The forest of Xerion thrummed with a quiet, ancient pulse, its towering trees cloaked in vines that glowed like veins of starlight.
Norian stood on the riverbank, barefoot, the cool, loamy earth squishing between his toes. His bare chest, streaked with sweat and forest dirt, caught the faint shimmer of the bioluminescent flora.
At 5'9", lean and muscled from a week of relentless training, he was no longer the wiry, 5'6" boy who'd arrived in this alien world, dropped by the Will of Veltharion—or the system, as he now thought of it.
The Aetheric water from the channel, glimmering before him like a ribbon of liquid light, had reshaped him, body and soul.
Seven days of grueling workouts—sprints, climbs, lifting river-smoothed rocks—had forged a new Norian, one who felt alive, powerful, unburdened.
Tonight, though, that energy simmered into something softer: a quiet, pulsing joy.
'I'm not the boy I was on Veltharion.'
He thought, gazing at the channel's radiant surface.
'I'm… more. I can be more.'
The realization settled in his chest, warm and solid. The aetheric water had shown him a truth he'd never grasped back home: there was more to the world, to himself, than he'd ever seen. He could be better, stronger—a true version of himself, not the cursed, small man he'd once believed himself to be.
The system, whatever it was, had chosen him for a reason. Or maybe it hadn't. Either way, he could be someone it had never anticipated.
Tomorrow night, when dusk fell, he'd leave this part of the forest—his base, his crucible—and head for the river.
The thought sent a flicker of nerves through him, but tonight was for rest, for preparation, for savoring this newfound freedom. He turned toward the small cave he'd claimed as his shelter, his bare feet padding silently over the earth.
Inside, tucked against the damp stone wall, was the hide of a dead animal he'd found three days ago, during one of his feverish workout nights.
He'd meant to craft a water pouch then, but the grind—running until his lungs burned, climbing trees until his arms gave out—had left him too drained by dawn to focus. Tonight, he was clear-headed, purposeful.
The pouches would be his lifeline on the journey ahead, a way to carry the aetheric water that could rejuvenate him instantly, heal any injury, keep him running if monsters struck.
'I know trouble's coming'
He thought, kneeling by the hide.
-Especially in the daytime.'
Why? He couldn't say. It was a gut feeling, a certainty that prickled at the back of his mind, as if the forest itself whispered warnings.
Back on Veltharion, he'd ignored such instincts, dismissing them as paranoia. But here, in Xerion, they felt real, urgent. Trouble waited—monsters, maybe worse—but he was ready.
His makeshift spear, carved from a sturdy branch during one of his training nights, leaned against the cave wall. With the pouch he'd make tonight, he'd have what he needed to face whatever came.
The system's confirmation etched in his memory, had sealed it: his Stamina, Strength, and Vitality had increased.
He was taller, stronger, livelier than ever. I'm not running scared anymore, he thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
'I'm ready.'
Norian sat cross-legged in the cave, the animal hide spread before him. It was rough, leathery, and carried a faint whiff of decay, but it would hold the aetheric water.
He worked carefully, using a sharp stone to cut the hide into a rough oval, his fingers steady despite the unfamiliar task. On Veltharion, he'd been no craftsman, just a man scraping by, haunted by a sense of being less.
But here, every action felt like a step toward something greater. He threaded vines through the edges, pulling them tight to form a crude pouch. It wasn't perfect, but it would do.
If he ran into trouble—exhausted from fleeing monsters or battered by the unknown—the water would be his salvation, just as it had been during his week of transformation.
As he tied off the last vine, his mind wandered back to that week. The sprints along the riverbank, his bare feet pounding earth and roots. The climbs up towering trees, their bark rough against his palms.
The rocks he'd lifted until his muscles screamed, only for the water to heal him, push him further. It had been grueling, but it had made him.
'I was so blind before.'
He thought, securing the pouch.
'I didn't see what I could be.'
The shame of missing the water's potential had stung at first, but it was gone now, replaced by a quiet confidence. He wasn't cursed anymore. He was free.
With the pouch finished, Norian stepped out into the forest, the empty pouch slung over his shoulder, his spear in hand. The night was his, and he roamed with a happiness he'd never known.
He plucked strange, glowing fruits from low branches, their flesh sweet and tart, bursting with flavor that made Veltharion's meager harvests seem like dust.
He climbed trees, not with the desperate effort of a week ago, but with ease, his muscles coiling and releasing like they were made for this. These trees were giants, their trunks wider than houses, their branches stretching higher than any he'd seen on Veltharion.
Back home, trees were saplings compared to these. He scaled one now, higher than he'd ever dared, until he perched on a thick branch near the canopy, the forest sprawling below like a sea of glowing green.
This is what freedom feels like, he thought, biting into a fruit, juice dripping down his chin. The wind brushed his bare skin, cool and alive, and for a moment, he wasn't a man lost in an alien world. He was just Norian, unburdened, whole.
The doubts that had plagued him—his slowness to see the water's power, his old life's failures—felt like shadows from another life. He was stronger now, taller, more vital. He could climb these impossible trees, eat fruit on their branches, roam the forest with a joy that felt like flying.
'I'm not cursed.'
He thought, the words a quiet vow.
'I'm me.'
But the river loomed in his mind, a shimmering divide between this sanctuary and the unknown. He'd chosen it for a reason: civilizations grew near water, and the system wouldn't have placed him far from Xerion's natives.
Tomorrow night, he'd set out. The thought sent a flutter of nerves through his chest.
'It could kill me.'
