The sound was sickening — a dull, wet crack that seemed to echo through the clearing.
The skull caved in before the man even turned.
Andrew didn't scream. Didn't flinch.
His body twitched once, violently, and then collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.
A hammer blow. Clean. Brutal. Final.
"That's done," muttered the stranger, lowering the heavy weapon with the ease of someone far too used to its weight.
He stepped forward, his boots crunching over twigs and blood-stained earth, and knelt beside the still body sprawled near the fire.
Sam.
Barely breathing.
"Hey. You alive?"
The voice was distant, as though submerged in water. Steady. Almost detached.
Sam's eyelids fluttered. His head pounded, like something was trying to claw its way out from inside his skull.
Everything was spinning. Fading. The world was slipping through his fingers.
He saw a shadow — broad shoulders, a face hidden beneath the brim of a wide straw hat.
A silver beard framed sun-hardened skin.
Eyes, unreadable, stared at him from beneath the hat. Silent. Watchful.
Sam tried to lift his hand — weak, trembling fingers barely obeyed.
"Ign…nite…" he breathed, the word no louder than a sigh.
A faint flicker of flame danced on his fingertips — fragile, desperate.
Then it died.
So did the world.
***
Light.
Thin and pale, leaking in through a narrow slit in the fabric.
Heat. Sweat clung to his skin. His lips were cracked. His tongue, dry as ash.
Sam gasped.
He was alive. Barely.
His body felt like it had been wrung dry, every muscle aching, every limb heavy with exhaustion.
He lay on a rough tarp, tucked under a coarse wool blanket.
The air inside the tent was thick — stale, tinged with smoke and sweat.
Outside, something crackled. A voice followed — hoarse, familiar.
"Awake, huh? Took your time. Well, come on out. Food's ready. Crawl if you have to."
Sam blinked slowly. Then again.
Each breath took effort, but something in that voice — calm, earthy, utterly unconcerned — gave him the strength to move.
He pushed the blanket aside, staggered to his knees, and crawled toward the light.
***
The sun hit him like a slap — too bright, too sharp. He winced.
The scent of smoke drifted past, mixed with spices, herbs… and meat.
His stomach growled before he even realized he was hungry.
A fire burned low in the clearing.
Above it, a blackened pot hung, steam curling up in lazy ribbons.
Beside it, sitting on a log like he had all the time in the world, was the man in the straw hat.
A wooden bowl in his hands. The same calmness in his posture.
"Sit," he said, not even looking back. "While it's still hot."
Sam obeyed, legs shaky beneath him. He sat slowly, as though his bones might betray him.
"What… is it?" he asked, voice raspy.
"Stew. My own recipe. Forest herbs, bit of mint, touch of bitterness. You'll love it."
He took a spoon.
The broth was hot — spicy, with a strange but pleasant aftertaste that lingered on the tongue.
It tasted like warmth. Like safety.
Each bite eased a knot in his chest, thawed the ice in his stomach.
But the warmth didn't reach his heart.
"…Where's Kyle?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
A pause. The man exhaled through his nose.
"Didn't make it," he said simply. "Took the hammer to the head. Instant."
The words hit harder than expected.
Sam froze, spoon trembling in his hand.
No scream rose from his throat. No sobs.
Just silence.
Something inside him cracked, but it wasn't loud. It was quiet — a slow, dull fracture.
Like a part of him had been carved out and left to rot.
"…Thanks," he managed, staring down into the bowl.
The man handed him a wooden cup.
"Drink."
"What is it?"
"Wine. Home-brewed. Light."
Sam sipped.
Then coughed, choking on the burn. It scorched his throat like fire.
"This is light?" he rasped.
The old man chuckled, a rough, dry sound.
"If you think this is strong, you should try the real stuff."
Sam couldn't help a weak laugh. It hurt — but it felt real.
"Who are you?"
"Albert," the man replied. "And you?"
"Samu…el."
Albert nodded.
"Well then, Samuel. Let's have it.
Who are you, and what were those three bastards trying to do?"
Sam's shoulders tensed.
The man's gaze had shifted — still calm, but sharp now. Piercing.
Too sharp for a common traveler. Too knowing.
"Where… are they?"
"One's dead. I killed him.
The second's the one you mangled. He's tied up.
The third? You already know.
If you're smart, you'll thank me. You wouldn't have survived on your own."
Sam looked away. His fingers tightened around something — small, warm.
Kyle's amulet.
The only piece left of someone who had just… been there. Now gone.
If he finds out I'm not from this world… what then?
He drew in a slow, shaking breath.
"I don't remember much," he said at last. "Woke up in the woods. Flashes of light. Voices. Magic.
Everything's… foggy. Blurred. Like a dream slipping through my fingers."
Albert didn't blink.
Just stirred the stew, watching the fire with the patience of someone who'd seen too much.
"Memory loss, huh," he muttered. "How convenient."
Then he stood.
Nudged a log with his foot — flames jumped, casting wild shadows across the trees.
"Come. A little night air might help clear your head."
***
They walked a short distance.
The forest was still. Silent. Only the crackling of the fire echoed behind them.
Above, stars bled through the branches like scattered diamonds.
Albert stopped, hands clasped behind his back. His shoulders were relaxed, but something in his posture warned of steel beneath the calm.
"Alright," he said, voice low. Firmer now. "Talk. From the beginning. No lies."
Sam stood in the half-light, the amulet clenched in his fist.
Its surface was warm — or maybe his hand was just shaking.
In his chest, something coiled and heavy.
If I tell him the truth…
There's no turning back.