ERIC
Racing for my life across the deep snow, I plunged downhill, dodging the dark pine trees. My path was frantic and blocked by thick bushes, dangerous—my feet hit stones under the snow and stiff branches. The winter scene, once peaceful with its white snow and quiet mountains, had turned into a cold maze against me. My life flashed before my eyes, not in bits but as vivid scenes—from dinners with my family to our walks in the park. Behind me, the beast, pure ferocity with eyes as cold as the moon, seemed to get closer, its deep growls mixing with the wind's howl. I could almost feel death's cold touch as the monstrous shape got closer.
Then, a tree root appeared out of nowhere. Tripping over it, I saw myself tumbling downhill, overwhelmed by regret. Why had I chosen to come here, forsaking time with my family?
As I collided with a tree trunk, I felt my eyes bulge from their sockets in shock. Dizziness and nausea overwhelmed me as the world spun out of control, the serene white landscape morphing into a whirlwind of darkness and despair. My consciousness began to slip away, the growls of the beast now a distant echo in the chilling embrace of the forest.
"Lina, take care of our kids," I mumbled weakly, a final plea as I surrendered to the darkness, the winter's cold cradling me into an uncertain fate.
As the darkness took me, my mind floated somewhere between dreaming and waking. The fierce winter and the beast's growls faded, replaced by scenes from my life, softer and gentler, like watching home movies on an old projector. The biting cold and fear began to melt away, warmed by these flickering memories. But this calm drift didn't last long.
Suddenly, the comforting crackle of a fire cut through the silence. Along with it, laughter rang out—familiar and heart warming. It was my brother's laugh, a sound that meant safety and good times.
The sound, strikingly real and close, jolted me back to reality. As my eyes fluttered open, the stark winter forest dissolved, and in its place, a fire burned, casting a warm, flickering light against the backdrop of a dark cave. Beside it, my brother sat, the very picture of ease, leisurely enjoying his time with a can of beans.
Lying there, confused and trying to piece everything together, the warmth from the fire began to chase away the last of the cold. With a deep breath, I let go of the fear and embraced the moment. The crackling fire and my brother were all I needed to remind me that I was safe, that I'd made it through.
As I took in my surroundings, the cave felt almost otherworldly, its walls adorned with an eclectic mix of etchings—from rudimentary maps and Chinese characters to snippets of Latin script. The cave had clearly been lived in for years, each corner telling part of its story. There was a simple desk with a few books, showing a quiet place for reading or planning. Nearby, a rack for drying fish and a pile of logs for the fire kept essentials within reach.
The space was practical yet personal. A shelf held jars of herbs, hinting at knowledge of local plants and their uses. Dried meats hung from the ceiling, while containers made from animal insides stored food for the long winters.
A distinct corner was zealously allotted to the crafts of survival and ingenuity. Bone and some steel tools were meticulously organized, lying in harmony with sinew and hide scraps, ready for the essential repair of clothing or the crafting of new tools. A makeshift anvil, carved from a hefty stone, stood testament to the necessity of regular tool maintenance, surrounded by a variety of bone and antler hammers and chisels, each telling their stories.
image [https://i.imgur.com/yKHsjBM.jpeg]
Another section of the cave transformed its walls into a vivid archive of navigation and exploration. Using charcoal, mineral pigments, and animal blood, detailed maps and navigation aids sprawl across the stone canvas. These markings delineated landmarks, hunting grounds, and safe passages through the harsh tundra and mountainous landscape. Symbols and markers meticulously noted resource caches, areas of danger to be avoided, and the cyclical paths of migratory animals, serving as a critical guide for survival.
The most notable feature was a raised sleeping area behind my brother, built from stones and covered with animal furs from reindeer, seals, and arctic foxes. This bed was not just about comfort; it was lifted off the ground to avoid the cave's chill, showing a smart use of what the land offered.
This cave wasn't just a shelter; it was a carefully adapted home, reflecting years of living closely with the wilderness.
"Did he wake up?" The sudden inquiry, laced with a strong Slavic accent, jolted me. A bald man, his presence dominating, draped in a fur coat, made his way in from the outside. His stride was marred by a slight limp, and his head was a canvas of tattoos—each one seemingly telling its own tale.
"Yeah, just now. He's silently critiquing your decor," Nick quipped, a smirk directed at the bald man.
"Maxim Dyatlov, but you can call me Max," the man introduced himself, extending a bandaged and calloused hand marred with gruesome scars. "Nice to meet you. I'm Eric Favre."
Maxim took a seat on a log next to my brother, his gaze settling on me.
"How do you feel?"
"A bit shaken, and my head's throbbing, but I'm managing," I replied, trying to sound more composed than I felt.
"I'm not sure 'managing' is the word I'd use. You've broken your leg." His words prompted me to glance down, noticing for the first time my left leg comfortably propped up on a pile of clothes, expertly splinted.
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"You've done an impressive job with this. Do you have a medical background?"
He chuckled dryly, "A Soviet surgeon, in all the form and glory that implies."
The word "Soviet" reverberated through my mind, unsettling me deeply. The Soviet Union had collapsed in 1991, nearly three decades ago. Maxim's continued presence here raised so many questions.
"Max, I think it's best if you explain what's going on. I'm still trying to wrap my head around this," Nick interjected, his voice laced with concern as his eyes darted between Maxim and me.
Maxim fixed his gaze on me, his expression solemn. "Eric, what I'm about to tell you might sound unbelievable. You're in a different world now—a realm filled with magic and creatures beyond your imagination."