He admitted, staring at the horizon where the river waited.
'Or it could make me.'
Either way, he was ready. The pouch, the spear, his new body—they were his armor. The water was his shield. Norian climbed down from the tree, his movements fluid, assured.
He returned to the cave, the pouch and spear in hand, and settled against the cool stone to rest. His body was strong, his mind clear, but a quiet nervousness lingered. The river was a threshold, a point of no return.
'I'm ready'
He told himself, closing his eyes.
'Whatever's out there, I'm ready.'
*****
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
✶ Dimension Walker ✶
✧ The Veiled Paragon ✧
⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
*****
Tomorrow, he'd leave this part of the forest—his sanctuary, his crucible—for the river. The thought sent a flutter of nerves through him, but he pushed it down.
He had work to do before rest. Norian returned to the channel, the water glimmering like liquid starlight. In his hand was the new water pouch he'd crafted earlier that night, its rough, leathery hide stitched with vines.
The first pouch, made days ago, hung at his waist, but this new one was still dirty, reeking faintly of decay from the animal it once belonged to. He knelt by the channel, submerging the pouch in the aetheric water.
As he scrubbed, the water worked its magic. The hide softened, its grime dissolving, the faint stench replaced by a clean, almost vibrant scent, as if the water had breathed new life into it.
'This stuff really is a miracle'
He thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips.He tested the pouch, filling it with water and holding it aloft. Not a drop leaked. It was crude but sturdy, just like the first.
With two pouches, he'd have enough of the Aetheric water to keep him going—through exhaustion, injury, or whatever trouble waited beyond the river.
'And trouble's coming.'
He thought, his gut tightening. Especially in the daytime. He didn't know why, but the certainty was unshakable, a whisper from the forest or maybe from Veltharion's instincts honed in this alien world.
Monsters, natives, something worse—he didn't know, but he was ready. The pouches and his makeshift spear, carved from a branch during his training week, were his lifeline.
The system had confirmed his growth—Stamina, Strength, Vitality all increased—and he felt it in every fiber of his being.
'I'm not the boy I was.'
He thought.
'I'm ready for whatever's out there.'
Norian returned to the small cave that had been his shelter, his bare feet padding over the earth. He tucked the pouches and spear against the damp stone wall and settled onto the cool floor to rest.
Sleep came quickly, his body accustomed to the forest's rhythm, but distant roars—deep, guttural cries of some unseen beast—jolted him awake more than once.
His heart raced each time, but the sounds were far off, and exhaustion pulled him back under.
"Can't they just shut up? What the fuck is that thing doing to scream like this?! Argh, for fucks sake. A person can't even rest properly because of this shits. One I'll bit the shut out of them."
He fell asleep quickly even before he can finish his complaints.
By dusk, his body stirred, as if tuned to the fading light. It was almost instinctive, a natural alarm honed over his nights in Xerion. He woke as the forest's glow deepened, the vines brighter, the air cooler.
Tonight was the night. He rose, stretched his muscled frame, and gathered his gear. He tied both water pouches to his waist with vines, their weight reassuring against his bare skin. The spear felt solid in his hand, a crude but reliable weapon.
He stepped outside the cave and paused, looking down at the small hollow that had sheltered him through his transformation.
This place saved me, he thought, a pang of gratitude mixing with resolve.
'It made me.'
He gave the cave a silent goodbye, his heart steady but heavy. This was the end of one chapter, the start of another.
Norian turned toward the river, its distant glimmer calling through the trees. He stopped at the channel one last time, splashing the aetheric water over his face, drinking deeply.
The familiar surge of vitality coursed through him, sharpening his senses, steadying his nerves. Here we go, he thought.
He broke into a run, his bare feet pounding the earth, his spear gripped tightly. The forest blurred around him—trees looming like giants, vines glowing like pathways in the dark. He wished he could reach the river in one night, cover the distance in a single, glorious sprint.
But he knew it was too far. The river was a boundary, a divide between this forest and the civilization he sought, hinted at by the symbols and trails he'd found weeks ago.
It would take time, maybe days. Still, he ran, full speed, his new body strong and tireless, fueled by the water and his own resolve.
The night stretched on, and Norian kept running, weaving through the undergrowth, leaping over roots. His breath was steady, his muscles alive with power.
'I'm not cursed anymore.'
He thought, the words a mantra against the darkness. I'm free. But the nerves lingered, a quiet undercurrent. The river promised answers—natives, maybe allies—but also danger. His gut screamed that trouble waited, especially in the daytime.
'Whatever it is, I'll face it'
He told himself.
'I'm not the boy Veltharion knew. I'm more.'
As the first hints of dawn crept through the canopy, Norian slowed, his chest heaving, his bare skin slick with sweat.
The river was still out of sight, but he'd covered ground, more than he'd thought possible. He stopped by a tree, its bark etched with one of those strange symbols—a reminder of the world beyond.
He untied a pouch, drank deeply, and felt the aetheric water flood his veins, washing away fatigue. The forest hummed around him, alive, watchful. The river was closer now, its pull stronger.
'This is it.'
He thought, gripping his spear.
'Death or rebirth. I'm ready either way.'
He stood tall, his shadow long in the pre-dawn light, a man remade by Xerion's wild heart. The river waited, and with it, a new adventure—one that could kill him or make him.
Norian took a deep breath, his resolve a quiet fire. Whatever lay ahead, he'd meet it head-on, no longer a cursed man but a true version of himself, forged in the forest and ready for the unknown.
-To Be Continued