I wake to the sound of waves.
Not crashing jungle storms.
Not monster roars.
Just… waves.
Seagulls cry in the distance.
For a moment, I think I'm home.
For a moment, I think it was all a dream.
> The Deviljho.
The blood.
The girl whose head got bitten like a fruit.
The cliff.
The thing — that abomination in my dream. The fusion. The Equal Weapon.
I open my eyes.
The sky above me is clear blue. No storm clouds. No red moons. Just sun and wind.
I'm lying on a cot.
Wooden beams overhead.
Someone's draped a rough linen blanket over my body. My wounds are bandaged — not neatly, but with care.
My shirt is gone. My arm is still burned with those lines — thin, glowing fractal scars. I cover them quickly.
I sit up slowly, my body screaming in pain.
I sit up on the cot slowly, still shaky, still aching, but... something catches my breath.
It's the view.
Astera.
But not pixels on a monitor. Not stylized textures and game lighting.
This is real.
And it's… breathtaking.
---
Massive wooden platforms sprawl outward like roots from the cliff's face, each level alive with movement. Rope bridges sway gently with the breeze. Iron chains creak as cranes lower cargo onto waiting lifts. Massive sails rise like wings from the upper decks, billowing under a bright blue sky.
Above it all, a massive furnace tower churns smoke into the air, its glow like a beating heart — the forge. Sparks fly from the blacksmith's platform. I can hear the rhythmic pounding of hammers, like a pulse running through the whole base.
Hunters in armor walk with purpose, each of them shining under the sunlight — plates of jagged bone, glowing scales, blackened steel. Some carry massive blades. Others, massive smiles. Palicoes dart between their legs with baskets of herbs and food, tails swaying, ears twitching at every sound.
The canteen is alive with fire and laughter — massive roasting spits, boiling pots, tables stacked with more food than I've ever seen in my life. Spices float in the air, making my mouth water even though my stomach is twisting in knots.
I look up. Wyverns.
Flying overhead.
Their wings stretch wide against the blue, gliding past high scaffolding and towers. I see a handler waving to one from a lift, laughing. Somewhere, a horn echoes — not an alarm, but a welcome.
Wind rushes past my face, clean and salty and laced with something wild — something that smells like nature untamed.
And for a moment...
> I forget.
Forget the blood.
Forget the Deviljho.
Forget the dream, the fusion, the Equal Weapon chained to the throne of the dead.
For a few precious seconds, all I can feel is wonder.
---
> This is beautiful.
This is what I used to look at from behind a screen and wish I could live in.
And now I'm here.
Somehow.
Somewhere between miracle and mistake.
I find myself whispering:
> "This… this is insane…"
---
I close my eyes.
In another life, maybe I would've belonged here.
A hunter.
A researcher.
A forgemaster, even.
But that was never me.
I was just a guy from Malaysia. An office chair. A cluttered desk. Lunch breaks and overdue reports.
And now?
I'm in Astera.
But I didn't earn this.
I fell into it.
And something tells me…
> Something down there is still watching me.
And this peaceful moment?
It's just the eye of the storm.
---
I turn my head slowly, and I see it again:
The bandages on my arm.
The faint, glowing lines beneath.
Like something was burned into me.
A reminder.
A warning.
Or a key.