Anthony was not having a great day. The project he had been leading for the past five years had just been shut down. Well, that's just great, he thought to himself. Five years of work down the drain. He exited the building, got into his vehicle, and drove out of the parking lot into the chilly fall night.
As he drove, Anthony's mind drifted back to his early childhood. To the time that first sparked his interest in firearms and engineering. He grew up on a farm in the middle of nowhere, where firearms were commonly used to protect cattle and livestock. The frequent use of these weapons meant they often needed maintenance and repairs. He still remembered the first 12-gauge shotgun he took apart, trying to figure out why it wasn’t cycling shells correctly. He never did solve that problem, but it ignited a passion in him. He convinced his parents to buy him the tools and equipment necessary for repairs and even making extra parts for firearms. He also got the setup to start reloading ammunition, spending his free time refilling spent casings with primer, gunpowder, and bullets.
As time went on, Anthony became more skilled at both firearm repairs and ammunition production. This hobby naturally led him to pursue a degree in mechanical engineering, the field most closely aligned with the mechanics and physics of firearms. For him, it was all simple physics: Force equals mass time acceleration or just the basic principles of momentum “a force has an equal and opposite reaction”. The chemical propellant pushed the bullet out of the barrel, and the recoil imposed a force back on the shooter — commonly known as the kick. Understanding this fundamental concept made designing firearms easier for him.
Anthony's expertise eventually landed him a job with one of the major Department of Defense contractors in the U.S., working on a project to replace the aging M4 carbine for the us armed forces. This was why he was so frustrated now — he had poured his passion and years of effort into this project, only for it to be canceled. But he knew he had to move on. These were the thoughts swirling in his mind as he left the parking lot, heading home.
What’s management going to do now that the project’s canceled? he wondered. Will they split up my team and reassign us to other projects? If so, where will I end up, and what will my new role be? He rolled down the window, letting the cold night air fill the cabin, while Creed's "One Last Breath" played on the radio. It was one of his favorite songs, and he couldn’t help but sing along as the chorus started:
“Hold me now,
I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking,
Maybe six feet ain't so far down.”
The lyrics resonated with him, reflecting the disappointment he felt about the project’s cancellation and the memories of working with some of the brightest minds he’d ever met. He continued to sing, the words striking a chord:
“I'm looking down now that it's over,
Reflecting on all of my mistakes.
I thought I found the road to somewhere,
Somewhere in His grace.
I cried out, 'Heaven, save me' (save me),
But I'm down to one last breath,
And with it, let me say, let me say…”
As the song reached its climax, Anthony sang louder, “Hold me now,
I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking,
Maybe six feet ain’t—”
Suddenly, his singing was cut short. “Shit!” he yelled, swerving the vehicle to avoid an oncoming car that had drifted into his lane. He overcorrected, and before he could regain control, the car veered off the road and crashed into a tree.
Everything went black.
"Fuck me, that hurt," Anthony muttered as he slowly opened his eyes and looked around. The road he had been driving on was nowhere in sight. He didn't recognize the vegetation or the trees surrounding him. Hell, even the sounds of the night were unfamiliar, and that concerned him. Having grown up in the countryside, he knew the calls of every local animal, the types of trees, and even the native flowers. But here, not a single plant or sound was recognizable.
He looked up at the sky, expecting to see the familiar constellations. Instead, he saw two moons. "Wait... are there two moons? Either I’m very high or I’ve lost my mind," he whispered. The realization set in: something was deeply wrong. He could feel it in his gut.
Luckily, his backpack and personal belongings were still with him. He quickly reached inside and pulled out his father’s 9mm pistol, chambering a round. Even though it was night, the light from the two moons illuminated his surroundings enough that he could see clearly. He felt like he was being watched.
Well, I have no idea where I am, and I don’t recognize the local wildlife. If something comes at me, I could take it down with this, he thought, looking at his pistol. But the noise will likely attract even more predators. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Just stay put till morning. Then I can look for civilization," he said out loud.
