EYA

  I was a failed writer. And now? I’m stu the most cliché genre of fi ever. The ultimate trash tier, Isekai. How did this even happen? Did I it some cardinal sin? Am I cursed? Dumped into another world as punishment? Give me one logical reason!

  No… I o think like an author. If I were writing this story, what would e ? A random motacks? Or maybe the sudden appearance of a beautiful heroine who’s way out of my league? It’s impossible to predict because the plot is garbage from the start. Starting with the main character choice. It’s pletely wrong. Me. A failed writer. What’s the point of this? Do you expect me to aplish something? I ’t even string words together properly, and now I’m supposed to be the hero?

  What kind of rotten author would create a mess like this? Holy, they’re worse thahat’s assuming there is someone orchestrating all of this. Or am I just unlucky? Did I actally stumble into an isekai without meaning to? I mean, I’m not the first person this has happeht? Some best-selling novels use this exact trope. Still, I hope there isn’t some creepy, powerful a witch hiding in the shadows—kidnapping people and granting absurd powers like ing back from the dead. Though, let’s be ho, that’s actually kind of cool. But I already know enough after reading those novels; they never end too well.

  Then again, what if this really is just a dream? It still feels possible. Except… I ’t trol anything here. Shouldn’t lucid dreams let you take charge? No… I’ll test it soon enough. I just o wait for myself to wake up. Because if this is a dream, theually, it’ll end. It has to.

  Beside me, Poma is still waiting for my response. She looks at me with a faint smile, clearly pleased by my rea. But it’s not easy to meet her gaze directly.

  Her thin clothes are… distrag. Too distrag. The fabric sticks to her skin. And I faintly smell the st of wildflowers and fresh linen. Which sends my thoughts drifting in dires they probably shouldn’t. Maybe I should just say it—it’d be easier if she ged. After all, she’s a goddess. Or so she cims.

  “ you ge your clothes? That’s a bit… distrag,” I say, tugging at the hem of my own threadbare shirt. Trying to keep my tone casual but failing miserably.

  Poma doesn’t miss a beat. Her lips twitch as she holds back ughter. Both her hands move to adjust her outfit, and I notice the soft swish of fabric as it brushes over her stomad chest. Almost deliberately drawing attention.

  "Is there something wrong? Isn't this your dream? You do it yourself, right?" she teases, her voice dripping with pyful mockery as a light breeze stirs the stale air of the ruiemple around us.

  Great. Now she’s messing with me. If I could, maybe I would. But at least I want to keep my manners. Regardless of whether this is a dream or not. Failed writer or not. I’m no creep.

  So, I give in, “You’re right, this isn’t a dream. Please ge your clothes. You’re a goddess, aren’t you? Please maintain ynity.”

  After hearing my words, Poma pulls something from beside her—a white robe that seems to materialize out of thin air. I watch as she slips it on slowly, almost theatrically. The fabric rustling softly as it covers her. Then she speaks again in a geone.

  “I uand. But the current me is nothing more than a forest guardian. Calling me a goddess makes me sound pathetic,” she says, her voice softening further even as a hint of amusement lingers.

  It turns out—a goddess. Or at least someone who used to be one. Yet, we share somethiable. A pathetic life. This world is sometimes uable. A plot twist, you could say.

  “What should I do now? I didn’t think I’d end up living here with you, did I?” I ask. Because there’s a possibility that this isn’t a dream. I’d better start thinking carefully about the future.

  Poma just smiles at my question. “I’d be happy if you stayed here with me. But in a few days, people will e to make s. You leave with them then, or you stay here. It’s up to you.”

  A few days? That means I o figure out food, drinks, and… clothes. I don’t even have any of those. No moher. Assuming money eves here. Huh. Turns out getting isekai’d requires more preparation than I thought. At least I’ve got a pce to stay for now.

  “What about food and drinks? I’m not familiar with this world,” I say, cutting straight to the point. My voice resonating off the chipped stone walls.

