re doing team-building!¡± The room let out a collective groan. Like clockwork. HR just laughed. ¡°Now, now! I know everyone hates these things, but I promise it¡¯s going to be a great time!¡± Debatable. ¡°In the spirit of inter-department cooperation, we¡¯ve split you into groups with people you¡¯d normally never talk to! So try to be nice, m¡¯kay?¡± Inter-department cooperation? What a load of bullshit. Nobody in this room wanted to cooperate with anyone. And HR knew it. A whiteboard clattered onto an easel. ¡°So!¡± The HR rep beamed, flipping it around. ¡°Everyone, please find your name on the list, and gather into your groups!¡± The list. There¡¯s always another goddamn list. I exhaled sharply through my nose. Just another day in the office. Beautiful. I scanned for my name. Bottom of the list. Lucky number 13. As we broke into groups, an HR lackey came around and dumped a pile of useless shit on our table. Spaghetti sticks, marshmallows, and rubber bands. Ah. Of course. It was one of those. HR beamed. ¡°Today¡¯s task is simple! Build the tallest, free-standing structure you can using only these materials!¡± I blinked. We blinked. Everyone in my group looked at each other in disbelief. I raised a hand. ¡°...How exactly does this help us with our jobs?¡± HR just laughed like I¡¯d told a joke. No answer. I pinched the bridge of my nose. Of course. I was now in a life-or-death survival situation, and what had HR trained me for? A goddamn pasta sculpture. Outstanding. Back in the present¡ªburied under dirt, hiding from the storm¡ªI exhaled sharply. I used to hate those meetings. I used to dread those meetings. Now? I missed them. Not because they were good, but because they were predictable. Safe. Back then, I had a job, a paycheck, an apartment. Back then, I had electricity, running water, and a roof over my head. Now? I had none of those things. What I wouldn¡¯t give to sit through another bullshit team-building exercise right now. I clutched the net of debris over me tighter, feeling the weight of the storm pressing in from all sides. My fingers were trembling. I took a deep breath. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Inhale. Exhale. Survive. I could do this. I had to do this. No matter what I heard outside, no matter what happened in the storm, I just needed to stay in my hole and under my shit. I clenched my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut. The wind screamed overhead. The ground shuddered beneath me. My fingers dug into the dirt like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. And then¡ªwithout even thinking¡ªI started praying. I¡¯d never been a religious man. Never believed in fate. Never trusted in gods. But when you die and actually meet a goddess? Yeah. That does things to your head. Not that I felt good about it. Not that I thought she¡¯d help. But what else could I do? I exhaled through gritted teeth. The ground trembled again. I swallowed down my fear and forced my thoughts somewhere else. Warm. Safe. Silent. I sat curled up in my shitty bachelor apartment, the blue glow of my laptop screen flickering in the dark. The smell of cheap instant noodles filled the air, barely masking the faint scent of stale coffee and exhaustion. Outside, the city moved on without me. I used to have a house. I used to have a fianc¨¦e. I used to have a life. Now? I had a half-empty ramen cup, a ten-hour workday ahead, and a creeping realization that I would never, ever escape. Ding. My phone lit up. An email from work. "URGENT: New Project. All Hands on Deck. Mandatory Overtime Effective Immediately." I stared at the message. ¡­That was it. No explanation. No context. Just a decree from the higher-ups, telling us all to brace for another round of soul-sucking, unpaid overtime. I let out a slow, empty laugh. "Family," huh? That¡¯s what they called it in the last email. "We know these times are difficult but remember, we''re all family here. We''re in this together." Bullshit. Family doesn¡¯t watch you sink. Family doesn¡¯t throw you overboard to save their own asses. The worst part? I had no choice but to accept it. I needed the hours. I needed the money. I needed to keep drowning, because the only other option was sinking. I picked up my chopsticks, twirling the limp noodles around mindlessly. My stomach churned¡ªnot from hunger, but from something heavier. I had worked here for eight years. Eight years. And all it took was one bad quarter for them to throw everyone under the bus. First, they laid off twenty people. Then another fifty. Then a hundred. And we all knew who was next. Just last week, Mark¡ªthe guy from accounting, the one who always cracked stupid jokes, the one who bought me coffee every Monday because I "always looked dead"¡ª Gone. No warning. No severance. No goodbyes. Just¡­ gone. And now? It was only a matter of time before I was next. I stared at my screen. