The moon hung low, a colossal orb of swirling silver, its light flooding the forest in a radiant cascade.
Whooom.
Norian stood at the cave's mouth, his bare feet sinking into the glowing moss his water pouch slung across his chest, the spear gripped tightly in his hand.
The forest pulsed around him, alive and electric, its energy humming in his bones. Hummm. Trees towered overhead, their bark shimmering with veins of light, like the forest's own heartbeat.
Shimmer-shimmer.
Leaves rustled softly their edges glowing as they danced in a breeze that wasn't there. Vines curled upward, their flowers blooming in bursts of color, each petal a tiny flame of violet, turquoise, or crimson.
Flutter-flutter.
Butterflies spiraled around him, their wings brushing his arms, soft as a whisper, their colors catching the moonlight like living jewels. A fox-like creature with fur like spun starlight darted past its moonstone eyes glinting before it vanished into a cluster of glowing ferns.
The air was sweet, crisp, electric, carrying the scent of dew and flowers, a promise of life that drowned out the daytime's rot.Norian's chest tightened, not with fear but with something deeper—a quiet ache, a mix of gratitude and dread.
This forest, this impossible place, had saved him. The water had healed his wounds, the fruit had fed his hunger, the glow had lit his soul. I don't want to leave. His fingers tightened on the spear, its weight grounding him.
He'd face the daytime forest soon, its decay and dangers, the beasts that roared in the distance. ROARRR. The river was out there, somewhere, and with it, the mission he didn't fully understand but couldn't abandon.
Failure wasn't an option—not because of pride, but because he'd come too far to give up. He'd survived the Mire Golem, the panic, the doubt.
He'd tasted magic, felt hope, become more than the "cursed" kid from Veltharion.He took a step forward the moss sparking underfoot, its light rippling outward. The forest seemed to hum louder, as if urging him on, its song weaving around him like a farewell. He glanced at the pouch, its hide gleaming faintly, filled with the stream's magical water.
Sploosh.
It was enough to keep him going, to keep him alive. The spear felt solid, a small defiance against whatever waited in the daylight. He wasn't strong, wasn't a hero, but he was ready.
Or as ready as he'd ever be.Norian turned back to the cave, his temporary home, its cool stone a stark contrast to the forest's warmth. He'd stay a few more nights, basking in this miracle, letting it fill him with strength.
Then he'd go. He'd face the river, the beasts, the unknown. His heart steadied his breath slow and sure. The moon's glow bathed him, a silent vow that he wasn't alone, not here.
The forest saw him, not as a curse, but as Norian Veyar, the guy who'd keep going, no matter what.
"I'll come back,"
He whispered, his voice soft but steady, swallowed by the forest's hum.
Hummm.
He smiled, small but real, and stepped back into the cave, the moonlight trailing him like a friend. Tomorrow, or the day after, he'd leave. But tonight, he was here, alive, and that was enough.
*****
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
✶ Dimension Walker ✶
✧ The Veiled Paragon ✧
⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
*****
Norian knelt by the canal, the moon's pearlescent glow shimmering across its crystal-clear surface, casting flecks of silver light on his bare torso.
The forest thrummed with life—vines curling up towering trees, their bark etched with veins of emerald, sapphire, and amethyst; butterflies with stained-glass wings spiraling through the air; and the sweet, electric scent of dew and blooming flowers filling his lungs.
His dark hair clung to his sweat-slicked forehead, his bare feet sank into the springy, glowing moss, and his tattered pants hung loose on his hips, the last remnants of his arrival in Xerion.
Five days had passed since he'd been flung into this world, a Dimension Walker candidate with a mission he barely grasped. But tonight, his path was clear: he'd head for the river.
The reasoning was simple, carved from survival and logic. Rivers were lifeblood—every civilization, in any world, bloomed along their banks, drawn to water for drinking, fishing, trade.
Veltharion's system, cold and calculated, wouldn't drop him in the middle of nowhere, far from his mission to inspire 1000 of Xerion's natives to believe in its purpose.
