Awakening groggily, Joey turned his head, still disoriented. His eyes landed on the hunter, who sat casually next to him, munching on an apple as though nothing in the world concerned him.
“What? Why are you staring at me like that?” the hunter said, raising an eyebrow as he took the final bite of his apple. With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, he tossed the core toward a small wooden bucket on the other side of the room into a makeshift trash bin.
The core sailed through the air, spinning perfectly, before landing inside the bucket without so much as grazing its rim. Joey blinked, momentarily impressed.
"With that kind of precision, this guy should be playing baseball," Joey thought to himself, before pausing.
“Wait, do they even know what baseball is here?”
The fleeting thought came and went just as quickly, slipping into the forgotten recesses of his tired mind.
The hunter leaned back on his stool, his tone growing sharper. “So, now that you’ve had a nice, relaxing three-day nap, during which I had to figure out how to get water into you without you choking to death, also I cleaned, stitched, and dressed that nasty wound on your leg. Maybe now you can finally tell me who you are and what happened.”
Joey froze. "Who I am?" The words rang strangely familiar. He’d heard them before, hadn’t he? But where? His thoughts flickered to a vague silhouette in the darkness, but the memory was hazy, like trying to recall a dream after waking up.
“Yes, who you are and why the hell you were lying half-dead in the middle of the forest,” the hunter pressed. “Especially in a spot so deep in the woods that I’m the only person who’s been there for years.”
“Uh… ehhh…” Joey stammered. His mind spun, a hurricane of thoughts battering him from all directions.
The hunter sighed, leaning forward slightly. “Fine, I’ll start. Maybe it’ll help you get your thoughts together.”
He straightened, crossing his arms. “My name is Lucius, I’m 23 years old, and I’m a hunter by trade. That forest where I found you? That’s where I work. Now it’s your turn,” he said, his tone almost teasing as though Joey’s answer held some great, ancient secret he couldn’t wait to uncover.
Joey took a shaky breath, still struggling to piece his thoughts together. His voice came out hoarse, his nerves rattled. “M-my name is…”
Suddenly, a piercing pain exploded in Joey’s head, like a thousand bombs going off simultaneously and then one after another in quick succession. He gasped, his hands flying to his temples, instinctively trying to shield himself from the unbearable agony.
A guttural noise escaped his throat, somewhere between a groan and a low, pained growl, as his body tensed against the waves of torment.
Lucius, startled by the sudden shift, jumped to his feet. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.
Joey didn’t respond, his body hunched forward, his hands clutching his head as the pain surged through him like a tidal wave. Everything else—the room, Lucius’s voice, even the bandages on his body faded into the background as the searing pain consumed his mind.
Joey lay on the bed, his breathing uneven, as the stabbing pain in his head began to subside. It felt like the deafening roar of static fading into complete silence. Just as the pain vanished, words appeared in his mind but were not spoken, not heard, but simply… there. They stood clear and steady, like an echo etched into his consciousness:
"Echo of Will. Strength born of persistence. Change flows from resolve."
Joey opened his eyes, blinking against the dim light of the room. “What the hell does that mean?” he muttered softly, the words still reverberating in his head. It sounded like a strange mix of a motivational quote and a prophecy. He shook the thought off. Maybe it was just the aftereffect of his injury, or a dream.
He sat up slowly, his muscles heavy and sluggish. But there was another pressing need. “Shit,” he thought. “I need to use the bathroom.”
Lucius, sitting back on his stool with another apple in hand, glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “You alright?” he asked, his tone casual, showing little concern.
Joey gave a slow nod, though his head still felt slightly foggy. “Yeah… I think so. Just need to…” He gestured vaguely toward the door, which he assumed led outside. Lucius understood immediately.
“Ah, got it,” Lucius said with a small smirk, pointing toward a wooden bucket in the corner of the room with his apple. “In case you’re wondering, that’s the emergency bucket. But there’s something better outside, if you think you can walk.” He gave Joey a mildly teasing look.
“I’ll manage,” Joey murmured, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His injured leg felt stiff, and the wound throbbed faintly, but the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as he had expected. With effort and a few deep breaths, he pushed himself upright onto unsteady feet.
