Chapter 3: A Weapon of Mass Destruction

  Aeor gently opened his eyes. The surrounding moss had lost its glow, but the cave still retained light from the weak daylight that filtered through the entrance. It was only then that his body fully caught up to its condition. The ache of hunger gnawed at his stomach, and his throat felt dry as cracked earth. He had taken a few sips of storm water the night before, which helped a little, but not enough.

  Sitting upright took effort, but he managed, blinking away the lingering fatigue. He pulled out the parchment out of curiosity, wondering if it might have changed. It hadn’t. Folding it carefully and tucking it back into his pocket, he steadied himself with his spear and slowly rose to his feet.

  I have to find something to eat or drink. I won't last much longer like this.

  Back in his home world of Khorvalen, people often said that the Awakened gained supernatural strength, stamina, and access to mana. But despite his awakening, Aeor felt weaker. His strength and stamina were diminished, not enhanced. He had never wielded mana or Essence before, so he had no reference for what that change might feel like.

  Moving slowly toward the cave’s entrance, Aeor took in the world beyond. The skies still burned with bright red hues beneath a dull crimson sun. Ash drifted down steadily, giving the illusion that the sky itself was aflame. From his current vantage, tucked between two towering cliffs or perhaps even plateaus, it was hard to see far.

  Reaching out to steady himself on the cave wall, he quickly withdrew his hand. A thin stream of blood trickled down his palm.

  The obsidian chips scattered by the storm have sharpened everything, he thought, examining the jagged edge of the stone.

  Carefully stepping outside, Aeor resumed his journey. It didn’t take long to retrace his steps out of the ravine between the cliffs and get back to the plateau, the same ground he'd crossed the day before. From there, the view remained desolate. The landscape stretched endlessly, a bleak expanse of dark stone and ash with no signs of life. Aeor Continued his journey.

  Hours passed.

  He stopped several times to rest. The lack of food and water was slowing him down more than he expected. His muscles ached. His vision blurred at the edges. His thoughts drifted toward doubt, then circled back to survival.

  Still, there was nothing. No shelter, no creatures, nothing edible.

  By the time the crimson sun approached its zenith, Aeor was beginning to feel the weight of the world pressing harder than ever.

  Being in such an environment, one might assume the heat would be unbearable. But it wasn’t. The warmth around Aeor was mild, strangely tolerable. It clung to the skin like breath on glass, present but not oppressive. He found the contrast unsettling, and his thoughts drifted toward what other unnatural rules this world might follow.

  His musings were interrupted by a sudden hush in the air.

  A subtle pull, like a shift in pressure, something vast was moving above.

  A low, thunderous beat rolled through the sky.

  Aeor spun around and looked up.

  A shadow passed across the plateau, slow and ponderous. Through the wavering haze of heat and drifting ash, he saw it, a colossal shape cutting through the sky. Wings wide as cliff faces stretched outward, trailing embers in their wake. Its scales shimmered like scorched bronze, catching the dull crimson sunlight as it wheeled with impossible grace.

  A dragon.

  Aeor’s breath hitched. His body tensed, but his eyes locked onto something even more improbable.

  A figure.

  Seated atop the dragon, nestled between ridged spines and cloaked in the wind, was a rider. Aeor could make out only a silhouette, but even from this distance, he felt its presence. Its power. Not just from the beast, but from the one commanding it. As if the sky itself yielded to their will.

  He stood motionless, breath held. The dragon's silhouette slowly disappeared into the horizon as it soared into the skies, flying with purpose..

  Only after its wings faded into silence did Aeor exhale.

  Véurr bless me. A dragon?

  His heart thundered in his chest, louder than the beast’s wingbeats. Tales of dragons were just that, tales. Symbols of calamity. Of apocalypse. Aeor had grown up hearing them whispered by firelight, stories of cities razed and armies reduced to ash. To see one alive, here, in this cursed world, and ridden by a person, was beyond belief.

  But even that wasn’t the part that shook him most.

  This was the first living being he’d seen since arriving.

  Until now, Aeor had been clinging to the fragile hope that he wasn’t alone. But hope was a dim light in a vast dark, easily snuffed out. This? This was confirmation. He wasn’t the only one here.

