Chapter 4: Echoes of the Old War

The forest stretched endlessly in every direction, its towering trees casting long shadows beneath the silver sheen of the midday mist. Alex walked with careful steps, each footfall muffled by the thick carpet of moss beneath him. Twisted branches above curled like watchful fingers, and every distant crack of twig or flutter of wing made his nerves flinch.

He kept his head low, eyes scanning the shadows between trees, the dips in the terrain, the quiet hum of the air—any sign of movement. He wasn't just walking anymore. He was hunting—or maybe avoiding being hunted. He didn't know how close demons could be—or if they'd even recognize him if they saw him.

But the unease wasn't just around him. It was inside him, too.

"I chose the Elves," he thought, glancing over his shoulder again. "That's what the comic's main character did. That's how he survived."

But there was a catch—one that stuck in Alex's chest like a splinter.

"He met the Elves as soon as he stepped into their world. They found him. Their King and Queen saw him fall through the sky and believed he was the answer to the prophecy. That he was here to help save the Kingdom."

Alex clenched his jaw as he pressed on through thick underbrush. The leaves whispered around him. Damp wind brushed his skin.

"But me? I woke up alone. No King. No Queen. No welcome. Just fog and silence."

His hand rested against the glowing book strapped to his side—Everything, Everywhere, All at Once. Still warm, still pulsing faintly with life, as though its pages were quietly breathing.

"In the comic, after the Elves took him in, they formed the Alliance—the Hero, the Elves, and the last of the human paladins. They fought side by side during the invasion. A holy trinity of strength, magic, and will. And together they ripped the Demon King's head from his shoulders. A perfect ending."

Alex stopped walking. He stared ahead into the trees but didn't move.

"But that was called the first demon invasion. Which means..."

His eyes narrowed.

"...Which means another war came after. Or never truly ended."

He remembered the line from the choice page the book had given him:

Seek out the Elves in the Forest. They may still remember the Old War.

The Old War.

What war? The one he read in Chapter 1? The one that ended in triumph?

If so… why would the Elves remember it like a scar?

"Book," he said aloud, voice quiet but firm.

The air shivered.

The tome detached from his side in an instant, floating gently into the air in front of him. The pages fluttered. A golden light shimmered between the leaves.

"When you gave me two choices… I picked the Elves," Alex said. "And it said: They may still remember the Old War. What does that mean?"

The book hovered silently. Its cover pulsed once, like a heartbeat.

No answer.

Alex frowned. "You're not going to tell me?"

Still nothing. No words. No voice.

Just the sound of wind weaving through ancient branches.

He sighed, half-expecting the silence, and muttered, "Figures. You only talk when you want to talk, huh?"

He turned to keep walking—but then paused.

The book had begun to glow again. Its pages fluttered open, flipping wildly—until they stopped on a fresh page.

Ink, dark and fluid, spilled across the paper on its own. Letters curled into words in front of his eyes. He stepped closer.

" This is your story. "

The words hung, unmoving. Final. Certain.

Alex didn't breathe.

Five simple words—yet they landed like a weight across his chest. Not just a statement. A sentence. A shift.

And then—

The air snapped.

A sharp whistle. Fast. Too fast.

Arrow.

Instinct screamed. Alex's body moved before thought could catch up—he dropped to the ground and rolled hard behind a moss-covered boulder. An arrow thudded into a tree just behind where he'd been standing, its shaft humming with force.

Two more ripped through the forest—snapping leaves, grazing bark, missing him by inches.

His chest rose and fell in heavy bursts. The sting of adrenaline crawled over his skin.

"They're shooting at me?"

He clenched his fists. The veins in his arms pulsed. He was tired—his supernatural reflexes still raw, unstable—but he summoned what little strength he had left and pressed his back against the rock.

Then he saw the arrow tip embedded in the trunk beside him.

Sleek. Silver-feathered. Carved with curling symbols of ancient origin.

His heart dropped.

"Elves arrows," he whispered. "Shit... This is a misunderstanding."

He forced himself upright, hands raised, voice ragged with exhaustion. "I'm not—! I'm not a demon! I'm human! I—"

Thunk!

Pain burst through his left hand like fire cracking through ice.

Alex gasped, then screamed.

He looked down in horror. An arrow jutted clean through the flesh between thumb and index, blood beginning to stream down his forearm.

"AHHHH! SHIT! Shit—hey! I was talking! I'm not a demon! Why the fuck are you still shooting!?"

He ducked back behind the rock, clutching his hand. The pain was white-hot. He pressed the injury against his side, forcing himself to stay upright.

Silence fell.

No more arrows.

Alex dared a peek from behind the stone, panting.

No figures. No sound.

But then—

He felt it.

Not movement—presence. Swift. Controlled. Lethal.

Too close.

Alex spun—just in time to barely duck as another arrow whistled past his head. It grazed his ear, slicing skin, and embedded itself in the stone behind him with a crack.

Standing just feet away was a figure cloaked in shadows and leaves—an Elf.

Not just any Elf.

A girl, tall and poised, eyes narrowed like sharpened blades, the next arrow already drawn. Her aim was steady, her expression colder than ice—and beneath the shadow of her hood, her long, pointed ears marked her unmistakably as one of the Elves.

Alex's breath caught.

He couldn't dodge again. Not this one.

Not in time.

But he wasn't ready to die—not yet. Not here. Not without answers.

His heart pounded like a war drum. Blood roared in his ears.

Come on. Come on. Move. Please—move.

The world slowed.

His vision blurred into streaks of green and silver. He pushed his body past exhaustion, past fear, past pain. Everything in him screamed to activate the power, that flicker of divine movement, the supernatural speed—

And suddenly—

Boom.

The wind cracked around him.

Time snapped.

Alex vanished from where he stood—and reappeared in front of the Elf girl like a flash of lightning in a storm.

She gasped—but too late.

With a cry, Alex yanked the arrow from his wounded hand, ignoring the scream of pain, and tackled her to the ground. Grass and earth flew as they rolled—he pinned her down, blood dripping from his fingers as he held the arrow to her throat with shaking fury.

His other hand gripped her jaw, pressing her head into the moss as he loomed over her, eyes blazing.

"Why are you trying to kill me?!" he roared. "I told you—I'm human!"

The Elf girl bared her teeth. Her glare was venom, her hatred raw and ancient.

"You humans are... disgusting creatures," she spat. "You destroy everything you touch."

She coughed violently, a trickle of blood sliding from the corner of her lips and staining the green beneath her.

Alex froze, the words cutting through him harder than her arrows ever could.

This is not the story I know.

He stared at her. At the hatred in her eyes. At the fear, the loathing.

And something deeper.

Something personal.

The pages of the comic… the triumphant hero… the proud alliance…

It was a lie.

Or maybe it had been true once.

But whatever world Alex had dropped into now—

It wasn't the same.

Chapter 4: Ended.