The air beneath the trees felt different. Heavy. Alive.
Lucas paused just past the first line of trunks, the open field behind him already fading into mist and distance. Shafts of fading sunlight pierced through the canopy like golden spears, illuminating swirling motes of dust and drifting insects. The sounds were strange — clicks, hums, and something like whispering wind that didn't always sound like wind.
He rubbed his arms, realizing how cold it suddenly felt. The temperature had dropped the moment he stepped under the leaves.
"Of course I had to be teleported when I was sleeping in my pajamas," he muttered. "Not while hiking or running — because that would mean I'd actually be prepared. No, whoever did this chose the worst possible timing. Or I guess it could be worse… I could've been teleported while showering." He shuddered. "Yeah, that would not have been fun."
A soft chime made him jump. Instinctively, he flinched and looked around — but no blue window appeared this time. Maybe he had imagined it. Maybe not.
Lucas kept moving, each step crunching through fallen leaves. He tried to recall anything that could help him survive. He had no weapons, no shoes, and no idea how the world worked beyond floating text boxes and homicidal rabbits.
After a few minutes, another thought hit him. "Wait… if there's an experience system, there's got to be a *menu* or something, right?"
He stopped, concentrating. "Open menu."
Nothing.
"Status?"
A faint shimmer blinked before his eyes, the same soft blue glow as before.
[Character Sheet – Lucas]
Level: 1
Health: 100%
Stamina: 97%
Skills:
• Improvised Throw (Lv. 1)
• Enduring Stride (Lv. 1)
He blinked, squinting at the last stat. "Ninety-seven? I lose stamina from *walking*? That's… I guess realistic, and I should not be complaining about it."
He dismissed the screen and kept moving, the forest pressing closer around him.
---
The deeper he went, the darker it grew. The canopy was so thick that even the sunlight seemed to give up halfway down, scattering into a dim golden haze. Every now and then, he caught movement at the edge of his vision — a branch twitching, leaves rustling, something small darting across the path.
Mist began curling around his ankles, cool and damp, carrying the faint scent of moss and rain. The world felt *too* quiet, the kind of silence that made his own footsteps sound like shouting. Somewhere far off, a bird called — a sharp, two-tone cry that echoed unnaturally before being swallowed by the trees.
Lucas grabbed a fallen stick the size of a baseball bat and gave it an experimental swing. "Alright, level one caveman mode engaged," he muttered. He tossed a pebble into the undergrowth. When something rustled back, he froze. "Note to self: do *not* challenge the bushes."
As he walked, he kept glancing over his shoulder. The forest almost seemed to shift behind him — the same way you realize a shadow's moved when you weren't looking. "If this is a dream," he whispered, "whoever's running it has a really weird sense of humor."
At one point, he stepped on a root and nearly fell, catching himself on a trunk slick with moss. His hand came away wet. Not water — sap, thick and glowing faintly green.
"Okay," he whispered, staring at his hand. "That's… new."
The glow dimmed after a few seconds, but he still wiped it on his pajama pants, frowning. "Either the trees are radioactive, or this place has some serious fantasy budget."
---
The walk felt endless, but after what could've been thirty minutes — or ten, or an hour; time was slippery here — the air shifted again.
It smelled of smoke.
Lucas froze. He sniffed again — yes, definitely smoke. Faint, but sharp, the kind that clings to clothes and lingers on the back of your tongue.
He moved slower now, crouching low as the smell grew stronger. Through the trees ahead, a dim orange glow flickered.
A campfire.
Lucas inched closer until he reached the edge of a small clearing. There, in the center, a ring of stones surrounded a pile of glowing embers. The fire was nearly out — just a few faint tongues of flame licking at the charred wood.
Beside it lay scattered items: two wooden bowls, a dented metal canteen, and what looked like a rolled-up blanket or cloak.
Lucas swallowed hard. Whoever had been here hadn't left long ago.
