Zach lay on the very questionable bed in the dark. Switching from closing his eyes to opening them back up, he wished and prayed to return home. His chest felt tight with the pressure of uncertainty, and each breath came with a reluctant acceptance that this-this must be real. The only thing that brought him back to reality was that each touch of the material on the bed was the rough, coarse, and scratchy material of the mattress, which itched where they touched. He was right; it had been stuffed with whatever since there were many hard lumps and multiple textures in different areas. It felt like someone had jammed in equal parts of rocks, hay, and dirty laundry.
He buried his face into his now very small hands. They were bony and framed by long fingers. Each is covered in hard calluses. Even the knuckles of his hands were dotted with them. What was this kid doing with their hands? Were they walking on them? Were they crawling across broken stone? Hauling bricks? Fighting for food? Zach found himself thinking about his new body and its original owner. But the question that kept popping into his head was why he was in it.
"Ugh," Zach voiced out in a stifled grunt.
His hands fisted into tight balls while his teeth clenched together. Seriously, why me? He cursed upwards, thinking someone up there was playing tricks.
"Please, god—" Zach started to say with his hands clasped together in front of him. Before continuing, he looked over at where Dreja was sleeping. He could not see him in the dark, but when he heard a deep snore, he felt it safe to continue, "I know you and I aren't the closest, but if you help me get back, then I'll definitely believe in you!" His tone was a desperate plea. "Like really, I'll go to church and everything—actual Sunday service, not the virtual ones. I'll even sit in front!"
"And as a bonus, I'll even try converting my atheist family and friends! Especially the hardcore ones, those folks who believe in evolution and science!" He tried again, this time using his best at flattery, and when there was no answer, he resorted to cursing the gods or whoever was in charge.
"This is why I don't believe in you! You and all other gods are known for doing misdeeds. What did I expect?" Zach's voice rose with each word. He only quieted down when he heard Dreja shuffle in his bed by his corner. He held his breath, feeling stupidly guilty, like a kid caught swearing when he thought no one was listening.
He wanted to try one more thing. "Okay, fine, if I'm doing this, then can you at least set me up with one of those cool systems? And I'mma need some background on my character?" he finished.
"System?" Still nothing.
Fuck, at least I tried. Zach, who was feeling hopeful for a response, was now dejected. He had read stories like this where the main character was transmigrated into another world, but they all got some power-up and a system to help them. So why not me? Even the ones that got cursed or died horribly at least had a dramatic prologue or a god to chat with. But this? This just felt like a prank. A bad one.
He knew and felt that he didn't have the cool stoic vibe of an MC leading them to adapt and progress easily into their newfound worlds, and it was clear to him that he also didn't have much luck. How am I to survive this? Zach was thinking in despair, wanting to urge whoever transported him into this world to choose someone else. Someone fit. Someone brave. Someone who wasn't—well—him.
One thing is certain for Zach, though; he will absolutely do anything to go back to his world. If this sickly body and crummy room were an indication of how hard life was in this place, then this was enough reason for him to want to go back. Back to fast Wi-Fi, real food, warm showers, and not being stuck in a nightmare medieval hostel.
It was a long, sleepless night for Zach, and he felt each and every minute go by; he had propped himself on the wall while his legs stretched over the edge of his bed. During that time, he made a mental plan for himself.
1. Eat some food, I'm fucking hungry!
2. At least see one of the dragons that Dreja was talking about
3. Survive until I figure out what's happening
Perhaps not in that particular order, but that was the plan. A loose plan. A desperate, end-of-rope, scribbled-on-a-napkin type of plan. But a plan nonetheless.
Zach guessed that the sun had started to rise by the soft lights that came through from the small windows. However, it would be more appropriate to call them holes in the wall. There was no glass, covering, or even a shutter, just mish-mashed wires where wind and cold crept in. He could hear birds chirping, but even they sounded miserable. With an exhale, he let his body relax, finally gliding down to lay his head on the uneven mattress while his legs were planted down on the ground, his eyes drooped to a close. It wasn't the most comfortable, but he didn't want to get under the covers since they smelled. Like mildew, feet, and sadness. So much sorrow.
Everything ached. His arms. His neck. His head. Even the small muscles behind his knees. How could a body this young feel this sore? Or maybe it was his soul that was bruised.
Zach had started to feel himself drift into slumber when a loud banging awoke him, alerting him to any incoming danger.
"Time! Time! Time!" whoever knocked yelled out over and over again as he walked past what Zach thought was a hallway. The loud knocking was heard on multiple doors.
Zach jerked upright like he'd been shot, heart hammering in his chest. What now!!!
This day has gone from super bad to worse to the shittiest in a span of a few hours. What else did they have in store for me? Zach was ready to throw hands at everyone and anyone, including the gods he was bargaining with. Hell, if he saw an angel, he might deck it out of spite.