By the time I woke up, the world was already dead. It died and from its ashes, something new was growing. When I woke, I didn't know that yet, though.

  Should I bore you with nonsense about a goddess, trucks, death and surprise, and promises of being a world's savior? I thought I was having the hallucinations of a dying brain and by god, I was not pleased. I don't like isekai. I think it's a terrible genre.

  Nevertheless, I went from being paste on the railway tracks to sitting in a cool, saline bath. Like hatching from an egg, I was released from a cocoon of metal-braced glass with a gasp. The solution drained out into dark recessions cut to the grey stone that made up much of the desolate chamber around me. I had no idea where, or when, I was. And I was naked, which didn't help matters.

  It took a while to get my head on straight. There was such gloom in the chamber. A tall ceiling, large and wide walls, all lit by a dull blue glow the source of which I couldn't find, but seemed just at the edges of perception. Minutes, maybe hours, passed. I said hello often, and asked plenty of questions to the walls. I felt like a child waiting with bated breath for a missing parent. Not wanting to move in worry something bad would happen. No goddess, no anyone. Hunger pushed me forward, and thirst. I wasn't going to drink the half-salty solution on the floor, for many reasons.

  There was still, at this point, some suspicion that maybe that goddess was real. And if so, that someone should be helping me. Telling me what to do, guiding me, doing something? I stood, and cupping my delicate bits, began to wander. The room was large, but an exit was in view.

  It took me longer than I expected to realize I wasn't overweight. I wasn't overly fat back home, but like many, had the pudge of modern convenience to my form. I was never particularly physically active, so it just build up over the course of a sedentary childhood and adolescence and my short stint of adulthood didn't change anything.

  That immediately made me look over as much of myself as I could. All my fingers and toes, the same skin tone, and veins in my forearms right where they should be. My hair was too short to see the color of, but it was a safe bet that it was the same. The small, line of a scar that ran from my left knuckle to the first joint was still there. My nails even had that rounded look of a nibbler. I even found a bit of dirt under my pinkie's nail.

  It may seem silly, but I thought about that piece of dirt over much. Aside from me, was that the only bit of Earth around? It was just me and the speck at that time.

  There was no musculature to speak of on me. Which, seemed odd, I'd never seen myself like that. Strange too were the slight stretch marks on my stomach and inner thighs. I was heavy enough for them back home, and like the scar on my knuckle (and the one on my knee, leg, those on my shoulders) they had stayed. No loose skin, but I wasn't large enough for that as a problem I don't think.

  Had I thinned out while taking a sleep? Thinned out on purpose, over time? Questions I asked while staring at that exit. I felt small, scared, and confused.

  Once I'd broken the seal of leaving that first room, I explored with voracity. As much as I could manage while cupping my jewels. Whoever I ran into would have to just deal with me. The stone was cold, which helped me keep perked up and moving. The sound of bare feet resonated with the acoustics of the place, and all manner of fearful thoughts entered my head. What if being found wasn't the best? What if there was something here that would kill or eat me?

  I found many rooms of dubious usage. An overlarge study, a kitchen - void of all food but dust and webbing. The pots, pans, and wood-operated stove told me much, so too the fact that the stove's exhaust was set to the wall, in a stone column like a chimney. Maybe not the most shocking thing, but when I saw that, I felt I could get out - at least somehow.

  Just as it took too long for me to realize I wasn't fat, it took a while to notice I wasn't wearing my glasses. I could see everything just fine, no blurriness. Why mend my eyes, and thin my frame, but not remove scarring? Or, in fact, why change my body?

  I happened upon what appeared to be a barracks, and adjacent, a training room. Soft padded flooring and dummies, mock weapons lined the racks. I picked one up, a staff. Better to have a large stick than no stick, I thought. It was quickly abandoned though, too cumbersome to explore with. The details of the space were very spartan, next to no filigree. Cold, greyish stone and vacant bluish light. It was haunting and discomforting.

  I made a pair of right turns before I happened upon what seemed more like a ceremonial room than any of the others. And there were finally fixtures of some description. I spied a carpet, which I immediately popped onto to give my feet a little rest from the stone. Tables lined the walls, ornamented with dull red clothes but more importantly - everything I could want.

  Armor, weapons, camping supplies, books, notes, scrolls, bags - which I found coins within. Modesty was a primary concern, and finding a tunic and trousers of red, I slipped into them. They fit enough to cover my skin and that was good for now.

