The moonlight poured down through the thick canopy, filtering into shafts which illuminated small areas of the forest floor like gentle, silvery spotlights. I rode on top of the gigantic Direwolf, its last growl still hauntingly present in the quiet air. Its body disintegrated under me, breaking down into small, sparkling mana particles that rose slowly into the air, floating like gold fireflies on a wind. They drifted lazily, illuminating the darkness in a dreamlike, surreal light.
My hair streamed about my head, blown by the churning mana winds that churned around the dying creature. The air was different now. It was silent now—too silent. Behind me, the sky yawned wide and vast, opening up to two shining moons: one silver, one pale, almost otherworldly blue. They glared down at me like protectors, as if they were watching over my triumph. For a fleeting instant, I felt like an anime hero—tall and standing upright after an amazing battle under a star-studded sky of legend.
But that glorious instant wasn't around for long.
As the last remnants of the Direwolf's body broke apart into shimmering mana, my knees buckled. My body had been operating on adrenaline alone, and suddenly it struck me: I was still human. Or at least… mostly so. My vision swayed, and I toppled off the back of the creature, slamming onto the forest floor with a great and clumsy thud. The ground beneath my palms felt cold and soggy.
As I was about to get up, I heard leaves rustling and a faint crunch of footsteps against grass. There was a small, slender, and somehow unshakable hand in front of me.
"Here," a soft clear voice said.
I looked up.
A boy, no more than ten years old, stood there. His dark eyes were wide with silent wonder. His hair was unkempt, standing on end in odd directions, and his clothes were worn from travel. He wore a wooden sword belted to his side, but he didn't move like a warrior. More like a contemplative old soul stuck in the body of a child.
I reached out to take his hand—but the instant our skin touched, a sharp jolt coursed through my entire body.
"Agh—!"
I pulled my hand back instinctively, shaking it out as if I'd touched an electric fence.
The boy blinked, startled. "Ah… sorry about that," he said, rubbing his arm awkwardly. "I haven't got my mana affinity under control yet."
"Mana affinity?" I groaned, spreading my fingers. The shock hadn't actually been painful—it felt like static, but it had left my arm feeling prickly.
He flushed. "Yeah. Sometimes I get a little leak without me knowing. Mostly when I'm around people I don't know."
He came after me once again, slower this time. I took his assistance, and he drew me upright with an amazing amount of strength for someone his stature. I brushed myself off and stood in front of him correctly.
The boy gave a formal bow—no casual nod or lazy wave, but a full, respectful motion. "My name is Kaito Kasama," he said with a polite, clear tone. "I haven't seen you around this area before. Are you a traveler… or a Wanderer?"
His way of speaking caught me off guard. There was a kind of practiced formality to it, almost ceremonial. I'd never heard a kid speak like that—not even in the most disciplined martial arts dojos.
I straightened up, still wincing slightly. "My name is Hiroshi Miyamoto. I'm… definitely not a traveler. But… what's a Wanderer?"
Kaito cocked his head. "You don't know what a Wanderer is?" His eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. "Are you a baby or something?"
I arched an eyebrow. "Do I look like a baby?
He grinned and brushed away the jab. "A Wanderer is one who takes missions. They slay monsters, save villagers, defend the realm… essentially, they're heroes. Some say Wanderers are favored by the gods. Others claim they're mad."
"Sounds like a rough job," I laughed.
"It is," he nodded, growing solemn. "Not everyone survives.
There was a moment of quiet. A gust swept through the trees, filling the air with the sweet and subtle smell of wet leaves and far-off flowers. In the distance, a cry of owl echoed.
"Uh-huh," I said, looking toward the tree line, "just practicing monster hunting, then?"
Alone.
At night.
Kaito shrugged absently, like this was ordinary and normal activity: nighttime monster hunting. "I was stalking. Practicing.
With that?" I nodded at the wooden sword on his hip. It was splintered near the hilt and appeared as though it had been used one too many times in combat.
Kaito frowned. "It's more than 'a stick.' This is an heirloom. A training sword that has been passed down from my grandfather. It's endured more fights than most actual swords."
"It looks like it only made it through you," I joked.
"Hey!" he protested. "Don't insult it. It holds history."
"Right, right," I said with a smile. "Sorry, I'll treat it more respect."
He huffed and folded his arms.
"So… where to next?" I asked, looking around. "This neighborhood's unfamiliar to me. I need shelter. Perhaps a map. And likely someone who can explain to me what the hell just occurred."
Kaito tapped his chin contemplatively, then grinned broadly. "Visit my village! They'll be awed when they hear you killed a Direwolf. You may even receive a reward."
"That sounds ideal," I replied, nodding in relief. "So where is it?"
Kaito had his mouth open confidently, then hesitated. His face was slowly contorting into a look of sheepish amusement.
"I… uh… may have lost my way back."
I blinked. "You lost the way to your own village?"
He scratched the back of his head. "I mean… the forest is huge, okay? It all looks the same at night! But I'm pretty sure it's south of here."
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Great. I've teamed up with a discount version of Zoro."
"Zoro?" he asked, puzzled.
"Never mind."
With little choice, we traveled together through the woods. Our route twisted through dense underbrush, knotted roots, and thin deer paths. The trees towered above us, their limbs swaying in the breeze. Unusual animals stirred in the bushes occasionally, but none had the courage to come near us.
We conversed while walking.
Kaito explained his life in the village to me. Training since he was five years old. Fighting in mana tournaments. Sneaking out at night to hunt small monsters for sport and learning to live off the land. His people prized strength, toughness, and spirit above everything else.
"Sometimes, on festival days, we all dress up like the mythical beasts and dance," he told me. "There's this one story about a phoenix that sacrificed itself to save a child."
"You ever catch a glimpse of a phoenix?" I asked.
"No," he said dreamily. "But they say there is one living in the volcano to the east of the capital. Only the most courageous Wanderers ever venture there."
In return, I told him about my world. Technology, cities lit up with neon, flying machines, and the internet.
"No mana?" he asked, confused. "How do you cook your food?"
"Gas stoves. Or electric ones."
"Sounds like a weak version of fire magic," he said proudly.
"I won't argue with that."
At one point, Kaito asked, "Are you sure you're not from a lost continent or something?"
I laughed. "You could say that."
As the day wore on, the forest grew thinner. The trees surrendered to low slopes and broad grasslands. Far away, I could see the outline of a small village between low hills, a palisade fence, and a wooden gate guarding it.
The air smelled of cooking—meat over an open fire, combined with rich earth herbs and fresh bread. Smoke was trailing from chimneys, uncoiling sedately into the sky tinted in shades of amber and violet.
Kaito came to a halt, his finger drawn back dramatically. "There you have it. Said I could find it."
I chuckled. "Part of the master plan, sure?"
He bristled, puffing his chest out. "I do not get lost."
"Zoro would proud," I whispered.
"Who is Zoro?"
"He is the Greatest Navigator in my home land"