Year 400 – Duskrend Wildlands
The forest was wrong.
The air didn't move. The leaves didn't rustle. The trees weren't trees — not really. Their bark breathed. Their roots pulsed like veins. The ground beneath Takaya's feet wasn't dirt but something older, something alive. He stumbled forward, half-blind in the strange twilight.
Blood ran down his arm.
Something howled behind him.
Too close.
Takaya ran.
His legs screamed. His lungs barely worked. His body felt like it was still falling, still catching up to the moment he'd been ripped out of his world and thrown into this one. The ring on his finger — faint silver, unfamiliar — burned cold against his skin.
He didn't remember putting it on.
He didn't remember much at all.
Branches clawed at his face. Roots shifted underfoot like they wanted him to trip.
Another howl — to the right this time.
Then the first one lunged.
It didn't look like any wolf he'd ever seen. Its fur shimmered like oil in moonlight, its eyes burned white, its mouth stretched too wide. When it hit him, it felt like getting slammed by a boulder made of knives.
He hit the ground hard.
Another wolf tore into his thigh. A third bit into his ribs.
He screamed.
Blood sprayed across the leaves. The pain was electric, blinding.
And then, everything stopped.
Not metaphorically.
Time itself stopped.
The wolves froze mid-lunge. The air shimmered. The sky dimmed.
"Failsafe activated," said the Voice.
It wasn't a whisper. It was a sentence made of iron. Cold and certain.
The ring on Takaya's finger flared with impossible light.
His body arched. Aether tore through his veins, igniting nerves, burning him alive from the inside out. His vision went white.
His heart — which had stopped — jolted back.
His body moved before he could.
Solthar appeared in his hand, already mid-swing. The nearest wolf's head fell away before the blade even fully formed. Another lunged — and never reached the ground.
Takaya's mind floated, detached. He watched from somewhere far behind his own eyes as the Veyl controlled his limbs like a marionette. His stance was perfect. Each movement clean, deliberate, inhuman.
The Duskveil cloak shimmered into existence behind him, its crystalline shards spinning lazily — then striking with lethal precision.
Aether surged. Wolves died.
When it ended, the forest held its breath.
And Takaya collapsed to his knees.
Smoke curled from his skin. Blood soaked his side. But he was breathing.
Alive.
"And now… you're welcome," said the Voice, almost bored again.
Takaya gasped. "What… what was that?"
"Failsafe. You died. I didn't feel like being buried again, so I borrowed your corpse."
"I didn't… I couldn't…"
"Obviously. But now that you've had your little resurrection, let's have a chat."
Takaya looked down at his shaking hands. Bloodied. Not his. Not all of it.
The ring on his finger still glowed.
"Takaya Hoshigane," the Voice murmured — first time it used his name. "You weren't supposed to arrive for another thousand years."
Takaya didn't answer.
He just whispered:
"I want to go home."
"Too late," the Voice said. "You already are."
When Takaya woke again, it was raining.
Not a downpour — not even steady. Just soft, cold threads of water dripping through the canopy. He lay on his side at the base of a tree, the ground muddy and dark beneath him. His clothes were torn. His skin was marked with fresh bruises that hadn't been there before the wolves.
But he was breathing.
His pulse was slow. His bones were whole. The blood had dried. Even the worst of the gashes were gone, reduced to faint red lines that looked like bad memories rather than injuries.
The Veyl had healed him. Or something close to it.
He sat up, slowly. Every muscle felt like it had been through war.
"You should be dead," the Voice said, casually.
"Thanks."
"No, really. That first one nearly took your shoulder off. And the fall? Brutal. Spine was in three pieces."
Takaya leaned his head back against the bark. "And now?"
"Now? You're fine. Mostly. Your brain's still catching up. But I'd give it… two days before you're moving like a demigod again."
He closed his eyes.
The rain continued its quiet rhythm.
"I don't want to be a demigod."
"Tough. You're the idiot who got yanked into a half-finished summoning circle. You ever seen someone get isekai'd by accident? That's you."
