The young scribe leaned against the wall in a grand hall, listlessly gazing out a window into the white void beyond. Towering columns of marble stretched infinitely into the cosmos above, which acted as a ceiling to the celestial hall. The intricate carvings in the marble would put ancient Rome to shame, a testament to the divine architecture.
The floor was a masterpiece of cosmic artistry, a mosaic of intricate designs that depicted scenes of heroic triumphs and divine feats. The images were so vivid, they seemed to pulse with life, their colors vibrant against the stony backdrop, as if the very essence of heroism and divinity were embedded within the tiles.
At the heart of the hall crackled a colossal hearth, its flames dancing in hues unknown to the earthly spectrum. The fire cast a warm, cosmic glow across the chamber, illuminating the faces of the gods standing around it with its flickering light. Reflections danced off polished surfaces, weaving a complex tapestry of shadows and illuminations that lent an air of mystery and power to the gathering.
Above, the ceiling unfolded into a canvas of the cosmos itself, where stars twinkled and constellations shifted in a silent narrative of time’s passage. It was as though the hall stood at the universe’s very core, with the heavens bearing witness to the divine proceedings below.
Zeus, seated upon his imposing throne carved from a single massive sapphire, presided over the assembly with an aura of undisputed authority. His commanding presence and piercing gaze steered the discourse, as the gods engaged in fervent debate, their voices echoing like thunder across the chamber. Each point was accentuated by the occasional flash of lightning, a visual echo of the passion and power that animated their discussion.
Hephaestus, his voice laced with frustration, addressed the assembly, his gaze fixed on Hermes. “You’ve bent the rules to the breaking point, Hermes. Ethan’s situation, while unique, didn’t warrant direct intervention. What precedent does this set for us?”
Hermes, standing apart with an air of serene conviction, responded in his notably archaic dialect, “In times yore and realms vast, our kind hath oft faced quandaries most dire. This youth, Ethan, by fate entwined with essence not his own, hath become a being new. ‘Twas not mine intent to defy our sacred laws but to uphold the sanctity of life, in accordance with the edicts most ancient. Zephyria, land of magicks and valor, now shelters him, where his existence disrupts not the delicate balance of his erstwhile home.”
The assembly stirred, some were practically out for Hermes’ head, while others were more intrigued by the unfolding events.
Aphrodite, seeking to soften the mood, added, “Let’s not be too harsh on Hermes. Yes, he took a risk, but his heart was in the right place. Ethan’s story could add a new chapter to the human experience, one filled with hope and adventure.”
Ares, with a scoff, countered, “Hope and adventure? What of order and law? If we start bending rules for every mortal with a sad story, where does it end?”
Ananke, her voice calm and measured, interjected, “The fabric of fate is more resilient than we give it credit for. Ethan’s journey to Zephyria is a thread that has already been woven. Our task now is to observe and learn, not to unravel what has been done.”
Demeter, who was also present when Ethan was sent to Zephyria, said, “Hermes saw a path that none of us did—a solution that preserved life and offered Ethan a chance for a new beginning. Isn’t that worth considering?”
The fervor and division that Ethan Drake’s tale had inspired within the grand hall of the divine assembly were phenomena of a magnitude unseen since epochs past, in a time so ancient that even the calendars kept by the gods ceased to recount its days. It was an era shrouded in the mists of the cosmos, when the heavens themselves were torn asunder by the clash of divine wills—the gods in their celestial majesty, locked in a cataclysmic struggle against the primordial might of the Titans.
The scribe, still somewhat removed from the assembly, remained leaning against the wall, book and quill in hand, gazing out the window.
Athena’s voice, smooth and imbued with wisdom, broke through the cacophony, drawing the scribe into the fold. “Apollo. What say you regarding this matter?” Her gaze found Apollo, sparking a connection between them that silenced the surrounding tumult.
Apollo turned to face the assembly, his voice resonating with a clarity that seemed to weave silence through the chamber. “Esteemed brethren, how dull you have become,” he began, his voice a melody of provocation and insight. “I grow weary chronicling these millennia of nothingness.”
The entire chamber seemed to freeze after his insult. The gods were all visibly shocked, except for Athena, as they processed his sudden biting tongue.
“When, I ask you, was the last time we all gathered in this grand hall? Our archives falter in recollection, but some among us must remember the clash with the Titans. Was it not then our purpose to intervene, to sculpt the fate of existence itself? Why then do we shy from the essence of change?”
The chamber, responding to the challenge in Apollo’s tone, seemed to pulse with a renewed vigor. “You quarrel over a mortal with a destiny uncharted, yet this is naught but a veil over the true discourse. This debate, veiled in concern over Hermes’s actions, is indeed about our very essence, our raison d’être.”