  Food, water. Those I partook of with haste. Some were in jugs, it seemed and smelled like fresh water - that is to say, pleasantly of nothing. I poured some onto the floor to examine it, then to my cupped palm. I wasn't dying of thirst so I could exercise some caution, but I did take a drink. Thankfully I didn't melt on the spot. In other jugs, I found what smelled like kerosene or oil. These were in more ominous reddish pottery.

  The need for food was what really pressed me. I was wracked with that irritating type of hunger that comes, the sort that fogs your mind up. A mark of my modernity, that I was hungry after just an hour or so of sitting about and a bit of hasty walking. I unwrapped a small green parchment after sniffing it and smelling sweetness. There was a big block of what I thought was hardtack at first, rough and difficult to break off.

  It is good fate that I could only crack off a small piece. I put the dry, slightly greasy crumb to my mouth, and upon contact with warm saliva, it expanded in my mouth with such rapidity and shock I began choking, sputtering the spongy stuff to the ground. It left behind a honey-like sweetness all over my mouth. It wasn't bad, but nor was it particularly pleasant.

  When I looked down to see what I'd spat up, I noticed a few crumbs had touched the water I poured before and likewise expanded. I wasn't in so dire a need as to eat floor food yet so that went to waste. I found a makeshift plate and poured some water into it. Then, using a hand chisel I found elsewhere - as I'd not yet seen knives - I carved off a few slivers.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  When the hard, greasy stuff hit water it was only seconds before it expanded into thick slices of golden-white loaf. It was spongy but odd in its texture and shape. None of the pockets of air one might expect in some bread, nor that crumbly look of a sliced cake or white bread. The expansion process flattened out its features to a rounded cubish thing. Consumable, and filling. I had made three but after eating the first I felt like I'd overstuffed.

  I sipped more water to wash out that sweet taste. It wasn't disgusting, or bad, but it clung to everything in my mouth and I wanted it out. I took stock of what was there. The most curious items were the books and notes. I couldn't read any of them. For a moment I thought they'd made me farsighted instead of nearsighted, or I was looking at doctor's script. No, the letters and glyphs were entirely alien, but they possessed some similarities to Roman letters used in English. Useless paper. Whatever secrets they held would have to wait until someone could help me.

  Where was that someone? The barracks had empty bunks for at least forty. And not a soul, aside from the one I brought with me, could be found.

  I was drawn to the armors in particular. Simply put, they were enthralling. A set of robes, leathers, and plate. I knew some of the names of the pieces and parts. The shin guards were greaves, and the parts for the wrists were bracers, or vambraces, or gauntlets, I thought. A breastplate, backplate. And, padded gambesons for wearing under the plate mail, and a lighter woolen surcoat laid with the leathers.

  It dawned on me, as I looked over it. Whoever laid this out either had no idea what I would want, or there should have been more of us. I was drawn predominantly to the metal armor and sword. What man wouldn't be? For a hero, those items were classical hallmarks. I had sense enough to know it wasn't the best weapon, and I didn't know the first thing about wearing armor.

  I put on some of it, what easy pieces I could figure out all on my own. If I had a bit of help it'd be easy, but by myself, figuring all those straps and belts out, and realizing what went first, was a bit of a pain. It felt a lot lighter than I expected, and the almost silver steel was trimmed with a faint blue around the edges that gave it a regal and empowering look. It felt nice to wear.

  With a bit of armor, and a sword buckled to me, I set out in search of more. I made sure to practice drawing a few times, it was clumsy. My intention was to find someone or find an exit. And after then, lug what I wanted or needed out once I saw the outside.

  I packed only what I considered the barest essentials. Into a knapsack, I set what portions of the plate mail I couldn't put on myself, the coinage, food for a long while, and water for less time, a fire-making set, and finally a bedroll. In a side pouch a coil of bandaging and a small jar of oil, sealed with a wax stopper. The only item of non-essential purpose I packed was the tomes. I couldn't read a word of them, but if they were important enough to leave I felt compelled to take them. Attached to my person otherwise was a bow and hip quiver, the sword, and a spear in hand. I was beyond surprised that I wasn't sweating and tired just walking from one end of the hall to the other.

  The plate mail was light, which concerned me a bit, if it was heavier surely that meant more protection? I couldn't complain much, seeing how easily the rucksack, bow, and all the others were carried. The only cumbersome item was the spear due to its length, and even so, I was confident in carrying it.

