Ethan woke before dawn, his body still bruised and stiff from the previous night's escape. Pain threaded through every movement, but survival didn't allow for rest beyond what he absolutely needed. He had eaten the last bit of his half granola bar, washed down with a sip of water, and packed the four books carefully back into the leather bag slung across his shoulder. His sword and shield were ready, held close as a precaution.
The forest stretched before him, dense and alien, every tree and vine unlike anything on Earth. Leaves shimmered faintly, their edges catching the first light in hues he had no names for. Strange flowers with translucent petals leaned toward him, almost watching, and small creatures scuttled across the undergrowth, pausing to study him with wide, unblinking eyes before darting away.
As he navigated slowly, ears straining for danger, he caught sight of something unusual. Through a break in the trees, a strip of unusually flat terrain cut through the forest—a path, straight and deliberate. The material was strange, not stone like a road back home, but dark, hard, and slightly reflective, catching the light at angles that made it look like glass fused with rock.
Ethan crouched low, letting the shadows of the trees hide him. A road, he realized. Roads meant travel, civilization, people—or creatures. He wasn't naïve; he remembered the cart sound from last night. Someone or something had passed this way, and it could be dangerous.
He didn't step onto it. Not yet. Instead, he skirted along the forest's edge, keeping as hidden as possible, moving slowly so no crack of a twig would betray him. Every movement was calculated. Every sound—leaves brushing together, distant calls of unknown birds, the faint shift of insects—was noted.
The road led him deeper into the alien landscape. Trees grew taller, their trunks twisted in spirals he had never seen before. Vines hung like curtains from the canopy, glowing faintly in colors he couldn't name. Occasionally, he caught glimpses of creatures—some with multiple limbs, others with scales or semi-transparent skin—watching him from a distance. He froze each time, letting them lose interest before continuing.
Hours passed. Hunger gnawed at him. His bruises throbbed. But the road offered direction in a world that had felt endless and chaotic. Following it cautiously, he noticed subtle signs of previous travel: faint hoofprints, scuff marks along the edges, even fragments of strange metal that gleamed under the sun. Civilization wasn't far, if he could just survive to reach it.
As the day progressed, the trees began to thin. The road widened slightly, and Ethan's heart quickened. Through the diminishing foliage, he glimpsed walls in the distance—massive, impossibly high, and built from stones that seemed too large for him to imagine moving. Towers jutted skyward, punctuated by narrow slits where guards might watch. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the sound of faint activity drifted on the wind.
Ethan crouched in the shadows at the edge of the road, letting the fading light of dusk blend him into the forest. From this vantage, he could see the city's massive walls and the enormous gates, guarded by figures that moved with disciplined precision. He watched carefully as a few people approached the gates.
They didn't just walk in. Each person paused, producing small pouches or coins, handing them to the guards who inspected them briefly before allowing entry. Carts and animals were similarly checked; some drivers exchanged coins, others goods. It was a controlled system—an entrance tax, perhaps, or some kind of toll for access.
Ethan's stomach sank. He had no coins. He didn't even know what the currency was—or if it would exist in this world at all. One wrong step here, one attempt to enter without complying, could mean imprisonment—or worse.
He pressed himself lower into the undergrowth, weighing his options. The road was straight, leading right to the gates, but he couldn't just walk up. He had to understand the rules first. He needed to observe, to learn, and to plan. One miscalculated move could end his survival before he even saw the city's interior.
For now, staying hidden was safer. He would follow the road along the forest's edge, watch the routines, study the flow of people, and figure out how this world worked. Every sound—the clop of hooves, the rattle of carts, the occasional shouted command from a guard—was noted in his mind.
He adjusted the strap of his bag, clutched the sword and shield tightly, and sank back into the shadows. The city lay just ahead, massive and imposing, a world of unknown dangers and possibilities. For tonight, observation was enough. Survival meant patience.
And somewhere in the distance, the faint moonlight reflected off the alien road, guiding him forward—but cautiously, always cautiously—toward the walled city.