Oliver's body stirred, a soft groan escaping his lips as he reluctantly emerged from the depths of slumber. The feeble morning light seeped through the room, casting a pale glow on his face. He shielded his eyes with his palm, attempting to fend off the intrusive slivers of sunlight. His breath caught in his throat as realization slowly took hold.

"A peculiar dream," he muttered, his voice a mere whisper that seemed to echo through the empty room. He recalled the fragments of strangeness that had invaded his sleep the night before. A scavenger hunt, summoned by Aidan, in need of additional participants. He had hesitated, concerned about Aidan's alliance with Hunter, but eventually succumbed to the call. Together, they descended into caverns, their eyes met with a bewildering and otherworldly orb. Yet, that blinding radiance was all he could remember.

A yawn escaped his lips as he stretched, his body unfurling from its cramped confines. He flexed his fingers and wiggled his toes, slowly banishing the remnants of fatigue. He felt undeniably peculiar. His stomach growled, and inexplicable muscle pains reverberated through his body, as if he had been submerged in a timeless slumber.

Still, Oliver knew he couldn't linger in bed all day; school awaited him. He secretly yearned for his grandmother to prepare a breakfast of pancakes, a delightful beginning to the day before Hunter and his entourage could disrupt it.

With another stifled yawn, he peeled his eyes open, fixing his gaze upon the ceiling. But something was amiss. "That's not my ceiling," he whispered, his voice laced with a hint of trepidation as he continued to stare.

No, it wasn't the familiar wood that usually framed his view. It was a peculiar fabric, tinted in hues of reddish-brown, its texture appearing strangely warped and distorted. His eyes widened as he jerked upright, his frantic gaze darting around the unfamiliar room. It was becoming painfully evident that he was no longer at home.

His breath caught in his throat as he surveyed his surroundings. A mattress, or at least something that resembled one, lay beneath him. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his eyes fixated on the wooden legs, crudely hewn and bearing remnants of leaves and branches. There was an undeniable rawness to its craftsmanship.

The blanket and mattress, fashioned from the hide or pelt of some enigmatic creature, baffled him. Even his father, a well-versed authority on the subject, would struggle to identify the origin of such an exotic material.

His gaze continued to roam, taking in the sight of the cold, bare floor beneath his feet. Panic surged within him as he realized his clothes were nowhere to be found. Clutching the animal-hide blanket tightly, he swathed it around his waist, desperately seeking some semblance of warmth.

His eyes fell upon a stack of wooden sticks, leaning against the wall, an antiquated table adorned with a long-extinguished candle, and scattered papers strewn across its surface. He approached them tentatively, his eyes transfixed by the unfamiliar text that adorned the pages.

Amidst the foreign words, a cacophony of voices reached his ears. People, conversing and toiling nearby. The distant echoes of labor resonated through the air, intermingled with the muffled exchanges of the unseen.

But all this remained inconsequential in the face of one undeniable truth. Oliver's gaze fixated on his left hand, and he brought it closer to his face, inspecting it intently. The hand that had made contact with the peculiar orb was now swathed in pristine white bandages, their edges tinged with a grimy brown hue. His head cocked to one side, bewilderment etching deep lines across his face.

Footsteps approached, growing closer and closer to the tent, their rhythm pounding against Oliver's eardrums. His heart raced, a wild sprint that seemed to propel him towards an encounter he never anticipated. He spun around, ready to confront the intruder, only to be greeted by a sight that defied all expectations.

A girl stood before him.

But she was no ordinary girl. She emanated an otherworldly aura, a presence that sent a jolt of fear down Oliver's spine. His back collided with the tent's fabric, his retreat halted by the unyielding barrier as he slid backwards, his senses locked in a state of shock.

"Hello, my name is Dozia," she said, her voice a gentle melody in the midst of his tumultuous thoughts.