Apollo’s gaze swept across the assembly, his presence commanding attention. “Ethan’s tale is but a mirror, reflecting our own stagnation. Drained by an existence devoid of purpose, he found renewal in change, in the embrace of the unknown. And so must we.”
The gods, stirred by his words, began to feel the weight of their own inertia. “Stop this pretense,” Apollo continued, the hearth’s fire grew in intensity, matching his voice’s rising passion. “This is not about the sanctity of divine law but about the fire of existence that burns low within us all. Have we not the power - the very nature - to inspire, protect, and guide?”
The flames grew subtly brighter, with hues of a sunrise reflecting off the chamber walls. “We watch Ethan’s journey with bated breath because it is a tale untold, a path untraveled. It is the unknown that draws us, igniting the spark of curiosity long dormant within our divine hearts.”
Apollo’s declaration hung in the air, a call to arms for the soul. Even the heroes painted into the mosaic on the floor, seemed to grow more vibrant and pulses of light resonated up the giant pillars, disappearing into the cosmos above.
“What say you, brethren? Shall we continue as mere custodians of a universe that moves beyond us, or shall we leap into the maelstrom of change, to rediscover our purpose, our joy in creation? Ethan Drake, a mortal, shows us the way. Dare we follow?”
The assembly fell into a thoughtful silence, Apollo’s words echoing in the vastness of the hall. Apollo had laid bare the deeper yearning for purpose, for relevance, in a universe that continued to evolve with or without their direct intervention.
“Do we remain as shadows against the backdrop of creation, or do we rekindle the flame of our divine will, to shape, to nurture, and to revel in the stories yet unwoven?” Apollo’s final question lingered, a challenge to each deity present.
In that moment, the seeds of division were sown, not from discord, but from the desire to redefine their existence.
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As we continued our trek through the forest, leading the Elves to safety and hope, I couldn’t help but notice a palpable shift in the atmosphere. The forest seemed a little more calm but the big change was in the elves. After the battle with the Shadowgast wolves, more of them started interacting with me. They joked, thanked me for my assistance, made comments about my abilities, and… this one started walking really close to me.
To my left, was the same elf who tended to my wound. Any trace of the harrowing ordeal I initially found her in was erased from her face. Replaced with an innocent smile that would make any person instinctively want to protect her.
We had talked a fair bit since the journey resumed. I guess she knew Nyxara to some degree – though there was a strange mix of sadness and respect when she spoke on that topic. I also learned that her name was Elara. And this was the first time she had been outside of an elven settlement. What a way to be introduced to the outside world.
A sudden intrusive thought about the state I had found her in began to stir anger in me once again. Thankfully, Cirrus was there to give me a gentle nudge, snapping me out of the brewing storm inside. I looked at Elara with a forced smile.
“You’re quite adept in medical knowledge. Are you a nurse or something?” I asked, trying to keep the mood light.
She cocked her head slightly, confusion evident on her face. “What is a medical? And who is a nurse?” She asked curiously.
Crap, I forgot this was a fantasy world. Most games and books would refer to people with medical knowledge as healers. Eh, I’m sure it’s fine though, maybe I can just chalk it up to different languages.
“Erm… some human towns refer to the knowledge to tend wounds as medical knowledge and healers are sometimes called nurses…” I tried to cover my slip-up with a natural chuckle.
“Really? Well, then to answer your question, my father is an apothecary, so I learned most of it from him. I don’t have much knowledge in healing spells though, just herbs and such.” She explained.
“Ah, I see. Well, I was lucky to have you around then, wasn’t I? I barely feel a thing in my arm.” I replied cheerfully, waving my arm up and down as proof.
She chuckled, then quickly admonishde me with a serious expression. “Well don’t go waving it around too much, you still have to let it heal properly.”
She looked down after that, her expression now solemn. “I- I’m sorry. I treated you so coldly, even after you rescued-”
I cut her off, no way would I let her feel guilty over that. “There’s no need to apologize, Ms. Elara. You had every reason to be cautious. After what you’ve been through, you owe no apologies.”
She looked at me, seemingly at a loss for words but managed a small, “Thank you. I hate to admit it, but I don’t think Nyxara could have managed all this alone. We’re fortunate you’re here.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m just glad everyone got out of there.”
“Actually, now that I think about it, how did you come to travel with Nyxara? She isn’t known for trusting easily, even when it comes to kin.” She asked curiously.