He didn't respond.
Time passed. Maybe an hour. Maybe more. The sky didn't change much — still that strange, sunless haze. The air was thick with the scent of wet moss and distant mana.
When Takaya finally stood, his legs didn't collapse.
That was something.
He took a few shaky steps forward, one hand on a low branch for balance.
The forest didn't feel like it was hunting him anymore.
But it wasn't welcoming either.
He moved.
Not with a goal — just away from the corpses. Away from the stains in the dirt. From the place where he'd died.
"You'll need food eventually," the Voice said. "Water too. Try not to eat anything that glows."
"Helpful."
"You're welcome."
Takaya wandered through thickets of vine-wrapped trees and strange hanging fruits he didn't dare touch. The ground pulsed faintly underfoot. Every few hours he saw something move — too large to be prey, too silent to be predator.
But nothing approached.
Not after what happened last night.
The Echoes, whatever they were, had done something permanent. Even the trees seemed to avoid him now.
By the second evening, he found a stream — clear, cold, almost too pure. He drank until his hands shook.
The Voice didn't speak for a while.
Not until he sat by the bank and stared at his reflection in the slow-moving water.
His face looked the same. Mostly. A little sharper. The edges of his irises still flickered blue under the surface.
"So. How're you enjoying Duskrend?"
He didn't answer.
"Still thinking this is a dream?"
"No," he said. "I think it's a punishment."
"Same thing, really."
Takaya looked at his hand — at the ring.
It pulsed once. Not light. Not heat.
Just… recognition.
"You said I was summoned too early. How early?"
"About a thousand years."
He exhaled slowly. "And the others?"
"Still home. For now."
He paused. "Will they come?"
"Eventually. Not your time. Not your fault."
Takaya leaned back, staring up at the sky that wasn't really a sky.
"Then what the hell am I supposed to do for a thousand years?"
"Live."
"That's not an answer."
"Then try this one: survive."
It was sometime past the seventh sunrise when Takaya found the corpse.
By then, he had stopped keeping track of days. The sun in this part of Duskrend didn't rise or fall with logic. Some mornings it appeared twice. Some nights didn't end. The Veyl told him not to bother trying to map the cycle.
So he walked.
He followed rivers upstream, avoided the glass-colored insects that hummed like dying engines, and learned which fruits didn't kill him. His boots were shredded. His jacket had become a sleeveless rag. He slept beneath old ruins and dreamt of fire. Fire without screams. Without chaos. Just flames that whispered in the dark.
Each night, the ring on his finger would hum softly. Not a sound—a sensation. Like something deep below the earth was calling to it. Or warning it.
He didn't ask questions. Not anymore.
And then he saw it—half-buried at the edge of a ravine, between the roots of a skeletal tree that hadn't moved in days.
A corpse. Long dead. Rusted armor grown over with moss and lichen. The skull still stared upward, jaw half-open like it had died screaming.
But the sword…
The sword was untouched.
It lay across the body's chest like it had never dulled. Even caked in mud, the blade shimmered faintly. Not with magic, not with heat. With presence. Like it was still aware.
Takaya knelt beside the body, slowly.
"Ah Shit, Here We Go Again" the Voice groaned.
"What is this?"
"An Echo. Your first real one. Solthar."
The name echoed in his head like it belonged there.
"The Blade That Ends Before It Begins. It doesn't wait for you to swing. It strikes the moment you decide to kill."
Takaya reached out. His fingers hovered over the hilt.
"You sure you want this? This is the start of something you can't undo."
He grabbed it.
Pain lit his veins.
The ring on his hand flared white. Aether screamed up his arm, searing his nerves like fire through copper. He couldn't let go even if he tried.
The runes on the sword pulsed once, then brightened. Not a glow. A flare of recognition.
Then a voice. A whisper of intent. Not the Veyl. Not words. Just presence. Female. Cold.
"You are late," she said.
The sword shimmered. It was no longer just metal. It was will.
