Ash. Smoke. Silence.
The forest was no longer the same. Trees that once stood tall and proud were now charred husks, blackened and broken. The cries of animals had gone quiet, replaced only by the soft crackling of embers still smoldering in the cold dawn.
Through this ruined silence came footsteps. Steady. Measured. The crunch of boots on burnt leaves and broken twigs.
A squad of soldiers moved cautiously through the forest, their eyes scanning every shadow. They wore dark blue armor with silver insignias on their shoulders—the mark of the World Government's Forest Recon Unit. They were here to investigate the anomaly reported late last night: unexplained fires, energy surges, and rumors of cloaked men sighted deep within Sector 3 of the Larethian Forest.
Captain Ryen, a tall man with a chiseled jaw and sharp eyes, raised a fist. His squad halted. In front of them, the forest opened into a clearing—and what they saw stopped them cold.
A battlefield.
Burned bodies of wild creatures lay strewn about. The place was torn and cracked in places, as if hit by massive force. Blackened trees stood like gravestones. And in the center of it all, surrounded by blood-soaked soil and ash—was a boy.
No. A young man.
Unmoving.
Burn marks and cuts covered his body. His shirt was in tatters, his chest still smeared with dried blood. His face was pale, lips cracked, breathing so shallow it was barely noticeable.
Ryen stepped forward and crouched beside him.
"Is he dead?" one of the soldiers asked.
Ryen placed two fingers on the boy's neck. A faint pulse.
"No," Ryen said. "He's alive. But barely."
He turned to the others. "Get the medics. Now."
Minutes later, two healing specialists arrived—medics trained in Pluses related to restoration and regeneration. One was a young woman with silver hair tied into a high ponytail. The other, a slightly older man with deep green eyes and hands that glowed faintly with golden energy.
They knelt on either side of the boy, whose name they did not yet know, and went to work.
The girl pressed her hands gently over his chest. "His ribs are fractured. There's internal bleeding. Burn damage too."
The man grimaced. "He's lost too much blood. But his body's holding on. Just barely."
They poured their power into him. Light bloomed from their palms. The air shimmered with restorative energy.
But it wasn't fast.
This wasn't a clean wound or a simple injury. This was the aftermath of a supernatural battle. Healing took time. Effort. Focus. Even with both of them working together, it took over two and a half hours before the boy's breathing steadied, and his color began to return.
When he finally stirred, the medics gave a sigh of relief.
"Hey," the man whispered. "You're awake."
Aryan's eyes blinked open slowly, fighting the blinding light above him. His head throbbed. His entire body ached. But he was alive.
He found himself lying on a padded stretcher inside a vehicle that vibrated slightly as it moved—like an ambulance from Earth, except the interior was a mix of glowing crystals and mechanical parts.
Two people sat beside him. Soldiers. Their armor matched those who found him earlier.
The one on the left leaned forward. "You. Who are you? And where are you from?"
Aryan didn't answer immediately. His mind was still catching up. Last night felt like a blur—flames, fists, that awful pressure, Kraven.
The soldier asked again. "Tell us what happened in the forest."
Aryan coughed and forced himself to sit up slightly. Pain shot through his torso, but he ignored it.
"I…" he began, voice hoarse. "There was a group. Cloaked people. They were attacking animals. Setting the forest on fire."
The woman nodded slowly. "And you tried to stop them?"
Aryan didn't respond directly. He wasn't sure what to say about how he'd gotten there in the first place. No way they'd believe he came from another world.
The male soldier narrowed his eyes. "What did they look like? Did any of them say names?"
Aryan looked at them. His voice was firmer now.
"One of them. He said his name was Kraven."
The reaction was immediate. Both soldiers tensed. They looked at each other, something unspoken passing between them.
"You're sure?" the woman asked. "Kraven?"
Aryan nodded. "He was the strongest. He used some kind of gravity power."
The soldiers said nothing. But their eyes said enough.
They knew who Kraven was. And they were scared.
Aryan shifted, trying to sit up more. "Who is he?"
Neither of them answered.
Instead, the male soldier stood and looked out a narrow window.
Aryan's eyes narrowed. "Where are you taking me?"
"To the nearest medical facility," the woman answered. "You're still recovering. Once you're stable… you'll be transferred."
"To where?"
The man turned back. "To the central city. You'll be questioned by elite soldiers. Depending on what they decide…"
Aryan frowned. "Questioned? Why? I'm not one of them. I tried to stop them."
The woman softened slightly. "That may be true. But you're also no identity . unknowns don't just appear in the middle of restricted forests."
Aryan looked down. She was right. He didn't belong here. He was the unknown.
Still, something about the way they reacted to Kraven's name stuck with him. They weren't just cautious. They were afraid. Not of Aryan—but of the people he'd fought.
The woman gave him a bottle of glowing liquid. "Drink this. It'll help speed up your recovery."
Aryan hesitated. Then drank.
Warmth spread through him. The pain dulled. His breathing came easier.
Outside the vehicle, the forest faded behind them.
He laid back down, thoughts racing.
Kraven.
BLADE.
This world.
He didn't know what was coming next—but he wasn't going to stay helpless.