Anthony found a sturdy tree nearby and tried to get some rest. But the sounds of the night grew closer and closer. His heart pounded as he sensed eyes on him, eyes that were not friendly. A deep, primal fear crept over him, a fear he hadn’t felt since he was a child — the fear of the dark and the unknown. The only thing that kept it at bay was the weight of his father’s 9mm in his hand.
"If I’m going to die, I’m taking some of you bastards with me!" he yelled into the darkness. As he scanned the area, he saw pairs of eyes reflecting the moonlight. They looked like wolves, but these creatures were far larger — closer to the size of tigers.
The pack circled him, growling and snarling, their forms barely visible in the dim light. Anthony pressed his back against the tree, feeling an odd sense of comfort from its solid presence, like an old friend standing with him against the storm. The creatures kept closing in, their growls sounding almost like mocking laughter, as if they thought they had an easy meal.
In one swift motion, Anthony raised the pistol and aimed at the largest of the beasts, the one he assumed was the alpha. He steadied his aim and squeezed the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the forest like a clap of thunder. The lead wolf-like creature dropped instantly, and the rest of the pack scattered, their howls fading into the night.
"Thanks, Dad," Anthony muttered, grateful for the weapon he always carried, even if it had been a hassle to get permission to bring it to work. He approached the fallen beast, noting its massive size — at least twice that of a normal wolf, with teeth resembling those of a saber-toothed tiger. "What the hell are you? And where the hell am I?" he whispered into the silent forest.
He checked his phone, but the battery was dead. Even if it wasn’t, it was unlikely he’d get a signal here. He slumped back against the tree, his companion in the night, and managed to fall asleep. Thankfully, there were no more interruptions.
When Anthony awoke, the full reality of his situation hit him: he was alone in a place that was entirely unfamiliar, on what seemed like an entirely different world. This is insane, he thought. But there was no other explanation. He stretched, taking in his surroundings as he tried to decide which direction to go. He had no way of determining the cardinal directions here. "Fuck it, I’ll head that way," he muttered, picking a random direction.
He walked for hours, listening to the forest sounds. He heard birds — or what he thought were birds — singing in the distance. Eventually, he came upon a stream and knelt down to drink. He could only hope the water was clean and wouldn’t give him dysentery or worse. After quenching his thirst, he decided to follow the stream, reasoning that any civilization would likely be near a water source.
As he walked, he began to hear faint voices. He moved closer, listening carefully. It sounded like laughter and small talk. To his surprise, he could understand the language: they were talking about laundry and something called "glimmerfin," which he guessed was a type of fish.
He cautiously peeked through the trees and caught sight of the speakers. They looked humanoid but were tall, with pale skin and pointed ears. Are those... elves? he thought, gripping his 9mm tightly. He couldn’t just introduce himself; these figures were easily three-quarters taller than him and appeared to be female, judging by their features and voices. Light seemed to shimmer around them, as if some kind of magic was at play.
Magic? Mana? Whatever they call it here, Anthony thought, recalling how he’d never been interested in fantasy books, preferring to read about firearms and their history. He remembered skipping through Harry Potter in school because he couldn’t pay attention to it. Well, at least I found some ‘people.’ This could go really well or really badly.
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He decided to follow the elves, staying a good distance away. They led him to a clearing, revealing a medieval-style village. Well, at least they have houses, he thought. That meant they had some basic knowledge of construction and maybe even metalworking — something that could be useful if his gun needed repairs. His biggest concern now was ammunition; he only had eight rounds left.
Eight shots. Gotta make them count, he reminded himself. He couldn’t afford to use them recklessly, especially not in the village, where he’d be overwhelmed in seconds.
He circled the outskirts of the village, observing from the shadows. He saw humans working in the fields and entering what looked like a town hall. Guards patrolled the area, keeping a watchful eye on the humans. They weren’t harming them but seemed to be supervising them closely. Something’s not right here, Anthony thought, a knot forming in his stomach.
He continued to scout the area and noticed the blacksmith’s station, a stable with mammoth-like creatures used as cattle, and guards projecting light or fire from their hands to light candles. They’re really pulling out all the stops here. What’s next? Are they gonna pull a dragon out of their asses? he thought sarcastically.