  “This is simple,” Poma expins. “For food, you eat some of the s left for me—mostly fruits from this forest, safe to eat. And for water, there’s a river not far from here. But you’ll need Enyeka; she knows the way, so you won’t get lost.” Her tone is practical. And the sound of her soft footsteps oone flives me a momentary sense of stability.

  I nod, though inwardly I’m already w about how I’ll manage. Nights here might get cold. I don’t kly how cold, but I’ll have to deal with it sooner or ter. Let’s hope it’s not as cold as a December night.

  That’s my versation with Poma. Afterward, she mentions that she o rest. tinuously using her physical form seems to drairength. And I notice the faint tremor in her hand as she touches the wall. I see why she feels uneasy being called a goddess. Aside from her striking appearanothing about her seems rger than life.

  By normal standards foddess, she’s… underwhelming. She even admits her current power is extremely limited. And living in this ruiemple? It tells me everything I o know. She isn’t some almighty deity anymore—if she ever was. More like a fallen goddess. Fotten by time, abandoned by most. Remembered only by a handful of people.

  Maybe fate brought us together. Two people sharing the same trash-tier luck. Holy, it’s not the worst thing. At least she isn’t like that water goddess everyone pins about—useless unless you need someoo fight undead.

  Before ending our talk, Poma gives me some information about this world. Apparently, there used to be dragons and giants. But most of them are gone now, or at least they’ve left this ti. Good news, holy. you imagine a world packed with magical races and crazy strong magic? It’d be like living in a pce where every petty argument could escate into an apocalypse.

  Giants casually wiping out entire vilges because someone looked at them wrong. Dwarves h not just gold but ons of mass destru, ready to bury kingdoms under mountains of rubble. And dragons? They’d burn down cities for fun, the time to do it all ain without sequences. No thanks. I’ll take b and safe over “epid suicidal any day.

  She also says there’s no magic here—or at least, not in the way I imagined. Instead, there’s something called “mystical knowledge.” Her tone is even, almost ical, as she offers to teach me if I want. I shake my head and refuse. Why go looking for trouble when I’m already neck-deep in it? The humid forest air gs to my skin, slid heavy as sweat, while mossy dampness seeps through my sleeves. Making the whole offer feel more like a warning than a promise.

  Lastly, she mentions she still has one blessed person. Through them, she help me leave the forest if I choose to go. Holy, staying in the middle of nowhere isly my dream lifestyle. But curiosity is starting to creep up on me. I want to know more about this world. At the same time, though, fear keeps tugging at the bay mind.

  I’m just a normal human. A failed writer with zero talent. If I had any kind of plot armor, I wouldn’t have been failing so hard from the start, right? Yeah… something tells me endless bad luck is waiting around every er.

  Because Poma is now gone, like a ghost. It’s just me and Enyeka here. The first thing I do is try the fruits beside the altar. They e in different shapes, round to oval. And the rough texture of their skins feels unfamiliar under my fiips. But I only sample a few. I o save what little food there is.

  Then, uedly, I bite into ohat isn’t just sour—it’s SALTY. The taste hits me hard, like someone has sprinkled salt over it, and its watery interior nearly makes me spit it out. I pare it mentally to liquid salt more than fruit. Fortunately, not all the fruits are bizarre; most are bnd, though one resembles a chili yet turns out sweet. Each bite forces me to questiohing I thought I knew about fruit.

  The sky begins to turn a sickly yellow as dusk approaches and darkness creeps in along the forest’s edge. Before it gets too te, I decide to find water. Poma mentioned a river not far from the temple, but I don’t have a bottle or anything to carry it. That’s when I remember the cy pot I found earlier among the ruins. It’s rough, uneven surface still carries the faint smell of a earth. I had picked it up during one of my aimless wanderings—another odd treasure from this pce.

  Because I was bored this afternoon, I wahrough the ruins, and there were many iing things inside. One of them was this pot, cracked but usable, and an a silver with a picture of a person engraved on it. Well, it wasn’t in vain because now I fetch water, and Enyeka take me to the river.

