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Ashen Remembrance

SleepyStaticVoid
21
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 21 chs / week.
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Synopsis
Ash understands who he is. A decorated former special ops. A soldier who could always survive any war that was thrown his way. But this… this situation? Nothing like he’s ever dealt with before. One moment, he’s out in the field. Next, he wakes up in a reality filled with people tossing fire out of their hands. Beasts from storybooks gallop around, and there are steel swords alongside magic, cults, and castles. Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn’t grasp what kind of world he was in. Although he doesn’t understand anything about this world, instincts always take over and tell him the same thing. Learn fast. Control everything around him. Just survive, stay alive. No doubt he’s from another world, but paradoxically, he fights better than anyone in this one. Achieving victory in battles with astonishing speed and precision. Some people call him a cursed man, and others say he’s nothing but a ghost in human skin. While other times, peculiar sometimes, he starts to wonder if reality is even more broken than it looks when the ground hums beneath his feet or the sky doesn’t seem quite right. Answers are the last thing he’s searching for in all of this. But ultimately, he knows they will find him. Sooner or later.
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Chapter 1 - Drop

Ash hit the ground hard.

Dirt in his mouth. Smoke in his lungs. Heat was crawling up through the vest.

No warning. No mission brief. One step on patrol, a flash of light, and now this.

He rolled into cover. Low ground. Scanning. Breathing tight and slow.

No bullets. No comms. No urban noise. Just wind and trees. Birds that didn't sound right.

Too quiet. Too open.

Ash crouched low, eyes on the terrain. Still had his tac vest. Knife in place. Sidearm gone. Holster stripped. Gear unfamiliar. Sky unfamiliar.

This wasn't a combat zone. It didn't even look like Earth.

Forest. Old-growth, wild, thick with moss and humidity. The air smelled too clean, and the light didn't track. No tech, no signs of infrastructure. No satellites. No signal.

None of it made sense.

Ash moved anyway.

He didn't ask questions in a killzone. He followed instincts.

Footsteps. Right side. Close. Two targets.

He went still. Watched from cover.

Voices. Speaking in a language that sounded old. Not tactical. Not radio-trained.

"...the circle worked, but something is wrong."

"...this isn't the summoner. That man is dressed like no one from here."

Ash didn't wait.

He moved in. Silent. Fast.

One strike. Neck. Collapse. The first target dropped before he made a sound.

The second turned. Too slow.

Blade in. Twist. Out.

Breath heavy now. Still quiet. Still alive.

He checked their robes. Symbols, cords, fabric soaked in dye. No armor. No tech. Just metal blades and scrolls. One had ink stains on his hands.

He opened the scroll.

Circles. Marks. Not letters. Not maps. Ritual symbols.

Ash folded it and pocketed it. He didn't understand what it meant, but he understood one thing. These men brought him here. And wherever here was, it wasn't home.

He cleaned his knife on the robes and stood still, listening.

No more footsteps.

No more noise.

Ash scanned the trees, then the sky.

None of it was familiar.

But the mission never changed.

Survive. Learn. Take control.

And when he found out who pulled him out of the fight, he'd send them right back into it.

Only this time, they wouldn't walk away.