NICHOLAS

His harsh words stuck with me. He was always a bit cold to others, but this was something else. At first, I wanted to lash out, to show him just how angry I was. But thinking it over, I realized he might not have meant it. The news my brother got, would knock anyone off their feet, and the vertigo from the potion probably made him say things he'd regret.

I guess my irritation was obvious because Max came over and put a hand on my shoulder. When I looked at him, his smile was reassuring in the dark cave. He suggested we call it a night, and I agreed silently. I grabbed my sleeping bag from our stuff, curled up in a corner of the cave, and watched our fire burn down to embers as I was trying to sleep on the hard ground.

Sleep was a battle, with the cave's hard ground and random cold drafts fighting against me. I woke up with my head pounding and stumbled to the cave's makeshift kitchen for a cold splash of water. It barely helped. The facts hit me hard—we were strangers in a foreign land, inexplicably young and completely out of place.

We couldn’t waste time, especially with the creepy forest edging close. We had to be careful not to leave the cave too late in the day, or night might catch us unprepared. The mountains were full of night-time threats. I quickly ate some jerky, picked the least awkward clothes I could find, making quick adjustments for a better fit, and grabbed my brother's rifle.

Eric was quiet, sitting in his corner with dark bags under his eyes from a night without sleep. He was lost in a book, taking sips from a whisky flask, hardly noticing me. His silence wasn’t surprising. Grief made him withdraw, building walls I knew all too well not to push against.

"Morning, Eric. Hope you got some sleep," I said, not really expecting him to respond. And he didn’t, just kept his eyes on his book, lost in his own world of grief.

He probably didn’t even remember what he said to me, and the lack of an apology stung. But knowing how he deals with our family's loss, I let it go, stepping out into the first light of day. We had a long way to go, and I felt sure Eric would come back to himself eventually.

Outside the cave, I was greeted by Max and an astonishing sight: a majestic white hart, its antlers towering and regal. It looked at me curiously, its dark eyes glinting with a magical light.

"Meet Boris. He’s helping us with the supplies," Max said, as he fitted the sled harness around the hart. Boris glanced off into the distance, then back to us, unbothered. Max, wearing a black gamberson under his white fur coat, followed Boris’s gaze as if the hart had shared some secret.

image [https://i.imgur.com/wtTWqM1.jpg]

With Boris by our side, we started our trek back to our vehicle, wrapped in a heavy silence. We all silently agreed it was best to keep quiet to avoid drawing the attention of any creatures hiding in the woods. Surprisingly, it was Max who first broke the silence.

"You shouldn't take his words to heart so much. Losing family... it's a pain that can cloud judgment," he said, his voice carrying a weight of understanding.

"I know," was all I managed, short and to the point. Max looked at me, clearly wanting more than my terse acknowledgment.

I took a moment, then opened up about my past, about Alex, my son from a fling in my university years. My career and strained relationship with his mother meant I wasn't there for him as I should have been. Though I missed him dearly, I was fully aware he didn't really need me any more; he was grown up and successful in his own right. As I spoke, Max's expression grew tender, his empathetic smile reflecting our mutual understanding of loss and remorse.

"Before finding myself here, my life took a hopeful turn—my wife was expecting. I was overjoyed," Max shared, a pained nostalgia in his voice. "An expedition with my friends in the mountains seemed like a grand way to celebrate, only to end up in this world, so far from home."

Max's words unleashed a storm inside me, making me see my own self-absorption amid our shared tragedies. Max, cut off from his previous life and family, confronted a truth where, even if going back was possible, time would have changed everything beyond recognition. His child would now be in his seventies. The gravity of our shared predicament, of losses both past and imminent, bound us together.

The burden of Max's past appeared to take a physical form, his usual effort to hide a limp becoming clearly visible.

"What happened to your leg?" The question slipped out before I could gauge his reaction, which quickly shifted from melancholy to a mix of fear and remembered trauma.