  Who would’ve thought Enyeka could uand human speech? Poma must’ve trained her well. Still, I sense she isn’t thrilled about sharing her food. The fruits oar were probably hers to begin with, and now she has to split them with me. Tough luck for her, I guess. I notice her irritated expression as she walks ahead of me. Poma said the river wasn’t far, but it feels like we’ve been walking for almost 20 minutes, aill haven’t arrived.

  “Hey, Enyeka. Is it still far? It’s getting dark now,” I ask aloud, my voice rough with thirst and ay.

  I know she ’t reply, but I need some reassurance. My throat is dry, and every step makes the ch of leaves and twigs underfoot sound unnaturally loud. After a soft snort, Enyeka picks up her pace. Soon, the sound of flowing water reaches my ears—a gentle gurgle that weaves through the rustling bushes. Peeking through the dense greenery, I finally see it: a fresh, clear river that looks almost surreal in its pristiransparency, as if carved from gss.

  I kneel by the bank and start ing the cy pot. I run my fingers over its rough surface, scrubbing away yers of dust and tiny pebbles that I hear g against each other in the silence. I discard the murky remnants repeatedly until I feel the pot is enough. Then, I fill it with the cold, crisp water. The chill of the liquid shocks my hand and sends a shiver through me.

  As the pot fills, I notiething odd—the water refleothing. I squint, thinking it might be a trick of the fading light, but no refle appears. I rub my eyes and blink hard, but the surface remains bnk. Devoid of any image of me. Is this proof that this world is just a dream, or is there something else at work? My heart begins to beat faster. As I push the disturbing thought aside, it echoes in my ears.

  Ohe pot is full, I stand up quickly, sing the area. Enyeka is o be seen. She was right beside me moments ago, calmly drinking from the river. Did she leave? No… Poma had told her to help me. Why would she abandon me now? The silence is heavy. Unnaturally. And I wonder if it’s because I ate the fruit meant for her. The sudden stillness feels wrong, as if the forest itself is holding its breath. Too sudden. Toe.

  Damn it. My bad luck strikes again. I vaguely remember the way back to the temple, but with night falling, everything grows darker. Shadows stretnaturally long, swallowing trees and bushes alike. One wrong step, and I’d be lost forever. Why now? Of all times, why does this have to happen now?

  The darkness presses in around me, heavy and suffog. The forest feels alive, as if it’s watg and waiting. I hold on to the cy pot, its cool surface a small fort. And hope that Enyeka will return. But no one es. I’m alone in the deepening gloom.

  And then I see it. Across the river, behind the silhouettes of trees, something stands there—watg me. Its eyes glow a menag red, pierg through the shadows like embers in a dying fire. It doesn’t move at first; it just watches. Then, slowly and deliberately, it begins to approach.

  My breath catches in my throat. Every muscle in my body screams to run. “Something is wrong here!” I shout, my voice crag with raw fear as it echoes off the riverbanks. I turn and bolt, clutg the pot so tightly that my knuckles turn white. The sound of my rapid footsteps and ragged breathing mih the sudden, bloodcurdling scream rips through the still air.

  "AHHHHAAHHHHH..." A non-stop screaming.

  I have to run. As far away as I . As fast as I . As strong as I . Or... It will get me…

  Again… Scream… Loud… "AHHHHAAHHHHHAHHHHHAHHHHHAHHHHH…"

  I run… Away... My feet… Hurt… My ears... Pierced... Loud screams… I ’t see... Everything goes dark... Surrounded… Endless darkness… My head spins... It hurts... Stop... Stop...

  The pot falls… As do I…

  Like a dream… Unreal…

  When will I wake up? Please wake me up...

  Ahh… The trees are bleeding... Red... Blood... No… Stop…

  The smell of blood fills the air, sharp aallic, pierg my nose.

  My body feels rusted... Rotting... Like a corpse...

  This nd... Full of blood... Red... Rotting...

  Something... From my stomach... Moving...

  My throat... Something wants to e out...

  "Rrrrippp..."

  “Wssh…”

  A hand... es out... From my mouth...

  It moves... Alive... While...

  My mind... Slowly... Rotting... Dead…

  EYA