“It was just before dawn -- during the blue hour if I recall correctly. I almost ran the poor bastard over as I was turning the soil. He was naked as the day he was born, face down in the field and stiff as a log. Like any decent person would, I loaded him on a cart and brought him to my home.

“I didn't see any injuries. His breathing seemed normal. I started to wonder if maybe he was some drunk who wandered in from Lamfell. But that was a bit of a trip for someone staggering about...

“...A day later I found out that another person was found at old Belz's farm...then another just outside Lamfell...They also found a corpse at the edge of the forest. Nobody could identify the body.”

-an account of the Outworlders' arrival. Statement #47

---

Hovestile

"Never again."

Alphonse didn't know why those two words were at the forefront of his thoughts when he awoke from the dark confines of unconsciousness.

He gazed into the equally oppressive darkness of the tunnel and waited for his eyes to adjust. His pupils dilated, and after a few minutes he could discern the muted stone walls and dim outlines of small debris. A drop of water from the low, arched ceiling forced him to blink. Another cluster of drops sprinkled his battered, outstretched hand. He watched as some of the water converged and crawled down his thumb. More drops fell and formed a trail deeper down the tunnel, as if the life fluid was urging him on.

"Move," his mind said.

Alphonse released a hissing breath as he forced his arms underneath him. One of his wrists bent awkwardly, and his elbow scraped against a stray rock. The sharp sting of exposed flesh stimulated his survival instinct.

"Fucking move," he said aloud this time.

Alphonse pushed himself up with trembling arms. He planted one foot, then the other and bent his knees to steady himself. He took a few sliding steps forward along the stone. His senses and awareness started working in tandem again. They functioned well enough for him to recall the events leading to his dire situation.

Alphonse's mouth tightened into a grim, thin line.

Betrayal. It is something more common than one might think. It is seldom taken into consideration, especially with those deemed as a 'friend.' But everyone differs in some way concerning their morals and goals. They may be minuscule, seemingly insignificant and accessible to compromise. It is these suppressed details which bring that first damned betrayal, and only then does the victim proceed with the utmost discretion if he should survive.

For Alphonse, this was his second time -- a second time where he found himself on the receiving end. The reason for this broken trust eluded him in his sorry state.

He pressed against the arced wall of the tunnel as one of his legs threatened to fail him. He grasped at his soaked thigh and grit his teeth as pain flashed over his vision. Dark splotches ate through his undershirt, and he felt the warmth crawl down the inside of his leather armor. He glanced down and examined the wet crimson that painted his trembling fingers.

Alphonse released another breath when he lifted his hand slightly and stared at the source of blood where an arrow had once punctured him. He'd managed to pull the arrow out, but now he felt his body waning. It was a drunken, drifting sensation that made his joints feel like rubber. At the time, he hadn't considered that the tip might be laced with poison. Letting it sit there for a while seemed like the best option so that the blood could seal around the wound.

The blood loss hadn't been too excessive, but it was an unlucky spot that pierced the narrow crease of his leather armor at the thigh.

He reached into his satchel and rubbed some more curing ivy in the wound. He took a sharp breath as he felt it slip into his body. The herb effectively stifled the bleeding, but the trade-off was irritation of the flesh inside the wound for a short time.

Alphonse froze against the wall and listened as the ache in his thigh diminished to a dull throb. The goblins and ogres that pursued him seemed to have lost his trail. It wasn't just luck. He'd placed his stat points into perception and sneak for a specific reason. He always wanted to be an adventurer that specialized in scouting when he entered this world known as Hovestile. They complemented his particular skill set nurtured from his time spent in near-isolation in the mountains of North Carolina. So he always preferred the occupation when the trainers at the facility back on Earth introduced him to the world's 'System.'

The stats enhanced the abilities of certain individuals based on criteria that was only moderately understood. 'Moderately' was almost too generous of a word since it left most specialists mystified as to how much these stats actually improved an individual's abilities. The increased growth was only proven through simulations, but it couldn't determine how much. After all, humans didn't develop equally through the processes of nature and nurture.

Alphonse waited a short while as the silence entered a comforting permanence. When it was apparent that he had lost his pursuers, he reached into a smaller compartment on his hip that held the vials containing health and mana replenishment. The cotton slots on the inside prevented them from clinking together and making noise. He crafted it himself with the thought in mind.

He carefully twisted the elastic cork on one of the bottles to prevent it from popping and took a swig. One of the complications in this world was that even though health potions restored vitality, they didn't solve handicaps from injuries. He still felt the numbing pain in his side from where he'd taken the arrow. He applied a pressure bandage that mended part of this issue.

