Kael stood , chest heaving, his legs trembling beneath him. He leaned heavily against the moss-covered log, his own blood dripping from the fresh wounds on his back, mixing with the water that pooled at his feet. He couldn’t see the portal, the dense fog obscuring everything. It felt like hours had passed since he’d first stepped into this realm, every minute a battle against the hostile terrain.
“This place,” Kael rasped, his voice barely audible. It was more of a curse than a statement, a testament to his mounting frustration, his growing unease. “This place isn’t going to give me an easy fight.”
He retrieved his club-hammer, its surface slick with mud and blood. He needed to be smarter, more careful. This was his world now— a game with rules he was only beginning to understand, a tapestry woven from threads of power, of potential, of danger. He would survive.
He had to.
He pressed on, each step a conscious decision to not succumb to the overwhelming urge to turn back, to run from this suffocating, claustrophobic world. His hand tightened around the club-hammer. He was becoming a predator, yes. But here, he was also prey. The hunt had just begun. He scanned the trees around him, a cluster of ancient, twisted giants, their branches reaching out to each other, as if they were forming a barricade. In the heart of that natural enclosure, a creature moved – large, powerful, its dark scales glinting like obsidian in the fog. This was it. The realm boss.
He’d come a long way. Climbed, fought, and clawed his way to this point. It had cost him. Blood, pain, a sense of himself that he was struggling to reclaim in the midst of the System’s insistent, clinical demands.
His heart pounded against his ribs. Each step was an effort. Every breath felt like a victory. The air, thick with the scent of rot and decay, clogged his lungs. He pushed through the exhaustion. He had to. He wasn’t just a boy anymore. He was something else, something…
…Void Touched.
And this realm was his to conquer.
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Kael paused, leaning on his club-hammer. He’d been moving for hours—or maybe it was only minutes, time a meaningless concept in this fog-shrouded world. He needed a vantage point, something to break the monotonous expanse of gray, a way to make sense of the maze of twisting paths and stagnant pools. The water sloshed around him with every step, the air thick with the scent of rot and decay, a reminder of the realm's unforgiving nature. But even in this landscape, Kael was starting to recognize a pattern, a rhythm to the way the fog shifted, the very air seemed to thicken and thin. He was learning, adapting. It wasn’t just about brute force, about the weight of his club or the numbers on the system screen, it was about… intuition. About letting go of the familiar anchors of logic and embracing the unsettling whispers that echoed at the edge of his consciousness.
Insight +1
A sense of unease pulled him forward. It wasn’t fear, not exactly, more a… a recognition that this place wasn't entirely wild, wasn't completely governed by the primal chaos he'd come to expect.
He crested a small rise, the mud squelching beneath his boots, and saw it— a flicker of light in the distance, a faint orange glow that cut through the dense fog. As he moved closer, the shadows shifted, coalescing into shapes - rough-hewn wood, thatched roofs, the silhouette of a crude palisade. A village.
Lizardfolk Village
Kael froze, his heart skipping a beat as the implications sunk in. A village? In a realm? He had never encountered anything like this before. It was always about surviving— hunting, fighting, looting. But this… This was something different. It was a reminder that even in these shattered fragments of reality, even in this fog-choked, desolate landscape, life had found a way to cling, to adapt, to build something that resembled… civilization. But who lived there? And what did that mean for him?
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
He felt a surge of… apprehension. He was an outsider, an intruder in this strange, silent world. They’d sense his difference, his connection to the Void Shard.
He could see them now, the lizardfolk, moving through the mist like shadows, their forms becoming clearer as he approached. Tall and lean, their scales a deep, mottled green that blended seamlessly with the surrounding vegetation, they exuded a natural grace, a primal strength, that resonated with the wildness of this place.
He found himself standing on the edge of the clearing, a space carved out of the dense foliage. Smoke from several fires curled upwards, mingling with the fog, its acrid scent carrying a hint of something savory— roasted meat, maybe, or some kind of root vegetable.
He tried to imagine himself approaching them. Trying to explain. Trying to understand. But what words could he possibly use, when even his own language felt inadequate to express the complexities of his experience, of his connection to this thing he carried within him?
A wave of weariness washed over him. He was exhausted. Wounded. Still hungry despite the soup he'd managed to eat in the market. This wasn’t a fight he wanted.
He took a step back, his hand instinctively reaching for the club-hammer tucked into his belt. There was something unsettling about their stillness, their watchful silence.
And then he saw it. A movement from one of the huts at the edge of the clearing. A figure stepping into the weak, watery light. It was a lizardfolk, taller than the rest, its scales a deeper shade of green. It held a crude spear in its hand, the point glinting menacingly in the filtered sunlight. It was looking right at him.
They’d seen him. He couldn’t hide anymore. Not that he ever could have in this blasted marsh.
He raised a hand, palm open, a gesture of peace he wasn't sure they’d understand. “I’m not here to fight,” he whispered, the words swallowed by the thick air.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, to appear less threatening. But his entire body thrummed with tension, the Void Shard pulsing a steady, erratic beat against his ribs like a trapped bird.
The lizardfolk watched him, its eyes glittering. There was intelligence in their gaze, an awareness that went beyond the instinctual, predator-prey dynamics he'd seen in the other creatures he'd encountered.
He stepped into the clearing, forcing his movements to be slow, deliberate, a calculated display of vulnerability that could easily be misconstrued.
The lizardfolk tilted its head, a gesture that was almost… curious. Its voice was low, guttural, the sounds harsh, unfamiliar, a guttural cadence he couldn’t understand.
A series of grunts, clicks, and hisses, interspersed with the rustle of scales against leather. A question, a challenge, or a threat. He couldn’t tell.
He looked around again. The huts, crude but sturdy, formed a tight circle, the gaps between them reinforced with woven branches and mud. Ditches, filled with stagnant water, crisscrossed the uneven ground. It was basic, primitive— but it was also a fortress, designed for defense. There was a system here. They were intelligent, capable, adaptable. A shiver ran down his spine. He’d spent his entire life in the city, navigating the maze of the slums, where every corner held a threat, every shadow hid a potential enemy. It never occurred to him that a realm could contain something other than mindless monsters or untamed beasts.
And then there was the realm quest.
“What are you?” Kael whispered, more to himself than to the lizardfolk. He'd heard of them, of course, rumors of a wet land covering a distant island, far to the South East of Mer. A war fought, before he had even been born. Little more. He'd certainly never seen one, not in Mudtown, in Kaszai, near the heart of the Empire.
He wanted to run, to flee back to the portal, but something held him there, rooted in the muddy ground. The desire for knowledge, the hunger for something beyond his limited understanding of this world, a curiosity that outweighed the primal fear that clawed at him.
He took another step forward, his gaze fixed on the lizardfolk’s, forcing himself to be open, vulnerable. A silent plea for understanding. He didn’t know what he wanted. A temporary alliance? A glimpse of the answers that the Shard refused to reveal? The chance to… just to not be alone? He didn’t know, not really.
He took a breath, and raised his empty hands, hoping the gesture translated across species, across realms. “I'm not here to fight,” he said again. It felt foolish, the words pointless against the harsh barrier of language.
The lizardfolk continued to watch him, unblinking, its posture rigid, but something in its eyes—a flicker of curiosity, maybe, or a spark of recognition—gave him hope. He took a slow, steady breath and waited, the tension coiled tight in his chest. The future, he was beginning to realize, was a series of choices. Choose to fight, choose to flee, choose to understand, to make a connection across language, across realms.