Awakening from a groggy, dreamlike state, my mind was suddenly jolted into sharp awareness by a familiar yet disconcerting sensation: weightlessness. But this time, it wasn’t the gentle floating I had once known—it was something far more visceral. It felt like I was falling. Because I was.

Twisting and flailing as best I could, I managed to glimpse the rapidly approaching treetops of a sprawling forest. The dense greenery surged toward me with alarming speed, offering no hint of reprieve.

“OH SHIIIIIIIT!!!”

Instinctively, I curled into a tight ball, a desperate but futile attempt to brace for the inevitable impact. Within moments, my body slammed into the crown of a massive tree. The force of the collision shattered it instantly, sending splinters, bark, and leaves flying in every direction. The cacophony of destruction wasn’t over, though. My momentum launched me into the trunk of another tree, which splintered apart under the sheer force of the impact. Unlike the first, this one couldn’t withstand the assault and toppled over, cleaved nearly in two.

Disoriented, I tumbled through the air like a ragdoll, with no concept of what was up or down. Each rotation blurred the world around me until, finally, my side crashed into the forest floor. Thick, gnarled roots and jagged stones didn’t cushion the blow; they merely broke my descent in the most painful way possible. The collision sent me skidding deeper into the underbrush, carving a trench through the earth before I came to a jarring stop, half-buried in the dirt.

Groaning, I let my body fall limp as the aches and bruises made their presence known. I lay there for what felt like an eternity, sprawled among shattered wood and disturbed earth before I finally attempted to move. Slowly, painfully, I began to shift, bits of bark, dirt, and jagged stone falling off me as I struggled to sit up.

“Oh, I’m gonna feel that in the morning,” I muttered, my voice raspy and unfamiliar.

Wait. My voice?

I froze in place, the sound of those words replaying in my head. That wasn’t my voice. It was smooth yet raspy—like someone who hadn’t had their morning coffee yet. It wasn’t incredibly deep, but it was a far cry from the higher pitch I was used to.

“What the fuck?”

Any lingering pain evaporated as adrenaline surged through me. I sprang to my feet with alarming speed, driven by a mix of panic and confusion. Turning to survey the area, I finally took in the full extent of the devastation I’d caused. A massive trail of destruction stretched out behind me—uprooted trees, fractured roots, and shattered rocks littered the landscape, forming a deep trench as far as the eye could see.

And somehow, I’d walked away from all that with just a sore back.

“What the fuck?”

Then, as my gaze fell on myself, the full absurdity of the situation hit me like a freight train.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?”

I wasn’t wearing my usual clothes. Normally, I stuck to simple outfits—plain shirts and jeans, nothing fancy or remarkable. But now? What I had on looked like it came straight out of a fantasy game or a high-budget action movie.

A long, flowing trench coat made of deep purple fabric draped over my shoulders, its leather accents reminiscent of something a certain white-haired demon hunter might wear. Around my forearms were sleek silver bracers, polished yet practical, and my hands were covered by dark brown, fingerless combat gloves. My trousers were thick and rugged, a sturdy brown material held in place by a wide leather belt with a dull golden triangular buckle at its centre.

And then there were the boots.

They immediately caught my attention, looking both practical and oddly out of place. Thick plates of armour covered the shins, extending from just below the knee to the middle of the foot, almost giving the appearance of greaves. When I lifted one foot to inspect the sole, I saw it was a rich navy blue. But what surprised me most was how the armoured plates flexed and moved with my motions, as though they were made of some advanced, pliable material rather than rigid steel.

“What the hell is going on?” I whispered, half-expecting an answer that never came.

My thoughts were a chaotic storm, and I stood there utterly frozen, unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before me. Every attempt to make sense of it only left me more bewildered. Saying I had no clue what was happening would be an understatement—not just of my life but potentially of several lifetimes.

Then, as if my body had decided to take control without consulting my scrambled mind, I spun on my heel and bolted in the opposite direction.

Straight into a tree.

“Motherfucker!” I shouted, my voice muffled as I doubled over, clutching my nose. The sharp, searing pain cut through the fog in my brain like a knife, dragging me out of my stupor.

