Chapter 2: The Girl in the Wooden Hut

"…Ugh…"

The bitter smell of herbs hit Arvin's nose before anything else.

His eyes fluttered open, greeted by a dim wooden ceiling. His body felt like it had been run over by a truck, then set on fire for good measure. Everything hurt… but he was alive.

Barely.

(Where… am I…?)

The soft pounding sound nearby drew his attention.

A girl sat beside him, quietly crushing roots with a small wooden mortar. Her long hair shimmered faintly under the sunlight sneaking through the wall slits. Her presence was calm, almost fragile.

When she noticed him stirring, she paused and gave him a faint smile.

"You're awake… I'm glad… You had a high fever," she whispered, her voice barely louder than the rain outside.

Arvin tried to sit up.

Bad idea.

"Easy," she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Your body's still recovering"

He stared up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused.

(Flashes of that green light… the monster… the voice…)

"…I'm… still alive," he muttered.

He didn't sound relieved. He didn't even know how he felt.

The girl put her tools down and scooted closer, sitting on the edge of the straw bed.

"You must be an Outer, right?" the girl said softly, her voice almost lost in the wind. "No one from around here walks into the forest alone."

Arvin turned to her, his throat dry.

"Outer?" he echoed.

"That's what we call people like you," she said. "Those who come from... Earth."

He rubbed his face, his head still spinning.

"I... I don't even know how I got here. Feels like a nightmare that won't end."

"I used to feel like that too," she said. Her eyes softened. "But if you're alive… maybe that means you've been given a second chance."

"…Second chance, huh?"

He chuckled dryly.

"Do people like me even deserve that?"

Her lips trembled, but she didn't look away.

"Deserving doesn't matter," she said. "Life never asks us if we deserve to keep going."

Her voice cracked slightly—raw, real.

"I'm just… scared," Arvin confessed. "Scared I'll fail again."

She looked down, taking a shaky breath.

"I was scared too. I even stopped hoping for a while. But somehow… I'm still here. And now, you're here too."

Rain tapped gently on the bamboo roof. Her hand found his, fingers wrapping around his like a lifeline.

"…Even if the world's dark," she said, "there are still small lights out there. You just… have to keep looking."

For a long time, Arvin didn't speak. He just held her hand, feeling its warmth.

"I'll try…" he whispered. "Even if I don't know how yet."

"That's enough," she said with a smile.

She stood up and returned with a small bowl of steaming herbal medicine.

"Here. Drink. It'll help your body recover."

Arvin sniffed it and grimaced, but drank anyway. The bitterness was sharp, like biting into bark.

She sat beside him again.

"Get some sleep. I'll stay here until you're better."

"…Thank you."

That was the last thing he said before sleep claimed him.

---

Later that night, they sat by a small campfire outside the hut. Crickets chirped in the background, and the fire crackled softly between them.

Arvin hugged his knees, staring at the flames.

"This place… is peaceful," he said quietly. "It's hard to believe it's real. Is this really another world?"

Serina tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Um… I never asked. Do you… have a name I should call you by?"

"Arvin," he said. "You can just call me Arvin."

"Arvin…" she echoed softly, almost testing it on her tongue.

"Umm.. Can I see it again?" she asked. "The mark on your chest."

"…Sure."

He pulled his shirt aside. The strange black mark was still there—shaped like a fracture, glowing faintly like living ink.

Serina leaned in.

"…This should be a spirit contract mark," she murmured. "Outers—people from Earth—get one when they form a bond with a spirit. But yours…"

She frowned.

"…Yours doesn't follow any pattern I've seen. No elemental signature, no clan trace. It's not even… alive, nor dead. It's like a scar. Or… a crack."

"…What are you saying?" Arvin asked, brow furrowing. "What even is this world?"

She hesitated.

"…This world is called Zamrad," she began. "We live alongside spirit creatures—ancient beings born from the soul of Ariath, the god who created everything here."

She stared up at the stars.

"Long ago, Ariath split his soul into pieces—into the earth, sky, sea… From those shards, the first spirit monsters were born. They weren't just powerful. They were aware. Guardians of the elements."

Arvin swallowed hard.

Serina continued, her voice growing distant.

"Sometimes, spirits visited your world. Earth. But only as energy—souls, echoes. That's why you outers… told stories about gods. Zeus, Gorgon, Amaterasu… all born from glimpses of Zamrad's truth."

Arvin's jaw dropped slightly.

"…So those myths… were real?"

Serina nodded.

"And when the first outers crossed over through the portal, they didn't come to learn. They came to take."

"They forced contracts onto spirits. Built clans. Carved out territories. Now, Zamrad is ruled by outer clans—divided by their old world nations. Japan. Indonesia. China. Egypt. And more."

She looked away.

"We Zamradians… the original people of this world… we were pushed aside. Forgotten, mostly. Watched from the shadows as the clans drew borders in a land that was never theirs to own."

A pause hung in the air, deep and aching.

Then, quietly, she stood. Her hand lifted, and a soft green glow emerged from her fingertips—like morning dew catching sunlight.

"But we're not voiceless. Not entirely," she whispered.

"Even though we can't contract spirits. But we resonate with the world itself. That power is called Nyara."

"Nyara?" Arvin echoed.

She nodded. "It's the flow of Ariath inside us. Nyara is different for each of us. Some summon fire, some heal, some can bend steel. But… it comes with risk. If we go too deep, we can lose our souls."

Arvin stared in awe.

"So… you healed me with that power?"

She nodded.

"Yes... I'm not powerful. But I can feel Ariath's flow in plants and water. That was enough to… keep someone alive," she said, smiling faintly.

After a long pause, Kano murmured:

"Serina…This might sound strange, but…How am I able to talk to you? I don't speak your language."

Serina blinked, then tilted her head thoughtfully.

"Ah… of course. That's probably because of your spirit."

Kano frowned.

"Spirit?"

She pointed to his arm.

"The crystal orb that merged into your blood…It formed a partial contract.

When a bond is made, even incomplete, the soul starts adapting to Zamrad."

She explained gently:

"Normally, outers can't understand us at all.

But spirit contracts affect the resonant layer—where energy, thought, and language blend."

Kano looked down at his hands. Then gave a dry smile.

"So even the ability to speak… doesn't really belong to me."

Serina looked at him seriously.

"But how you use it…That belongs to you."

Kano smiled—this time, not bitter.

"…Umm.. Can I ask something?" Serina hesitated.

"Go ahead," Arvin replied.

"Your spirit… it's strange," she murmured. "I've never felt energy like that. It's dark… ancient… but not evil. Like something that was asleep for a very long time."

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Whatever it is… it's not part of our world's usual system."

Arvin's throat tightened.

(The voice… that whisper from the void…)

He didn't answer.

Instead, he clutched his left hand—the place where his blood touched that crystal. The beginning of everything.

Serina noticed but didn't press.

She rose slowly, fixing her shawl.

"Let's go inside. It's getting cold."

Arvin nodded.

They walked back into the wooden hut together.

Inside, Serina quietly laid out his bedding, poured a bowl of water, and dimmed the lamp.

"Good night," she said softly.

Arvin looked at the ceiling, his eyes growing heavy.

(Maybe… I wasn't just brought here to survive…)

The darkness wrapped around him, but this time—it felt warm.

(…Maybe I was meant to live.)

To be continued.