Oliver did a double take. “WHATSAT?”

The ground cracked, revealing a skeletal hand, then an arm. The poncho-wearing girl shouted. “You will perish for your insults!” She sneered. “Fear us! Be sorry yo-”

In a pure state of reflex, Oliver took a preparatory step toward the emerging horror, then kicked the unnatural phenomenon’s head clean off its body. Like a soccer ball, the skull bounced off a nearby tree.

The three junior wizards gaped at Oliver.

“Oh. Sorry, scared the shit outta me. If it’s any consolation, that was definitely impressive… What was it?”

The diabolical leader collapsed to his knees, seemingly pilfered of energy, then fell forwards, unconscious. Rather than catch him, Oliver sidestepped the man since he was filthy. “Um, you good? Was it that expensive?”

The rest of the group stood around for a second, a bit lost.

Poncho girl spoke in a small voice, "Isn’t it bad manners to interrupt a spell?”

The green robed youth complained. “Tch, his mana just spilled out. We should have raided a graveyard.”

Disappointed, the black robed youth sighed, "It would have been a simpler working if we’d had bodies prepared…”

What are these guys on about? His experience on the plane… this strange forest… the sky… It was a silly thought, but…

“Say… this is Earth, right?“ Oliver pointed down.

They all looked at Oliver like he was an idiot. I’m not the one saying things like ‘circle of desecration and shadow’!

The green robed one, seeing his offended expression, mocked. “Is your head injured?” He bent to scoop some soil with his hand, before holding it out in front of him and spilling it. “Yes, this is earth.”

“No, like, the planet.”

The black robed one cut in, “The.. what?”

“Um…” they must be joking, but- what if they aren’t… A different… That can’t be right, it’s surely a misunderstanding… I’ll ask a more straightforward question. “Where are we?”

Black-robe replied somewhat amusedly. “The Lamenting Woods.” He waited for Oliver to react, but Oliver didn’t, so with raised eyebrows- “The Lamenting Woods, Western frontier of the Empire.”

During the exchange, the green one blinked, looked down at the fallen leader, thought for a second, and started slipping something out of a sleeve.

Oliver spluttered, “‘Empire’?”

“That's enough talking.” Green-robe declared before Oliver could get a satisfactory answer. He nodded at the other two, and the three of them started sizing Oliver up.

Surrounded on all sides, alarm bells tolled as the one in green produced a carving knife and the one in black wielded his wand. It was clear to Oliver that this was not some dress up game anymore– it never had been, but it was dawning on Oliver that there weren’t exactly police around. Green-robe looked manic.

In this predicament, though it wasn't very chivalrous, there was a noticeable weak link in the formation. Oliver had no reservations for chivalry, so he bulldozed the ill-prepared poncho-girl. He stumbled as she hit the ground and started wheezing, winded. It was well timed– green-robe had launched into the space he’d been just a second before, knife first.

A glob of dark light whistled past his face, hitting one of the nearby plants. Oliver watched as the organism lost the rest of its colour and disintegrated. Let’s avoid that. He ducked into the surrounding trees, limiting the green hoodlum’s ability to swing as erratically.

The spellcaster in black robes struggled for an angle, especially with his companion doggedly on Oliver’s tail. He tsked. “Hey idiot! I can’t hit him if you keep getting in the way!”

The one trying to stab Oliver just grunted, scoring a slice on his backpack.

An orb hit Oliver's left leg, it went numb. Catching the next tree root, he tumbled to the ground with momentum, ending half sat-up in the nook of a tree - facing his assailants.

Catching up, "Got you now, idiot.” The teenager dove toward Oliver, knife first.

Not willing to die, Oliver whipped his right arm in front of him, managing to shift the trajectory of the murder weapon so it only slashed the left side of his torso. ‘Only’ was a strong word, being cut was very painful.

“Arrrggh FUCK… GET… OFF.” Oliver wrestled for the knife with his right hand, pushing at the youth’s gaunt face with his left.

Being stronger and more well fed, Oliver managed to throw the haggard teen off, winning the knife in the process. He pushed on the ground with trembling limbs, bruised and weak after his tumble, he staggered on his now half-asleep leg, thankful the effect was wearing off.

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The teenager in black hadn’t been firing while his companion was in the way, but had a clear shot as Oliver got to his feet. The orb hit Oliver’s right arm, and the knife slipped from his fingers.

Oliver was running again, and as he held his limp arm while narrowly avoiding tree branches - more than ever before in his life - he forgot the plane, forgot the magic, forgot even his family waiting at the airport.

He was simply running.

It was no exaggeration to say that this was the most danger he had ever been in. Chased by two homeless teens. It would have been embarrassing if he had the capacity to feel embarrassed at that moment.

Run.

Duck.

Swerve.

Those stories of what adrenaline could do to people in times of crisis. Of inhuman feats like lifting a car or fighting a bear.

Dodge.

Turn.

It was like dancing.