"I..." His hesitation was palpable, and I immediately regretted asking.

"Look, if you don't want to talk about it, that's okay. I shouldn't have asked," I rushed to apologize, hoping to give him an out.

"No, it's... it's fine. It's just..." He struggled to find the words, looking for a way to soften the blow of his story. "I was enslaved."

My heart sank at his admission. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up..."

"No, it's okay. Maybe talking about it will help," he said, taking a deep breath, readying himself to face his own painful memories. "When I first got here, I was captured by the Dökkálfr—beings that looked human but weren't. They had pale, white skin and long ears, nothing like anyone from Earth."

"Their hostility towards outsiders like us is well-documented, and my inability to speak any local language made me a target. The journal warned that outlanders were seen as harbingers of doom for their race. To avoid immediate execution, I feigned muteness. But, mistrust of humans runs deep here, and I was enslaved. This limp," he gestured towards his leg, "is a lasting reminder of the punishments I endured."

Watching the strain that revisiting those memories placed on him, I chose not to press further. Instead, as we moved forward, our silence slowly transformed into an exchange of lighter, more amusing stories from our own worlds, helping to bridge the vast differences in our experiences. Max’s tales of his life in Soviet Russia were especially captivating, offering a stark contrast to my own experiences and highlighting his resilience and ability to adapt. Despite our diverse backgrounds, we were forming a real friendship, built on our mutual struggle to make sense of this unfamiliar world.

When we got back to the truck, we were met with an unwelcome sight: the decomposing body of the owl bear we had encountered the day before. Its carcass, now gutted, reeked. In a small act of defiance, I gave it a kick, a quiet way to get back at it for the trouble it caused us yesterday.

We wasted no time diving into the salvage operation, looking through the truck's contents for anything that might aid our survival. The chaos of the crash, compounded by the havoc wrought by the beast, had left many items in disrepair. Fragile materials had not fared well, but, thankfully, some essentials remained untouched or could be mended with a bit of effort once we returned to the safety of our cave.

Among the salvaged gear, the tent and thick winter clothing stood out, essential for withstanding harsh weather, should a storm seek to challenge us further. The portable stove, despite its scratches, held the promise of warm meals. The medical supplies, carefully packed by my brother, were intact: bandages, antiseptics, and pills remained ready for use. In addition, I found an ice axe, a tool that could serve as a weapon in this unpredictable terrain.

A further search revealed two solar-powered power banks in the truck's rear, remarkably intact and partially charged. In our current isolation, without any sort of power, these devices held immeasurable value. My phone contained photographs of our family, memories encapsulated in digital form. In a world enchanted yet devoid of modern conveniences, these power banks were more than mere gadgets; they were lifelines to our past.

As we sifted through the car's contents, Max stumbled across a collection of old smartphones tucked away in the glovebox. My brother had intended to donate or recycle the phones before we embarked on our journey, yet it seemed he'd forgotten about them. Max, puzzled by the unfamiliar technology, turned to me with a mixture of curiosity and bewilderment.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

"Nick, my friend, what are these metal bricks? Is this some kind of new technology?"

I couldn't help but laugh at his sincere confusion, which only made him frown more and pushed me to laugh even harder. Before he lost his patience, I decided it was time to show him the wonders of modern tech. I turned on my device and started showing him different apps—from voice recorders to games, each new feature lighting up his face with amazement.

Watching Max get excited about these things took me back, reminding me of times when Alex would show me the newest video games and VR technology, always eager to share his latest discovery. The memory made me smile, thinking about how Max might react to a VR headset. The idea alone would probably have been enough to knock him off his feet.

As we secured our salvaged belongings onto the sled, Max cast a worried glance toward the darkening horizon and the encroaching shadows of the forest. His concern was obvious as he turned to me, urgency colouring his voice.

"We need to hurry back to the cave. The forest changes as the sun sets, friend."