I instinctively touched my neck, remembering the sharpness of Nyxara’s blade. “It’s a bit of a long story. Let’s just say our paths crossed unexpectedly, and it was in my best interest to persuade her to let me help,” I said, laughing nervously.
“I… see. Well, either way, I’m glad you’re here.” She said sincerely.
I wasn’t really sure how to respond. While I had indeed played a significant role in our escape, I doubted that I was indispensable. Nyxara and the elves were capable in their own right; it wasn’t as though I was some all-powerful hero, reincarnated with divine blessings. Honestly, I was still grappling with my own identity. Could I really claim to be the same Ethan I was on Earth?
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The old man had told me I merged with Zephyrian, but what did that truly mean? He was just a character I created for a game. I bore his likeness, but was there more to it? Stranger things happened in manga and novels, but this situation carried heavy implications I wasn’t ready to fully consider.
“Ethan,” Nyxara called back, snapping me out of my thoughts, “could I get a look at that map?”
“Sure thing.” I quickened by pace to catch up to her.
She studied the map intently for a few minutes, glancing up at our surroundings and then back at the parchment. Finally, she folded it up and handed it back to me. “We aren’t far now. We should reach the campsite before nightfall if we maintain our pace,” she announced to everyone.
One of the older elves spoke up, “If memory serves, the caravan should be making it’s way through here within the next day or so. but if they’re ahead of schedule…”
“It’s possible we already missed them,” Nyxara replied, her voice tinged with faint apprehension.
“What’s the plan then?” I asked, sensing the growing uncertainty.
“Everyone is long overdue for a break. I think it’s best we set up camp there. I think we can afford one day.” She decided.
“You think the bandits are still chasing us?” I questioned, finding it hard to believe they would pursue us this deep into the forest, especially after we’d decimated their camp and eliminated their leader.
“You are either exceedingly naive about the world, or too innocent for your own good,” she retorted with a hint of frustration. “Elf slaves are highly sought after. Given the scale of their operation and the number of elves they held captive, those bandits were likely hired by someone of considerable influence.”
I thought for a moment. I didn’t know much about this worlds social structure, but I could assume a few things based on games and novels. If these bandits were hired by nobility – especially upper nobility – then heads could start rolling after a failure like this. I suppose with stakes like that their options are flee and hope they can’t be tracked, or come through on their end of the deal.
“I see… In that case, would it be smarter to just continue onward? Since this is a road used by an elf caravan, I assume we can just follow it to the nearest elf settlement?” It seemed logical to me – we would either run into the caravan along the way, or they would run into us.
“We could,” Nyxara admitted, lowering her voice. “But it wouldn’t be the best option. We’re low on provisions, and while my kin are resilient, they’ve endured a lot. They need some time to feel safe and recuperate.”
“I understand. So, you’re planning to organize a hunting party if the caravan doesn’t show up by morning?”
“Exactly. If the caravan doesn’t arrive, we’ll need to secure enough food and supplies to last us another day or two. However, with this many people, it’s risky to be unprepared. We’d be better off with the caravan’s support.”
There wasn’t really much to say after that. I don’t think I was exactly getting a cold shoulder from Nyxara, but she didn’t seem open to small talk. I ended up hanging back with the other elves and trying my best to keep their spirits up. Perhaps it was just me, but it seemed like the forest was opening up for us, making our way easier and more comfortable.
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As the sun dipped behind the towering trees, we arrived at our destination. The campsite was a large, flat clearing nestled on a bend of a moderately used road. Soft dirt covered the ground, devoid of most undergrowth, providing a natural space for rest. At the center, a fire pit surrounded by halved logs perched on large rocks or stumps invited weary travelers to relax.
Beyond our temporary refuge, the forest thickened and climbed steep foothills, hinting at challenging travels ahead. Although I was no expert, the steepness and loose soil suggested that landslides could be a concern during wetter seasons. But that was a worry for another time.
Nyxara paused to survey our surroundings with a critical eye before her posture relaxed. “Looks like we’re clear,” she announced, turning to address the group. “I know everyone’s exhausted, but let’s get the camp set up. We’ll likely be here for at least a day, so make yourselves comfortable.”
Relief washed over the elves as they dispersed to perform various tasks. Some inspected the fire pit, ensuring it was usable, while others debated whether to organize a hunting party or start constructing shelters.
The elf warrior with the bandaged leg approached Nyxara and me with a look of concern. “Is it wise to stay here for so long, given our limited supplies?”
Nyxara responded thoughtfully, “Our lack of provisions does worry me, but right now, the group’s morale is my bigger concern. We all need a moment to breathe and hopefully meet up with the caravan.”
