The morning sun filtered through the trees as Neil ran, his feet pounding the earth with a rhythm far stronger and faster than he'd ever known before. Each step felt effortless, his core working in harmony with his body. The wind rushed past his ears, and the trees became a blur of green and brown.
He had sensed something the day before—a strange ripple in the air, an energy fluctuation unlike any he had felt since arriving in this world. Even now, hours later, he could still feel its faint echo, like a low hum guiding his path. He didn't know what it was, but something inside him refused to let it go.
He needed to know.
And so, he ran.
But as the sun climbed higher and the morning turned to afternoon, doubt began to creep in. He had traveled for half a day, and still, he found nothing. No signs of life, no sudden surge of power. Just endless trees and the distant shimmer of the green dome on the horizon.
"Was it all in my head?" he wondered.
No.
He clenched his fists. He couldn't afford to doubt himself now.
Then, without warning, a brilliant flash lit the distant treetops—a white explosion of light that briefly swallowed the sky. Neil skidded to a stop, blinking.
"What the hell was that?"
A moment of stillness.
Then it hit.
A violent shockwave slammed into him like a sledgehammer. The air screamed around him as he was flung backward, his body twisting through the air. Pain bloomed instantly as he smashed through a tree, the trunk snapping like a toothpick. His back slammed into the ground, bouncing before he finally skidded to a stop against a jagged outcrop of stone.
The world spun.
He coughed—blood sprayed from his lips. His ribs screamed in protest. His entire body throbbed with agony. His clothes were torn, bloodied, shredded from the force of the impact. Small cuts lined his arms and legs. His breath came in short, sharp gasps.
"How... am I still alive?" he muttered, dazed.
Pain. Everywhere. Chest. Face. Arms. Legs. But nothing felt broken. Not entirely.
It didn't make sense.
He should be dead. That blast should have killed him. But instead, he was still here. Battered, bloodied—but breathing.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the canopy above. The sky swirled in his vision. And then, darkness.
He dreamed.
His mother's voice was the first thing he heard.
"Neil, help me with the laundry, will you?"
He turned and saw her smile. Warm. Tired. Always tired.
Then Emma and Anna, chasing each other through the kitchen. Laughing. Carefree. Innocent.
He wanted to cry.
The dream shifted.
He was in the hospital room.
The walls were white. The air smelled like disinfectant. Machines beeped in the background. His father lay in the bed, thin and pale, tubes running from his arms.
Neil stood by his side, only eleven years old.
"Neil," his father said, his voice raspy. "You have to be strong now. You're the man of the house."
Neil tried to be brave. But tears streamed down his face.
"I promise," he said. "I'll take care of them. I swear."
His father smiled.
Then the monitor flatlined.
Neil woke with a start, his entire body flaring with pain. He gasped, clutching his chest. The sky above was tinged with orange—sunset. He must have been unconscious for hours.
The dream still clung to him, heavy and raw. His throat tightened.
He sat up slowly, groaning. Every movement hurt. His ribs felt bruised. His head throbbed. Cuts along his arms and legs stung with every breath.
But he was alive.
Barely.
His shirt was torn, his pants ripped at the knees. Blood dried in streaks across his skin. But nothing vital had been hit.
He looked around. The trees behind him had been flattened by the blast. Splintered wood and broken trunks marked the path of destruction.
He turned his gaze toward the direction of the explosion.
What he saw made him freeze.
Far off in the distance—too far to see clearly—were two flickering red dots. Not lights. Not flames. More like... presences. They pulsed and twisted like embers caught in a storm, clashing against one another. He couldn't see them directly, but he could feel them, like the pressure before a thunderstorm.
Then, they vanished.
Just like that.
Gone.
Neil stared at the horizon, heart pounding.
What were those things? Monsters? Beasts? People?
It didn't matter. Whatever they were, they were strong. Inhumanly strong. And they were in the direction he was heading.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to move. Each step was agony, but he made it to a patch of soft earth and collapsed again. He had no strength to keep going.
He needed time.
He gathered what little wood he could and lit a small fire with his fingertip, wincing as the heat flared. He chewed on leftover cooked meat, swallowing slowly. His hunger was dulled by pain, but he knew he needed to eat.
As the fire crackled beside him, he stared into the flames, the dream replaying in his head.
His father.
His mother.
Emma. Anna.
Were they safe? Were they even alive?
"I promised," he whispered.
His eyes stung, but no tears came. He had cried all he could the day his father died. Since then, he had kept it all in.
He was alone. In a world that made no sense.
But he couldn't afford to break down. He had to endure. If there was even the slightest chance his family had been brought to this world too, he had to find them. He had to know.
No more aimless wandering. No more stalling.
That energy he had sensed. That clash in the distance. It was tied to something powerful. And if there were answers to be found in this world, they would be found near power like that.
He would go toward the storm.
But not today.
He needed to heal. To gather strength. He gave himself one day. Just one.
He wrapped his wounds with torn cloth, reinforced his ribs with a makeshift brace of bark and twine, and rested.
As the sun climbed higher above the cliffs, Neil sat beside the fire, his clothes drying on a nearby rock. The waterfall roared in the background, masking the quiet sounds of the forest around him. He sipped water from his cupped hands, then leaned back and sighed.
"This won't work forever," he muttered.
He had no way to store water—nothing to carry with him. Until now, he'd been lucky to find ponds or streams often enough to avoid thinking about it. But if he was heading deeper toward the dome, he couldn't rely on luck.
His eyes fell to the hide he had peeled from a wild hog days earlier. It had dried in the sun, stiff and a little greasy, but mostly intact. The idea sparked instantly. He had watched a survival documentary with his father years ago, about indigenous peoples crafting containers from rawhide and animal bladders. He'd only half paid attention then. Now, the memory returned with vivid clarity.
He set to work.
First, he soaked the hide in water to soften it. While it soaked, he heated a flat stone in the fire. Once pliable, he scraped the inner side clean with the edge of his broken sword, removing any lingering fat or flesh. Then he folded the hide into a pouch shape, overlapping the edges.
He searched for something to seal the seams. A nearby pine-like tree bled thick, sticky resin. Perfect.
With care, he pressed the resin into the seams and wrapped the joints tightly with strips of sinew he'd kept from the wolf carcass. He heated a second stone, pressing it carefully to the wrapped points—not enough to scorch, just enough to shrink the sinew tight as it dried.
It took hours, and it wasn't pretty. But when he poured water in to test it, it held.
A crooked smile touched his lips.
"Better than I thought."
He added a crude cork made from a knot of dried cloth and a short stick, wedged into the top. Then, using more sinew, he fashioned a rough strap to sling it over his shoulder.
It wasn't elegant. It reeked faintly of beast.
But it was his.
He stared at it for a moment, the success settling in. His father would've been proud. Maybe even a little surprised.
Neil tucked it to the side and stood, stretching his shoulders.
One more step forward.
By the next morning, he felt better. His regeneration was accelerating. Not perfect, but enough.
He stood at the edge of the blast zone and looked once more toward the direction of the vanished lights.
He felt fear.
But more than that, he felt purpose.
And he walked.
Toward the unknown.