Hysterical strength. He felt power well up within him, and, mind blank–

Green-robe rounded the tree which Oliver had disappeared behind.

Like a charged piston, Oliver’s arm extended in a single motion, his fist connecting with the youth’s shoulder. The impact, combined with green-robe’s momentum, sent him straight to the ground.

Oliver felt the intoxicating energy dissipate, he felt… motion sick.

He took the opportunity he’d created though, Oliver continued clearing tree roots and ducking branches like a man running for his life, which he was. His pursuers, malnourished and exhausted, seemed to think he was no longer worth the trouble.

He continued for a while longer.

—

Oliver was feeling the aftershocks of working his body so hard. It turned out, your body limited your capacity to move for a reason, surpassing those limits was only for life and death situations. Not healthy.

He took his backpack off and tried to lower himself to sit against a tree. His knees buckled and his backside hit the ground faster than he would have liked, but he wasn’t going to be moving for a while. No longer focused on staying upright, overwhelming emotions he couldn’t name hit him like the G-force of slowing down a high speed vehicle.

He started breathing short, shallow breaths, his muscles tensed uncontrollably, and he couldn’t think properly. This turned into hiccuping sobs. He couldn’t stop himself, though he tried.

Stop crying. I need to get moving, find a way home… Since rescue isn’t coming.

Oliver touched a hand to his stinging side, it came away crimson.

Over the pain signals coming from his injuries, both external and self inflicted from his exertion, Oliver managed to think retrospectively on what he’d learned. He was pretty sure it wasn’t some elaborate ruse. That was magic. Real magic. He’d felt it. He wasn’t anywhere in the world he knew, as he had wrongly assumed. He was in some– some empire?

Before, Oliver had been - if not happy - not that stressed about his situation. After all, the shows he’d watched, the experiences he’d heard about, were all from survivors who had returned to comfortable society after their trials.

Even studying across the country, he was among fellow Australians. His family was a call away. He could get the same fast food, chat about the same cultural references.

Even trips across the ocean were only a relatively short flight away… Flight… He put his head in his hands. Getting blood on his face.

No government, no police, no search and rescue. What did Oliver have to defend himself? Maybe the Americans had a point, carrying those guns around.

He chuckled, then grimaced at the sting it caused, but his breathing steadied, and he began feeling heavy.

He looked down at his ruined shirt, it didn’t seem like he was still bleeding, but his blood was still wet in the fabric around the cut. He pulled out his water bottle and used a bit of it to clean the wound, not sure if it was too late. Who knows what was on that knife. He felt like lead by the time he screwed the cap back on.

His eyelids drooped, and he decided it was fine to rest his eyes for a bit.

—

*Scratch*

Oliver heard squeaks over the rustle of nature, he felt a pressure on his chest. He slowly cracked open his eyes.

In the declining afternoon light, bare centimetres from his face, two beady black eyes were staring at him. The furry brown creature was lean with a rounded face, it had a button nose and a small mouth. It wasn’t very heavy, but Oliver didn’t move as it probed around his shirt.

After a bit, it seemed to lose interest in him. It pushed its long feet into his stomach and leapt away at high speed, causing Oliver to splutter from the force it exerted.

After pushing himself shakily up from the ground, he looked in the direction it had sped off to. “Su-” He coughed, voice raspy from disuse, “-super quokka.” He wasn’t going to be able to hunt that.

He picked up his backpack, noticing the long slash across its front. He exhaled. He still felt terrible, but it was time to get moving.

Sweaty, marred with dirt and evidence of violence, Oliver had decided that even if it was some strange otherworldly government, it must surely be better than trying to tough it out with wild bush magicians.

He stumbled through the forest, annoyed that he still felt tired after sleeping away most of the day. He tried to push away any stressful thoughts that surfaced, they weren’t productive.

At one point, he tried to think about empires of the past. He had read somewhere that the average Roman soldier lived pretty comfortably and was able to raise a family on their pay. He thought, maybe it’s not so bad? Then he remembered that the Roman Empire also had slaves.

That was the type of thought he pushed away.

He rounded the thousandth tree, and suddenly, he was looking at a winding dirt road.

“A road.” He couldn’t muster a smile.

Oliver looked at the packed dirt parting the trees, two lines where wheels would travel. The road was parallel to the mountains, and there was nothing particularly special in either direction - just more mini-trees. He was torn on what way to follow it.

… My body hurts.

He delayed the decision. He sat against a tree on the side of the road. The sky was turning pink as the sun sank below the mountains. A good time for dinner. He pulled out a bag of salt and vinegar chips - less concerned about food security than he had been in the morning.

The savoury taste was welcome, he hadn’t eaten all day, and he was reminded of the adage ‘hunger is the best seasoning’.

He sat there for at least a few minutes after finishing his meal, mustering up the energy to keep going.

Jangling, creaking, and the rhythmic beating of impacts to the ground grew audible from around the road’s curve.