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I wanted to say something. I wanted to reply. I wanted to tell them to go fuck themselves. But instead¡­ I closed the email. I picked up my chopsticks. I slurped down my noodles. And I got ready for work. Because that¡¯s what good employees did. Because this was my life now. I flinched as thunder split the sky in half. The storm howled. The dirt shook. The air itself felt heavy, like the whole world was pressing down on me. And suddenly, that memory felt like a joke. I thought I had it bad then? I had four walls. A roof. Running water. Food. I had something. Now? Now, I had a hole in the dirt and a storm trying to kill me. I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Guess I should¡¯ve quit while I had the chance." The wind screamed overhead. The cold crept in. I clenched my fists. I wasn¡¯t dying here. Not like this. Not again. This time, the memory came unbidden. It was 6:30 AM. The world outside was still waking up, the sky caught between the last traces of night and the dull glow of a city morning. I sat alone in a half-empty caf¨¦, the hum of quiet conversation and the occasional clatter of dishes filling the space around me. My coffee sat in front of me, untouched. Steam curled from the surface¡ªthen faded. Just like everything else. I should¡¯ve been at work already. But instead, I was here. Waiting. I checked my watch. 6:45. And then¡ªthe door chimed. She walked in like nothing had changed. Like we weren¡¯t different people than we were before. Like we hadn¡¯t unraveled. She spotted me instantly. Slid into the booth across from me. Placed her bag neatly on the seat beside her. And for a moment¡ªjust a moment¡ªI almost convinced myself that this was normal. That this was just another morning. Then she spoke. "You haven''t called." I exhaled. Stared at my coffee. Didn¡¯t answer. Because what the hell was I supposed to say? Sorry, I¡¯ve been drowning in work? Sorry, I can barely keep myself together? Sorry, I don¡¯t want to hear you tell me you¡¯re worried about me, because if you do, I might actually fall apart? I shook my head. Didn¡¯t want to speak. Didn¡¯t want to be here. But if I stayed silent, nothing would change. Nothing could change. So I forced the words out. "I didn''t want to talk..." My voice was hoarse, like I hadn¡¯t used it in days. Maybe I hadn¡¯t. "Things have been... rough." I finally looked up. And I hated what I saw. Pity. It was written all over her face. That quiet, soft-eyed sympathy like I was some stray dog she didn¡¯t know how to help. I clenched my jaw. Don¡¯t do that. Don¡¯t look at me like that. I wanted to be angry. But mostly? I just felt tired. She sighed. Leaned forward. Rested her arms on the table. "You know I¡¯m just trying to help, right?" Her voice was gentle. Too gentle. "I just want to make sure you''re okay." I nodded. Of course, she was. She was good. Always had been. She was the one who tried. The one who reached out. The one who wanted to fix things. And I? I was the mess. The sinking ship. The person who didn¡¯t have the time, because time was just another thing I¡¯d given away. So I did what I always did. I smiled. A hollow, plastic, bullshit kind of smile. "I know. Everything''s fine." She didn¡¯t look convinced. Didn¡¯t matter. "Things are just busy at work, that¡¯s all." I took a sip of my coffee. It was already cold. "I¡¯ll call when I have some time." Lies. All of it. And she knew it. Her fingers curled slightly against the table, her lips parting¡ªlike she wanted to say something, but couldn¡¯t find the words. Then, after a long pause, she tilted her head. "You don''t have to lie to me." My grip tightened around the cup. I forced out a chuckle. "I''m not lying." She exhaled. Shook her head. "Yeah, you are." I stared at her. For a moment, neither of us spoke. And then she sighed. She looked down at