Lucius raised an eyebrow, watching him as he carefully, yet determinedly, made his way toward the door. His movements were slow, but there was a strange steadiness to them. Lucius remained silent, the apple still in his hand, but he couldn’t help his curiosity.
“With that wound, he’s already walking?” he thought to himself, but said nothing.
Step by painful step, Joey made his way out of the house, his leg throbbing with every movement. Once outside, he was greeted by the sight of a forest, not a dense, dark one, but a sprawling patch of nature with enough vegetation to feel untamed. The air was crisp and cool, carrying the earthy scent of leaves and soil. In front of him, he spotted what looked like a small wooden shack.
“That must be the toilet,” he thought grimly, dragging himself toward it.
The structure was basic, a small wooden hut raised slightly off the ground, with a slanted roof made of overlapping wooden planks. It had no windows, just a single door with a makeshift latch, and faint scratches and marks showed years of use. Joey opened the creaky door and peered inside.
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The interior was simple and, by modern standards, primitive. A rectangular wooden bench dominated the space, with a hole in the center leading to a pit beneath. A faint, unpleasant smell lingered in the air, though it wasn’t as overpowering as he expected. A small clay pot sat in one corner, filled with water, along with a few scraps of cloth hanging on pegs hammered into the wall. The floor was bare dirt, compacted and uneven, and there was a stack of rough, flat stones piled neatly beside the bench.
Joey’s stomach churned, urging him forward. "Well, when you gotta go, you gotta go," he muttered to himself, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.
He lowered his pants and sat on the bench. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes and sighed. "Important and necessary," he thought, his own attempt at a joke to distract himself from the situation.
Once finished, Joey reached for what should have been toilet paper, only to find… nothing. His heart sank. Of course, there wouldn’t be toilet paper here. Why would there be? Still, the disappointment was real. He glanced around, his eyes landing on the pile of stones.
“Are they serious?” he muttered, picking one up. It was a flat piece of smooth stone, clearly meant for… hygiene. With a grimace, he used it, trying not to think too much about the process. Once done, he noticed the scraps of cloth hanging on the wall. He wiped his hands carefully on one, hoping it wasn’t too important, then reached for the small pot of water to clean them as best as he could. The whole process was awkward, uncomfortable, and utterly foreign.
As he pulled his pants back up, something struck him. His boxers. These are still his own modern pair of Boxers that were intact, but the pants he was wearing now weren’t. Instead, they were made of rough, sturdy fabric, tied at the waist with a simple cord. They looked like something a hunter or woodsman might wear.
Joey frowned. “Well, at least my boxers survived. Small victories, I guess.” He adjusted the cord and sighed. “I’ve gotta figure out how to get more of these. Can’t be that hard to find someone who makes clothes, right?”
Shaking his head at the absurdity of his situation, Joey stepped out of the latrine, feeling slightly more human again, even if his dignity had taken a hit. The forest air hit him once more, refreshing and sharp. Now, he just had to figure out what to do next.
Joey pushed open the creaky wooden door and stepped back inside the house. For the first time, he truly took in his surroundings, realizing this was where he’d unknowingly spent the last three days. The room was dimly lit, with sunlight trickling in through a small, crooked wooden shutter and the faint glow of embers in an open hearth against one wall. The air smelled of burnt wood and herbs, a mix of practicality and rustic charm.
The house was small, modest, and clearly built for function. This main room seemed to serve as a combined living, dining, and workspace. The walls were rough stone, unevenly fitted together, with no plaster to cover the cracks. Exposed wooden beams ran across the low ceiling, dark and weathered, with visible scratches and dents from years of use.
A heavy wooden table dominated one corner of the room. It was scarred and stained, likely from years of cutting meat, sharpening tools, and other rugged tasks. Scattered across its surface were a handful of hunting tools: several arrows with roughly feathered fletching, a coiled piece of leather, a whetstone, and a small bowl filled with what looked like bone fragments and sinew.
The walls told the story of Lucius’ life. Above the table, several spears and bows hung neatly in rows, each one looking well-used but cared for. Nearby, a few animal pelts were tacked up like makeshift tapestries. Some were still soft and plush, while others had dried stiff over time. In one corner, a stack of rolled-up furs sat, likely used as bedding when Lucius went on long hunting trips.