Oliver's eyes absorbed her peculiar features. Her skin, a shade of dark green, held an unearthly allure. Waves of fiery red hair cascaded down to her neck, adding to the enigmatic nature of her presence. And her eyes, a deep azure blue, held an intensity that pierced through his very soul. Yet, these were the aspects of her appearance that he could initially process, the ones that carried a semblance of humanity. It was the other parts, the ones that defied his comprehension, that rattled his nerves and froze his vocal cords in terror.

Her ears, elongated and protruding through her wild tangle of hair, possessed an alien quality. But it was her teeth that truly unnerved him. Amidst the semblance of normality, he could discern the presence of fangs, an unsettling contrast to the familiar.

And then she smiled.

Her lips twisted into a grin, her eyes slowly closing, and the world around Oliver seemed to come to a standstill. It wasn't the charm of her smile or the excitement of a girl's attention that gripped him. No, it was an overwhelming sense of horror that seized his every fiber.

Silence enveloped them, so profound that Oliver swore he could hear his own heartbeat, pounding with a frantic intensity within his eardrums. His lips quivered, barely parting as a single word escaped, uncontrolled and vibrant. "Monster!"

Driven by a surge of adrenaline, he clutched the blanket tightly and bolted past her, his shoulder colliding with her side, sending her crashing to the ground. The opening of the tent tore as he yanked it open, his escape fueled by sheer desperation.

But as his eyes adjusted to the scene outside, he was met with a revelation that shattered his perception of reality. Rows of tents sprawled out before him, resembling a formation of dominoes. Dozens of them, mirroring the one he had emerged from, stretched across the landscape, the gentle rise of a small hill marking their presence. Blurry figures moved about, going about their daily routines or emerging from their canvas sanctuaries.

His gaze flickered to a young man, seemingly fourteen years of age, his hands and arms entwined with masses of unkempt hair as he wielded an axe against a log. However, this semblance of normalcy was betrayed by the unusual hooves that replaced his feet and the pair of ears that extended from his head, along with a set of horns.

On the other side, a pair of beings, resembling women in voice and frame alone, stood conversing. They bore no resemblance to humans, their forms defying the boundaries of familiarity.

Oliver's eyes darted to the center, where a pond shimmered, a gathering of kids around his age splashing and playing in its waters. One of them, adorned with emerald green skin akin to the enigmatic girl he had encountered earlier, ceased their merriment and rose from the water, fixating their gaze upon him. They spoke, their words lost to Oliver's ears, but their intent unmistakable. Others joined, their eyes locked upon him, and the weight of their collective stare bore down upon him like an avalanche.

"Fuck!" Oliver exclaimed, the expletive bursting forth, an exclamation of his bewilderment, confusion, and terror.

The words spilled forth from Oliver's lips, propelled by an unknown force beyond his control. His heart pounded against his ribcage, a frantic rhythm that matched the chaos swirling within his mind. He veered to the side, colliding with the woman, their bodies crashing to the ground, the impact jarring his senses. Each step he took reverberated through the dirt floor, a symphony of panicked footfalls. "This is insane... have I lost my damn mind?" he screamed within the confines of his own thoughts.

As he turned a corner, his eyes caught sight of it—walls constructed of rough-hewn wooden spikes. An opening, a glimmer of hope, beckoned to him with an intensity he couldn't resist. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he propelled himself towards it, driven by the desperate need to escape this nightmarish realm.

Yet, before he could reach the sanctuary of freedom, he heard it—the shrill whistle of the wind, an ominous sound that sliced through the air. His ears prickled, attuned to the unnatural cadence, and in an instant, his body plummeted downward. His hands flailed, grasping for anything to break his fall, but the impact still jarred him, leaving him with a groan of pain as he attempted to climb back up. His movements were met with resistance, his limbs constrained. Rolling onto his back, he beheld the source of his restraint—a length of rope secured between a pair of rocks.

A bola, he recognized, a weapon he had learned about in history class. "We got him!" a voice cheered from the sidelines. Footsteps approached, drawing nearer with every passing second. A crowd began to form, closing in on him until he was surrounded by an unsettling horde.

