Night fell like a curtain drawn across the red sun. Joel had pushed far north over five relentless days, running until his lungs burned and his legs threatened to give out, always with the distant snarls of the Hell's Keepers echoing from the east. He ate sparingly—dried rations and nutrient bars from the shop, tasteless but sustaining—never stopping long enough to cook or rest properly. The landscape had shifted: endless dunes giving way to sparse, twisted trees, then thicker forest. The open space he finally collapsed into felt like a small mercy, the first real cover he'd had since the barrier lifted.
Darkness came fast. No gradual twilight, no moon to soften the transition. The red sun simply… closed. One moment it blazed overhead, too close, too watchful; the next it shuttered like a great, unblinking eye deciding to sleep. Joel stared up at the blank sky in quiet amazement, half-amused, half-unsettled. No clouds, no stars, just absence. The world felt smaller without that constant crimson glare.
He exhaled. "Well… I guess we learn as we grow."
He summoned the shop window with a quiet word. Scrolled to tools. Found a basic torch-like igniter—simple, reliable, 100 CILS. Purchased. The small metal rod appeared in his palm, cool and humming faintly.
He gathered dry branches from the nearby trees, snapping them with practiced ease. Arranged the wood in a tight pyramid, kindling at the base. A flick of the igniter sparked flame. The fire caught quickly, orange tongues licking upward, pushing back the cold dark.
From the depths of the Drown Long Man Desert Coat—its impossible pockets still holding more than should be possible—he pulled a shallow metal pot he'd bought during training. First real meal he'd cooked since dying. No recipes from home, no Mum's jollof to guide him, but necessity had sharpened his focus.
He retrieved the preserved carcass of a Hell's Keeper—neatly stored, flesh still fresh thanks to the coat's preservation effect. Knives out. Cuts precise, familiar from months of dissection. Meat into chunks. A sprinkle of basic spices from the shop menu—salt, something smoky, a pinch of heat. Into the pot. Over the fire.
The smell rose: rich, gamey, edged with char. His stomach growled in honest hunger.
He was stirring when movement caught his eye—subtle, deliberate. A shadow detached from the trees, stepping into the firelight.
"Hello, fellow traveler," the voice said, warm and measured. "I'm sorry for the intrusion at this hour, but would you mind if I shared your fire for the night?"
Joel's hand tightened on the spear shaft beside him. The stranger was massive—easily over 6'3", broad in a way that made Joel's newly forged frame feel almost compact by comparison. Beast-skin leather armor covered every inch, stitched thick and dark, topped with a mask of strange, mineral-veined stone that obscured the face completely. No gaps obvious at first glance, but Joel's eyes scanned anyway—joints, seams, potential weak points—instinct honed over two months of survival.
Suspicion coiled tight. But then his mother's voice drifted up unbidden: My love, try helping people even though it's hard. That way it's easier to receive help when you give it out equally.
Joel exhaled slowly. Forced a small smile.
"Sit," he said. "If you want food, I have a little meat."
The stranger froze for a heartbeat, visibly startled. Then a low, rumbling chuckle escaped the mask.
"I'll take you up on that offer, my friend."
He sat—careful, deliberate—across the fire. Joel served a portion of the cooked meat into a second shallow bowl from the coat. The stranger accepted it, lifted the mask just enough to eat without revealing his face.
One bite. A pause.
"How… and why does this taste so good?" The voice was thick with genuine shock. "I've never tasted meat like this. What is it?"
"Hell's Keeper meat," Joel said simply.
The stranger laughed—open, surprised. "Hell's Keeper? You mean the Hell dogs? It's been a long time since I heard that name."
"That's what my friend calls them, I guess."
"Then your friend must be really old," the stranger said, still chuckling.
Joel pulled a bottle of water from the coat and passed it over. "Water, in case it's too tasty. But to be honest… I'm not from here. I'd like to know more about this place."
The stranger thanked him, drank deeply, then studied Joel across the flames.
"You're willing to share information in exchange for a meal and company?" He sounded pleased. Then curiosity sharpened. "What do you mean, 'not from here'?"
Joel hesitated. Truth felt dangerous. He chose the half-lie that felt safest.
"I'm from far, far south. I don't know anything about this world because I was… secluded. Raised by a creature. Small. Able to fly. Six wings. It had been with me since I came to this world."
The stranger's posture shifted—subtle, assessing. "Those creatures are dangerous. I've seen one once, by chance. I barely escaped with my life."
Joel let surprise show. "You're lucky, kid," the stranger continued. "You saw a being like that and survived. What did it say before it left?"
"Nothing," Joel said. "Absolutely nothing. Just… left."
Inside, he marveled at how easily the lie came. This is for the best. I don't know him enough to trust he won't kill me if he knows I'm not from this plane.
The stranger accepted it. They talked long into the night—Joel asking careful questions, the stranger answering freely as payment for the meal and the fire. Geography. Dangers. Cities. The north held Altier—a trade hub, walled, relatively safe. The stranger spoke of beasts, rival factions, the strange rules of this world. Joel listened, filed everything away.
Morning came with the red sun opening its eye once more.
Joel woke slowly, spear still gripped in one hand. The fire had burned low, ash scattered. The stranger was already up, stirring the embers.
Joel glanced up. In daylight, the stranger was even more imposing: towering, broad, beast-leather armor shifting with every movement. Two massive blades crossed behind his back. The mineral mask caught the red light like polished stone.
Joel stood, stretching muscles still sore from days of running.
"No need to linger," he said. "Let's just head to the city you mentioned—Altier."
The stranger smiled—Joel could hear it in the voice even through the mask.
"Wise choice."
They set out together, north through the thickening forest. Joel's silent boots whispered over roots and leaves. The coat swayed lightly, pockets heavy with secrets. Behind them, the fire died completely.
As they walked, the stranger glanced sideways at Joel's broad shoulders and steady stride.
"You remind me of the Du-La of the north," he said, almost admiringly.
Joel raised an eyebrow. "The Du-La?"
The stranger nodded, mask catching the red light.
"Ancient folk. Tall as old trees—eight, ten feet or more—built like mountains, but with hearts and minds like any of us. They laugh, they argue, they keep oaths, they raise young ones and tell stories around fires. Fierce when their kin are threatened, generous to those who earn trust. You've got that same quiet strength: the way you watch before you speak, the way you move like a stranger to a place you were born . If I didn't know better, I'd think you were one of them… just smaller. Never seen anyone quite like you before."
Joel let the words settle. They don't have a name for what I am. The Du-La are the closest thing this world has ever known to someone who looks and thinks like me. The thought sent a quiet chill through him—not fear, exactly, but awareness. He was walking proof that something impossible had entered their reality.
He kept walking, spear loose in his grip.
Altier waited somewhere ahead.
And for the first time since waking in the void, Joel didn't feel entirely alone.