Streetlamps blurred into yellow smears before fading away. Was he lying down? His head felt heavy. Warm. Wet. He tried to lift it, but something dragged it down. Somewhere far away, oil hissed on a flat-top, and a burning smell hit his nose.
But that was hours ago...
His fingers twitched. At least he thought so. It was difficult to tell where his body began and ended. There was a faint noise in the dark, like steady drips of water. Kayo knew it came from the back of his head, but had no strength to lift an arm. The dripping quickened, confusion turning into panic and back to confusion again, until the sound rushed like a violent flood. The liquid slowly filled the void around him, but now, he was not alone.
There was a presence in the dark water, stirring up currents as it moved. Gargantuan, unfathomably so, as it circled him, measured him, studied him. A thousand unseen eyes burned into his skin from all directions. He thought of the ocean itself taking a notice of him, but this was unquestionably older, more vast than any void.
He reached out, hopeless and suffocating, for someone, anyone to help him. Something pushed into his thoughts. A pressure his mind twisted into but one word: THRIVE.
All of his muscles began to ache, a subtle hint that he was alive again. He could feel the coarse, damp sand beneath him slowly make way into his consciousness as the waves surrounded him before waning again.
Sand… And water?
He tried to get up, but his attempts were rewarded only with splitting headaches. Thus, he eventually gave it a rest. He lay there for what felt like several hours, the only company being the sound of the rising tide and squawking of the seabirds in the evening dim light. In its own way, it was kind of tranquil. But then came the cold. A chilling breeze found its way underneath his soaked hoodie and pants. In an effort to either warm up or get out of there, Kayo resorted to crawling, slowly and clumsily, like he'd forgotten all about how his body worked, but it was better than nothing.
After minutes of this exhausting toil, he could hear distant sounds unlike the nature around. The words were unintelligible, but the cadence was unmistakably speech. Three, four, maybe five distinct, high-pitched voices were approaching him.
Please don't eat me alive…
Five small figures surrounded him. If he were to compare them to humans, he would say they were children. One of them poked him with a stick, over and over, hoping to get some kind of reaction. Kayo could only groan in response, but that seemed to be enough. Two ran off while the other three sat near him.
Before long, the two that ran off came back with three larger figures. Adults, judging by their size. One of them knelt down to check Kayo's pulse, then gave a short gesture. The other two lifted Kayo by the arms and legs and carried him away. Barely conscious, he caught a glimpse of a small village, blurry like the rest of the world, before exhaustion got to him and he succumbed to slumber.
• • •
When Kayo opened his eyes again, everything hurt. His body ached as if he'd been wrung out and left to dry. The ceiling above him was uneven, made of dark wood, sunlight slipping in through miniscule gaps. The room smelled of smoke, fish, and herbs.
He tried to sit up, but regretted it immediately. The room spun around, his throat felt like a desert, and a dull pressure throbbed at the back of his head. Someone must've noticed the movement, for a blurry shadow approached his bed. Each step reverberated the clinking of metal.
Kayo tried to focus his attention. As hard as it was, he could make out a seemingly middle-aged man donning a thin, long coat, several charms hanging from his neck ranging from gold and silver to probably iron and bronze. The man's face was half-hidden behind a curtain of greyish hair, his hands rough but careful as he pushed Kayo's chest down. Kayo got the hint and laid back down, waiting for the nausea to pass.
"Where am I?" Kayo asked, just barely able to string a sentence together. That, paired with the sore throat making every single word a chore to pronounce at all made him all the more uneasy.
The man said something, worrisome expression on his face. Pity, perhaps. Unfortunately, Kayo couldn't make out a single word. Not the language, let alone the accent.
Longshot if he doesn't speak English, but it's worth a try.
"Kas te räägite eesti keelt?" Kayo asked once again, slower than before. His only response this time was a brief staring contest, which he ended with a deep sigh and a disappointed: "Nevermind…"
He would spend the next few days recovering, both physically and mentally. His only company was the same middle-aged man, most likely the owner of the house, who would sometimes leave and return with ingredients for more medicine. He seemed to know what he was doing. As the symptoms slowly faded, Kayo felt reborn. At least physically. He wanted to thank the man for nursing him back to health, but could only resort to a nod and a smile, hoping the meaning was universal. Thankfully, that seemed to be the case.
For the first time since he got here, wherever here was, Kayo stepped outside. The sun, a pale circle in the sky, struggled to pierce the thin layer of morning autumn fog above the village. Only then did he realize just how much he'd missed the sun. He could only see a few houses ahead, but they were certainly unique to say the least. Their walls were decorated by layers of paint and rows of strange, folk-y symbols. They were beautiful, not unlike the ones Kayo had seen during one of his evening deep dives into cultural architecture. Shame the weather had a different idea.
Kayo turned toward the house he'd been confined to. Words failed him. It was a strange fusion of house and belfry, looming over the village like a protective beacon, and by far the most decorated structure around. If he didn't know better, he would've thought it a small stave church.
So that man must be the shaman. Priest? Whatever counts for that here.
He reached for his pocket instinctively, intending to take some pictures, but found nothing.
Right. Not my pants.
He waltzed back inside, his thoughts slowed down enough to take a proper, unblurred look at the room. It was far more modest than the exterior would suggest. A few beds, all empty, formed a neatly made outline around the longest wall. Two hearths, each on one side of the room, were the only source of heat in the morning chill. A small, circular table sat in the center of the room, the smallest cauldron Kayo had ever seen stashed beneath it.
He came over to the wall directly parallel of the beds. It was one large storage, divided into sections. Some of them held herbs and other ingredients, visible through a glass display. Others, hidden behind a plane of wood, Kayo could only guess were wardrobes and drawers for kitchenware. His backpack and old clothes, neatly folded and dry by now, lay on top of one of the sideboards.
Whichever carpenter made this, they must've been these people's version of Jesus.
Kayo was halfway through pulling on his jacket when the door creaked open again. The priest stood there, a calm expression softening the deep lines on his face. He said something Kayo still didn't understand, but his tone was warm, welcoming. The man gestured toward Kayo's chest, as if asking how he felt. Kayo hesitated, then gave a thumbs-up. The priest smiled and nodded once, satisfied, before motioning for him to follow.
Kayo slung his backpack over his shoulder. He didn't know how long he'd stay, or how far he was from home, if home even existed anymore. For now, this strange village and its people were all he had.