  Energy surged back into his limbs. He adjusted his path, no longer wandering without aim.

  For the first time since arriving in this place, Aeor felt a purpose.

  A few hours later, there was a subtle shift in the terrain. The jagged cliffs and obsidian spires gave way to smoother ground. The chaos of this land softened slightly.

  Aeor slowed his pace as the plateau narrowed into a steep falloff. The only visible path downward required circling around. Just as he moved to do so, a sound drifted up from somewhere below, a voice, faint but distinctly human.

  He froze mid-step.

  The language was unfamiliar, indecipherable, and yet undeniably feminine. Despite the words escaping meaning, the tone carried enough nuance to stir something in him, curiosity, cautious optimism, and the unspoken hope that he truly wasn't alone.

  He crept forward, slow and silent, inching toward the cliff’s edge. Peering down, Aeor caught his first clear glimpse, and his confusion deepened.

  There was a young woman below, pacing animatedly.

  She wore loose-fitting clothes, soft, perhaps cotton or silk, utterly unsuited for battle. A slouched shirt hung slightly off one shoulder, paired with lounge pants that looked better suited for resting by a hearth than surviving a wasteland. Her disheveled brown hair, loosely tied, bounced with each movement, partially concealing the freckles on her pale skin.

  Her slippers were thin. Fuzzy. Worn. Completely impractical.

  Yet somehow, the oddity of it all didn’t alarm him. It grounded him. Made this brutal world feel, for the first time, almost absurd.

  More curious than the woman’s attire, though, was the skillet she held in one hand.

  It glowed faintly, an orange warmth radiating along the metal's surface.

  There’s something strange about that skillet, Aeor thought, narrowing his gaze. It looked like a simple cooking pan, but the glow suggested otherwise. More than just warmth, it felt weighted. Not in mass, but in presence.

  Is this skillet infused with essence? He guessed. Unrefined... but it’s there.

  She was clearly arguing with someone, though Aeor saw no one near her. Her tone, oddly enough, wasn’t panicked. It was playful. Exaggerated. She gestured animatedly with the skillet and turned toward a flat, rectangular stone she held in her other hand.

  Some kind of communication crystal? Aeor wondered.

  Her words still sounded foreign to him, but he felt something there. He focused on that feeling, willing his mind to bridge the linguistic gap, and suddenly, the words clarified.

  "I refuse to accept a cooking pan as a weapon!" she snapped, exasperated.

  Aeor blinked.

  "If you're going to force me into this insane situation," she continued, pacing again, "at least teach me something useful like fireball, or thunderbolt, or," she threw her hands up, "disintegration!"

  She paused for dramatic effect. Then, with mock solemnity: "And no, melee combat doesn't count. Swinging around pieces of metal is barbaric."

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  Aeor’s lips twitched involuntarily. Mildly insulted. Amused.

  Should I call out to her? He wondered. She doesn’t look like a threat.

  She was dressed as though she'd been pulled from another world.

  She must have been teleported here too, right? Aeor realized.

  The question hung heavier than expected.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden chill that prickled the back of his neck.

  Aeor turned sharply, heart hammering. His grip tightened around the worn shaft of his spear.

  A figure stood just meters behind him.

  Lanky. Ashen. Unmoving.

  It bore no face, no eyes, no mouth, no markings at all. Just smooth, pale skin stretched over something not quite human. And yet, the air around it thrummed with intent. Violent, suffocating intent. Aeor's thoughts seized. Every instinct screamed.

  Then, a slit appeared where its mouth should have been.

  The jaw split grotesquely wide, far beyond what seemed possible, revealing rows upon rows of gleaming obsidian teeth.

  Aeor recoiled.

  His foot slipped.

  He fell.

  Panic roared in his ears, but instinct took hold. Death essence surged, clinging to his legs. A shadowy veil wrapped around his legs just before impact.

  He struck hard. Pain shot through his limbs, but nothing felt broken.

  Groaning, Aeor rolled onto his back and locked eyes with someone staring down at him.

  The woman.

  She clutched her skillet defensively, eyes wide, posture taut. Her stance was untrained, but willing. Aeor recognized that kind of resolve.

  "Uh," he started.