her hands. Fiddled with the edge of a napkin. Then, softly¡ªlike she already knew the answer¡ª she asked: "Are you happy?" That stopped me cold. Are you happy? What kind of question was that? Happiness was a luxury. A thing people talked about when they weren¡¯t scrambling to survive. My first instinct was to brush it off. To say something light. But I couldn¡¯t. Not with her looking at me like that. So I just stared at my coffee. Waited too long to answer. She took that silence for what it was. And nodded. "I thought so." She wasn¡¯t mad. Wasn¡¯t disappointed. Just¡­ resigned. Like she¡¯d known this was how it would end. She reached for her bag. Started to stand. "I should go." Panic flared in my chest. Stupid, useless panic. I should say something. Should stop her. Should tell her¡­ what? That I¡¯d try? That I¡¯d fix it? That I¡¯d call? ¡­But I wouldn¡¯t. We both knew that. So I just nodded. And let her go. Thunder roared across the sky, shaking the very air around me. A deafening, primal sound¡ªraw power ripping through the heavens. I flinched. Squeezed my eyes shut. Felt the hot streaks of tears on my cheeks. ¡­Shit. I hadn¡¯t even realized I was crying. I wiped at my face, but the rain was faster, washing the tears away before I could. Not that it mattered. I didn¡¯t want to remember that. That was supposed to stay buried. Locked away. But the storm didn¡¯t care. It had ripped through my shelter, my plans¡ªand now, it had ripped through me. The wind howled outside, but¡­ was it me, or did it sound weaker than before? I strained my ears, heart still hammering in my chest. The rain, still relentless, pounded the earth in heavy sheets. But¡­ was it softer than before? Was the ground still trembling beneath me, or was that just the aftershocks in my bones? I waited. Minutes passed. Maybe more. Time stretched, warped. Patience. That was the real test now. Had the storm finally moved on? Or was this just the eye¡ªa cruel moment of peace before the final onslaught? I clenched my jaw, straining my ears. Listened. The wind howled, sharp and biting. The rain pounded, heavy and relentless. But then¡ªjust for a second¡ª A break. A single breath of silence. The storm exhaled. And suddenly, for the first time all night¡ª I could hear my own heartbeat. My breath hitched. Was it over? No. Couldn¡¯t be. I waited longer. And then? I exhaled. Enough. Whether the storm was over or not, I had to see. I shifted, adjusting my weight, the damp earth sticking to my skin as I pushed up onto my elbows. I grabbed the net of supplies. Lifted it. ¡­Lighter than before. Why? My stomach twisted. I pushed up onto my knees, my body stiff, aching. The cold had settled deep into my muscles, making me feel older than I was. I took a breath. Then, with one final push, I emerged from my grave. And froze. The world outside was¡­ Gone. My shelter? Destroyed. The half-built frame I¡¯d agonized over, the tied sticks, the makeshift walls¡ªobliterated. There was nothing left except scattered remains. Shattered sticks. Torn rope. Flattened debris. Just¡­ nothing. Like an RPG where you forgot to save. Like the universe itself had hit reset. The cold realization settled in. Everything I worked for? Wiped away in a single night. My fists clenched. A bitter laugh scraped its way up my throat. Because of course. Of course this happened. The moment I actually started building something¡ª The universe decided it didn¡¯t like that. It didn¡¯t want me comfortable. It didn¡¯t want me thriving. It wanted me to suffer. I felt my jaw tighten, teeth grinding. This was cruel. This was unfair. This was¡ª Something caught my eye. A flash of stone. Small. Unassuming. I took a step forward. Then another. And there, half-buried in the mud, was my shitty little caveman axe. Nothing more than a rock on a stick, held together by grass and desperation. But it was there. Somehow, it survived. A shaky breath left me. And then? A spark. Small. But real. Hope. The universe tried to erase me. Tried to knock me down. And yet? I wasn¡¯t back at zero. I still had something. Not just an axe. Not just a rock. I had skills. I had knowledge. And most importantly? I had survived. That meant I could do it again. I turned, eyes sweeping over the ruined land. Before, I had been fumbling in the dark. Guessing. Stumbling. Learning. But now? Now I knew better. This time? I was going to do it right.