It’s been a blissful week of paradise.

  A week filled with insects that bite, snakes that bite, weird monkey-things—that also bite.

  Every night, I’ve nearly frozen to death—except this one. You’d think the tropics would stay warm, or that if it was cold, the bugs would have the decency to die off. But no. It seems life genuinely despises me for… whatever transgressions I committed.

  I have a theory: I’m in a coma. Some kind of radical new treatment meant to jolt patients back to consciousness. Only mine’s faulty. Instead of waking up, I’m stuck looping through scenarios—some bring joy, but most are just good old-fashioned suffering.

  On the upside, this place is definitely rich in food. Fruit, crab, and… insects. Just don’t eat the raspberry-looking ones. They do something nasty I’d rather not talk about.

  But overall? It’s an improvement from living on a plank of driftwood lashed to a migrating reef, where I nearly glimpsed heaven—or, more likely, Satan. Also known as Swart.

  Reef Plank: 0/10. Would not recommend.

  This place, for all its problems, is definitely a step up. Still awful—but it’s like being completely paralyzed, then “upgrading” to only partially paralyzed. You can move a hand. That’s not nothing. And in my current grading curve, that’s practically luxury.

  Anyway, I’ve definitely gone a bit insane.

  I’m currently holding a full-blown dialogue—well, monologue—in my head. They say humans are social creatures, even the most introverted ones need some kind of connection. My solution? I copied something I saw in a movie once and named a coconut. I didn’t exactly have any other ball-shaped items lying around.

  His name is Frederick—named after some German guy.

  Frederick is a young coconut. He’s a guy. He’s also annoyingly talkative in that overly enthusiastic way that might be cute if it weren’t happening entirely in my head. He’s covered in brown husk with three little holes—just in case I ever want to bowl with him.

  His hobbies are… yeah, no, I’ve definitely gone past a bit insane. I’ve named a damn coconut and given it hobbies. Shit.

  I grab him, fully intending to chuck him into the sea.

  But then he pleads with me—not out loud, of course, just with those dumb holes and the weight of imaginary guilt—and I sigh, put him down, and collapse into the sand beside him.

  Well, I haven’t spent the entire time dabbling in madness.

  I learned how to make fire using mana—hence why I’m currently not freezing to death. Took a lot of trial and error, but my rough understanding of physics and chemistry helped. Or at least I like to think it did.

  I’ve also gotten more used to the Third Dream. Not fully settled into it, but close. The flow comes easier now. I can shape it with more precision—not just force.

  I’ve been scouting, too—venturing along the coastline and the edges of the jungle, looking for any sign of the crew. I didn’t see any bodies when I searched the shipwreck, but I also didn’t have time to do a full sweep. They could’ve drowned in their rooms.

  But not Hein.

  As much as I like to think I’m some kind of genius—questionable, I know—I’m pretty sure Hein is hiding his genius on purpose. He plays the everyman routine well, but deep down, he’s probably more reliable than I am.

  I’ve also been wondering how a jungle like this survives the nightly frost.

  My working theory? Everything here—bugs, beasts, trees—is so saturated with mana it has natural resistance. No need to evolve like life in tundras. They just tank it.

  But then, during the day, it’s back to hot and humid.

  So I don’t know.

  Maybe the ecosystem runs on spite.

  But who knows.

  Maybe I am a genius.

  Can’t reveal all my secrets, though…

  Joking aside, I’m pretty fucked.

  I don’t exactly think I’m getting back. So I guess this is home now—for the foreseeable future, maybe the rest of my life.

  Could be worse. At least I’m not feeling that old numbness again.

  Future plans? First, finish exploring the coast. Second, keep growing stronger—push deeper into Aspiration’s Folly, reach higher levels of control. Then, head inland. Where the death-howls and jungle screeches come from. Should be fun. Genuinely.

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  And maybe—just maybe—figure out a way back.

  Not because I miss it.

  But because the answers to who I am, what I am… probably still live back there. Somewhere.

  ***

  It took about a month to explore the coastline.

