Hitaru had only a dagger that day.
The day he was going to kill a King.
The weapon weighed little, but its presence was absolute. The metal was cold, just like the place where everything had begun. The hall remained the same: damp, silent, with air heavy with memories that would not fade.
He remembered his arrival in this world.
The confusion.
The fear.
He remembered how he was captured.
How his life stopped having value.
How the King took pleasure in his suffering.
And now he was there again. In the same place. Before the same throne. Only this time he was not in chains.
He took a step forward.
The dry sound of his boots echoed through the empty hall.
The King remained seated on his improvised throne, distracted, playing with his rings, oblivious to everything. As if nothing could touch him. As if nothing existed beyond his reach.
The dagger trembled slightly in Hitaru's hand. It was not fear. It was the weight of an instant awaited for far too long. Cold air slipped through the cracks in the wall and stirred ancient dust.
He clenched his jaw. Leaned his body forward.
This time he would not run.
This time he would not wait.
Before the King, before the dagger, before everything, there had been a very different Hitaru.
Three meters up in the night sky, above the tallest pine of the forested mountain, space began to twist. The air vibrated in a strange way.
The rain struck harder.
A portal began to open.
Sky-blue light illuminated the forest. Lightning and sparks tore away from its outline.
From within it emerged a human figure.
—AAaaaa… shiiit…!— he shouted, flailing his arms and legs uncontrollably.
The body plunged straight down, directly toward the pine's branches.
—No…!— he shouted, covering his face.
The branches received him without mercy. One crack after another cut through the forest. Hitaru's body struck, spun, fell without any chance to defend itself.
His arms burned.
They no longer responded.
Suddenly, the branches ended.
An instant of emptiness.
Then, the impact.
His left shoulder struck the ground first.
A dry crack shattered the silence of the night.
—AAaaaggghh… my arm…— he gasped—. It hurts… a lot…
He breathed with difficulty as he clutched his shoulder. It was not dislocated, but the pain was intense, real.
Then he heard them.
Footsteps.
Fast. Chaotic. Splashing through puddles.
—That… that doesn't sound good…— he murmured, fear fixed in his eyes.
He braced himself with the arm he could still move and stood up. He began to run without knowing where, guided only by moonlight. He tore through bushes, branches, and trunks.
The air burned his chest.
Something brushed past his body.
A sudden sting crossed his torso.
He slowed and touched the wound. Blood welled from his right side. He did not stop. He forced his legs and kept going.
Further ahead he saw a spear stuck in the ground. Maybe that was what had wounded him.
He tried to grab it.
He didn't reach it.
A rope tightened around his ankle and dragged him violently. The world spun and he was left hanging upside down, trapped in a tree.
A trap.
The footsteps were getting closer. The sound of water being stepped on surrounded him.
Fear suffocated him.
With both hands, despite the pain, he tore through the vine rope.
He fell again onto his left shoulder.
Another dry crack.
The shoulder dislocated.
Even so, he got up and kept fleeing. He barely took a few steps when an arrow pierced the palm of his left hand.
He screamed and looked up.
He saw a thread of black smoke in the distance.
"A village"
He forced his body one more time. He pushed through trees and bushes until he saw it: a small village beside an enormous river.
The water rushed violently.
It was too far.
Hope went out inside him.
The footsteps drew near. He had no strength left. Hitaru dropped to his knees and began to sob.
He knew it.
He was not in his world.
He was in Mantara.
A place he knew only through words and rumors. He knew there were creatures there. He knew he was not alone. And he knew he could not face them, even less if they came together.
"There's no point in going on"
"I'm not going to make it"
"This is where it ends"
He let the ground support his body.
The footsteps stopped beside him. Something covered his head with a foul-smelling sack. They grabbed him by the shoulders without caring about the pain.
They bound his arms and legs.
The moon illuminated his captured figure.
The wind ran across his wounded skin.
The river roared nearby, filling everything with constant chaos.
The blow from the hilt of a small sword was the last thing he felt before falling into darkness.