He crouched beside the fire, feeling the faint heat still radiating from the stones. The ashes glowed faintly red. He reached out, hesitated, then touched one.
Warm.
"Okay, so… people. Or humanoids. Or whatever passes for that here."
He looked around and spotted a metal lantern half-buried under a rolled blanket. The glass was cracked but still intact, and inside was a bit of hardened wax and a short wick. "Well, at least someone here believed in mood lighting," he muttered, picking it up.
He glanced around for anything else useful — maybe clothing, armor, *anything* better than duck-print pajamas. But aside from the canteen, some bowls, and a torn cloak that smelled like a wet dog, there wasn't much. "Great," he grumbled. "Trapped in another world and I can't even get pants out of the deal."
The lantern was heavier than it looked. He glanced down at his pajama pants, which offered no pockets, no belt loops — nothing. "Of course. No pockets. Whoever designed pajama storage should be in jail."
He stood there awkwardly, holding the lantern with both hands. Then a thought hit him. "Wait. If there's a status screen…"
He closed his eyes and focused. "Inventory?"
A chime echoed in his head.
[Inventory Unlocked]
Storage capacity: 10 slots.
Current slots used: 0/10.
Lucas's eyes widened. "No way."
He reached toward the lantern — and it simply vanished in a flash of soft blue light. He opened the inventory window, and there it was: a small icon of the lantern labeled *Basic Lantern (Worn but functional).*
He laughed out loud, startling a few birds from the nearby trees. "Okay, now that's cool."
Encouraged, he picked through the campsite again, adding a few useful-looking things — the dented canteen, the rolled blanket, even one of the wooden bowls. Each disappeared neatly into his invisible storage.
He grinned, hands on his hips. "Finally, some proper game logic."
Then the smile faded a little as he looked around the empty camp. "Still no clothes, though. Figures."
For a moment, he stood there, the forest crackling quietly around him. The heat of the fire, the scent of woodsmoke, the distant hum of unseen insects — it all felt real enough to make him forget, for just a second, how lost he was. He thought of his apartment, his phone on the nightstand, the coffee mug he hadn't washed in three days. "If this is a dream," he said softly, "I'd like to wake up before my rent's due."
---
A flicker of movement caught his attention. Near the edge of the clearing, something had disturbed the leaves — a trail leading away from the fire. Lucas stepped closer and froze.
It wasn't a trail. It was a set of footprints.
Boots — big ones. Maybe two sets, side by side. The prints were clear, pressed deep into the soft soil, and they led straight toward a dark gap between the rocks at the base of a hill.
A cave.
Lucas crouched near the entrance. The air that drifted out was cool and smelled faintly of earth and smoke. A few embers from the campfire had even rolled down the slope toward it, still glowing faintly against the stone.
Someone had gone in there recently.
He leaned forward, squinting into the blackness. The cave sloped down sharply, disappearing into total shadow after just a few meters.
Lucas licked his lips nervously. "Nope," he whispered. "Absolutely not. That's how horror movies start."
He stood there, debating with himself. "Okay, pros and cons. Pro — there might be people who know what's going on. Con — those people might kill me and take my nonexistent pants. Pro — it's shelter. Con — also a great place to die horribly. Yeah, that's a solid fifty-fifty."
The silence answered him.
He took a few steps closer. Something dripped inside — slow, rhythmic, like water falling into a puddle. Then a faint sound followed — a breath, maybe. Or just the wind pretending to be one.
"...Yeah," he muttered. "Definitely not going in there."
He took a step back, staring at the dark opening. Then another step. Then stopped.
Because he realized — if whoever went in there was the only person who might know where he was… then the only way to get answers was to follow them.
Lucas sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. "I swear, if I die in duck-print pajamas…"
He looked back toward the forest, then at the cave. The embers glowed faintly behind him, painting his face in orange light.
He took one deep breath, muttered something that sounded a lot like a prayer, and stepped forward.