Avin woke with a start. His hand shot instinctively to his sword, gripping the hilt so tightly his knuckles whitened.

A high-pitched ring drilled into his ears — not just sound, but pressure, like invisible needles. "Uh… feels like I just slept through two filler episodes," he groaned, wincing as he cupped one ear.

He blinked blearily and ran a hand through his hair. Dust rained down — tiny particles, dead leaves, even some brittle insect husks that cracked between his fingers. His once-brown boots were caked in a second skin of mud. His camo gear had turned a grimy, wet red, dark with dried blood and fluids he didn't dare identify.

"I'm a mess," he muttered, voice hoarse. He stood slowly, joints popping like breaking twigs, and stretched his arms until his spine cracked in relief. "I should look for somewhere to get clean…"

He turned to leave the cave but froze just before stepping out.

Outside, sunlight pooled over the forest floor, gold streaks filtering through high, ancient branches. Avin squinted, unsure how long he'd been asleep. It felt like hours, maybe days — his limbs heavy but rested, his head clear but hungry.

"I'm surprised I wasn't eaten alive by a radioactive snake or something," he said under his breath. The joke fell flat in the silence.

He glanced back into the cave — damp walls, dripping moss, nothing waiting but shadows — then looked out again, sighing. "How will I even find a source of water?"

Right on cue, his stomach growled. He looked down. "…And food."

With another sigh he lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged, his red waistband glaring up at him like an accusation. "One hundred and six, huh? Wonder if that's enough to get me in…" He stared at the number as if it would answer back.

Then a memory flickered: the swordsman, the reptilian beast, the rustling bushes. "Probably just a rabbit," the swordsman had said.

"Rabbits," Avin murmured. Hope stirred in his chest. "That means there's something edible out there that isn't trying to kill me."

He lifted his head. The forest loomed beyond the cave mouth, colossal trunks rising like pillars of some alien cathedral. The canopy dripped with shadows. Every inch of it reeked of blood and hidden teeth. His small spark of hope dimmed again.

Another sigh. "I guess I have to anyway."

He pushed himself to his feet, adjusting the waistband to sit tighter against his hips, and stepped out into the trees.

Hours passed.

The forest was a labyrinth — endless roots twisting like veins, curtains of moss hiding ravines, leaves so large they blotted out the sun. He walked and walked until his tongue felt like paper and every swallow burned. His eyes grew unfocused; his thoughts became a drumbeat of thirst.

He nearly gave up — but then a flicker of light caught his eye.

A reflection.

He turned his head, blinking against the sunbeam stabbing through the foliage. The reflection glimmered again behind a wall of dense leaves. He shoved them aside — and there it was.

A lake.

It was larger than he'd imagined, maybe a hundred meters across, fed by a trickling waterfall from jagged black rocks. Its surface was glassy and perfectly still, a mirror of the bright sky above. Not a ripple disturbed it.

"Yes!" Avin shouted, his voice echoing across the water. He jogged to the bank, elation momentarily erasing all caution. Every fiber of his body screamed at him to jump in and drink until his stomach burst.

But he stopped.

Something about the lake was… wrong.

Too still. Too perfect.

His time in this world had rewired him. Suspicion crept in automatically, a reflex like breathing. "It wouldn't be that easy," he whispered, scanning the water. "Radioactive? Poison? Something under there waiting to drag me under?"

His body ached for the water. His mind screamed no.

And then, on the far bank, movement.

A deer-like creature bent its head to drink, its pale coat dappled like sunlight through leaves. Its antlers shimmered faintly. Avin stumbled back instinctively, hand flying to his sword. Every creature he'd met so far had wanted to kill him. He readied himself, crimson glow already seeping into his eyes.

The creature stopped drinking. It looked up. Their eyes met.

Avin's muscles coiled. He slowly pulled the sword an inch from its sheath—

But the creature flicked its ears, turned, and bolted into the woods.

Avin exhaled sharply, shoulders sagging. "This place has seriously messed me up," he muttered, sliding the sword back.

Still, if that thing had drunk the water and lived, it was probably safe.

He crouched at the edge of the bank. His hands trembled as he cupped the clear liquid and brought it to his lips. It was cold, sweet, cleaner than anything he'd tasted in weeks. He drank deeply, water dripping down his chin, until his lungs hurt from gasping between gulps.

"Water's never tasted this good," he said, sitting back, wiping his mouth with a muddy sleeve.

Slowly, he stripped off his ruined clothes until he stood in just his underwear, laying each garment flat on the grass to dry in the sun. The red waistband stayed on — he wasn't about to risk losing it. He dipped the clothes into the lake, swishing them around, trying to wash out the blood.

Finally, he glanced down at his reflection. His face looked older, shadows under his eyes. "Should probably get myself clean too," he murmured.

He stepped into the shallows. The water climbed to his knees, cold and soft. He sighed in relief. "But it's too unsanitary…" he muttered, trailing one hand through it.

That's when his breath caught.

He lifted his hand — or tried to.

There was no hand to lift.

He stared in horror at the water. His arm was still there up to the elbow — but below that, submerged, there was nothing. The water reflected the sky, but where his hand should have been was only a pale shimmer.

And then the pain hit.

White-hot agony erupted from his missing hand, shooting up his arm like liquid fire. He screamed — a raw, animal sound that echoed over the lake.

The water rippled.

Something moved beneath the surface.

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