Alphonse's head jerked up, and he almost pressed too hard against the dressing over his wound as a shriek echoed from somewhere down the tunnel back where he'd been previous. Goblins.

A set of stray pebbles bounced near his foot as the ground rumbled. Ogres.

Fuck...

Alphonse padded silently down the tunnel. He felt the vibrations run through his fingers as they trailed along the wall. A bit of dust and small debris showered around him as the quakes intensified. When he arrived at the tunnel's end, he saw a natural bridge spanning a chasm that stretched into unfathomable darkness. Another outlet in the opposite wall led somewhere presumably deeper into the dungeon based on the angle. He didn't have the time before his party's expedition to scout further ahead, and there hadn't been plans to traverse this direction since it didn't pertain to their previous objective. There were also no maps available for this part of the dungeon.

The adventurer steeled himself and started making his way across the bridge in a full-on sprint, ignoring the protest from his injured leg. Better to move fast without thinking instead of slow and tottering, worrying about the endless black below.

He made it a little more than halfway across when he noticed three individuals appear from a passage on the far side of the cavern to his right. A path hugged the wall and spiraled downwards like a staircase. After a few hundred feet it curved up at a sharp angle and inserted at a short ledge. This eventually merged into a platform dotted with tall stalagmites in a labyrinthine formation that ended at another tunnel traveling upward. It would only take the three other adventurers ten minutes or so to find the exit.

The one leading the group was a young man about Alphonse's age, perhaps in his early to mid-twenties. He held a massive broadsword in both hands and cut down a pair of goblins that stood in his way. The heads of the foul, slimy creatures sliced clean off and sprayed the man's chestplate.

Alphonse swallowed hard as he watched his former party member.

"Alex," he muttered, the name a bitter taste in his mouth.

The two other individuals were around a similar age. Another man wearing a hood and cloak trailed to the rear of the group with a longbow slung over his shoulder. A pair of daggers flashed in his hands. The one in the middle was a woman with long black hair wearing a grey healer's robe, clinging to a staff like it was her very existence.

Alphonse slid to a stop on the bridge and instinctively drew his bow. He nocked an arrow, pulled back on the string and aimed at the adventurer with the dual daggers.

You fucking bastard!

His fingers trembled with hesitation. The draw weight started to wear on him as he considered whether to shoot or not. Alphonse had some confidence in his abilities with the bow, but one arrow probably wouldn't kill his target. A headshot was nigh impossible. Back on Earth, he'd practiced with a bow for years. The stat points he put in his dexterity would probably help too, but it wasn't a certainty. Alphonse and his fellow humans had been hastily sent from Earth before the researchers could provide accurate information, and he hadn't been in this world long enough to figure out what stats complemented other real-world, natural ability.

He glanced over his shoulder and counted the arrows in his quiver. Six left. Not worth it.

The rumbling of the cavern spurred him on. He spat a curse as he lowered the bow and rushed the rest of the way across the bridge.

---

Alphonse wasn't sure how much time passed since he crossed the chasm. Based on his rations, he assumed it was at least a day, but the absence of the sky and endless darkness of the dungeon played with his senses.

He hunkered down in a rocky alcove as a squad of goblins rushed by on the trail above. So far, the sneak stat he raised was a godsend. He was certain it saved him more times than he could count on both hands.

He had also gained two stat points and, in desperation, he placed them into more perception. It seemed easier to determine enemy locations in larger areas based on the number of sounds and distance. The gibbering, harsh cacophony of the goblin language didn't mess with his hearing as much as it used to either. It might've been a placebo effect, but he would take that all the same.

He wasn't about to win many engagements. The number of monsters, his injuries and sheer exhaustion were too many factors working against him.

Alphonse froze as his stomach suddenly complained of hunger. He gritted his teeth and pressed his hands down in a desperate attempt to quell the sound.

Shut up! Shut up!

He thought his belly was loud enough to wake an ogre on the opposite side of the cavern. It wouldn't have surprised him. He'd already eaten some of his rations a few hours ago, but the physical duress and sleep fatigue made his body demand more.

After a few more agonizing seconds the last of the goblins passed without hearing his stomach's insistence. Alphonse breathed a quiet, relieved sigh and lowered his hands.

He waited a full five minutes. No other sounds. Clear.

He pushed himself up and examined the canted wall behind him. It would expose him to the path above on one side, but he saw little choice other than backtracking. The latter was highly undesirable, as he'd barely snuck past the ogres guarding the previous area.

He climbed the lower portion of the wall and settled himself into a narrow crevasse. He pressed his back against it, rested his feet on the other side and shimmied up the rest of the way. The rock dug into his back, and he felt a warmth crawl down his skin as an old cut reopened.