They swarmed him, numerous figures peering down with curious eyes, as if he were a specimen to be prodded and examined by a group of deranged doctors. Strange ears, menacing fangs, canine-like mouths—these were the grotesque features he could ascribe words to. His heart froze within his chest, his eyes fluttering shut as he instinctively sought solace within the folds of the surrounding blanket.

Tremors wracked his body as uncertainty gripped him. "That's where you went!" Dozia's voice cut through the crowd, her figure pushing through to kneel before Oliver. Her hand extended towards his shoulder, an attempt to offer comfort amidst the bewildering chaos.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"You boys saw that. My bola got him around the ankle... like holy crap!" one of the boys exclaimed, his words tinged with awe. Among the group, he appeared the most human, save for the extended ears that marked his distinction. His deep green eyes gleamed with pure astonishment, mimicking the motion of throwing the bola as he reveled in his extraordinary feat. "It was awesome. I didn't even know how I did that!"

"Alright, James," a bigger boy interjected, shouldering his way forward. Though smaller in stature, he possessed a brawniness and a thick beard that belied his age, roughly thirteen. The rest of the crowd turned their attention towards him, their gazes fixed upon Oliver, who now found himself trembling, tears streaming down his cheeks. Clutching his arms around himself, he sought solace within his own embrace, lost and yearning for escape from this maddening nightmare.

Muffled whispers swirled around him, their words barely audible yet laden with profound weight. He could feel the weight of their scrutiny, the piercing gaze of their eyes upon his closed slits, as they contemplated his presence. "Is this truly the one?"

"The Prophet? He doesn't look a day over thirteen... he could be twelve!"

"The one meant to save us... a twelve-year-old boy?"

Their words didn't drip with venomous hate, but rather carried a suggestion, a hint of uncertainty. What were these creatures talking about? The one, the savior, the prophet... What the hell did they mean? Oliver's heart pounded harder, his breath growing labored. He longed to escape, to break free from this accursed tether. He would gnaw at the ropes if it meant finding a way out, anywhere but here. He refused to be what they claimed him to be. All he wanted was to return home.

His mind wandered back to his grandparents, their war stories and his grandmother's comforting cooking. Wasn't he supposed to see his mom again next week? How the hell was he going to get back to her in this nightmarish situation? Tears welled up in his eyes. "Mom..."

Dozia sensed his anguish. "Your mother? Where is she?"

"Dead. My father's gone too. I have no one left."

The words slipped from Oliver's lips, raw and uncontrolled, a reflection of his shattered spirit. What more could go wrong? His left hand throbbed with pain, and now he found himself surrounded by a horde of inhuman freaks. What was the worst they could do? He had already lost everything.

Dozia rose to her feet, her eyes gleaming with empathy as Oliver wiped away his tears. "Alright, that settles it." She turned her head slowly, a smile spreading across her face. "There has been talk about allowing a full-blooded human into the tribe. Especially one who fell from the sky and possesses the blessing."

Her final words hung in the air, charged with significance. Dozia knew that some of her demi-human brethren doubted or had ceased to believe in the prophecy. But she had found her hook. "You know the number one rule for tribe membership? If he has no parents or anyone to care for him... the tribe becomes his new family."

"New family!" The words echoed in Oliver's mind, twisting his perception. His head snapped up, tears momentarily forgotten. What was this girl talking about? "What's your name? I already told you mine, but you called me a monster and left."

Oliver turned his head slowly, expecting to see anger and scorn etched on their faces. But instead, he discovered something peculiar. Their gazes held a knowingness, as if they understood the depth of his despair.

His eyes widened as the realization washed over him. Dozia's words had almost slipped past him, consumed as he was by his own hopelessness. To become a member of the tribe meant having no one, no parents, no family.

That shared glance, that silent bond—they were all bound by a lack, by a void. As Oliver surveyed the scene, more details came into focus. Many of them stood at his height. In fact, he couldn't spot anyone older than fourteen among their ranks.

