Noah's eyes blinked open, wincing against the harsh glare of the sun above. The sky stretched wide and pale blue, too bright for comfort. The breeze was warm and dry, carrying the scent of earth and wildflowers. He found himself lying in a field of tall grass that waved gently in the wind, their stalks brushing against his arms and neck. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance. Everything around him felt too vivid, too alive.
He sat up slowly, brushing loose blades of grass from his black funeral suit—still creased, slightly dusty from where he must've fallen. His arms felt longer, leaner. His legs too. The suit still fit, but something about his frame felt subtly different.
He clapped his face lightly. "This can't be real."
The words of the strange woman—Austerlia—rattled around in his mind. *You are worthy… a ruler... not wasted.* What did that even mean? What was this place?
He rose to his feet, trying to steady himself. The ground felt real beneath his boots. The air was hot but breathable, like the dry warmth of summer in the English countryside—except this was no England he knew. He turned slowly, scanning the horizon. In the distance to the east, he spotted a wooden signpost by a weathered trail. Its surface had faded, the text hand-carved in a rough, blocky script:
"Eastern Border - Outer Lands of Opusterra"
His eyes lingered on the words: Opusterra.That was the name Austerlia had mentioned briefly, wasn't it? One of the regions of this strange new world. The sign leaned slightly to the side, like it had been neglected for years.
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck rose.
A sound—a fast rustle in the grass behind him.
Noah turned quickly, heart kicking into high gear.
Before he could react, something lunged out of the tall grass. A blur of movement, reddish skin glinting in the sun. Noah barely had time to shield himself before the creature tackled him to the ground, pinning him beneath a weight far stronger than it looked.
The thing had the form of a man—but his skin was a deep, burnt crimson, like glowing coals cooled to a simmer. His eyes were a bright golden-orange, slit like a serpent's. A twisting flame-like symbol, almost tribal in style, burned across his bare upper back.
Noah cried out as his left arm seared with pain—the creature's hand had burned right through the fabric of his sleeve, leaving a bright red welt. The heat was unbearable, but the grip loosened slightly.
"What are you?" the creature hissed. "What's a scumskin doing out here?"
Noah barely understood him—yet somehow, he could grasp the words. The language was foreign, yes, but his mind was catching the meaning as though it were being translated just as it was spoken. *Sanguese*, maybe? Austerlia had said most of the world spoke it.
"I—I don't know where I am," Noah said through clenched teeth. "I'm not here to hurt anyone!"
The red-skinned being—clearly not human, glared down at him with suspicion. Flames flickered at his fingertips.
"You dare lie, outlander?" The man's eyes narrowed. "Came here to poach our lands, didn't you? One of those *ground-huggers* come to spy for the south?"
"I don't even know what you're talking about," Noah spat. "I just got here—out of nowhere. Look at me! Do I look like a soldier?"
The heat at his arm suddenly faded. The creature leaned back, releasing Noah's chest from his crushing grip. There was a pause. Then, with an annoyed grunt, the red-skinned being stood.
"Hmph. You stink of confusion... not lies," the man muttered, brushing his hands off. "Guess I wasted my time."
Noah clutched his burned arm. The pain was sharp, throbbing—he bit back a curse.
"Who... what are you?" Noah asked, still lying on the ground.
The creature turned halfway toward him and smirked, the fire symbol on his back seeming to flicker slightly.
"Name's Heatlot," he said, voice still rough. "I'm a Solumbrian. You know what that means?"
Noah shook his head.
"Didn't think so," Heatlot grunted. "We live in these wastes. Born in the heat. Bathe in flame. Don't need water, don't need outsiders. Especially not "scumskins"
"Scumskin?" Noah asked, slowly getting to his feet.
Heatlot crossed his arms, amused now. "That's what we call humans like you. Too soft. Too greedy. Always the first to cry and last to bleed. So what're you doing out in our patch, scumskin?"
Noah considered lying, but something told him that wouldn't help. "I... don't know how I got here. One minute I was walking—then I woke up here."
Heatlot snorted. "Typical." He glanced eastward toward the low hills in the distance. "Well, you're lucky I didn't snap your neck. If you'd wandered a few miles deeper, the others wouldn't have asked questions. They'd have cooked you."
"There are others?" Noah asked, wiping sweat from his brow.
"A whole damn outpost," Heatlot said. "Tents, pits, scouts. Nothing fancy, but we defend it. It's home. Your kind doesn't belong here."
Noah narrowed his eyes. "So why didn't you kill me?"
Heatlot smirked again, this time with a hint of curiosity. "You've got fear in your eyes, but not weakness. That's rare."
With that, the Solumbrian turned his back on Noah.
"Consider this a favor," he said, already walking back into the grass. "Don't let it make you stupid."
Noah watched the red figure disappear into the wild, the grass parting around him as though heat itself bent the plants away.
His arm still burned. He tore a strip from the inside of his suit jacket and tied it around the wound. He had no water, no map, no idea what direction to go.
But he knew one thing now: he was in someone else's world. And no one here cared who he was back on Earth.
He approached the wooden sign again. Beneath the carved letters, in smaller, rougher script, someone had scratched another message:
"Turn back if you value your blood. The firefolk guard these plains."
Noah exhaled slowly, reading it over and over.
"Firefolk... Solumbrians..." he whispered.
Then he turned south, away from the scorched land and toward the distant hills. His legs still ached, his suit was torn, and his stomach growled. But his mind was alive. Awake. He was beginning to understand the weight of what he'd been thrown into.
No map. No allies. And a world that already hates me.
But he wasn't scared—not yet. There was something deeper settling inside him. A strange, coiled determination. A desire to make sense of this madness.
END OF CHAPTER
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--World Facts for all--
The Solumbrians are a proud and scattered species of fireborn humanoids. Nomadic by nature, they form roving outposts across the harsher, unclaimed lands of Opusterra. Though many fear them for their fiery powers and hatred of outsiders, some say their anger hides a history of betrayal lost to time...