Alphonse ignored the pain and forced himself up inch by painful inch. He pushed off when he reached the top and gripped the ledge on the opposite side. His undershirt clung uncomfortably to his back from the reopened cuts oozing small but consistent flows of blood. He planted his feet against the wall and hoisted himself over the edge just enough to get a quick glimpse of the terrain.

His breath caught in his throat when he saw what awaited him. A few yards away slept a number of strange wolf-like creatures. They definitely weren't like the wolves he'd seen from his world. Spikes trailed their spines and stuck through matted fur. The curved nails on their paws were like those of a large reptile.

He considered sneaking past the sleeping monsters when a low growl came from somewhere to his right. He nearly lost his grip, and for a few seconds his body froze in place. Alphonse managed to turn his head slowly and saw one of the beasts lowered to the floor with its snout curled into a snarl. He stared dumbstruck until the monster raised its head and howled at the cavern's ceiling. The signal was obvious. The deranged shrieks of goblins joined in from somewhere, and the rest of the wolves roused themselves from sleep.

Alphonse didn't think. He dropped back down into the gap as the beast leaped forward. Its jaws snapped at the empty air a second after its prey vanished.

The adventurer climbed out of the alcove and scrambled to the path above. Already the goblins were rushing in from the tunnels on either side. They waved their clubs wildly and readied crude bows. The heavy thuds of ogre feet shook the ground.

There was nowhere to go. End of the line. The wolves stared down from above with what seemed like a satisfied smirk as they panted and howled.

The only means of escape was the gaping pit on the opposite side of the path. All that greeted Alphonse's eyes was darkness.

He hastily released a clasp attached to his waist and removed a thick length of rope with a set of three curved, steel appendages at the end. A grappling hook. He loosened the string tied to the appendages that kept them from swinging against his leg.

He didn't know how deep the pit was, but he figured releasing at a lower angle was his best option. If he managed to swing himself sideways while jumping, he might be able to reduce the impact hitting the opposite wall. He examined the tips of stalagmites piercing the darkness that the grapple could hook to. It was a major gamble, but he saw no other options. He had one shot.

Alphonse steadied his hands and twirled the end of the grapple in a controlled circle. He released and a satisfying clank echoed as it hooked to a stalagmite. Alphonse followed through with his hand forward to keep the tension and gave the rope a few quick tugs.

A volley of arrows missed their marks and clattered at his feet. One glanced off his boot and dared him to jump. So he did.

He managed the correct angle for his descent. The edge of his boots scraped against a massive stalagmite that had been hidden within the darkness, but it managed to work in his favor. His momentum slowed somewhat, and he collided with the opposite wall. He let out a gasp as the air forced from his lungs. Some protruding rocks scraped his skin and tore off flesh on one elbow.

It hurt. Bad.

He swayed back and forth a few times before going still. The tall stalagmite, as well as the accompanying dark, concealed him from the path above. Below he saw nothing but more inky blackness. He considered what threats might be lying in wait. Perhaps the ground was riddled with nothing but sharp rocks. Maybe there was an underground water source home to some creatures like alligators. Maybe it was simply far enough to break his legs or make him go splat.

Alphonse started to wish he had bought some climbing tools. But one could only carry so much in this world. Unfortunately, there was no magical, convenient inventory system like in some video game. No special holographic menu for bringing items into existence. Adventurers could only carry what their body allowed them.

He remained suspended there for a few minutes. Soon it would be pointless. His arms would give out, and he'd drop anyway. At least if he dropped now he might have some energy left over in case more monsters showed up. He started to wonder if a path winded down from the tunnels he'd already traversed. He cursed himself as the thought dawned on him. The monsters could be waiting for him right now. He'd fall right into their greedy, nasty little hands.

Fuck it, he thought.

Alphonse let go of the rope and fell into the darkness.

---

Three days now, he guessed.

Alphonse limped through the suffocating blackness. He'd been in the accursed dark ever since he took that daring, desperate plunge.

He'd been lucky. The wall had curved slightly as he fell and turned into a more natural decline. The end result was less lucky. He'd slammed into an outcropping of rock and a sharp spear of stone impaled his left leg.

He had let out a long, angry scream that suppressed the catastrophic pain. He screamed for his terrible situation. He cursed his betrayer and the party members who left him behind. He raged at the realization that his chances of survival were next to none.

Outworlders had seen what happened when one of their fellows perished. They simply became...nothing. Their bodies vanished from Hovestile as if they had never existed there in the first place. The leading theory was that outworlders returned to their own world with no way back. There was no respawn. No return. No second chances. For some, returning to Earth may as well be worse than death.

Alphonse didn't want to go back to Earth. That world died long ago for him, before it started lacking resources and descended into chaos. It died when there was no longer a place for him to call home.