It was his.
"You've unlocked Solthar," the Veyl said, feigning a yawn. "Congratulations. Try not to amputate anything important."
Takaya stood slowly, feeling the weapon rest in his hand like breath. No weight. No drag. Just direction.
He took one step away from the corpse.
And the forest moved.
Something massive crept between the trees.
Shadows pulled back to reveal a beast cloaked in hanging fog. No eyes. Just a mouth that split too wide, breathing frost. Its feet were bare but cracked the earth like stone.
"Heads up," the Voice said. "Time for your first test drive."
The beast roared.
Takaya didn't roar back.
He lifted Solthar.
And thought of a slash.
The cut was already done.
The beast's head slid clean off. No blood. No noise. No struggle.
He stood in the silence that followed, breathing harder than he wanted to admit.
"Alright," the Voice said, almost impressed. "You made that look clean."
Takaya swallowed.
"I didn't even feel myself move."
"You didn't. That's Solthar's gift. She kills before your muscles do. It's not speed. It's inevitability."
He looked down at the sword. The blade didn't shine. It waited.
"Did it suffer?"
"Do you care?"
He didn't answer.
He just wiped the invisible blood from an invisible edge—and kept walking.
And behind him, the wind finally moved again.
He heard the screams before the Veyl spoke.
Wind carried the sound — thin, desperate, too far from any guardpost to expect help. Takaya stood at the edge of a rise, overlooking the valley below. Smoke curled lazily from a small farming village tucked between ridgelines. He knew the smell already.
Flame. Blood. Fear.
"They're here," the Voice said.
He didn't respond. Not at first.
"The others. Your friends. They arrived at the Spire an hour ago. Alive. Confused. Heartbroken. You want to go see them?"
He didn't turn.
"They don't need me now."
"They never stopped needing you."
Takaya closed his eyes. The wind ruffled the ragged edges of his cloak.
"Are they okay?"
"Physically? Sure. Emotionally? Not a chance. One of them was crying. Want to guess which one?"
"No."
"You could say hello."
"I could." He stepped forward. "But that village will burn before I get back."
"You're allowed to be selfish."
"I'm not allowed to be late."
And then he dropped.
He leapt off the rise and hit the slope hard, knees bending with impossible control. The forest blurred past as he descended toward the village below, every tree parting just enough for his speed.
The closer he got, the clearer the chaos became.
Bandits. Not well-organized. Not military. Just desperate men with steel and flame, torching food stores, dragging people from houses. Maybe fifteen total — maybe more — but they had the advantage of surprise.
Takaya stepped into the smoke.
The Veyl shimmered around his arm. Solthar was already there before he thought to summon it.
One bandit turned toward him, sword raised.
He didn't finish raising it.
The slash had already happened.
Another screamed. Another vanished in a spray of blue fire as Voidspire ricocheted through the air, returning to Takaya's hand before the body hit the dirt.
One man begged.
He didn't answer.
He never answered anymore.
When it was over, he stood in the center of the square, surrounded by bodies and smoke. A few villagers stared from behind broken fences, silent. No thanks. No relief.
Only fear.
A child peeked out. A woman pulled him back.
Takaya turned to leave.
One man called out. "Wait!"
He stopped.
But didn't face them.
The man approached slowly, a farmer. Wrinkled, tired, armed with nothing but soot.
"What… are you?" the man asked.
"I'm not here to hurt you."
"That's not what I asked."
Takaya didn't reply.
He walked.
"You're not good at this whole 'hero' thing," the Voice said, quieter now.
"They're alive."
"And they're afraid of you."
He didn't argue. He walked the whole way back in silence.
The Veyl didn't speak again until the mountains returned to view.
"The Spire is close. Just a few hours south. You could still see them."
"They're not ready," Takaya said.
"Or maybe you're not."
He stopped.
The stars above him flickered — too many, too bright. As if they'd never moved in the last thousand years.
He looked up at them.
Then kept walking.
Alone.
Cold.