Lost

He opened his eyes to a sky swallowed by darkness, the skeletal remains of trees stretching above him.

His face was smeared with blackened dirt, the cold seeping into his skin.

A strange wind howled past, carrying a biting chill.

He turned his head, still lying on the ground.

Nearby, the gaping maw of a cave loomed, its entrance shrouded in shadows.

Monstrous sounds echoed from within—twisted, unnatural.

Surely, if it was a Shore, there would be more than one.

It was better to settle for a quiet escape.

Tension coiled in his muscles as he pushed himself up.

He stepped back carefully.

One snapped twig, and he wouldn't even see what struck him.

'I hate this world...'

Reincarnation was something every fantasy geek like him would dream of experiencing, especially if their life had been nothing but a string of failures.

An empty bank account.

Surviving on instant noodles.

Sharing a flat with someone who eventually turned on him.

Dropping out of university after losing his part-time job.

And finally, being hunted by loan sharks.

A life devoid of success.

He had never once lived as a chaebol.

Finding himself in the world of a game or novel was a blessing in itself, an impossible fantasy turned real.

But whatever hopes he had were quickly shattered.

Upon arrival in this LitRPG world, he was thrown into chains, subjected to pain, forced into battle, and made to witness death—NPCs, or so he hoped.

This was hardly the ideal reincarnation. Certainly not a gift from the divine.

His mind reeled, not from the shores in the cave, but from what had happened before he was thrown back here.

He hadn't connected with that replica of himself, hadn't even processed whether it was his true body.

But something had shifted.

The bed of black roses beneath it had bloomed, petals turning red. Light had engulfed it, and then—he was here.

Too sudden. Too unnatural.

He lifted his hand, realising the chains were gone.

His eyes swept the desolate expanse. The Descent's caravan was nowhere in sight.

Where was he?

The black forest, of course.

Somewhere deep within it.

Had they abandoned him? He hadn't been struck down, just… gone.

Pulled into that void, only to wake and find himself discarded.

Maybe they thought he was dead.

His body throbbed, forcing him to pause.

The wounds from that shadowed world had followed him here. They were real—just like this place.

He was bleeding, weakened, losing energy with every step.

If he encountered a powerful Shore, one ranked above the Ruinborn, he wouldn't last.

There was no chance of adapting now.

No way of battling normally also.

Survival meant avoiding them altogether.

Tracking the caravan was his best option. If that failed, he would have to reach the Stream of Darkness alone.

And in his current state, he wasn't sure he would survive.

Still, if he made it back, he would find out why.

Why this character had buried his strength.

Why he had started from nothing.

Why he had chosen to descend into every Seeker's nightmare.

Their first Night Shift.

***

Dane ran through the dark forest, his only guide the sharp vision gifted by this body.

A Hollow-Eyed and a Top-Level Seeker—he was fortunate in that regard.

His breaths came ragged, chest rising and falling as he glanced back repeatedly.

The night howled around him, the wind whispering through the skeletal trees.

He leapt over a jagged rock, landing hard.

Pain tore through his bare feet, the cuts from thorned roses biting deep.

He clenched his jaw and pushed forward.

Survival was the only option.

The forest twisted endlessly, paths folding into one another.

He was marking trees as he passed—either to retrace his steps or leave behind a sign.

Whether it was for himself or someone else, even he wasn't sure.

Then he saw it. The same tree. The one he had marked minutes ago.

His stomach tightened.

He turned on his heel, scanning his surroundings. Same trees. Same eerie silence beneath the wuthering wind.

Lost.

His gaze flicked towards the cliff ahead.

A gaping divide in the earth, its jagged edges stretching out like teeth.

The chasm was wide, the other side barely visible through the gloom.

Beneath it, a darkness so absolute it seemed to drink the light.

Dane exhaled sharply.

A bridge would have been ideal.

A path around, even better.

He had searched for both.

Neither existed.

'I hate this world...' he repeated the same sentence inwardly.

Of course, he felt it.

This wretched reality had sharpened its fangs, and he had become one of its first bones to break.

'I'll survive and make it back to the real world… Let's see what's next. It won't end here—not when I've only just arrived. This isn't even the beginning. It's merely the prologue…'

His fists clenched.

Determination burned beneath the lingering fear.

His current helplessness gnawed at him, a bitter reminder of how little he could do.

Useless. Weaker than he had always been in his past life.

That had to change.

It was never too late—unless he decided it was.

That left only one choice.

His jaw tightened as he moved closer to the edge, eyes narrowing.

The gap was not impossible, but in his current state—drained, bleeding, worn down—failure would mean vanishing into that abyss.

A shudder crawled down his spine.

He stepped back, his foot dislodging a loose rock. It tumbled into the void, vanishing into the soundless dark.

Seconds passed. Then more.

No impact.

Dane's breath caught.

The depth was immeasurable.

He took another step back, mind racing—when suddenly, his foot caught on something.

The ground shifted beneath him, and before he could brace himself, he was falling forward.

Instinct kicked in.

He reached out, grasping at nothing, his body lurching over the edge.

The world spun.

The abyss swallowed him whole.

"Ahhh!"

A scream tore from his throat, lost to the darkness.

Suddenly, Shores from all corners of the forest began converging towards the source of the disturbance.

Most were of the Howler rank, with a few Ruinborn among them.

Creatures of varying forms and races moved as one, their approach brutal and relentless.

The air filled with the sounds of pounding footsteps, distant roars, and piercing screeches.

Those that moved through the skies—the Avil types—descended swiftly, drawn to the noise.

The sheer number of them was harrowing.

They swarmed through the black forest like a tide of living shadow, surging towards the cliff.

As they reached the edge, the unstable ground gave way beneath some, sending them plunging into the abyss with shrieks of terror.

Others barely clung to the surface, claws scraping against the rock.

Above, the Avils circled, their unseen eyes scanning hungrily for their prey.