But as I gingerly touched my throbbing nose, my fingers brushed against my chin—and I froze again. Not because my nose was tender, but because something vital, something intrinsic, was missing.

“Wait a second,” I muttered to myself, the disbelief in my voice audible. “I didn’t shave last night…”

Frantic, my hands shot to my face, skimming over unfamiliar, smooth, bare skin. My stomach twisted, my pulse quickened, and my thoughts raced as I processed the implications. What the hell was going on? Whipping around, I scanned my surroundings, desperate to find some reflective surface to confirm—or disprove—what I already feared. Through the dense foliage ahead, I glimpsed the shimmer of water.

I didn’t hesitate. Sprinting through the trees, branches tugged at my clothes, and undergrowth snagged at my legs, but I didn’t stop. The moment I broke through the treeline and stumbled onto the sandy shore, I dropped to my knees, panting as I leaned over the still, glass-like water.

The face staring back at me wasn’t mine.

Gone was the soft, round face I had known all my life. In its place was a more angular, chiselled visage, framed by a strong, square jawline. My once full cheeks had thinned out, sharpening into streamlined contours. The dark, heavy bags that had perpetually hung under my brown eyes were nowhere to be found—replaced by piercing steel-blue irises that reflected an intensity I didn’t recognize. My shoulder-length black hair had vanished, replaced by a stark white buzz cut, and the beard I had spent years growing was simply…gone.

“What the hell is happening to me?”

The words barely left my lips when a low, guttural growl rumbled behind me. My body tensed, the primal sound triggering an ancient, instinctive fear deep in my bones. Slowly, I turned, my heart pounding, and came face to face with a maw full of glistening, razor-sharp teeth hurtling straight toward me.

I dove to the side, rolling clumsily on the sand, and scrambled to my feet just in time to see the creature in all its horrifying glory.

A Manticore.

Straight out of myth, the beast was gargantuan, its golden fur rippling over bulging muscles. It resembled a lion, if lions had bat-like wings that flapped idly on their backs and a barbed scorpion’s tail that curled menacingly, ready to strike. Its feral yellow eyes locked onto mine, glinting with predatory hunger.

The creature wasted no time. With shocking speed, it lunged again, claws tearing into the earth as it closed the distance between us. I raised my arms instinctively, hoping—praying—they’d somehow shield me from the inevitable.

But before the Manticore could strike, a deafening boom shattered the air above us. Both the beast and I froze, our heads snapping skyward. Fireballs streaked down from the heavens like meteors, their light painting the darkening sky in shades of red and orange. As they hurtled closer, I realized they weren’t just fireballs. One of them was a blade—a massive sword engulfed in flame.

Time seemed to slow. The Manticore began to move, but it was too late. The flaming blade struck its skull with a sickening crunch, splitting bone and flesh with ease. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the ground, spraying me with sand, blood, and tiny shards of bone. The beast’s body convulsed violently before collapsing into a lifeless heap.

A second projectile—a scabbard—landed with a dull thunk in the wet sand beside the corpse, completing the scene of carnage.

I stared, my mind struggling to process what had just happened. In the aftermath, the world seemed too quiet, too still. My legs gave out, and I let myself fall backwards, the gritty sand and sharp twigs digging into my back as I landed. I lay there, gasping for breath, every muscle in my body trembling. My mind, overwhelmed and overstimulated, surrendered to the chaos and went blank. I rolled onto my side, curling into a tight ball, the world around me fading into a haze.

I must have stayed like that for hours, unmoving, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky turned a deep navy. When I finally managed to uncurl and sit up, the world was cloaked in the soft dimness of twilight.

My gaze fell on the Manticore’s mangled body. The sword protruded from its skull, the flames long extinguished but still radiating an eerie heat. Driven by a strange compulsion, I approached the weapon cautiously, each step slow and deliberate. Wrapping my fingers around the hilt, I gave it a tentative tug. To my surprise, the blade slid free effortlessly, its weight solid and comforting in my grip.

I stared at it, the blood-slick metal glinting faintly in the moonlight

The flat-backed, curved blade gleamed even in the dim light of the darkening sky. Elegant runes I couldn’t recognize spiralled up both sides, halting halfway along the blade’s length, just below the single curved hilt. The weapon was anchored by a solid, ovoid wooden handle, its pommel curving slightly forward with a sharp, bone-like stud protruding from the bottom.