Joey’s eyes were drawn to two large animal skulls mounted near the hearth. Their wide, branching antlers gave the room an almost regal air, though the whiteness of the bone was a stark reminder of their origin. Beneath the skulls stood a simple wooden shelf cluttered with earthenware jars, wooden bowls, and a few rough-hewn cutting boards. Some of the jars were etched with crude patterns, as though they had been made by hand.
The hearth itself was purely functional. A small pot sat over the embers, bubbling softly with what looked like a stew. Nearby, bundles of dried herbs were tied neatly with string and placed on a flat stone slab, ready for use.
The floor was nothing more than packed earth, uneven and cool underfoot. A few animal skins were spread around, providing some warmth and comfort. Joey also spotted a rough wooden chair propped against one wall, its edges fraying from wear. Resting on its arm was a bow, its string taut and ready. Next to the chair, a stool stood by the window with a basket atop it, filled with hazelnuts and dried fruits.
The room lacked anything Joey would recognize as modern comfort. There was no softness, no luxury, everything in the house was utilitarian. Yet, it wasn’t cold or uninviting. Everything seemed deliberate, carefully chosen. The pelts, the weapons, the herbs, all of it spoke to a life tied deeply to the forest, to survival, and to the hunt.
“ You enjoying it? ” Lucius asked with a grin, watching Joey as he inspected the room.
Joey turned toward him, still taking in the rustic but oddly charming space. Lucius walked over to the mounted skulls, proudly displayed on a sturdy wooden plaque fastened to the stone wall.
“These,” Lucius said, gesturing toward the skulls, “are my proudest trophies.” His tone was firm, almost reverent, as he looked at them.
Joey raised an eyebrow. “Trophies, huh?”
Lucius nodded. “Every one of these is a story, a hunt, and a reminder of hard-earned victory.” He pointed at one of the skulls, its antlers sprawling outward like jagged tree branches.
“This one here was a stag. One of the largest I’ve ever seen in these forests. Took me a full day to track it. It was smart, always staying just ahead of me. When I finally caught up, I had to hit it twice with my spear to bring it down. Almost lost it in a ravine.” He smiled faintly, as if reliving the moment.
Moving to the next skull, Lucius gestured at its sharper, more angular features. “This one’s a boar. A big one, mean as hell. It nearly gored me before I got it. You see that crack in the skull?” He traced a finger along a jagged line. “That’s from the last blow, it was a spear I’d carved myself. Broke the damn thing in half, but it got the job done.”
Joey listened, nodding along, but his attention was drawn to the third skull. It was massive, far larger than the others, with curved horns that spiraled outward like a ram’s but far more menacing. The bone itself was thick, and the sheer size of it made Joey instinctively take a step back.
“And this,” Lucius said, his voice quieter now, almost in awe, “this is my greatest hunt.” He rested a hand on the massive skull, his eyes gleaming with pride.
Joey frowned. “What is it?”
"Aurochs,” Lucius said simply.
Joey blinked. “Aurochs?”
“A wild bull,” Lucius explained. “Not just any, though. This one was massive, even for an aurochs. Bigger than any I’d ever seen or heard of. I spent months preparing for this hunt. Its tracks were deeper than any stag, its strength unmatched. I needed better weapons, more patience, and sheer determination to bring it down. When I finally killed it, the forest felt quieter, as if even nature itself was acknowledging the beast’s fall.”
Joey looked at the skull again, his gaze lingering on its sharp, curved horns and the sheer size of the thing. It was hard to imagine something so enormous roaming the woods, let alone one man bringing it down.
Lucius continued, his voice filled with enthusiasm. He described the final moments of the hunt, the weight of the spear in his hands, the roar of the aurochs as it charged him. His words painted the scene vividly, and for a moment, Joey could almost see the massive creature as it once was.
As they talked, Lucius casually motioned for Joey to follow him. Without thinking, Joey found himself moving with him toward the heavy wooden table in the corner. Lucius grabbed a jug of water and poured two clay cups, setting one in front of Joey as they sat down.
“Now,” Lucius said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Enough about me.” His tone shifted, and his gaze locked onto Joey. “Your turn. This has been eating at me for days.”
Joey blinked. “What?”
Lucius leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Who are you? And why the hell were you lying out there in the forest, wounded and half-dead?”