The soldier nodded in understanding. I observed the fire pit’s untouched state as a few elves were cleaning out dirt and sprouting weeds. Looking at the trail, it didn’t seem like anything recently came through. The ground was fairly loose and, other than obvious wear on the road, I didn’t see anything that looked like carriage tracks.
“It seems like luck is on our side,” I commented to Nyxara, gesturing towards the fire pit. “The campsite appears unused, and the road doesn’t look like it’s seen any carriages lately.”
“You’re observant,” Nyxara acknowledged. “It does appear it’s been a while since anyone last passed through. If we’re fortunate, that means the caravan is on schedule and will arrive by morning.”
“If that’s the case, should we even bother setting up a detailed camp? If we’ll just be here overnight?” I queried, trying to gauge the necessity of our efforts.
The elf warrior chimed in thoughtfully. “Even if the caravan arrives in the morning, they likely won’t leave until the next day. The path ahead can be treacherous; they’ll want to rest and prepare.”
“Understood,” I nodded, then turned back to Nyxara. “How about I take Cirrus and handle the hunting? I’m confident we can secure enough for a meal or two.”
Nyxara frowned slightly, “I’m not keen on you going out alone.”
It was hard to tell if her concern was for my safety or a lingering distrust. Opting to assume the former, I added, “You’ve said it yourself—everyone needs to relax and feel safe here. Cirrus will guide me back if I get lost.”
“True,” she conceded, though still visibly uneasy. “Still, I’m not comfortable with anyone wandering alone. Perhaps I should join you.”
“That’s not necessary,” I quickly objected. “Stay here with the elves. Your presence reassures them.”
The warrior agreed. “You’re effectively our leader now, Nyxara. Your departure might unsettle the camp. Everyone has seen what Ethan can do; we trust him to handle this.”
After a moment of contemplation, Nyxara reluctantly agreed, giving me a nod of approval. “Be careful, then. We can’t afford any more surprises.”
With a reassuring smile, I shouldered a bow we had liberated from the bandits, and headed toward the woods with Cirrus perched on my shoulder. After everything that had transpired over the last two days, a bit of solitude felt like a luxury. Mingling with the elves required a display of strength and confidence—a taxing effort for someone who’d spent his days as an antisocial office worker.
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Reflecting on my past life, I recalled my early days gaming as a ranger, a character class known for its proficiency with a bow. If Zephyrian’s skills had indeed transferred to this world along with his appearance, I should have a decent shot at handling the bow. This solitary hunt was the perfect chance to test these abilities without the immediate pressure of combat or the watchful eyes of the elves.
As we ventured deeper into the forest, the ambient sounds of nature replaced the distant murmurs of the camp. I paused, feeling the weight of the bow in my hand, the cool forest air brushing against my face. I turned to Cirrus, whose keen senses had already started to adjust to our new environment.
“Alright, buddy. Think you can sniff out something for us? A deer would more than cover our needs,” I whispered, half-jokingly, hoping his animal instincts might guide us to a suitable catch.
Cirrus chirped softly, his head tilting as if considering the request, then leaped from my shoulder to the ground. His small form disappeared into the underbrush, only the occasional rustle marking his progress.
I followed cautiously, keeping my steps light and my senses alert. The forest around us was alive with the late evening chorus of birds and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. I felt a strange sense of connection to the environment, a harmony that had been foreign to me in my previous life but now resonated deeply.
As I moved, I practiced nocking an arrow to the bow, finding the action surprisingly natural. My fingers adjusted the grip, aligning the arrow with practiced ease that belied my inexperience. It seemed Zephyrian’s skills were indeed manifesting, blending with my own burgeoning instincts.
A soft rustle to my left caught my attention, and I froze, my eyes scanning the dense foliage. The slightest movement could mean the difference between a successful hunt and returning empty-handed. Patience was essential, yet as I waited, my thoughts drifted to the blending of my identities. Where did Ethan end and Zephyrian begin? The weight of the bow in my hands, the ease with which I moved silently—it all felt eerily natural, familiar. Like I had done this a thousand times before.
The sudden snap of a twig jerked me back to reality. Heart pounding, I raised the bow, pulling the string back with a steady, practiced hand. Just as I steadied my aim, Cirrus burst out of the foliage, his small face beaming with pride as he chirped a triumphant “Chewe, chewe,” which sounded suspiciously like, “Did I do good?”
But his pride was swiftly followed by trouble. Thundering behind him, a massive bear-like boar with sharp tusks and matted red fur charged through the underbrush, each heavy thud of its paws sending a jolt of alarm through me.
