Chapter 6: First Night

  Gaia World, Day of The Shattering

  Pawel stood over the spider's wet remains - now only wetness of ichor lingering on the grass - catching his breath as he assessed himself. His elbows and knees had taken a few scrapes from the falls during the fight, shallow cuts stinging where dirt had ground in. His shirt and pants were filthy, streaked with smeared grass and soil.

  He patted his chest and arms where the purple smoke had seeped into his skin, feeling a brief warmth but no immediate harm.

  "What was that?" he said aloud, frowning. For a second, he wondered if the spider wasn't truly dead—if the mist was it continuing the attack somehow.

  But as the weird warmth faded without anything else happening, he pushed the concern aside.

  Instead, a surge of exhilaration hit him: he'd just fought and killed a head-sized spider with a sharpened stick. His first real adventure in this world. A grin broke through as he wiped his hands on his pants.

  "And it just despawned... like in a frigging game!"

  He picked up his spear, wiping the ichor off on nearby grass that was carpeting the ground all around.

  And froze for a second.

  "Wait... if everything I kill disappears—how am I to hunt for food?"

  He looked closer to where the spider used to be, checking if any loot had appeared there in a truly game-like way. But there was nothing. With slight disappointment, he continued assessing his situation:

  His right hand still throbbed, the skin irritated and warm, veins pulsing faintly—a reminder of his earlier mistake.

  Seriously, out of all the stupid things he'd done in his life, sticking his hand into a mysterious substance that appeared out of nothing was probably at the top of the list. It worried him, but he focused on the task at hand.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Night was closing in, shadows stretching across the clearing. He gathered more dry branches, snapping them in smaller pieces, and built a fire pit in front of the tent. With a click of his lighter, the flames ignited, crackling as they caught on the wood, releasing a pungent, resinous smoke that drifted upward.

  Pawel ducked into the open tent, spear within reach, and lay back on his sleeping pad. The nylon fabric felt cool against his skin, and the fire's heat seeped in, carrying the smoky aroma of burning branches mingled with the fresh, springtime smell of the surrounding forest floor.

  He closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. The fight had left him wired, every rustle in the bushes—a twig snap or leaf shift—drawing his attention. On top of that, the burning in his hand intensified, a persistent heat that fueled racing thoughts and kept his mind too alert to relax.

  After a while, he sat up. No sense wasting time tossing around.

  Meditation had helped him unwind before; it could work now. Some techniques involved focusing on a single sensation—breath, sound, or something internal. With the itching so dominant, he chose it as his focus.

  He crossed his legs, straightened his back, and shut his eyes again.

  The fire's steady crackle filled his ears, its warmth brushing his face. He zeroed in on the burn: a sharp throb in his palm, radiating up his arm like heated wires under the skin. He cycled between clear meditative states—mind empty of words, just raw sensations—and slips into simply thinking about them or his situation.

  During one lapse, an idea formed: imagine directing his own inner strength against whatever had invaded him, breaking it down and turning it into his own energy.

  Instead of having it do anything else, harness it, have it assimilated and even strengthen his body.

  The thought grew and evolved gradually. Now instead of harnessing just the energy that was absorbed from the phenomenon and spider, he fantasized about connecting with the nature around him and drawing something even more from it. Having it resonate with his own soul and adding to it.

  It flowed naturally into his thoughts as weird state of mind from moments of actual meditation gave him illusions of feeling just that.

  He wasn't even sure what was simply observing something that he really experienced and what was just his fantasy, as he started to "feel" a surrounding energies flowing all around like a life force emanating from all life around him.

  He pictured drawing it in, using it to ease the pain and strengthen his body. The visualization helped; the burn seemed to respond, shifting as if being dismantled and repurposed.

  Fatigue finally pulled him under. As he fell asleep, the fantasy blended into dreams where he continued absorbing that greenish power—drawing it from everything alive around him, the pulse of roots in the earth, the whisper of leaves in the breeze, the distant splash at the pond's edge. It flowed steadily, mending and fortifying him from within.