Chapter 3: Learning the Hard Way

The morning light filtered through the canopy of violet leaves, casting strange shadows over Alexander's face. He stirred awake, groaning softly as his sore muscles protested. His makeshift campfire had burned out, leaving only faint embers.

Alexander stretched, wincing as the cut on his arm throbbed. The crude bandage he'd fashioned from his torn sleeve was stained with dried blood. He looked down at his body and sighed, noting the grime and sweat that clung to him.

"I need to find a way to clean myself properly," he muttered, standing up. His clothes were stiff with dirt, and the faint metallic smell of blood lingered. "And I need better gear. This stick isn't going to cut it next time."

He returned to the stream to wash up, cupping water in his hands and splashing it over his face and arms. The cold stung but refreshed him. For a moment, he let himself pause and take in the strange beauty of the alien forest.

The trees seemed alive, their bark pulsating faintly with an inner glow. The leaves shifted colors subtly, from violet to blue, depending on how the light struck them. He found himself wondering if this world was hostile all the way through or if there were pockets of peace somewhere.

His stomach growled, breaking his thoughts. "Right, food."

He still had some leftover meat from the creature he'd killed last night, but it wouldn't last long. Alexander frowned, realizing he had no idea how to preserve it.

"Another thing to figure out," he muttered, gripping his branch tightly.

As he wandered deeper into the forest, Alexander's mind replayed the events of the past two days. The raw, primal terror of facing predators. The surreal light orbs that healed him. The sheer absurdity of being thrown into a world with no guidance, no tools, and no clue how to survive.

His thoughts were interrupted by movement in the underbrush ahead. He froze, heart pounding, and crouched low, gripping his branch tighter.

A small, rabbit-like creature hopped into view. Its fur shimmered with a faint golden hue, and its long ears twitched as it sniffed the air.

Alexander's eyes narrowed. This wasn't a threat—it was food.

He crept closer, trying to stay as silent as possible. His bare feet made little sound on the soft ground, but the creature's ears perked up, and it turned toward him.

Cursing under his breath, Alexander lunged. The rabbit darted away with surprising speed, weaving through the trees. He chased after it, desperation driving him.

"I need this!" he shouted, barely avoiding tripping over a root.

The rabbit zigzagged, but Alexander pressed on, his lungs burning and legs screaming for rest. Finally, the creature made a critical mistake—it bolted into a thicket of thorns and got tangled.

Alexander didn't hesitate. He thrust his branch forward, ending the chase with a single jab. The rabbit's body went limp, and Alexander slumped to the ground, gasping for air.

Sweat dripped from his brow as he stared at the small, lifeless form in his hands. Guilt and relief warred within him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "But I don't have a choice."

Back at his camp, Alexander prepared the rabbit. The process was messy and far from efficient, but he managed to skin it and cook the meat over his newly rebuilt fire.

As he ate, he thought about his pitiful state. His lack of skill was glaringly obvious. He needed more than luck and desperation to survive here.

"I need to learn how to fight," he said aloud, clenching his fists. "I need to train."

The problem was, he had no idea where to start. Back on Earth, fights were things he'd avoided at all costs. He'd never thrown a punch in his life, let alone wielded a weapon.

He looked at his branch, now stained with blood and worn from use. It wouldn't last much longer.

"Maybe I can find something better," he muttered. "A proper weapon."

With that thought in mind, he set out again, this time scanning the ground for rocks, vines, or anything else he could use to craft something more durable.

Hours passed as Alexander searched. He found a sharp, flat stone near the stream, which he tied to the end of his branch using strips of the rabbit's hide. It wasn't pretty, but it resembled a crude spear.

Testing the weight in his hands, he nodded. "This will do for now."

The next challenge was figuring out how to fight with it. He tried a few clumsy jabs and swings, nearly losing his grip each time. His lack of coordination was painfully obvious.

Frustration bubbled up. "Come on, Alexander. You can do better than this!"

He focused, gripping the spear tightly and mimicking moves he'd seen in movies and games. His movements were awkward, but determination pushed him forward. He practiced until his arms ached and his hands were raw.

As dusk fell, Alexander sat by his fire, exhausted but slightly more confident. His spear rested beside him, a small symbol of progress.

The forest seemed quieter tonight, but he didn't let his guard down. His ears stayed attuned to every rustle and snap in the distance.

He stared into the flames, his mind heavy with thoughts of the future.

"If I'm going to survive," he whispered, "I have to adapt. I have to be stronger."

With a deep breath, he lay down on his makeshift bed, the spear within arm's reach. Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it was deeper than the night before.

Tomorrow, he would train harder, hunt smarter, and learn faster. There was no other choices.