Dozia knelt down, her fingers deftly untying the bola from Oliver's leg. Rising to her feet, she extended her hand. "I saved your life. That means you owe me a life debt." Oliver took her hand, allowing her to pull him up, his gaze locked with hers. "Let me be the first to welcome you into our tribe, The Lost Ones."

Hours had passed since he woke up, and now Oliver found himself herded into the dining area, finally presented with a bowl of food. He settled into one of the crude seats, his elbows resting on the table as he sank his teeth into a piece of meat and eagerly slurped from his bowl. He didn't care about the curious stares or the intense gaze of the girl who had saved him, her smile still attached.

The rest of the Lost Ones observed the peculiar scene. A human boy, they had heard the words spoken by Dozia, her honeyed words laced with dangerous embers of hope. Savior, prophet, messiah—the one destined to save them. Yet, despite such notions, many turned away. Sneers contorted their faces as they redirected their attention to their previous conversations.

Dozia was thirteen, a few months older than Oliver. Beside her sat a group of individuals. Thomas, the one who had thrown the bola, an elf with pale skin and shaggy bluish hair, occupied her right side. On her left were Lena and her twin, both wearing light armor with fur bristling in the wind.

And then there was Ramus, the larger boy. At thirteen years old, he looked like a mountain man, his stature shorter than Oliver's even at twelve. As Oliver calmed down and ate, he began to comprehend what they were.

"You're not human, at least not entirely," he remarked.

Dozia nodded in agreement. "We're demi-humans. Races closely resembling humans, with their blood flowing through our veins. But we also carry the blood of monsters."

Lena slowly turned her head to meet Oliver's gaze. "We've all lost our homes to slavers and attacks from the Empire. Our parents went off to fight them, and they never returned," she paused, scanning the crowd before returning her attention to Oliver. "The oldest person here is between thirteen and fifteen. We're not the only tribe like this; we're just a group of kids trying to create our own place."

"Kids?" Rasmus barked. "We're accomplishing more than any of the adults from my old tribe."

"Tribes?" Oliver finally spoke, his eyes darting toward them as he continued. "I don't understand what you're saying. I've read fantasy books before. Aren't the elves meant to be secluded, and dwarves supposed to dwell in underground kingdoms? And..." His gaze locked on Dozia. "You're a goblin. Aren't you supposed to be a monster?"

Lena's eyes traced Oliver's form. "He recovers quickly, but I can sense defensiveness in his movements. The way his body is poised, the slight curl of his fingers near the knife." Yet, she also detected hesitation, doubting that if anything truly happened, the boy wouldn't react.

"Yes, before the great curse," Thomas' eyes narrowed, his fingers combing through his locks of hair. "The true elves, with their immortality still intact. They could roam the great forest for centuries without a care." He bit his lip slowly, tension emanating from him as he stared at Oliver. "But much has changed in this world since the rise of the last imposter. Our races' powers have vanished... perhaps they were nothing more than tales to begin with."

Defeat slumped over him, his fingers clenching tightly as he struggled to regain composure. Dozia fixed her gaze upon him. "Don't be a fool. Tales, don't make me laugh." She raised her finger slowly, pointing it at Oliver's face. "That's all the proof we need. The mark, his descent from the skies... he is our prophet."

A smile, dangerous and gleaming, spread across her face. Her eyes narrowed as that sly, all-knowing grin planted a million questions in Oliver's mind. "That's enough, Dozia," Rasmus interjected, cutting her off. "You were the only one who witnessed it, aside from the witch, of course."

Rasmus turned to face Oliver. "Don't listen to Dozia. I'm willing to entertain the possibility that you might have been an imposter who appeared. But Dozia is taking it too far," Rasmus chuckled uncomfortably, while Dozia held onto that fervent, zealous smile that sent a shiver down Oliver's spine. "Dozia has always been a dreamer. She's the smartest one among us, even at thirteen. She dreams of fables and prophecies... of messiahs and saviors."