It looked like a longer, much larger version of Orcrist, reaching just below my chin. And it was beautiful.

Reluctantly tearing my gaze from the stunning piece of craftsmanship, I turned my attention to the dead Manticore sprawled nearby and winced. I wasn’t new to death—I’d seen more than my fair share. But facing down a beast of legend, watching it come to life and almost kill me, wasn’t something I ever thought I’d have to endure.

Securing the scabbard—now my scabbard—firmly to my back, I slid the blade inside with care, its passage marked by a satisfying, almost mechanical tha-chunk. The sound resonated with an odd finality.

I cast one last look at the Manticore’s lifeless form, sighed, and turned away, leaving the carcass for scavengers to claim.

~~

I walked for what felt like hours. The entire journey, a prickling sensation on the back of my neck kept me on edge—an unshakable feeling of being watched. Even after finding a clearly man-made path, the sensation never faded. I caught myself reaching for the sword more than once, though I had little experience wielding one. All I could do was stay alert and be ready to run.

Despite its outward appearance of a normal forest, something about this place felt off. Dangerously off. And the Manticore encounter from earlier had done nothing to ease my nerves.

Above me, the vast sky deepened into shades of purple and black, dotted with the faint glimmers of distant stars and planets. I tilted my head back, marvelling at how bright and vivid the constellations were, easily visible even through the gaps in the treetops. The sight was breathtaking.

So much so, I wasn’t looking where I was going.

Thunk.

“AH! Mother...bitch!”

Clutching my nose, I glared at the offending tree, then straightened to see what lay ahead. A crumbling ruin loomed in the near distance, looking as though it was held together by spit, duct tape, and sheer willpower. Directly in front of it, a gorge yawned wide and deep—possibly the deepest I’d ever seen. The only means of crossing was a rickety, deathtrap-looking wooden bridge that swayed ominously in the wind. Yeah, no thank you.

“Why does this look familiar?” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

Shrugging, I approached the gorge’s edge and peered down into the void. The sight sent a shiver rippling through me, and I quickly stepped back. My gaze shifted to the far side of the bridge, and despite every rational instinct screaming at me to stay put, my curiosity—and let’s be honest, my recklessness—took the reins. I had to see what was inside that ruin.

Walking up to the bridge, I gave it a cautious tap with my foot. It swayed. I tapped it again, harder. It swayed more. Negative confidence—that’s what this bridge inspired. I didn’t even know that was possible until now.

Still, my brain, which had seen some things today, decided that the twenty-foot gap looked jumpable.

I’ve been called many things in my life, but “smart” has never been one of them.

I stepped back a few paces, bounced on my toes to hype myself up, and took a deep breath. Then I sprinted toward the edge.

To my surprise—and horror—I reached the brink much faster than expected, panic surging as I crouched and launched myself across the gorge. I landed with a resounding thud, slamming into the ruin’s front steps and embedding myself partially in crumbling stone. A shower of debris rained down around me.

“I really need to stop crashing into shit,” I groaned, dragging myself up.

Looking back, I realized I’d cleared the gap with far more force and speed than I’d anticipated. Twenty feet, at most. Sure, I was decently fit, but this? This was unnatural. As I lay there, catching my breath, I couldn’t help but reflect: no way in hell should I have made that jump.

Hindsight really is twenty-twenty.

Like I said—smart isn’t a word anyone would use to describe me. Reckless, though? Oh, absolutely.

Picking myself up, I brushed away most of the rubble, leaving only a faint layer of dust clinging to my shoulders. Making my way inside, I was greeted by an interior that, while more intact than I had expected, was still in disarray. A dull red carpet stretched out before me, winding its way through the main foyer like a thread weaving through time. Overhead, a cracked and broken chandelier hung precariously, its former beauty obscured by dust and cobwebs. Tattered and fraying tapestries swayed gently in the ceaseless breeze slipping through a gaping hole in the ceiling. Blackened sconces lined the walls, holding nothing but the charred remains of once-wooden torches.