  Her gaze snapped upward. Horror bloomed across her face.

  Aeor followed it.

  The maw descended.

  He rolled just in time. The monster's teeth slammed into the ground where he had lain, shattering stone. Aeor scrambled upright, pain forgotten in the storm of adrenaline.

  The creature lunged.

  Its jaws snapped again. Aeor twisted, narrowly avoiding the bite, but not the graze. A single fang caught his arm, tearing through skin. Pain exploded across his side.

  He hissed but stayed upright, teeth clenched, spear ready.

  They stared at each other, hunter and hunted, roles uncertain.

  Then it moved.

  Its limbs twisted grotesquely, arms elongating into claws. It swiped.

  Aeor did not dodge.

  He struck.

  Death essence surged to the tip of his spear. The weapon met the incoming claw with a crackle of black mist.

  The creature reeled back.

  The impact had left a mark. No, more than a mark. The death essence clung to the thing’s pale skin like rot, spreading like fire. Its arm withered, flesh peeling away in wisps of shadow.

  Then, with terrifying precision, the creature severed its own arm.

  Aeor froze.

  This was his moment to strike again, but he hesitated. Not from fear, but awe.

  That reaction... it knew how to stop the spread. And that damage—

  He stared at the black mist still rising from the severed limb.

  I’ve seen necrotic beasts use death-aspected strikes before... but this? This is something else. This death essence feels... purer. Denser. Too potent.

  Ash began to coalesce around the monster, swirling in tight spirals as it started to reconstruct its severed arm.

  Aeor didn’t wait. He lunged forward, spear ready. But the creature danced around his strikes with impossible grace. It moved like mist caught in a breeze, as though the wind itself favored its every step. No matter how clean the attack, the thing swayed just out of reach. This eerie rhythm continued for nearly a full minute.

  From the corner of his eye, Aeor saw movement. The woman had stepped back, but her fear was fading. She watched him; her gaze drawn not to him, but to the spear and the death essence now coiling around its tip. Curiosity flashed in her eyes, then something stronger. Determination.

  "Come on, how did this work?" she muttered under her breath.

  Between her trembling hands, a thin veil of Essence began to gather. Water took form, a trembling orb of pale clarity. Her eyes widened, and she hurled the water sphere with instinct more than precision.

  It struck true.

  The orb collided with the creature’s shoulder in a sharp crack, hissing steam rising as the cold water met corrupted flesh. The creature shrieked, stumbling. The surrounding air stilled.

  Aeor seized the opening.

  He surged forward, shadows swirling around his weapon. The spear, wreathed in black mist, found its mark in a clean, upward thrust. The blade pierced the creature’s chest, and death essence erupted on impact.

  The entity spasmed, howling in agony, before crumbling into ash. It scattered upward like smoke caught in a gust.

  Aeor stood there for a long moment, panting.

  What was that thing?

  He turned toward the woman. She was grinning, thumb raised proudly. Her enthusiasm was ridiculous, but oddly infectious.

  Aeor took a step toward her. Her smile faltered. Eyes widened.

  She was staring past him.

  Aeor turned. The ash was moving.

  His muscles tensed as the wind shifted. The remains of the creature swept toward the woman, swirling violently before reforming into its twisted shape. Still wounded, but not finished.

  Aeor reacted instantly. He sprinted forward, but his legs felt slow. He wouldn’t reach her in time.

  The creature raised its claws, closing the final gap.

  She acted first.

  Eyes closed, posture shaking, she gave a tiny cry and swung the skillet.

  A shockwave exploded outward.

  The pan connected with the creature’s head in a blast of fire, the force hurling Aeor backward. He slammed into the cliffside, breath knocked from his lungs.

  By the Old Flame, what was that?

  Dazed, he blinked through the haze. Smoke stung his eyes, but as it cleared, the silhouette of the monster remained still. Charred, twisted, and unmoving.

  Dead.

  Aeor picked up his fallen spear and used it to steady himself. His arms trembled.

  Across the clearing, the woman peeked out from behind her tangled hair, skillet still raised like a weapon. Her chest heaved with each shaky breath.

  Neither spoke.

  They simply stared at each other, waiting for the other to move first.