“I asked for something like a deer, not... whatever this is!” I exclaimed, my voice rising in panic as I released the arrow.
The arrow struck true, embedding itself in the boar’s thick hide. Unfortunately, it did little more than enrage the beast further. With a furious snort, it pivoted, its small eyes locking onto me with murderous intent.
Instinct took over. I backpedaled, fumbling for another arrow. “Cirrus, a little help here?” I called out, my voice edged with desperation.
Cirrus, realizing the gravity of the situation, darted around, trying to distract the boar. But the creature was singularly focused, charging at me with an unstoppable fury.
With no time left to aim carefully, I drew my bow as quickly as I could, the tension of the string biting into my fingers. The boar was closing the distance fast, its tusks gleaming menacingly in the dim light filtering through the canopy.
In a breathless moment, fueled by adrenaline and fear, I let loose the arrow. It soared, a desperate whisper through the air, aimed not just to wound but to halt the impending charge that threatened to trample me under its massive weight.
The arrow’s flight seemed to stretch each second into an eternity. As I watched its trajectory, I let the bow slip from my fingers and instinctively grasped the hilt of the sword at my waist. My mind raced through scenarios: if the arrow didn’t stop the boar, I’d need to be ready for more direct confrontation.
With my heart hammering in my chest, I braced for impact. The boar barreled towards me, its eyes wild with fury and pain. As it closed the distance, I prepared to dodge to the side at the last possible moment—my plan was to use its momentum against it, aiming for a vital strike as I rolled away.
“Come on,” I muttered under my breath, eyeing the beast’s approach and calculating the timing of my move. This wasn’t just about survival now; it was about proving I could handle the unexpected challenges of this world.
As the boar neared, the arrow finally found its mark, striking the beast with a thud. Yet, it was clear it wasn’t enough to stop it completely. The enraged creature only slowed slightly, its charge undeterred. I tightened my grip on the sword, my muscles tensed for the swift, evasive action I was about to take.
The ground shook under the boar’s heavy steps. Just as it was nearly upon me, I threw myself to the side, rolling across the soft forest floor and coming up in one fluid motion. With the boar momentarily disoriented by my sudden move, I thrust my sword, aiming for its side, hoping to reach its vitals and end this threat swiftly.
I mustered every ounce of strength I hadn’t realized I possessed, driving my sword nearly to the hilt right behind the beast’s shoulder blade. The move was effective; with a loud grunt, the boar stopped in its tracks and then toppled over. Due to its immense size and weight, however, it fell with such force that it catapulted me through the air.
I found myself staring up at the trees above when a familiar fox-like face popped into view. I swear Cirrus was grinning from ear to ear.
“You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?” I said with a tired sigh, managing a half-smile despite the ache in my bones. “Next time… maybe go for something a little smaller.”
After taking a few deep breaths to steady my racing heart and calm my breathing, I pushed myself up off the ground. Standing, I surveyed what I had now dubbed the “Barely a Boar.” Despite the ordeal, there was a bright side—it would definitely provide more than enough meat to feed everyone at the camp, potentially even the approaching caravan, and perhaps stock the town the elves aimed to reach.
The feeling of accomplishment, mixed with a hint of pride, washed over me. Having arrived in this world as an outsider, each moment here was a chance to carve out my place, and today’s victory was a testament to my growing adaptability.
Thankfully, my sword came loose with ease, though it definitely needed a good cleaning. That brought me to my next challenge: how was I going to transport this massive boar back to camp? Cirrus nudged against my leg encouragingly, as if to say, “You got this, bro!”
Deciding to give it a try, I wrapped my arms around the boar, giving it a robust bear hug, and to my astonishment, I managed to hoist it onto my back. Just to be clear, this thing was about twice my size, likely weighing close to four hundred pounds. I hadn’t realized my own strength had grown to such an extent. A fleeting memory of a man left twitching inside a brick wall flashed through my mind—so bizarre and brief that I dismissed it as a remnant of some strange dream.
Cirrus, ever helpful, grabbed the bow I had discarded, holding it in his mouth like a dog that had found an entire tree branch. Despite feeling a bit sore, the pride from our successful hunt buoyed my spirits as we headed back to camp.
Each step with the boar’s weight on my shoulders not only tested my physical strength but also cemented my confidence in my ability to survive and thrive here. The forest, once a realm of uncertainty and danger, now felt like a place where I could assert my newfound skills and role.
As we approached the camp, I couldn’t help but imagine the looks on the elves’ faces. Surprise, amazement, respect, and utterly dumbfounded – the thought of which brought a grin almost as big as Cirrus’ to my face.