I was puzzled and asked him to explain, wondering if he meant the various monsters and creatures that haunted these woods or something else.

"The Dökkálfr, night creatures, start their hunt at dusk. They're not just good hunters but powerful sorcerers too, with eyes and ears everywhere, and they can talk to animals," Max said seriously. He knew this world much better than I did, and his warning got me moving.

Believing in what he said, I moved faster, helping to pack our sled with an urgency I hadn't felt before, Max's warning weighing heavily on me.

Before we set off, Max paused, his hand sweeping through the air, and I watched, fascinated, as the runic tattoos etched into his skin began to emit a soft, blue glow. The next moment, the air filled with the eerie sound of metal contorting, and a breathtaking spectacle unfolded before my eyes. Ice and snow spiralled around the wreckage of our vehicle, rapidly burying it beneath a frosty blanket.

"This, Nick, is the essence of magic," Max said, a hint of mischief in his smile as he beckoned me to follow.

The display, though seemingly effortless, left me in silent awe. The elements themselves had bent to his will with a graceful ease.

As we made our way back to the cave, my mind was buzzing from what Max had shown me. He had told me about an ancient Chinese sorcerer from the 1500s who had spent his life trying to find a way home, but never succeeded. It made me think that this sorcerer didn't have the modern knowledge or theories that might have helped him on his quest. If magic could make us younger, take us to a whole new world, and even mess with time, then maybe, with what we know today, we could actually figure it out. Maybe there was a way for us to get back.

Just as I was about to dive deeper into this idea with Max, Boris, our majestic hart, started acting up. He was making anxious noises and tugging at his harness more than usual. Max, picking up on Boris's unease, quickly made a quiet sign, telling us to be silent.

In a tension-filled silence that stretched on, Max's sudden command broke the stillness. "Grab your rifle and free Boris!"

No sooner had I grasped his warning than a bone-chilling screech cut through the silence, the earth shaking beneath our feet. Suddenly, a mysterious mist wrapped around us, clouding our vision and dulling our senses, casting us into a disorienting haze.

Boris, now freed, assumed a defensive posture, antlers poised to strike. Max, meanwhile, drew his axe, his lips moving in a silent incantation. The runes on his skin illuminated, casting an ethereal glow of blues and purples.

"Nick, stay behind. Boris, guard him," Max instructed. The hart nodded with an intelligence I hadn't anticipated, ready to defend. Max's concentration deepened, haunting chants escaping his lips as he summoned icy shards into the air, their formation precise and deliberate.

With a sudden release, the shards flew toward an unseen foe, piercing the mist to strike a massive, worm-like creature. As the creature writhed in agony from Max's icy assault, I strained my eyes to discern its features through the obscuring mist. Its head, if it could be called that, was dominated by a gaping maw filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth, leaving little room for any eyes. The visible length of its serpentine body stretched impressively, possibly up to six meters, sheathed in an armour of dull silver scales reminiscent of a fish's. These scales shimmered faintly in the waning light, a sight that might have been captivating under different circumstances.

"That, Nicholas, is a Fish Scale Worm, a creature that burrows under the earth or ice, waiting for its prey," Max said, his voice filled with a wary respect as his tattoos glowed more brightly. As he moved his hands through the air, the tattoos on his skin responded, lighting up. With a few swift movements, the mist began to dissipate, clearing our vision. We could now see the injured Fish Scale Worm and the surrounding area more clearly.

Confused by his actions, I questioned, "Why more magic? It seems nearly defeated."

The answer came not in words but in the form of the earth trembling under our feet, a forewarning of imminent danger. "Because," Max's tone was laced with a grim certainty as roars echoed from all around, shattering the brief silence, "these creatures rarely hunt alone."

The ground's trembling intensified, heralding more trouble. Suddenly, four additional worms burst from the earth, mirroring the first in appearance except for one that stood out distinctly. This one was larger, its scales resembling vast rock formations, giving it a more impressive presence. It was clear that the icy shards that had grievously wounded its kin would hardly inconvenience this behemoth.