  I definitely don’t want to get hit by that thing, Aeor thought, eyes flicking to the skillet.

  Stepping forward cautiously, Aeor raised his hand in greeting. "Aeor."

  The woman blinked. Confusion spread across her face.

  "I can't understand you," she said, brows furrowing. Studying his face, she added, "Are you able to understand me? If so, nod your head."

  Aeor nodded.

  She looked more perplexed than reassured. "How? Do you have a skill of some sort? Wait..." She pulled out the strange rectangular stone. "What was it called? Ah! Traits."

  Aeor closed his eyes and pointed to his temple, then his eyes.

  Still skeptical, she nodded slowly. "Can you say something?"

  "Hello there."

  "Please continue. I think I’m getting there," she said quickly.

  "Sure. One, two, three..."

  A broad smile broke across her face. Her eyes fluttered open. "I think I understand you now. Nice to meet you. I’m Zoey."

  "Aeor," he replied.

  Zoey tilted her head slightly. A spark of amusement danced in her eyes. "That's a unique name."

  "Do you know what this place is?" she asked.

  Aeor shook his head. "No. I only arrived yesterday."

  "Oh. I thought you were a local. From your clothes, I figured you might be."

  "No, I’m not from this world. And it wasn’t hard to tell from your outfit that you aren’t either."

  A beat passed. Then another. The silence stretched, awkward and uncertain.

  Zoey cleared her throat. "So... that black stuff on your spear? What is it? You control it?"

  Aeor flexed his fingers. A soft mist, black and whispering, curled around them. "I think it’s death essence. As for control... I’m not sure. It feels instinctive. I don’t fully understand it."

  "You have death affinity? Whoa, that’s cool. I’ve got water and fire. Although my control is horrendous"

  "Dual affinities. That’s rare, isn’t it? But I’m more curious about that skillet."

  "Oh! This thing?" Zoey held it up proudly. "Might be easier to explain if you inspect it yourself."

  "If you say so," Aeor said, hesitantly reaching for it.

  She handed it over, a bit confused but playing along.

  Aeor knocked it gently. "Seems like iron. Nothing out of the ordinary."

  He gave it a few swings.

  Its balance seems typical. No enchantment, I can sense.

  Zoey’s brows drew together in disbelief. "What I meant, Aeor, was to use the analyze ability. Or, in no LitRPG terms, Threadgaze."

  "Lit…RPG?"

  "Fantasy. But with stats and systems. Leveling. Like a game."

  Aeor frowned. "What kind of game?"

  She paused. "Hello? Um... video games? On computers?"

  "What’s a computer?"

  Her grin faltered. She blinked. Then again. "Wait… where are you from?"

  "Empire of Calen. World’s called Khorvalen."

  Zoey stared. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You’re seriously not from Earth?"

  "Who said anything about being from Earth?" Aeor replied.

  "Whoa! That's... Whoa!" Zoey looked lost for words but quickly caught herself. "So what is it like in this Khorvalen? Like do you have swords, horses, oh maybe even magic? Or oh oh, like mana manipulation, controlling the elements and stuff?" Her eyes lit up with each question.

  "Calm down there," Aeor said, slightly amused. "Yes, we have swords, horses, and mana... or I think it’s called Essence? Maybe. I'm not sure." He paused, a flicker of confusion on his face. "But doesn’t your world have those things?"

  "We have swords and horses and all that, but, um, we’ve advanced a lot. Those are kind of things of the past for us. And we didn’t have any mana."

  "What kind of advancements?" Aeor asked.

  "Flying vessels that carry people across the world, devices that let us see and talk to each other even if we're on opposite sides of the world. Just a few examples."

  "You did that without mana?" Aeor blinked.

  "Well, I didn’t. But people from my world did."

  Aeor seemed to mull that over.

  "So, do you have that ability?" Zoey asked.

  Snapping back to the present, Aeor answered, "Oh. Let me check."

  He pulled out the parchment and scanned its contents. His ability section remained mostly the same, with only one entry: Deathbind Edge. But something new appeared under Traits.

  Traits:

  Threadwoven Speech

  Tier: Flicker (E)

  Effect: Enables instinctive understanding and communication with sentient beings, regardless of language or origin.