Oliver had no idea what was happening. In less than a day, he had awakened to find himself in an entirely different world. Countless questions raced through his mind, jostling for attention.

Yet, one question eclipsed the rest. His lips parted, his voice trembling with uncertainty. "I want to go home. My grandparents are still alive, and I want to return to them."

A knowing look flashed across their faces. Lena glanced at James, while Rasmus turned his gaze toward Dozia. Oliver could see their widened eyes, their fidgeting fingers around their utensils. They knew something.

But it was Lena who spoke up. "There is a witch... the same one Dozia took you to for healing," Lena said. "We'll take you to her tomorrow. We'll report what we've discovered and how you... you can ask her about your new life here."

"New life?" Oliver heard the words from Lena. They knew more than they were letting on. Yet he didn't want to pry. He had the feeling that humans, especially full-blooded humans like him, were not exactly welcomed here. But due to this strange prophecy and Dozia's influence, it seemed he had gotten lucky.

"You should get some sleep," James said. Oliver pushed the plates aside as he was led out of the tent, James and Lena following closely behind. They guided him through the maze of tents, their steps fading into the night.

Oliver remained silent, his hands huddled close to his body, seeking warmth against the biting cold. He slowly lifted his gaze toward the sky, where the setting sun painted the mountaintops with a creamy yellow hue. The radiant amber light enveloped him and everyone in its captivating allure.

Escorted to the tent, he wrapped himself in the sheets, catching glimpses of Lena and James' shadows. Tomorrow, he would finally uncover the answers he yearned for. Accompanied by Dozia, he would seek out the witch who held the key to his understanding.

He paid no mind to what Dozia called him, or how she looked at him as if he were the object of her affection or something far grander. He was Oliver, a twelve-year-old boy who was just finishing up middle school. He enjoyed video games, sports, and felt anxious when talking to girls!

How could someone like him be the subject of such a profound destiny? "Because it wasn't me. Dozia is simply confused." With those thoughts lingering, he gently curled his fingers around the blanket, pulling it closer as a lump formed in his throat.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, and perhaps it was the pounding headache that made sleep come easier, its simmering embrace welcoming him. His shallow breaths mingled with the chilly air, noticed by Lena and James from the outside.

"So, that's the one?" Lena absentmindedly remarked.

James turned his head slowly. "No, not you too, Lena. Come on, Dozia may be intelligent, but you have to admit this is absurd," He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the creeping grip of irrational superstition on his friend. "Now we have a human in the camp to worry about. Don't you think there's a possibility that the slavers are using him as bait?"

Lena shrugged in response. "Yeah, it's a possibility. But you must also acknowledge the multitude of circumstances."

Lena extended her hand, as if tracing an invisible path across the sky. "You know Dozia isn't lying. And don't forget about the other things... the witch's influence, the peculiar mark on his left hand, and the trumpet."

James scowled. "The trumpet could have been anything," he dismissed. "It might have been another tribe's hunting party or a slaver's battalion. It's foolish for Dozia to lump everyone together and believe in a false messiah." His gaze snapped toward the tent where Oliver slept. "I don't hold anything against the human. But it's insane to expect this boy... to be the one from the prophecies."

Taking a seat on the dirt, James cast his eyes toward the sun's orange glow. Lena pondered his words, grappling with her own thoughts and suspicions. There might be some truth to them, but how could they ever truly know?

"I just feel that everything around us is growing more complex... and I don't know when or why it all began."

With those parting words, they stood in silence, eventually leaving Oliver's tent to mingle, play, and enjoy each other's company before the impending days. Yet, deep within the forest that sheltered their makeshift home, movements stirred.

Torches flickered to life, illuminating the faces of men driven by sinister intentions. The glint of iron and bronze weapons shimmered in the orange light, signaling the encroaching darkness drawing nearer and nearer.