"Are you hurt?"
Aster could only stare. The man looked young, mid-twenties at most with messy dark hair and eyes that were unsettlingly hollow for someone who had just butchered a titan. He didn't look heroic; he looked efficient, like a butcher cleaning up a shop.
Aster swallowed hard, his throat dry as ash. He looked at the massive, steaming corpse, then down at his own trembling hands.
"…I'm losing my mind," Aster whispered, a breathless, half-hysterical laugh escaping his chest. "I finally snapped. A car hit me, or I had an aneurysm, and now my brain is misfiring in an ICU somewhere."
The swordsman flicked a stray drop of black blood off his chin. His expression softened, just a fraction, into something heavy with pity. "You aren't in a coma, if that's what you're hoping. Your heart stopped in your previous world. It happens to all of us before we wake up here."
The absolute certainty in the man's voice hit Aster like a physical blow. The damp smell of iron and rot in the air was too vivid, the biting cold too sharp to be a hallucination.
"So this is… what, the afterlife?" Aster gestured wildly to the scattering. "Hell has carnivorous flora?"
"It's just another world," the man replied, shearing his blade back into its scabbard with a crisp clack. "And unfortunately for you, you're alive. You've been summoned."
"Summoned," Aster repeated, the word tasting bitter. "Those things called me a 'Chosen.' Chosen for what? To be monster bait?"
The swordsman paused, studying Aster's pale face, measuring the panic in his eyes. "You're brought here because whatever force pulls the strings thinks you possess potential. A spark."
"A spark to do what? Save the kingdom? Prophecy stuff?"
"To survive the week," the man said flatly.
Aster stared at him, utterly unsatisfied. "…That is a terrible pitch."
For the first time, a faint ghost of a cynical smile touched the swordsman's lips. "It gets worse. Trust me."
The sudden crunch of dry leaves shattered the moment. Aster tensed, his muscles locking up as several shadows broke through the treeline, carrying flickering lanterns and drawn steel.
"Easy," the swordsman muttered, not even looking back. "They're with me."
One of the newcomers—a silver-haired young man with a tired, gentle disposition—slid his dagger into his belt and immediately dropped to one knee in front of Aster. He didn't ask permission; he just went to work, tracking the dark smear of blood on Aster's leg.
"Hold still," the silver-haired man murmured, tearing open a clean linen bandage with his teeth and wrapping it around the jagged scrape with practiced, fluid efficiency. "The plants in these woods carry a mild paralytic. You're lucky it was just a scratch."
"…Thanks, I didn't notice it..." Aster muttered, the sudden crash of his adrenaline leaving his limbs feeling like lead.
The man offered a small, reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his exhausted eyes. "Don't thank me yet. We haven't made it back."
The dark-haired swordsman scanned the twisting canopy above them. "Move out. The scent of a cleaved giant is going to drag every apex predator within five miles straight to this clearing."
Nobody argued.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Aster was forced into a brisk pace, sandwiching himself between the armed strangers. His mind raced with a thousand questions, but his lungs were burning too badly to ask them. Gradually, the oppressive forest began to bleed away, opening up to a sweeping, dizzying vista.
Nestled in the valley below lay a sprawling settlement, its stone-paved roads illuminated by the warm, amber glow of thousands of lanterns. It looked almost peaceful—until Aster raised his eyes.
Overlooking the valley, carved directly into the sheer cliffs, rose a monolithic black castle. Its sharp, jagged spires cut into the night sky like broken teeth. Even from this distance, the sheer scale of the fortress felt heavy, casting an invisible, suffocating weight over every house below it.
As they crossed the threshold into the village perimeter, Aster noticed a chilling pattern. Every time a local villager passed their group, their eyes would inevitably drift toward those high, dark spires—and they would instantly lower their heads in a quiet, synchronized gesture of fear.
"The Sovereign's shadow reaches everywhere here," the silver-haired man murmured, keeping stride with Aster.
"The guy in the castle?" Aster asked, unable to take his eyes off the dark architecture. "Is he the king?"
The silver-haired man let out a soft, humorless huff. "We call him Lord Neolux. And no in here we don't have king".
While talking, the dark-haired swordsman didn't look back once. He simply lengthened his stride, his movements impossibly fluid as he melted into the shadows of the path ahead, leaving the rest of the group behind without a word.
Aster stared after the empty trail, stunned, before turning his gaze to the friendly, silver-haired man walking at his side.
"Does he always.. like that?" Aster asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
The silver-haired man let out a soft sigh, keeping pace with Aster. "When he's done his job, yes. Don't take his attitude personally. He's just...miss someone."
Aster shook his head, trying to process everything. "Right. Well, since he's gone, I should probably know who actually patched me up. What's your name?"
The man glanced over, a warm, slightly tired smile breaking across his face. "Sylas. Sylas Blake."
