His entire worldview had been ripped apart and rebuilt, and no matter how much time passed, he still hadn’t truly adjusted.
The more he tried to make sense of it, the more impossible it seemed. Everything he thought he knew—about history, about science, about reality itself—had been rewritten in a way that defied logic.
He had always prided himself on being a rational thinker. Given enough time and information, he was convinced that anything could be explained.
The Earth, for example, was a round ball of rock that had been spinning through space for billions of years. Humans had only been around for a fraction of that time, following after the dinosaurs and countless other lifeforms that had risen and fallen before them.
That was how the world worked.
That was reality.
And yet—here he was.
Living in a past that shouldn’t exist, in a world that had no place in the history he knew. Sent here by a power beyond comprehension to do something ridiculous in the name of saving his entire species.
It was too much.
Too big.
Too insane.
He let out a slow breath, pressing his fingers to his temples as he tried—again—to force it into some kind of rational framework.
And failed.
‘For fuck’s sake.’
If Del was being honest with himself—and that was always a dangerous thing—there was a part of him that refused to believe any of this was real.
A solid, logical chunk of his brain was convinced that he was hooked up to some life-support machine in an ICU somewhere, barely clinging to consciousness after some catastrophic accident. Maybe he had suffered head trauma or a stroke, and everything happening around him was just some elaborate hallucination constructed by his dying mind.
Another part of him entertained a different but equally unsettling theory:
That he was locked away in some padded cell, completely out of his mind, lost in a delusion so deep that he was dribbling in a corner somewhere, completely unaware that none of this was real.
He had read somewhere—probably in some half-forgotten book or online article—that only the truly sane could question their own sanity.
Or was it the other way around?
He couldn’t remember.
Not that it mattered.
‘Anyway, I digress.’
The thoughts churned endlessly as he walked, his body moving on autopilot—one foot in front of the other, over and over, through the same endless stretches of fields and dirt trails. He fell into rhythms of conversation when required, responded when spoken to, but otherwise, his mind remained tangled in its own labyrinth, looping through the same absurd questions again and again.
Misty kept watching him.
She would trot up every so often, tail twitching, fixing him with an oddly intense stare—as if she were trying to read his thoughts. Her concern was obvious, but she didn’t intrude. She just watched, golden eyes sharp and knowing.
And that was another thing.
‘What’s with Misty?’
Del glanced down at the cat as she padded along beside him, tail flicking lazily.
‘She’s a cat. A cat, for crying out loud. What the fuck is a cat doing learning to talk and shit?’
It wasn’t even about the telepathic communication anymore. It was everything else—the intelligence, the understanding, the way she sometimes looked at him like she knew more than she was letting on.
That was not normal.
None of this was normal.
A sharp throb pulsed behind his eyes, the beginnings of a stress-induced headache forming at his temples.
‘Argh. My damn head hurts.’
Del took a steadying breath.
Fine. Let’s assume, for a moment, that I’m not insane or hooked up to a life-support machine.
That left another unsettling possibility—one he hadn’t yet considered.
Dead?
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
He frowned slightly, the thought creeping in uninvited. What if he was stuck in some post-life dystopian nightmare? Some cosmic punishment disguised as a grand adventure?
Surreptitiously, he checked his pulse.
The rhythmic thump-thump under his fingertips was reassuringly solid. If he was dead, the special effects department was doing a damn good job.
Then again, he ached too much for this to be the afterlife. If he was in some hellscape, he was fairly certain it wouldn’t involve just a sore hip and a shredded arm. No, they’d have him ripped apart repeatedly or burned alive for eternity.
Alright. Not dead either.
That was… a relief?
Maybe.
The world around him was just too real—too vivid to be an illusion. The smell of the countryside, the birdsong drifting lazily through the air, the crunch of grass and stones beneath his boots—it was tangible in a way that dreams never were.
But then again…
What is real?
How the hell was he supposed to define that anymore?
Elves?
And from what he had heard, dwarves?
He could accept a lot of things, but if the dwarves ended up speaking in thick, fake Scottish accents like some Tolkien knockoff, he was going to lose his shit.
‘At least nobody mentioned fucking hobbits.’
Now there was something else that gnawed at him.
Magic.
Del still hadn’t fully come to terms with it, even though he’d seen it used first-hand.
Damn, he knew he had been given a choice when he arrived. He could have picked magic. If he was honest, he had shied away from it as it was just one step too far. A bow or a sword, he could at least understand. So instead, he went with archery—which, let’s be honest, he was terrible at.
But that feeling—that deep, twisting pull in his gut whenever magic was used near him… he wanted that. He wanted to understand it, control it, bend it to his will.
‘Hey, BB. Or Menolly. Or Teach. I know one of you is watching all this crap.’