  As spears go, it was a pretty thing. A pale, almost whitish wood pole, ending in a broad long point two-hands long. The entire shaft was as tall as me and then some. The sword, to me, seemed something closer to a gladius than a longsword. The was no handguard to speak of, it was a bit short and possessed a bit of a leaf shape. It seemed to be crafted from the same gleaming steel as my armor and spear. The arrowheads and shafts followed in being crafted in these materials, and the bow too, whitewood with a pleasant curl to both ends and a tense string.

  From there my exploration of the facility continued, now with luggage. I fully intended to return to the room to haul anything more I could want to the exit - but this was the basics and essentials. I found stairs, upward was good, I suspected. I'd gotten the notion - from the dirth of sound and light and windows - that I was underground. My notion was correct, I'd find, as I rounded a landing and saw a grandiose door.

  Stone and wood both, tangled together, a bizarre pattern that seemed horribly structurally unsound. However, it was the clear shape of a pair of doors. And, for what it was, aesthetically pleasing in its swirling design of stone and woodgrains. Light, sunlight, real light, seeped through the narrow crease by the threshold and middle.

  I thought I'd want to bound right out and see what was there, but fear came over me. What would be on the other side? Death? Pain? Discomfort? Just as when I was sitting waiting in the sleeping chamber, staring like a child, I felt that same weighted blanket fall on my shoulders. Paralytic uncertainty. They say often that the unknown is the greatest source of fear. I would be inclined to agree.

  I turned my head back, looking to the stairs I'd just strode up, and thought of the other coin's face. Of isolation, nothing, waiting, and the same uncertainty in a sedentary and grey crisscross of stone.

  Fuck that.

  I ran to the door and shouldered it open, half-blinded by the light and stumbling. My boot-covered feet crushed soft grass, there was the sound of wind, of birds. Odd, short little snaps of tweets. When my eyes fluttered open, a trio of small black shapes flying across the sky was my first sight.

  Air was clean, my lungs weren't melting, and I wasn't blinded instantly. In fact, before me was a beautiful landscape fit to be a painting. I was high up, it seemed, as I overlooked a dense knot of deciduous trees. To the left and right were taller, and shorter, hills and rocky ranges, respectively. The same grass beneath my feet provided fuzzy tops to these formations - green, naturally, but with a slender streak of purplish red through them that made them shift color in the wind. Especially at a distance. The shaggy cliffs fluttered green, then soft purple. It was enthralling, a smile came to me.

  I felt good. What a beautiful, wonderful place. Where were all the people? There were birds, so that was reassuring.

  What appeared suddenly from the crisp and empty air made me yelp and fall back on my rear. Sprouting from itself came a purple rose of swirling, fettered-edged mist. This void expanded to the height and width of a half-meter both, purples and blacks giving way to reds and whites as a shape formed - a pair of lips and teeth. The rest of the mouth, the tongue, internals, all a purple-black void. I gulped and skittered back. The lips and teeth were too perfectly shaped, more a figment of such things rather than a realistic depiction.

  "Hark there! The Sleeping Hero! Are you well?" The voice that the mouth produced was aged, masculine, and with an educated lilt to it.

  "What?"

  "Are you well?"

  "Yes?"

  "Yes? Not certain? You must be confused, allow me to illuminate you. You have woken far, far too late. More than a century too late, indeed..." The voice trailed off, and as much as just a mouth could emote, seemed confused.

  "A century? What do you mean? Explain what's going on, please."

  "I'm thinking. We've not much time to talk. They will be on you fairly soon, and communicating this way will only attract more attention. Do you have a map?"

  "No."

  "That's bad. Do you know which way is north?"

  "No..."

  "That's bad."

  "Oh yeah? You're telling me! Who is going to be 'on me' soon? That doesn't sound good."

  The lips twitched and the blurred edges of the space from which it spoke bled out to the air around it and wisped away like steam.

  "It's not good. They'll try to kill you."

  "Who?"

  "The Adversary's men, of course."

  "The Adversary?"

  "Gods above. Yes, the Lich you were meant to slay. Silence now, and listen. You are in the Virtuous Ridge, one of the very few unpolluted areas left on our world. If you head straight forward from the exit of the facility and travel a half-day there should be a village. Get them to point you to 'Arkesious' Tower.'"

  "Are you Arkesious?"

  "No, that was my master, it's his tower. I sincerely want to answer your questions, but the longer we speak the easier it will be to get on your trail. When walking through the forest, pick up a stick, cast it in front of you, walk to it, and toss it again. Understood?"

  "What?"

  "Do it! And do not NOT do it! Speak again if I detect you in the village. Goodbye. And, let's save our world, eh?" As it had unfurled it sucked back into itself like water down a drain.

  "What the fuck..."