I woke up and realized it wasn't a dream.
The cave was still there—the cold stone digging into my back, and the distant sound of waves slapping the shore. The smell of salt hung in the air, mixed with mildew and earth.
Yeah. Definitely not a dream.
I was dead—back on Earth anyway—and now I was here, stuck in what could very easily be my second death.
My stomach growled so loud it echoed. Hunger has a way of reminding you that self-pity doesn't put food in your mouth. I sat up, rubbing the crust from my eyes, my body heavy like every muscle had been filled with sand.
No energy. No motivation. But no choice either.
With a grunt, I grabbed my trusty pointy stabber—that's what I'd decided to call my sharpened stick until it earns the right to be called a spear—and stumbled toward the light bleeding in through the brush.
"Today's the day," I muttered, voice hoarse. "Either I die or I eat. No middle ground."
The morning air bitch-slapped me as I stepped outside—cold, sharp, and way too clean for my city lungs. The tide had pulled back, revealing a stretch of rocky beach dotted with tide pools and shells. Gulls circled overhead, squawking like they owned the place.
"Onwards toward excellence," I said, dragging my feet down toward the shore.
The sand crunched under my boots—or what was left of them. They were torn up bad, barely holding together. I'd have to fix that later, but right now, my stomach didn't care about footwear.
My first lucky break came quick.
Tiny crabs scuttled between the rocks, waving their claws like they were ready to square up. Little bastards. I smirked and grabbed a rock. My makeshift spear wasn't exactly a precision weapon, so I doubt it could do the job of skewering tiny crabs
Within a few minutes, I had a small pile of twitching crabs and a handful of mussels pried off the rocks. Not much, but to a starving man, it looked like a feast.
"seafood what I wouldnt give for a juicy steak," I said to nobody, kicking at the surf.
The salt air tickled at my nose as I scanned the coast for more. My energy was low, and every step took effort, but I forced myself to keep moving. I knew that if I stopped, I might just sit down and never get up again.
Food alone wouldn't save me, though. I needed water—clean water. The sea stretched forever, taunting me, but even I knew better than to drink seawater. You might as well drink poison.
I slung the crabs onto a piece of driftwood, tied together with twisted grass, and started walking inland. Somewhere, somehow, there had to be a stream.
---
The Search for Water
The land rose in uneven slopes, scattered with rocks and stubborn patches of grass. My throat felt dry as sandpaper, every breath rasping in my chest. The sun was climbing higher, bright and merciless.
"Goddamn," I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow. "I survive one world just to die in another. Real poetic."
I followed the sound of gulls, figuring they had to be nesting near fresh water. Birds need to drink too. After what felt like an eternity of stumbling and cursing, I heard it—a faint trickle, almost lost under the wind.
Music to my ears.
I pushed through a thicket of brush and there it was—a tiny stream winding its way through the rocks, barely wider than my arm. It was clear, sparkling under the sunlight. I crouched down, cupped my hands, and took a cautious sip.
Cold. Clean. Perfect.
It was the best thing I'd ever tasted in my life. I drank until my stomach stopped complaining, then splashed my face, feeling life crawl back into my limbs.
"All right," I said, standing up straighter. "We're alive, handsome, and with no money and no prospects."
---
Tools of Survival
Now that water was handled, I needed fire. Food was useless raw, and I wasn't about to risk eating shellfish and spend the night throwing up my organs.
Fire meant flint—or something that could spark. I'd seen some dark stones earlier near the cliffs. Maybe I'd get lucky.
The walk back toward the coast was slower. I scanned the ground, kicking at stones until I found one that looked right—black, glassy, sharp-edged. Flint.
I picked it up, turning it in my hands. "Beautiful," I said, grinning. "You and me are gonna be great friends, mi amor."
Back near the stream, I gathered dry grass, twigs, and bark. It wasn't much, but it would burn. The wind made it tricky, so I used my body to shield the small pile and struck the flint against a rock.
Sparks flew—tiny at first, barely visible. Then one caught. The dry grass smoked, hissed, and finally burst into flame.
"Hell yes!" I shouted, nearly laughing. "I'm the alpha caveman, bitch! I just made fire bow down to your leader, plebs!"
It was small, fragile, but it burned. I fed it carefully, building it into a steady little blaze. The heat warmed my hands and face, a reminder that maybe I wasn't completely doomed.
I looked around for something to cook in, but the best I found was a rounded stone with a shallow dip in the center. It wasn't perfect, but with a little power, I could shape it.
I focused, feeling the buzz of Hardening ripple through my hand. My skin stiffened, fingertips sharpening slightly. I pressed against the stone, carving slowly, scraping and shaping until I had something that resembled a bowl.
Rough, but functional.
Getting the crabs and mussels back here had been a whole adventure by itself. Stuff kept falling off the driftwood I tied eventually I had to resort to carrying with my shirt like a basket, knotted at the corners, and dumped the haul beside the fire.