  Somehow, the supposed monsters don’t come near the shore. Lucky or unlucky, I’m not sure. It could mean safety… or that even they know to stay away.

  A few key landmarks stood out.

  First, a graveyard of ships—unlike anything I’ve ever seen. They weren’t like the wooden vessels from Port Kier. These wrecks were foreign, some twisted mix of architecture and driftwood, warped beyond recognition. A few still had bits and bobs that confirmed they were ships once—but now they’re just scattered ribs on the sand.

  Some were populated by skeletons. Not haunted, thankfully. Or maybe unluckily? Still debating that one.

  Then there was the crab.

  A giant, colossal, ginormous, leviathan of a hermit crab—and an equally massive shell, which I mistook for a boulder. I actually climbed on top of it without realizing it was alive.

  To my dismay, it turned out to be completely passive. Just… lumbering along, minding its own ancient business.

  Not exactly what I expected after all the horror stories about this place. I thought everything here was supposed to kill you on sight. Monsters. Death reports. Casualty rates.

  But no.

  Sometimes, apparently, they’re just huge—and chill.

  Not everything out here is passive.

  One morning, I spotted something that made the leviathan crab look like a pet rock.

  It was a predator—massive, terrifying, and hungry.

  Imagine a mosasaurus, but worse. Rows of pillar-sized teeth, a jaw wide enough to bite a skyscraper in half. Scales like overlapping sheets of roofing metal, navy blue and slick with salt. Twelve eyes—six on each side—glowing yellow, slit black pupils scanning the coastline like it owned the place.

  Maybe it does.

  It didn’t even glance at the crab—probably didn’t notice it. Its attention was locked on something else: an elephant-looking creature, if you can even call it that. Double the tusks, double the size, and anorexic as hell—barely clinging to life.

  I watched from a distant ridge as the mosasaur-thing lunged.

  One bite. Gone.

  Swallowed whole.

  So that’s why the other monsters avoid the coast.

  There’s something worse already here.

  And when it finished, it turned and looked right at me.

  Didn’t attack. Didn’t roar.

  Just looked.

  Like it was sizing me up… and decided I wasn’t even worth the energy.

  Honestly? Kinda rude.

  But I wasn’t going to win that fight.

  Not against a damn dinosaur bigger than an aircraft carrier.

  And if that wasn’t enough to remind me where I stood on the food chain, there was one night when the ocean itself went to war. I thought a storm was rolling in—but it wasn’t thunder. It was Mister Moso—yes, I’ve named him—locked in a death match with a kraken.

  Not just any kraken. One that looked like the scaled-up version of the one I fought back on the ship.

  I only caught glimpses between resurfacing waves.

  At one point, tentacles wrapped around Moso’s head, binding his jaw like a grotesque muzzle. Then—snap—he tore them off with sheer jaw strength. They went under again.

  Next time they surfaced, the squid had wrapped its full length around Moso’s body—squeezing hard, hard enough to send scales flying off like shrapnel. Moso didn’t take that well. Somehow, he grabbed hold of the kraken’s head, wrestled it in close, and dragged the whole thing back beneath the waves.

  When he came up again, he was holding a trophy—the squid, dismembered. The ocean around him was stained black with its disgusting blood. The stench hit the shoreline by dawn… and lingered for a week.

  So yeah. Coastline’s safe because nothing wants to live near that.

  Other discoveries?

  Found some old stone ruins inland from the beach—weathered, half-swallowed by vines. They were etched with crests of the sun. Typical. Sun worshippers. Probably a dead civilization. Feels like every continent has one.

  Between all that, I’ve been grinding away at level four of Aspiration’s Folly.

  Progress is… slow.

  Level four is all about combination. Layering techniques. Blending effects. Which I’m apparently trash at. Mind you, I’ve always learned best during life-or-death situations. So maybe it’s time.

  Time to go inland.

  Which is exactly what I was about to do.

  ***

  It’s early morning. The heat’s already picking up, and sweat is pooling across my back.

  Time to head inland.