  Archive Note: "Threaded lines between tongues and thought."

  This must be the trait that allowed me to communicate with her.

  Looking back up, Aeor said, "I don’t have the ability you’re talking about."

  "Oh! In that case, try to gauge the capabilities of this pan. Look at it with intent. Sorry, I can’t explain it well. It just kind of worked for me."

  "I suppose I can give it a try," Aeor replied.

  He stared at the skillet. Moments later, a whisper flooded his mind.

  Infused Skillet of Starlight Vulkan Debris

  Essence Tier: Threaded (C)

  Basic Properties: Unnaturally durable. Essence-conductive. Amplifies fire-aspected abilities.

  Archive Note: "No forge touched it, yet it changed. Bound not by craft, but by memory of something ancient."

  "Infused Skillet of Starlight Vulkan Debris," Aeor said aloud. "What is that?"

  "I have no idea," Zoey replied. "I bought it at a super... um, market place. It was just a normal skillet. But ever since I got here, it's had that glow, and, well, it did that," she added, nodding toward the scorched remains of the monster.

  "Speaking of upgrades, did your spear get one?"

  "Let me check."

  Aeor held the spear forward, focusing with intent.

  Iron-Tip Spear

  Essence Tier: Flicker (E)

  Basic Properties: A basic spear of standard make. The shaft bears splinters from repeated impacts, and the iron tip is chipped and uneven. Poorly suited for extended combat.

  Archive Note: "Every chip tells a story, some even of tales untold."

  What do any of these Archive Notes even mean? Aeor thought to himself, getting a bit frustrated.

  "It didn’t get an upgrade. Also, why didn’t you scan it?" Aeor asked.

  "After I arrived here, I used Threadgaze on a bunch of stuff. My head started hurting. Felt like something draining me. I think it was Essence."

  "Regardless, thank you for telling me about that ability," Aeor said, genuine appreciation in his voice.

  He looked back down at the parchment and noticed a new entry had appeared.

  Threadgaze

  Tier: Flicker (E)

  Effect: Grants limited insight into the structure of objects, creatures, and phenomena through visual focus. Reveals essence tier, basic status, and foundational traits when stable. May distort or fail against higher-tier entities.

  Archive Note: "Perception is not given, it is unraveled. To weave is to listen to the world’s memory."

  I can do it on creatures as well.

  Aeor looked up and focused on Zoey. Threadgaze activated.

  Zoey

  Race: Human

  Essence Tier: Awakened (E)

  Essence Stability: Flickering

  Status: Normal

  It doesn’t give much detail, no traits, abilities. The tier of my Threadgaze is only Flicker. Maybe when it increases, if it does, it will show more. Lastly, despite Zoey and my spear being E tier, they have different titles. One is Awakened, and another is Flicker. I think it might be safe to assume that there is a different hierarchy for creatures and objects.

  Zoey noticed Aeor fold up the parchment and slip it away.

  "Do you, by any chance, know where the nearest settlement is? Or have you seen anyone else since you got here?" she asked. "Also... why didn’t we talk about this sooner? What are we even supposed to do in this place?"

  Aeor paused, then answered slowly. "As for what we’re supposed to do, I don’t know. When I first woke up here, I thought I’d died and ended up in Nef... I don’t know the afterlife."

  He glanced toward the horizon. "I haven’t seen any settlements, but I did see someone riding a dragon. They were heading in that direction."

  Zoey lit up instantly. "Dragon!? Like a real flying dragon? Are you sure it was a dragon?"

  "I think so. I haven’t seen one before. They were rare in my world. What other kind of dragon would you be thinking of? Your world had undead dragons or something?"

  "What? No! Ours were myths. Legends, mostly in books. I just... didn’t expect to see one. Sorry, I got distracted. I mean, it’s a dragon. How do you not get excited?"

  She steadied herself. "So, what’s the plan? And do you mind if I tag along? I honestly have no idea what I’m doing."

  Aeor gave a small nod. "I wouldn’t mind the company. But to be clear, I have no idea what I’m doing either."

  Zoey smiled. There was a softness in it, something honest.

  "Then I guess we’ll figure it out together," she said.

  Aeor gave a faint smile of his own.

  "Onwards, then."