The forest I wake up in, or I guess arrive in, is lush in a way that almost feels intentional. Thick green canopies block out most of the sky, leaves layered on leaves like the world is trying to hide itself. Sunlight filters down in broken beams, catching on drifting pollen and insects that hum softly in the air. It's peaceful at a glance. That doesn't mean a damn thing to me.
I'm on high alert the second my boots hit dirt.
Part of that is common sense. This is a fantasy world, and every fantasy novel I ever read loved shoving monsters into forests. Wolves with extra teeth, spiders the size of houses, and things that pretend to be trees until they eat you. The other part is just who I am. Growing up on the streets teaches you fast that corners kill people. Silence is suspicious. Comfort is a lie. I don't know how to not be ready.
I move slowly, careful with each step. I keep my breathing controlled and my weight balanced. The ground here is soft with moss and fallen leaves, which helps with noise, but it also hides roots and holes. A twisted ankle out here would be a death sentence. Angel deal or not, I'm not trusting this world to be forgiving.
I check myself as I walk. Clothes are intact. Same black jeans. Same button-up. Same boots. I pat my sides and smile faintly when I feel familiar weight. My knives are still there. Thigh sheath. Back sheath. Boot knife. Everything I died with, I kept.
That helps. A lot.
I pull the boot knife free as I walk. Good old reliable. I've had this thing for over a decade. It's chipped, the grip's worn smooth where my thumb rests, and it's saved my life more times than I can count. I don't believe in luck, but if I did, this blade would have most of mine soaked into it.
Every so often, I stop and carve a small mark into a tree trunk. Nothing fancy. Just a shallow angled cut, always facing the same direction. Old habit. If I end up circling back, I'll know. If something follows me, I'll know that too.
The forest smells alive. Damp earth. Sap. Something floral I can't name. It's almost distracting. I force myself to focus, scanning ahead, to the sides, and then back behind me. Over and over. A rhythm as familiar as my heartbeat.
After maybe an hour of walking, I hear water.
That pulls me toward it fast. Sound carries weirdly through trees, but this is unmistakable. I push through some brush and spot a narrow river cutting through the forest floor. Clear water. Smooth stones. Slow enough that I can see the bottom. It looks harmless.
I don't trust that either.
Still, my throat is dry as hell. Even though Haniel patched me up, even though I'm technically in a new body or whatever this counts as, I feel dehydrated. Like my body remembers bleeding out and didn't get the memo that it's over.
I crouch by the river, keeping my knife in hand, and scoop some water up. I sniff it first. No smell. I take a small sip and wait a few seconds. Nothing explodes. Good enough.
I drink properly then, cold water running down my throat, easing that raw, tight feeling. I splash my face too, letting the chill wake me up fully. The water feels real. Everything does. More real than I expected.
That's when I hear it.
A low, wet grunt. Right next to me.
I freeze.
Slowly, I turn my head.
There's a small green creature crouched at the riverbank, maybe three feet from my face. Two feet tall at most. Green skin. Big pointed ears. Yellow eyes. It's wearing a dirty little loincloth and drinking water exactly the way I was.
We lock eyes.
For a second, neither of us moves. We just stare at each other, both clearly trying to decide if the other one is food.
My eyebrow twitches upward. His nose wrinkles.
He grunts.
My face twists instinctively, more confusion than fear.
The little bastard reaches behind himself and yanks out a tiny dagger.
I sigh. "Of course."
I grip my knife tighter just as he springs. The leap is impressive; I'll give him that. Straight for my face too. Ambitious.
"Nice try, little guy," I mutter.
I roll backward, letting him sail past where my head was a second ago. He lands hard and spins, and before he can recover, I'm already moving. One clean slash. No hesitation. Blade through flesh like cutting warm bread.
He falls in two pieces.
I stand there for a moment, breathing steadily, eyes scanning the treeline. No immediate movement. No sudden screams. Just the river flowing like nothing happened.
"Goblin," I say quietly. "Gremlin. Whatever."
Definitely not an orc. Way too small. Doesn't really matter what it's called. What matters is that it tried to stab me in the face while I was drinking water. That tells me everything I need to know about this place.
I wipe my blade clean on some grass and sheath it.
Lesson learned. No more relaxing.
I follow the river after that, staying a few feet back from the bank so I don't silhouette myself. Rivers usually lead somewhere. Towns need water. People follow water. Monsters probably do too, but I'll take my chances.
I don't get far before I realize that goblin had friends.
The first one lunges from the brush on my left. I duck and drive my elbow back into its face, feeling cartilage crunch. It drops. I stomp its neck without breaking stride.
The second comes in low with a spear made of sharpened bone. I kick it sideways, grab its wrist, and snap it clean. It screams. I don't let it finish.
The third and fourth rush me together, shrieking. I move into them instead of back. Knife flashes. Blood sprays. One goes down clutching its throat. The other catches my knee to the gut and folds.
More come. Five. Six. A whole pack of them pouring out from behind trees and rocks, thinking numbers will save them.
They're wrong.
I lose track of time. It turns into motion and impact and instinct. Punches. Kicks. Slashes. Bodies hitting dirt. I use the terrain, the riverbank, and the trees. I move like I always have, like this is just another job with worse lighting.
When it's over, the forest is quiet again.
Too quiet.
I stand there, chest rising and falling, hands slick with blood that isn't mine. At least I don't think it is. I check myself quickly. No cuts. No bites. Good.
That's when I notice the light has changed.
The sun is sinking. Long shadows stretch between the trees, and the forest starts to look less friendly by the second. Sounds change too. Bugs get louder. Birds are quieter. Something howls far off in the distance.
Yeah. No.
I'm not wandering around here at night.
I find a tall tree with thick branches and start climbing. It's slower than a ladder but doable. Once I'm high enough that nothing short of ground-bound is likely to reach me, I settle in against the trunk.
I keep my knife in my hand.
I won't get good sleep. I know that. I'll take what I can get. One eye half open. Ears listening. Muscles ready to move.
As darkness creeps in and the forest fills with unfamiliar sounds, I let out a slow breath.
First day in a fantasy world. Already got jumped by goblins and nearly stabbed in the face.
"Eventful," I mutter.
I close my eyes just enough to rest, not enough to completely let my guard down.