  I leave behind the humble shelter I set up a few days ago—a one-room shack, if you can even call it that. Palm-leaf roof, no walls, no floor. Just overhead shade and a mattress made of layered fronds. Not exactly a bed, but it does the job.

  I’ve also wrapped my body in a mana-based protective shield—my own attempt at replicating the ward grid from the ship. Every night, you can hear insects sizzle on contact, fried for the sin of getting too close. Like a modern bug zapper… except I am the zapper. Walking, glowing pest control.

  I pass the boundary where the palm trees thin out and the real jungle begins—lush, choked with broadleaf foliage and vines thick enough to hang a man. The plant life goes from lazy beach mode to full jungle warfare in a few steps. I sharpen my hand into a blade and start cutting through like a living machete, carving a path as I go.

  ‘What a useful multi-tool I am.’

  Then—ambush.

  A snake lunges for my leg, but hits the ward field and gets electrocuted mid-strike. It drops twitching at my feet.

  Breakfast is served.

  I find a small clearing, cook my freshly delivered meal, and eat. Still twitchy, but well-done enough.

  Then it’s back into the green.

  A commotion ahead makes me pause. Sounded large. I decide not to take chances and scale a tree—get a better view.

  From the canopy, I see a herd of those massive double-tusked beasts. They’re feasting on something.

  Carnivorous. Huh. That’s something.

  Their prey is some kind of oversized ostrich—except it has two necks, two heads. Of course. Double everything.

  Even the young—each about the size of a adult bear—are tearing into it, bloodied snouts buried deep in the thing’s chest cavity. Morbid as hell. But oddly endearing, watching them eat side-by-side with the adults.

  Then one of the adults tramples a juvenile flat into the mud.

  Guess it tried to eat without permission.

  The rest of the young scatter into the undergrowth—lesson learned.

  Brutal parenting.

  I pushed further inland.

  New terrain, new creatures.

  Flocks of parrots—normal-looking at first glance—until they shimmered. Their feathers glowed with a mana sheen, as if a shield wrapped each one individually. Blue-tinged, radiant, and definitely not natural.

  More of those monkey-things too—the only creatures bold enough to trespass into what I now consider our territory: mine, Moso’s, and Boulder’s. The coast. My sacred ground. I slaughtered five of the little bastards before the rest scattered into the canopy. They’ll think twice.

  I also spotted a herd of those two-headed ostriches. They noticed me—keen senses—and bolted.

  Fist-sized jungle frogs clung to wet leaves. Probably poisonous. I gave them a wide berth.

  Other than that, just a blur of oddly normal jungle fauna—wild boars, lizards, something that looked like a cross between a deer and a hyena.

  After a full day of playing conquistador, I returned to my jungle apartment. Crude, leafy, but mine.

  I passed out.

  ***

  I woke up the next day—dreamless. Just a blank stretch of unconsciousness.

  Figured I’d take the same route as before to push further inland faster. Save time.

  The heat rose again. I sweat. I cut. I walked.

  Then it happened again.

  Ambushed by breakfast—a snake lunging at me and promptly fried by the ward shield. Convenient. Again.

  I walked further.

  The same herd of double-tusks. Eating the same two-headed ostrich. One of the calves got trampled again.

  Same flock of glowing parrots in the same formation.

  Same monkeys watching from the trees.

  Everything felt off.

  The whole day reeked of déjà vu. A bad loop. Like a dream you only half-remember until it starts playing out in real time.

  But I didn’t feel like I’d died.

  I went to bed without answers. Uneasy.

  ***

  Next morning, I test it.

  Same route. Same events. Everything in place, like a puppet show on rails. No variation.

  This wasn’t a loop triggered by a violent death.

  Then a terrifying thought hit me.

  ‘What if I’m dying in my sleep?’

  I’m halfway to unconsciousness when the idea lodges in my brain—and sticks.

  ***

  I wake up. Same morning.

  My eyes are still closed—but something feels different.

  And I know.

  I had died.

  Quick. Painless. Unnoticed.

  And that’s what scared me most.

  Not that I died.

  But that I never even felt it.