His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten. I can’t risk stealing food and getting caught, he thought, eyeing the villagers. His clothing — cargo pants, a Southern Marsh T-shirt, and hiking boots — made him stand out. He needed a disguise. He hid his belongings, including his father’s 9mm, in a spot he could remember.
Stripping down to his underwear, he waited until nightfall and snuck into the village. He grabbed a cloak from a clothesline and quietly made his way to the stable to get a closer look at the mammoth creatures.
As he rounded a corner, he collided with another person — a young woman, around mid-20s, with blonde hair. "I thought I was the only one out tonight. They don’t usually allow anyone else out," she said, dusting herself off.
Allow out? Anthony thought. Great. "Uh, yeah, I was just taking a piss. The toilets were full," he lied, cringing at his terrible excuse.
"Toilets?" she asked, frowning. "What’s that? And you don’t look familiar."
He knew he was in trouble. "I’m Anthony. You sure you haven’t seen me around? There’s a lot of people here," he said, trying to play it cool.
But the woman’s suspicion was clear. She raised her voice, calling for others. Anthony bolted, sprinting back the way he came. He heard shouts and footsteps gaining on him. Then, he felt a blunt object hit the back of his head.
The world went dark for the second time.
Anthony awoke with a start, shivering from the cold. As he opened his eyes, he realized he was in a small, dimly lit cell. Heavy iron chains bound his wrists, secured to the stone wall behind him. He tried to move, but the chains rattled loudly, clinking against the floor. The air was damp and musty, and the only light source was a single torch flickering outside his cell.
Across from him stood the same woman who had raised the alarm and gotten him captured. She knelt down and entered the cell, carrying a wooden bowl of food. His stomach growled loudly as she handed it to him, and he practically inhaled it, barely tasting the contents.
She watched him with a mix of pity and fascination. “You don’t have any ID on you,” she remarked. “You aren’t from around here, are you? Your accent gave you away too. You really shouldn’t have run — they would have treated you better.”
Anthony looked up, glaring at her. “The fuck do you mean they?” he snarled. “I wasn’t hurting anyone, just minding my own business until you decided to alert the whole goddamn village.”
“You were creeping around and stealing,” she replied, unfazed by his anger. “How was I supposed to know what you were up to?”
Anthony cursed under his breath, realizing she had a point. His approach hadn’t exactly been stealthy or smart. He sighed, leaning back against the cold stone wall. “Alright, fine. What’s the situation then? What are they planning to do with me?”
“The Al’dari? I’m not sure,” she said, her tone cautious. “But you’re definitely not supposed to be here. They might be considering selling you — you’re quite an oddity.”
“The Al’dari?” Anthony repeated, confused. “You mean the elves? The bastards with the pointy ears?”
“Shhh!” she hissed, glancing nervously toward the guards outside. “You really shouldn’t talk about them like that. You’ll only make them angrier.”
“Fuck off,” Anthony snapped. “I’m done talking to you.”
She tilted her head, studying him with renewed interest. Despite his hostility, she seemed intrigued by this strange man who had appeared out of nowhere. There were no reports of runaway human slaves in the area, nor were there any nearby settlements for miles. It made no sense to her — the Kingdom would surely know if there were others out there, right?
“Well, my name is Lira,” she offered, extending a hand through the bars in a gesture of goodwill. He ignored her, staring blankly at the opposite wall. The silence was heavy, filled only by the distant sounds of the village outside. With a sigh, she got up and left, tending to other duties.
As soon as he was sure he was alone, Anthony allowed himself to relax. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and tried to come up with a plan. He absentmindedly hummed a familiar tune — Creed’s One Last Breath. It had been his father’s favorite song and the last one he heard before being pulled into this god forsaken world. Despite everything that had happened, the song brought him a small comfort, reminding him of home. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep, letting the darkness take him.
He was jolted awake by a splash of freezing water. He gasped, flailing against the chains as two Al’dari guards entered the cell. Without a word, they yanked him up and dragged him out. He struggled to keep his footing as they hauled him towards what he guessed was the town hall.