"Well, colour me surprised, a Rock Scale Worm," Max noted, his tone mixing awe and a hint of excitement. Given our previous encounter with the owl-bear that shrugged off bullets and fire with ease, my anxiety spiked. I was hoping Max would rein in his hunger for battle, considering that retreating seemed like the smarter choice. However, Max seemed to ignore my concerns, ready and willing to engage in the fight.

Max, undaunted, took a step forward, his eyes narrowing with determination. The air around him seemed to respond, swirling with an unseen force as he summoned his magic. With a shout, he thrust his hands forward, sending a blast of wind towards the advancing worms, disrupting their formation and buying us a moment of rest.

Boris, ever the faithful companion, positioned himself protectively, his antlers lowered and ready. The creature's intuition and bond with Max were clear as it prepared to charge at any who dared come close.

I, armed with the rifle, took aim at the smaller worms, trying to find weak spots in their glistening armour.

Max, seizing the moment the wind created, began chanting in a language unknown to me. His tattoos flared to life, casting a brilliant light that seemed to draw the chill of the air into itself. With a final, thunderous incantation, he released the gathered energy. Spears of ice materialized from the thin air, hurtling towards our foes with lethal precision. The smaller worms writhed under the assault, their bodies pierced by the frozen barrage.

Yet, the Rock Scale Worm remained largely unfazed, its armoured hide deflecting the ice with ease. It advanced, a leviathan of scales and malice, its maw opening in anticipation of its prey.

Realizing the need for a new strategy, Max gripped his axe with both hands. The weapon itself seemed to gleam with an inner light. With a warrior's cry, he charged, the ground beneath his feet frosting over to propel him forward with astonishing speed.

As the battle raged on, the Rock Scale Worm, a serpent of ice and stone, summoned its own magical arsenal, propelling ice shards toward Max with deadly intent. Yet, the glowing runes etched into Max's skin flickered to life, weaving a shield of wind around him. This magical barrier slowed the incoming shards, blunting their lethal edge and affording Max the crucial moments he needed.

With the ice shards deflected, Max seized the opportunity. He moved with precision, his every step guided by the glow of his tattoos, signalling his attunement to the magic coursing through his veins. The worm, vast and formidable, manoeuvred to evade, its body a shifting mass of muscle and scale, but it could not match the speed and cunning of its human adversary.

Boris, sensing the moment to strike, charged alongside Max. The stag, more than just a companion, was a battle partner, his antlers ready to pierce, his hooves to trample. Together, they were a force of nature, their movements synchronized in a dance of battle honed through trust and mutual respect.

The worm lashed out, desperate to defend itself, but Max and Boris were relentless. Max's axe found its mark again and again, each strike empowered by his magic, cutting through the creature's defences. Boris, agile and fierce, used his antlers to distract and pierce, creating openings for Max to exploit.

In the end, the combined might of Max and Boris overwhelmed the Rock Scale Worm. With a final, concerted effort, they subdued the beast.

After the tumultuous battle, Max turned to me, a mix of tiredness and triumph on his face as he wiped away from his forehead a mix of sweat and worm blood.

"Well, that was... certainly an exhausting fight," he said, smirking, his casual tone masking the seriousness of our battle.

I checked my pants, half-expecting to find evidence of how scared I'd been, but found none. As my heart rate started to normalize, it hit me: those worms were too big and numerous to be interested in us as food. I shared this thought with Max, and his face turned serious.

"You're right, Nicholas. They weren't here for a meal. They were likely sent to get rid of us or to scout the area," he said, his words sending a deeper chill through me than the fight had.

Realizing we were being targeted, that something out there was sending these creatures after us, I couldn't help but let out a string of curses. My mix of fear and anger erupted in a rant that would have made my ancestors cringe. The thought that someone, or something, was coordinating these attacks made our dangerous situation even more dire.