He was close to people; he had to be. This side of the forest, north of where he'd landed, was a mystical maze of glowing nights and rotting days, but it was empty of intelligent life.
No villages, no voices, not even the crude symbols or broken arrows he'd hoped to find. The river, slicing through the forest like a silver scar, marked a divide.
The natives, he reasoned, were on the other side, their settlements hidden beyond the water's edge. It was a gamble, but it felt right—a path to answers, to his mission, to something more than surviving.
Norian dipped his hide pouch into the canal, the vine-stitched leather glinting faintly as it filled with shimmering water. He was exhausted, his muscles aching from hours of roaming the forest's glowing paths, his spear—a sturdy branch tipped with a sharp stone—resting against a nearby tree.
He drank deeply, the water's sweet-salty taste flooding his senses, cool and vibrant, like it was woven from the forest's magic. Instantly, his fatigue dissolved. His legs steadied, his chest loosened, and his mind sharpened, as if the water had stitched his energy back together.
He froze, the pouch still at his lips, eyes widening as a spark of realization hit.
'Wait… this isn't just refreshing.'
The water didn't just quench thirst or heal cuts—it had closed his wounds nights ago, leaving silvery scars that caught the moonlight. It rebuilt his stamina, made him feel alive.
'What if I use this? Like, really use it?'
His heart raced, not with fear but with possibility.
'If I work out—push my body hard, let the water fix me—could I get stronger? Faster?'
The idea burned bright, a wildfire in his mind.
'I could train, actually train, and this water would keep me going. Why didn't I think of this before?'
Shame stung him, sharp and familiar.
'Because I'm an idiot. Always stuck in my own head, spiraling.'
In Veltharion, he'd been too drowned in self-loathing—the taunts of "cursed," the orphanage's cold walls, the eyes that slid past him—to see opportunities.
Even here, he'd wasted days cowering, doubting, when this miracle water was right there.
'But not anymore. I'm done being that kid. I'm doing this.'
He set the pouch down, grabbed his spear, and stood, his bare feet sinking into the moss, its faint glow sparking under his weight. The forest seemed to hum with encouragement, its light reflecting off his sweat-slicked skin.
He wasn't just exploring now. He was building himself.For seven nights, Norian turned the forest into his training ground, the canal's miracle water his lifeline.
Each dusk, he woke in his cave niche, the daytime stench of rot—damp earth and decaying leaves—fading into the background as the forest bloomed under the moon.
He'd drink, the water's electric rush flooding his veins, and launch into his routine. His mind, once a storm of fear and doubt, was shifting. The forest's magic, its trust in him, lit a fire in his chest.
He wasn't a hero, not yet, but he was done being the boy who believed he was nothing. Each workout was a middle finger to Veltharion's taunts, to the bullies who'd called him cursed, to the kid who'd curled up in corners.
'I'm enough here. I can be more.'
The first night, he sprinted through the glowing underbrush, his bare feet slapping the moss, each step igniting tiny bursts of light.
His lungs burned, his scrawny legs trembled, but he pushed on, weaving between trees, leaping over roots that pulsed with amethyst veins.
When exhaustion clawed at him, he drank from the canal, the water erasing his fatigue like a switch flipped. He dropped to the ground for push-ups, his spear balanced across his shoulders for weight, his arms shaking as he counted.
"Ten… eleven… twelve…"
His muscles screamed, but the water dulled the pain, letting him go again. By dawn, he collapsed in his niche, sweat-soaked and grinning, his body buzzing with a strength he hadn't known he could have.The second night, he got bold.
He climbed trees, their bark warm and thrumming under his calloused palms, his fingers scraping for grip.
He fell—more times than he'd admit—each tumble bruising his ego more than his body.
'Come on, you shit, just how long are you going to stay useless.'
He drank, healed, and climbed again, hauling himself higher until he perched on a branch, the forest's neon glow sprawling below like a living city.
He used his spear for pull-ups, gripping the branch and heaving his weight, his biceps burning, his breaths steadying with each rep. The water kept him going, its magic knitting his muscles tighter, stronger.