Aster nodded, the name feeling grounded compared to everything else. "Aster Risnoah."
Sylas repeated it quietly, testing the weight of it. "Aster, huh? A bit soft for a guy dropped into a hell-forest, but it suits you."
Aster let out a dry, exhausted huff. "Yeah. Tell me about it."
Gradually, the oppressive tree line completely bled away, opening up to a sweeping, dizzying vista. Nestled in the valley below lay the rest of the sprawling settlement, its stone-paved roads illuminated by the warm, amber glow of thousands of lanterns...
Aster stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat.
When Sylas had mentioned a village, Aster had pictured a primitive, isolated cluster of a dozen muddy huts. Instead, a massive, sprawling settlement stretched out across the entire valley below. Hundreds of timber and stone houses climbed the hillsides like steps, their windows glowing with the warm, amber light of thousands of lanterns.
Even at this hour, the stone-paved roads were alive. He could see the silhouettes of people moving through the distant plazas, the faint hum of a living, breathing community echoing up through the night air. It felt less like a hidden outpost and more like a vibrant, fortified frontier city.
"Incredible, isn't it?" Sylas asked softly, stopping beside him to let Aster take it all in.
"It's... massive," Aster breathed, his eyes darting from one glowing street to the next. For a second, the sheer normalcy of the lights and the houses almost made him forget the nightmare in the woods. "How many people live here?"
"More than you'd think," Sylas replied, his gaze turning toward the far edge of the valley. "And every single one of us is trying to carving out a life under the same shadow."
Aster followed his gaze, and the brief feeling of wonder instantly evaporated.
Overlooking the entire valley, carved directly into the sheer cliffs, rose a monolithic black castle...
He watched the crowds moving between the timber buildings below, a sudden thought striking him. He turned to the silver-haired man. "Are they all... like me? Are they all Chosen people?"
Sylas shook his head, a faint, grounded smile on his face. "No. Most of them are just normal people born into this world. Merchants, farmers, blacksmiths. Just people trying to get by."
Aster blinked, looking back down at the valley. "So we aren't the only ones here."
"Not at all," Sylas said, gesturing for them to keep walking down the slope. "But our paths don't cross as much as you'd think. Normal people build the world, Aster. The Chosen... well, we're the ones sent to the fringes to make sure those walls don't fall."
Aster swallowed hard, the weight of the statement sinking in. "Sounds exhausting."
Sylas didn't disagree. He looked out over the glowing village, his expression softening into something deeply earnest. "It is exhausting," he said calmly. "And it's scary, risking our lives for people we barely know. But every time we finish a mission and come back to the kingdom... seeing everyone welcome us back, knowing the people we care about are still safe? It makes it worth it. I already feel better just seeing those lights."
Aster glanced at him, caught off guard by the genuine warmth in the man's voice. Amidst all the horror of the forest, Sylas's words felt like an anchor.
"I guess that's one way to look at it," Aster murmured, though a knot of anxiety still tightened in his stomach.
As they descended further into the perimeter of the settlement, the brief feeling of comfort began to shift into something tighter and more restrictive. Aster followed Sylas's gaze toward the far edge of the valley, and his breath hitched.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Sylas gently guided Aster away from the main streets, leading him toward a massive, imposing stone building that looked like a cross between a sprawling academy and a grand hotel. Warm light spilled from its countless windows, and the heavy double doors stood wide open.
As they stepped inside, Aster's jaw dropped.
The lobby was teeming with activity, but it wasn't just the crowd of people that caught his attention—it was the impossible creatures drifting through the air. Small, ethereal creatures that looked like glowing, translucent birds wove through the high rafters, leaving trails of stardust in their wake. Near a grand fireplace, a creature resembling a tiny, winged fox was curled up, lazily breathing out harmless rings of blue flame.
Aster stopped, completely mesmerized. "Are those..."
"A few of the local familiars," Sylas explained with a chuckle, nudging him gently to keep him moving. "You get used to them. Come on, let's get you settled."
They walked down a labyrinth of long corridors, passing dozens of numbered doors until Sylas stopped in front of one labeled 291.
Sylas gave a polite, warnings knock before pushing the door open.
Inside, the room was surprisingly grounded compared to the magic in the lobby. It looked like a comfortable, functional dormitory with four neatly made beds, a couple of desks, and wardrobes.
It wasn't empty, either. Two pairs of eyes immediately snapped toward the doorway.
Sitting on one of the lower bunks was a young boy, probably no older than fifteen, who was busy drawing. On the opposite side of the room stood a towering, broad-shouldered man in his early twenties, leaning against the window frame with his arms crossed.
Sylas stepped into the room, breaking the sudden silence with a warm smile. "Hey, guys. Brought you a new roommate."