This theme of decay persisted as I wandered aimlessly through the empty halls, my footsteps echoing into a void of silence. Eventually, I found myself standing in what had once been a grand library. Massive gilded shelves surrounded me, their once-majestic frames half-collapsed, spilling tattered books and cracked cylindrical cases across the floor. As I stepped forward, I inadvertently crushed the spine of a forgotten book beneath my foot, its brittle body offering no resistance.

Despite the ruin, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer grandeur of the place. The soaring ceilings made the space feel far larger than it likely was, and the remnants of a fresco loomed overhead—cracked, faded, and yet still hinting at the beauty it once held. It wasn’t hard to imagine how breathtaking this castle must have been in its prime.

For hours, I roamed the seemingly endless halls, my mind alight with wonder at the remnants of a lost era. At last, I came upon a staircase spiralling down into the depths. It led to what I could only assume was the basement. Every horror story I’d ever heard screamed at me to turn back, but curiosity won out. Against my better judgment, I descended into the bowels of the castle.

Oddly enough, amid the storage rooms, cellars, and other empty, innocuous spaces, I stumbled upon a pipe organ. To my utter astonishment, it stood in stark contrast to the surrounding ruin—it was perfectly intact.

I approached the organ, each step tentative, my eyes scanning the immense instrument. Its craftsmanship was extraordinary. Except for the thick layer of dust blanketing every surface, it was nearly pristine. The keys, pedals, and pullies gleamed in rich hues of gold, brown, and deep blue, as if time itself had chosen to spare it.

Against my better judgment, I lowered myself onto the seat before it, my fingers hovering just above the keys.

"What a beauty," I murmured.

Memories flooded my mind as my fingers lightly brushed one of the many pulleys. I thought of my grandfather, who had patiently given me private lessons on the Hauptwerk setup he kept at home. I remembered playing at my local church, even though I was never a religious man. Still, I had always been happy to play for the community whenever I could.

Letting instinct take over, I flicked my coat out from beneath me, settled into place, and allowed the memories to guide my hands. Without hesitation, I began to play my grandfather's favourite piece.

At first, the notes came softly, my hands gliding over the keys while my feet instinctively pressed the pedals. The sound echoed beautifully through the empty halls, filling the silence with life. As the piece progressed, memories flashed again—hands crossing over each other in a graceful dance, both in perfect synchronization but weaving their own unique melodies into a wondrous harmony. I picked up the tempo, pressing another pedal to amplify the sound. The acoustics of the space worked in stunning tandem with the massive instrument, creating a majestic blend of tones that resonated through the air.

As I played, dust dislodged from its long rest inside the ancient pipes, puffing out in clouds that settled around me. I didn't care. My body moved on its own, guided by long-dormant muscle memory.

Finally, the piece reached its climax, the notes softening as it drew to an emotional close. A smile tugged at my lips, even as a lump formed in my throat. It had been years since I had last played anything. The fact that my hands still remembered, coupled with the overwhelming events of this strange, disorienting day, left me on the brink of tears.

I stood slowly, stepping away from the immense instrument and brushing the dust from my clothes. I cast it one final, bittersweet smile before turning to make my way to the upper levels.

Once I stepped fully into the main foyer, a glance outside told me it was time to leave. The once-beautiful purple-black night sky had darkened into an impenetrable black, with only faint moonlight illuminating the ruins. Even that light did little to help. My vision, thankfully adjusted to the dim interior, wouldn’t do me much good out there. With no better options, I headed upstairs.

It didn’t take long to find what I assumed were the sleeping quarters—though the rooms were barren, lacking any furniture to confirm their purpose. With no real choices, I selected a random room, slunk inside, and slid down the far wall, slouching onto the cold stone floor.

Crossing my arms, I leaned my head back against the wall and let exhaustion take hold. As my eyes drifted shut, my final thought was a simple, desperate hope: that I would wake up from this nightmare.

Author's Note

Yup, I'm having fun with this one. Honestly, as much as this is more for myself than anything, I do hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

Here's what I had in mind for what our currently unnamed protagonist was playing.
https://youtu.be/i119LgMDIXI?si=KKJFEfnVjmICbldF

Please point out any mistakes I may have made
Constructive criticism is always appreciated
Until next time, TTFN!