By the third night, he'd mapped a circuit—past the canal, around a pond that mirrored alien constellations, through a thicket of vines that pulsed like heartbeats.
He ran longer, faster, his strides devouring the forest floor. He carried glowing stones, using them like dumbbells, curling them until his arms ached.
The water let him push past his limits, his stamina holding where it would've crumbled days ago. His mind sharpened, the fog of self-doubt thinning. I'm not dying after ten minutes anymore. This is working.
The forest's songs—chirps of prismatic birds, hums of living trees—felt like applause, urging him on.The fourth night, he added jumps, launching off mossy mounds, aiming for higher branches. His bare feet gripped the springy ground, his legs coiling with new power.
He practiced lunges with his spear, thrusting it like he was facing the Mire Golem, its muddy bulk a shadow in his mind.
'Not today.'
The water healed microtears in his muscles, letting him train harder, longer. He caught his reflection in the canal, stunned. His arms weren't just sticks anymore—faint lines of muscle traced his biceps, his chest.
'Is that… me?'
His posture was straighter, his shoulders broader, as if the forest was reshaping him.The fifth night, he pushed to his limits—sprinting until his vision blurred, doing push-ups until his arms gave out, climbing until his hands bled.
Each time, the water stitched him back together, fueling his fire. His psychology was shifting—less Why am I so weak? and more I can do this.
The forest's glow, its vibrant life, felt like it believed in him, a mirror to the belief he was starting to hold. He shadowboxed under the moonlight, dodging imaginary claws, his bare torso gleaming, his movements sharper, more confident.
He wasn't just surviving—he was forging himself.The sixth night, he felt the change. His stamina was unreal, letting him run for hours without collapsing.
His muscles were visible now—lean but defined, his chest tighter, his arms stronger. He stood taller, his posture no longer hunched.
He measured himself against a tree he'd marked, jaw dropping. Five feet nine? Three inches in a week, a growth spurt that defied logic.
The water, the glowing berries he'd eaten, the forest's magic—it was remaking him, body and soul. His mind was clearer, his self-loathing a faint echo. I'm not that kid anymore.
The seventh night, Norian was a different person. He sprinted his circuit, faster than ever, his bare feet barely grazing the moss before springing forward. He climbed to the highest branches, his spear tucked under one arm, his movements fluid, almost graceful.
He did pull-ups until his shoulders burned, push-ups until his chest ached, and still kept going, drinking from the canal to recharge. His mind was a quiet sea, his doubts drowned out by purpose. He stood on a hill, the distant river glinting under the moon, and felt ready.
The daytime forest—its rot, its beasts like the Mire Golem—still scared him, but fear wasn't his master. He was stronger, taller, alive.A sharp chime cut through the forest's hum, startling Norian as he stood on the hill, his bare torso gleaming with sweat, his spear gripped tight.
Ding!
A holographic screen flickered to life, its blue glow stark against the glowing trees, lines of code scrolling with cold precision.
✧═─〈 SYSTEM NOTIFICATION 〉─═✧
Through extensive physical exertion and interaction with Xerion's aetheric resources, Stamina, Strength, and Vitality have slightly increased.
༺═───────────────═༻
Norian stared at the screen, his chest heaving, a grin spreading across his face. It's real. I'm stronger. The system's clinical words felt like a nod from the universe, proof he wasn't imagining his transformation.
His body—5'9" now, lean muscle etched into his frame, silvery scars catching the moonlight—was evidence. His mind, once a maze of fear and self-hatred, was clearer, sharper.
The river lay ahead, through a daytime forest that could kill him, but he wasn't the scrawny kid who'd landed here. Barefoot, shirtless, spear in hand, he felt ready.
'This is me now. Let's do this.'
He glanced at the forest, its glowing vines and prismatic birds a silent farewell. The river was his path to the natives, to his mission, to proving he was more than a curse. The daytime forest scared him—its rot, its silence, its beasts—but he'd face it. He had his spear, his pouch, and a fire in his chest that Veltharion had never ignited.
'I'm not invisible anymore. Not here.'
-To Be Continued