"All right, little guys," I muttered. "You lived brave but you are weak and you shall feed the lord.hallucinations a bitch ain't it?
The crabs twitched a bit when I tossed them on the hot rock, but the fire did its work quick. The smell that filled the air was surprisingly good—smoky, briny, and real. It wasn't gourmet, but compared to starving, it was heaven.
I cracked a shell open with my hardened fingers, pulled out the meat, and blew on it.
Hot. Salty. Slightly burnt. Perfect.
I devoured everything, not caring about sand or ash or bits of shell. Every bite gave me just enough strength to stop feeling like my body was eating itself.
When the food was gone, I sat back and stared into the flames, belly half-full for the first time since waking up in this cursed place. The fire danced, throwing light against the rocks, and for a second, it felt almost peaceful.
Almost.
---
The Thinker's Problem
Once the food high wore off, the brain kicked in. I couldn't just live off crabs forever. I needed a plan—a real one if I didn't just want to survive Ineeded more calories to build muscle and to train myself for dragon taming and jungle adventures
I stared at the fire, rubbing my chin. "All right, options," I muttered. "One: go to the village. Two: go into the Savage Lands."
Neither sounded great.
The village meant people. And people meant questions. I could lie, sure, but one wrong word and I'd end up attracting too many bitches—and then I'm hanging from a tree because I slept with some married hoe. My eyes alone would pull all the freaky hoes. If I was lucky, I'd get tossed into a dungeon instead of a bonfire.
The Savage Lands, though… that place was the Marvel version of valyria. Full of beasts, monsters, and probably stuff that'd make a New Yorker scream like a kid at a horror movie.
But it also had resources. Wood. Metal, maybe. Meat. Freedom.
Still, I'd seen almost no wildlife on this island—just crabs, birds, and insects. If that kept up, I'd starve before I ever reached anything worth finding.
I rubbed my temples. "So it's death by people or death by nature. Fantastic."
I tossed another stick into the fire and sighed. The smoke curled upward, disappearing into the open air.
"No matter how much I hate it," I said finally, "I gotta go to the village."
It was the logical move, even if my gut hated it. I could play the lost fisherman card—washed ashore, confused, half-dead. Maybe get some sympathy. Maybe find work, food, shelter.
And if things went bad, well… I had my power. Weak, sure, but not useless.
Still, one thing worried me—my eyes. Golden, sharp, unnatural. The last thing I needed was for some paranoid lordling to get interested and—bam—suddenly I'm a pawn. Yeah, even I can't fight a hundred dudes in armor. Not yet anyway.
I needed a disguise. Something to cover them up.
I decided to use a strip of my torn shirt to bind my eyes leaving just enough holes to see through.
"All right,I muttered, smirking at my reflection in a puddle. "Blind man routine—let's go."
The look wasn't perfect, but it would do. I could claim I'd been blinded by saltwater or sunlight. People loved a tragic story.
With the band around my eyes, I sat back by the fire, the warmth seeping into my skin. My stomach settled, my mind slowed.
The day's exhaustion started to catch up.
I leaned back on my elbows, listening to the crackle of burning wood and the rush of the nearby stream. It was almost peaceful, if you ignored the constant background thought of you could die any second.
I flexed my hand, watching the faint shimmer of Hardening crawl across my skin. The power still drained me fast, but every time I used it, it felt easier—like I was slowly gaining more energy. Maybe soon I'd manage to cover my whole arm, maybe even my chest.
That would change everything.
But that was tomorrow's problem.
By the time the sun dipped low, the world had turned golden again. The light caught the edges of the waves, painting everything in fire and silver.
I fed the last of my kindling into the flame and leaned back, staring up at the cliff above.
Somewhere up there, that castle loomed—full of nobles who wouldn't last five minutes out here. I wondered who ruled it. Was it Jaehaerys? Or Daemon? Maybe Viserys? Hopefully it's still Jaehaerys—it gives me time to get out of dodge.
For now, all I cared about was surviving the night.
My body ached in every joint, but it was a good ache—the kind that meant I'd actually done something instead of just lying there waiting to die.
I looked at my crude spear, my tiny fire, my half-baked stone bowl. All pathetic by modern standards—but to me, they were trophies. Proof I wasn't useless.
I sighed, lying back on the cool ground. "Not bad, Victor," I said quietly. "You didn't die. You didn't go on a depressive inner commentary on how you might have killed this body's soul and taken over. So all in all, it was a win today."
The stars were starting to come out—clearer and brighter than any I'd ever seen back home. No smog, no streetlights. No constellations I recognized. I missed home, but here… I was free.
I felt small for a moment—but also alive.
"Tomorrow," I muttered. "Tomorrow we find the village."
The fire cracked softly beside me. My eyelids grew heavy. The world faded out to the sound of the stream and the ocean's breath.
For tonight, at least, I was warm,