The forest woke before the sun did.
Adrian Vale opened his eyes to the sound of something wrong.
A sharp crack echoed through the trees, followed by the unmistakable groan of splintering wood.
Not an animal.
Not a predator.
Man-made.
He rose slowly from the base of the tree where he had spent the night, body already alert. Dawn's light filtered through the canopy in thin golden rays, painting the forest floor in shifting patterns.
Another crack.
Then a voice.
"Damn this cursed road!"
Adrian froze.
Human.
Alive.
He moved silently toward the sound, bare feet stepping over roots and fallen branches without a whisper. As the trees thinned, the smell reached him first — horses, leather, iron… and frustration.
A carriage sat tilted at the edge of a narrow dirt path, one wheel split clean in half. Beside it, a thick-bearded man struggled to drag a heavy chest from the back.
The man muttered curses under his breath as he tugged uselessly at the trunk.
Adrian stepped out from the trees.
The man froze.
They stared at each other.
Adrian suddenly became very aware that he was half-naked, covered in faint scars, dried blood, and wearing what remained of shredded fabric.
The man's eyes widened.
"You—"
He stopped, blinking rapidly as if unsure Adrian was real.
"By the saints… how are you alive?"
Adrian tilted his head slightly.
"…Alive?"
The man gestured wildly toward the forest behind him.
"You came from there. On foot. At dawn."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"No one survives a night in those woods alone."
Adrian didn't answer.
He simply walked past him and grabbed the broken wheel.
The man sputtered.
"That's— wait— you don't have to—"
The wood groaned as Adrian lifted the carriage corner high enough for the axle to clear the ground.
The man went silent.
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"I— right. Yes. Saints be praised. Lift it… just like that."
Minutes later, the chest was secured, the carriage stabilized enough to move slowly, and the man stared at Adrian like he'd discovered a myth walking among men.
"You're either blessed… or terribly cursed."
Adrian almost smiled.
The man's name was Edwin Miller, a trader from a nearby village two hours south.
He talked.
Endlessly.
Adrian learned more in that walk than he had since waking.
Bandits roamed distant roads.
Wolves owned the forests.
Travelers vanished if they wandered after dark.
"Night belongs to the devil," Edwin said grimly. "And the things that serve him."
Adrian listened quietly.
Every word confirmed what he already suspected.
This was the past.
Far past.
Before machines. Before cities.
Before the world he remembered.
Edwin finally glanced at him again.
"You truly have nowhere to go, lad?"
Adrian shook his head slowly.
"I woke in the forest. I remember… nothing before that."
The lie came easily.
Edwin studied him for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"Then you'll work for me."
Adrian blinked.
"You helped me. And you look like a man who can carry a house if he wished."
A grin spread across Edwin's face.
"You'll work until you find your footing. Fair?"
Adrian considered the offer.
Shelter. Food. Information.
"Fair."
The village stared.
Children stopped playing.
Women paused mid-conversation.
Men lowered tools and squinted suspiciously.
Adrian unloaded crates, barrels, sacks of grain, and furniture with effortless ease. Work that took two men barely slowed him.
Whispers followed him like shadows.
"That boy lifted the whole chest alone…"
"Did you see the size of him?"
"He works like he enjoys it…"
Weeks passed.
Routine formed.
Work by day.
Quiet observation by night.
Listening. Learning. Watching.
And then one afternoon—
Adrian felt it.
The same instinct that warned prey of predators.
He looked toward the treeline.
Something stood between the shadows of the trees.
Watching the village.
Watching him.
When he blinked—
It was gone.
"YOU WORK TOO MUCH."
Adrian turned.
Edwin's daughter stood behind him holding two wooden cups.
She smiled far too brightly.
"And you think too much. And speak too little. And walk too quietly. And—"
She shoved a drink into his hand.
"You need this."
Adrian stared at the cup.
"…Thank you."
She beamed like she'd won a battle.
Then she began talking.
And did not stop.
Stories about villagers. Traders. Rumors. Weather. Chickens. Everything.
Adrian found himself listening.
Smiling, even.
But his eyes drifted back to the treeline.
Where something had been standing.
Watching.
In broad daylight.