Travis wanted to leave, but first, he ventured into the forest to gather food for the journey ahead. He had no idea how far the nearest town was—100 kilometers or more, for all he knew. If he wanted to survive, he needed rations. Moving with cautious determination, he approached the river, its gentle current reflecting the filtered sunlight through the trees.
He fashioned a crude spear from a sharp stick and spent an hour catching fish, their silvery bodies flopping in protest as he hauled them to the shore. Next, he gathered a bundle of dry wood, tying it with vines to make it easier to carry, just in case he needed a fire.
He wasn’t a survival expert, far from it. But he’d watched enough Bear Grylls episodes to have a basic grasp of what might keep him alive—though he fervently prayed he wouldn’t have to drink his own urine anytime soon.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, slinging the bundle over his shoulder. "Time to go."
Walking through the dense forest, Travis relied on his heightened awareness of his surroundings. It was like he had a built-in radar; every rustling leaf and snapping twig painted a vivid picture of his immediate area.
He moved swiftly and efficiently, avoiding roots and low-hanging branches. After what felt like an eternity but was merely an hour, he noticed light filtering through the trees ahead. An opening.
His pace quickened. Heart pounding, he burst out of the forest and skidded to a stop, his breath caught in his chest. The sight before him was nothing short of breathtaking. Rolling meadows stretched far and wide, their vibrant green grass dotted with wildflowers swaying in the breeze. Towering mountains loomed in the distance, their snow-capped peaks piercing a pristine blue sky adorned with scattered white clouds.
Travis stood there, momentarily overwhelmed by the beauty. The fresh, earthy scent of the grass and the subtle floral aroma filled his lungs as he took a deep, calming breath. The moment felt surreal, like stepping into a painting.
"Alright," he said, steeling himself with a determined smile. "Time to find a town and figure out what this world is all about."
With renewed energy, he adjusted the makeshift pack on his shoulder and stepped forward, letting the vast unknown pull him onward.
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Travis walked tirelessly for hours, his legs aching with every step as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep hues of orange and purple. When darkness finally fell, he found a patch of soft grass and collapsed onto it, gazing at the stars beginning to scatter across the sky. The cool night air carried the faint chirping of crickets, and within moments, his exhaustion overtook him. He drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Unbeknownst to him, the rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed in the distance as a carriage, its lanterns glowing faintly, approached. The driver reined in the horse when the figure on the ground caught his eye. Moments later, the door to the carriage creaked open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man in fine, dark attire stepped out. His piercing eyes scanned Travis's unconscious form with a cold sneer.
“A runaway slave,” he muttered to himself. His voice was sharp, dripping with disdain. “You thought you’d be free? Think again.”
With a dismissive wave of his hand, he barked orders to the attendants who had accompanied him. “Take him. Put him in the back.”
Two men moved swiftly, their boots crunching against the grass. They lifted Travis’s limp body and carried him to the rear of the carriage. The iron cage within creaked ominously as they shoved him inside and locked the door. The carriage rattled as they resumed their journey, leaving the quiet meadow behind.
---
Hours later, Travis stirred. His body ached, and his head throbbed faintly. Groaning, he blinked his eyes open, squinting at the dim, unfamiliar surroundings. The cold, damp air smelled of rust and decay. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, hoping to clear the haze. But the sight in front of him remained unchanged—thick iron bars loomed, separating him from the rest of the room.
“What the...?” he muttered, his voice echoing faintly in the chamber. He scrambled to his feet, gripping the bars as dread began to sink in. This wasn’t a dream. The cold metal beneath his hands, the distant sounds of chains clinking—it was all real.
“Where am I?” he whispered, his voice trembling. Panic flared in his chest as he glanced around, trying to piece together how he had ended up in this dark, oppressive place.
"Calm down, kid."
The sudden voice startled Travis, and he spun around, pressing his back against the iron bars. In the dim light, he saw the silhouette of a man standing in the middle of the chamber, his posture relaxed but his presence intimidating.
“You’re in a slave prison, if you’re wondering,” the man said, stepping forward into the faint light.
As he drew closer, Travis could make out the features of an older man, his face weathered with age but his sharp eyes gleaming with vitality. The moment the man moved closer, a wave of raw energy rolled over Travis, making his chest tighten. He staggered back, feeling like he’d been struck by an invisible force.
“Oh, you’ve already unlocked Mana Sense. Impressive,” the man said, raising a brow as if genuinely intrigued. “You must be strong, then. Well, that’s good news. Maybe you’ve got a chance of surviving this place.”
“Who… who are you?” Travis managed to ask, his voice shaking. He clung to the bars for support, overwhelmed by the oppressive energy radiating from the man. It was suffocating, like a storm pressing down on his entire body.
The old man’s expression softened, and he sighed. “Ah, sorry, kid.” With a small gesture, the oppressive energy vanished, allowing Travis to catch his breath. The sudden relief was almost dizzying.
“Better?” the man asked, crossing his arms. “Now then, what’s a half-naked kid like you doing here? You don’t exactly look like the usual type.”
“I won’t say anything until you tell me where I am,” Travis replied, straightening up and trying to regain some composure.
The man let out another sigh, shaking his head. “Fair enough. You’re in a slave prison, as I said. Specifically, one located beneath a coliseum where they force people like us to fight to the death for entertainment.” He paused and added,
“Name’s Xavier, by the way. What’s yours?”
TO BE CONTINUED