His eyes flicked up to the sky, though why he expected them to be watching from above like some omnipotent deity, he had no idea.
‘What’s the chance of me learning magic?’
He waited.
Silence.
Not even a sarcastic response from BB.
He sighed. Didn’t really expect an answer. Would have been nice, though.
Fine. Let’s deal with the facts.
He was here, in a past he never knew Earth even had, on some bullshit quest assigned by powers beyond comprehension.
If he accepted that as truth, then he also had to accept the utterly ridiculous premise that he had to convince some great shit-for-brains boss that humanity was worth saving.
But then…
What happens after?
Nobody had told him that part.
Was he just meant to walk off into the sunset once it was all said and done? Was he going to be dumped back into his sad, lonely old life, expected to carry on as if none of this had ever happened?
And what about his stats? His skills?
Would he lose everything? Would he go back to being a crippled shadow of himself, knowing exactly what he could have been but never would be again?
That thought sat uncomfortably in his chest.
It was cruel. Unforgivably so. But considering what he had already seen of the powers controlling this madness, why should fairness even be a factor?
He was just a lab rat in a maze, running toward some unknown exit, with no real idea of the rules or even if there was an exit.
That brought up another issue—one that had been simmering in the back of his mind.
Had he been played from the start?
He was sent a damn fine-looking woman—all the right curves, the right voice, the right mannerisms—to convince him to take on something that any rational person would have laughed at.
Would he have been given the same treatment if he had been an old woman? Would some Brad Pitt lookalike have turned up instead?
‘Hey, Menolly, did you use pheromones?’
No answer.
Figures.
‘Fine. Focus, Del.’
He was here. He had a job to do.
The problem? He had no fucking clue what that job actually was.
‘A fucking job description would have been nice.’
So far, the only clear instructions were:
- Help Elara.
Great. Helpful.
And Naomi? Where did she fit into all this?
Maybe she was important. Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she was just some random kid caught up in the chaos, completely irrelevant to whatever cosmic agenda was playing out.
But that?
That was something he refused to accept.
‘She is a kid, Del. And you are responsible for her. Full fucking stop.’
It didn’t matter if she was connected to the bigger picture. He had taken responsibility for her, and that meant something.
And besides—if something happened to Naomi, Del didn’t even want to think about how it would affect Elara.
That settled it. For now, at least.
Look after the girls.
Fight anyone who tries to harm them.
And then—somehow—save the whole damn planet.
Simple, really.
On the third morning since the ashfang fight, they broke camp beneath a sky that promised another clear, warm day. The air was crisp in the early hours, dew clinging to the grass, but the lingering chill wouldn’t last long.
Del took a moment to absorb the scene as he finished packing the last of their gear.
Elara was at the fire, cooking with easy efficiency, her movements smooth and unhurried. A short distance away, Naomi laughed as she played with Misty, the cat’s tail flicking with a mixture of mild tolerance and reluctant amusement.
Something eased in his chest at the sight.
Maybe it was the first genuine smile he’d allowed himself in too many days.
Leaving his pack behind, he strode over to the fire, wrapping his arms around Elara from behind in a loose but firm embrace.
She startled slightly before tilting her head to glance back at him, brows lifting in curiosity.
“Are you alright, Del?” she asked, voice gentler than usual. “You've been a bit… distant lately.”
Del sighed and settled onto a nearby log, rubbing a hand over his face.
“More than a bit distracted, I’m afraid,” he admitted. “A lot has happened in a short time, and I’ve just been trying to process some of it.”
Elara turned slightly, her sharp green eyes searching his, reading him in that way she always did.
“And?” she prompted.
“I think I’m getting there,” Del said after a moment. He let out a half-laugh, shaking his head. “Life on my little island was too quiet to prepare me for… well, this. The reality of Gondowa.”
‘Well, ain’t that the damn truth.’
He smiled slightly at the thought, more to himself than anything.
“I’m still trying to adapt to what life is like here. But… yeah. I think I’m getting there.”
Elara held his gaze for a long moment before nodding in quiet satisfaction.
“Good,” she said simply, a small but knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Now get yourself washed up—breakfast will be ready soon.”
Del pushed himself to his feet with a mock sigh but didn’t argue.
As he made his way toward the nearby river, he felt the familiar, soft nudge at the edge of his thoughts.
Misty.
Her presence was a gentle touch of curiosity, an almost wordless enquiry—not of concern, exactly, but a need for assurance.
‘Are you well? Able to hunt again?’
Del let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he reached the riverbank.
‘Yes, Misty. My head’s back in the game. I can hunt again.’
A sense of satisfaction flickered back from her before the connection faded.
Del knelt, scooping the cool water into his hands, letting it run over his face.
Alright, then.
Time to see what else this damn world was ready to throw their way