Inside, they secured him to a wooden chair, and he found himself facing an elderly Al’dari. The elf had a stern, almost regal look, with silver hair cascading down his back and piercing green eyes that seemed to see right through him.
“We have no records of you,” the elder said, his voice like ice. “You cannot be an escaped slave — there are no settlements within 100 kilometers of here. So, how did you get here?”
Anthony met his gaze with a defiant smirk. “I don’t know,” he said flatly. “And I doubt you’d believe me even if I told you.”
The elder narrowed his eyes, sighing heavily.
“Very well. Send him with the convoy to the capital. We cannot keep an undocumented outsider here.”
“Wait, what’s going to happen to me?” Anthony demanded, panic creeping into his voice. “I didn’t do anything wrong — I didn’t harm anyone!”
The elder looked genuinely baffled by his outburst. “Quiet him,” he ordered.
The guards struck Anthony hard across the head, and everything went black once more.
When he regained consciousness, Anthony was in a caged wagon, bumping along a crude dirt road. His head throbbed painfully, and he could feel dried blood crusted in his hair. He peered through the bars, seeing tall trees and unfamiliar vegetation passing by. The sky above was bright and clear, the two moons now distant specks on the horizon.
Across from him, sitting outside the cage, was Lira. She noticed he was awake and gave him a small, almost sympathetic smile.
“Good, you’re up,” she said. “You took a nasty hit. I was worried you wouldn’t wake up — you were bleeding a lot.”
Anthony scowled at her. “The fuck are you doing here?”
“I was ordered to accompany the convoy,” she explained. “And to tend to your injuries. They seem to have a vested interest in keeping you alive until we reach the capital.”
“Fantastic,” he muttered sarcastically. “How long until we get there? And how long was I out?”
“About three days left of travel,” she replied. “You were unconscious for almost a day.”
Anthony leaned back, trying to ignore the pounding in his skull. He thought back to his hidden stash — his backpack and, more importantly, his father’s 9mm pistol. He needed to retrieve it before the elements damaged it. “Does it rain often in the area around your village?” he asked casually.
Lira raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question. “Not too much, but when it does, it pours hard. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Anthony said, giving a nonchalant shrug. He prayed the rain wouldn’t rust the weapon.
They rode in silence for a few hours, the sound of the wagon wheels and the occasional chatter of soldiers filling the air.
Eventually, Lira broke the quiet. “You have a strange accent,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard anything like it before.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Anthony replied curtly.
She smiled, clearly not buying his deflection. “So, why were you in my village?”
“I got lost,” he said, half-lying. “I was hungry. It was the only settlement I found for miles.”
She seemed to consider this, then asked, “Are you really that disdainful of the Al’dari? It’s common knowledge that they are our superiors. We serve them because we have no mana — we were cursed by the gods.”
“Cursed?” Anthony repeated, a note of disbelief in his voice. “So you just accept that? No resistance, no rebellion?”
“It’s just the way things are,” Lira said with a resigned shrug. “Better to live as we are than die in vain.”
Anthony’s expression twisted with disgust. “My people would be ashamed,” he muttered.
“What do you mean by ‘your people’?” Lira pressed, intrigued.
He ignored her question. “Are humans allowed to work as blacksmiths?” he asked instead.
“Yes, but our skills are nothing compared to what the Al’dari can do with their runes,” she admitted.
Anthony chuckled darkly. “And what exactly can these runes do?”
“Just about everything related to war,” Lira said. “They can strengthen metal, shape it with ease, and create weapons far superior to anything a regular blacksmith could forge.”
“So why isn’t blacksmithing a dead art, then?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Runes can’t be used for everything,” she explained. “They’re mostly reserved for advanced tools, weapons, and magitech. Basic farming equipment and simple tools are still made by human hands.”
A devious smile spread across Anthony’s face as a plan began to form in his mind. They rely on magic for everything, but I have something they’ve never seen before. This might just be the advantage I need.
He leaned back, staring up at the sky. “Alright, then,” he whispered to himself. “I’ll show them who’s really cursed here.”