"I mean, don't overwhelm him with a world of magic all at once... Ease him into it a bit slower, Max," Nick chuckled nervously.
Despite the absurdity of his words, a nagging feeling whispered that he was speaking the truth. The bizarre beast attack earlier, our sudden inexplicable young age...
"Is this some kind of Narnia scenario? Is there a way back home?"
"I'm not familiar with Narnia, but as for returning, I honestly don't know. I've been stranded in this world for over a decade myself," Maxim confessed, his voice betraying a hint of resignation.
His admission sent a wave of panic through me, the prospect of never seeing my family again a growing weight on my chest. But then, a thought struck me. Maxim had identified as a Soviet, yet he spoke of only a decade's stay. The maths didn't add up.
Maxim continued, perhaps sensing my growing turmoil. "I've tried to explain this to Nick as well. My journey to this world began in 1949. From what Nick has told me, you were transported here in 2019. Time operates differently in this realm. The fact that you've arrived now has further confirmed my suspicions. I'm not the first... чужеземец, an outlander, to find themselves here. An American arrived in 1844, long before me. Fortunately, my English was good enough to decipher the journal he left behind."
Nick chimed in, attempting to lighten the mood, "You're also quite fluent in French, my friend."
"Nick, please, let him finish," I snapped, my patience wearing thin. The despair was starting to gnaw at me, a cold, unrelenting shadow.
Maxim nodded, undeterred, "According to the American's journal, he arrived in the year of 1724 post Great Sundering. I arrived 15 years after him. And you, Eric, have come here in the year 1759. If my estimations are correct, time here flows seven times slower than in our world."
The implications of Maxim's words cast a deeper shadow over me. The slim chance of returning home seemed to dwindle further with each passing moment. The crackling of the fire played a haunting melody as the shadows of my fears danced across the walls, etched with the stories of this strange, timeless cave.
"Do you really have no clue on how to get back to our world?" I asked, clinging to a shred of hope.
Maxim's response came with a heavy sigh, his voice laced with a deep-rooted sorrow. "No, I've traversed this continent, from one end to the other, yet a pathway home remains unknown." The disappointment in his voice was palpable, a mirror to the despair swelling within my own chest.
"I had harboured hope that your arrival might show me a way back. The American's journal noted that significant earthquakes often preceded the appearance of an outlander. Your arrival was my beacon of hope, yet when I chased the flash that accompanied your entrance, I found nothing—no doorway, no divine intervention. You simply materialized, as if conjured by God..."
A heavy silence enveloped the cave, each of us occupied by our own tumultuous thoughts. It was Max who eventually broke the silence, his voice a mixture of resignation and curiosity.
"I'm at a loss for what steps to take next. As I said previously, you're not the first to arrive here from our world," he motioned towards the cave walls, adorned with markings from civilizations long past. "See the Chinese characters there? The American, Isaac, wrote of a Chinese man who welcomed him upon his arrival, a man who had already spent 53 years in this realm. Transported here in the 1500s, he sought answers, becoming one of the realm's most formidable wizards, yet even he could not unravel the mystery of our arrival."
"Wait, wizard? As in magic?" Nick interjected, his astonishment breaking through the sombre atmosphere.
At this point, disbelief had become a distant memory, replaced by a weary acceptance. "Honestly, nothing surprises me any more," I murmured, the weight of our situation pressing down on me.
Maxim nodded solemnly, "This world is very different from ours. The Chinese wizard met his end at the hands of the Dökkálfr army. Outlanders are not warmly welcomed here."
"So, what's our next move?" Nick's confusion mirrored the chaos of our predicament.
"The first order of business is to get stronger, quickly. And you need to pick up the local language just as fast. They're already on the hunt for me as an outlander, but you might avoid that fate by blending into society. As for returning to our world, hope seems like a thin thread."
At Maxim's words, a mix of rage and desperation surged within me. Ignoring the throbbing pain of my fractured leg, I attempted to stand, only to be met with a sharp pang that sent me collapsing back down. "We can't just give up hope! I have a family waiting for me. I refuse to believe there's no way back. If there's a way in, there has to be a way out!" My voice broke under the strain, a mix of pain and stubborn resolve.
"Stay down," Maxim urged, pressing me gently but firmly back onto my makeshift bed. "Nick, fetch the vial from my pack, the one with the reddish cork. It should stand out."
Nick swiftly returned with the vial, handing it over to Maxim with a concerned glance in my direction. "Here, take it easy, Eric. Let's get you healed up first, then we can figure out our next steps."
Maxim administered the potion, its bitter taste eclipsed by the immediate sense of drowsiness that washed over me. "This potion will aid your healing, accelerating it. With a daily dose, you should be on your feet in a week, at most."
As the potion's sedative effects took hold, my thoughts spiralled into despair. The idea of never reuniting with my family was unbearable—memories of simple, joyful moments with them flooded my mind, each a poignant reminder of all that I stood to lose.
"Nick, I know you don't feel the urgency to return as I do," I slurred, the potion numbing my senses.
Nick's gaze softened, a hint of pain flickering in his eyes. "You know nothing, Eric," he replied, his voice thick with unspoken emotions.
Maxim, keen to defuse the tension, whispered to Nick, "Let's also get some rest. We have a long day ahead. Your brother needs time to process all this; give him that space."
Succumbing to the potion's embrace, I drifted into a deep sleep, my mind escaping to a dream where my family was still by my side, untouched by the grim reality of our situation.