I-I'm not going back. Alphonse took the final swig from his waterskin. He choked and was racked by a terrible, rasping cough as sudden bile mixed with the fluid. The heat rose in his throat, and the rations he ate a few minutes earlier splattered on the cavern floor.

"God-fucking dammit," he gasped as he wiped a hand over his mouth.

He propped himself against the wall and leaned forward slightly to assist his airways as he took deep breaths. A few minutes later, after his breathing calmed somewhat, he moved on.

The lack of weight on his person was palpable. Supplies were limited. The damage done to his armor and the missing portions of his gear made him feel naked.

When the pain in his leg became too much to bear he sat down and started running a check on his inventory: one healing potion, a few grams of curing ivy, a short sword and another day's worth of rations. No arrows, and it didn't matter if he scavenged some since his bow had splintered after the brutal fall. His grapple was gone. It didn't work like in some fantasy stories where the hook attached and detached. It was a length of rope with a piece of metal stuck on whatever it latched to. In real life, some things are a one and done deal.

Reality, Alphonse thought. He pondered the word a bit even if it was a waste of energy. This last chance for something real was born of a fantasy. Mankind's journey to the stars had been a fantasy too, he reasoned. Unfortunately, the culmination of such exploration had failed. He felt like he was a part of all these failures. The Hovestile Project – the undertaking for the salvation of Earth – he was a part of it no matter how much he tried to separate himself.

Alphonse's eyelids went heavy as he considered these thoughts. He wanted to stay here. Even after all the hardship, he didn't want to let go.

Sleep beckoned him.

---

A floating orb of light woke him from a dreamless rest. In this empty place where time eluded him even a few hours felt sufficient.

Alphonse attempted to raise his hand to shield the light but found that he was still too weak to muster the effort. His battered leg refused to obey his will. The other enervated, but healthy, leg, scraped feebly against the stone as he attempted to push himself into an upright position. The pommel of his shortsword wedged somewhere against the wall and insistently held him in place.

The outworld adventurer interpreted all these impeding factors as a cruel hint from the universe telling him to stay put.

The orb moved close enough to reveal a shape behind it. He could tell that it was something vaguely humanoid, an individual too tall to be a goblin. Far too short and lean to be an ogre. He doubted that there was an adventurer like himself stuck so deep in the dungeon. In a place like this, he could only assume it was something come to kill him.

So that's it, Alphonse thought. I lose...huh.

A tear trailed down his cheek. He finally submitted to his deepest fear: going back to that broken Earth.

The silhouette behind the floating orb stopped about a dozen feet from him. Alphonse could make out the shape of a head, two arms and a hand held up flexing five fingers. Every movement suggested a human, until the figure took a few steps closer.

Alphonse started questioning his eyes as a pair of ears seemed to stick out the top of the person's head. They flicked a couple times. The head tilted. The figure moved a few steps closer again.

He had a grasp of what he was seeing. It was definitely humanoid, very much akin to a human in almost every aspect. He could also tell that he was looking at a young woman perhaps around his age. She wore a set of armor with a chestplate that shaped to the contours of her body. A fine cape was clipped to her shoulders with brunette hair trailing the layered pauldrons. A battle skirt was attached to tightly-knit chainmail over her stomach. Long black, thick stockings covered her legs.

Alphonse was first drawn to her pretty face, but then the movement on top of her head seized his attention.

Ears? Wait...cat ears? he thought. He'd seen a few of these beings before when he wandered around the capital city. They were referred to as beastkin, or demihuman.

She pursed her lips and stared at him with hard, blue eyes; their thin pupils narrowed further as she plainly focused on his wounds. A brown tail swayed behind her and brushed the ground. If not for the ears, eyes and tail she would've looked like a regular, attractive human female.

“Native or Outworld?” she asked. Her voice was soft and pleasant, but also held a bit of a disparaging tone.

Alphonse opened his mouth to speak, but words eluded him. A mix of exhaustion and wonderment took over his senses.

The young woman frowned. “You look awful.”

Whether it was his own will or her blunt tone, Alphonse wasn't sure, but something spurred him to speak, “Y-yeah. Been running.” It was all he could think to say. He knew the words sounded dumb as soon as they left him, but he didn't have the will to care.

“Where are your friends?” she asked.

A humorless laugh escaped him, and he fell into a coughing fit before he answered, “'Friends?' Ha! Left me. Used me as bait.”

Her frown deepened and flashed a side of teeth. One sharp tooth overlapped her lip. “Disgusting. Pathetic.”

He waited for her to say more, but she just continued to stare at him, as if he were something to be pitied. The way she gazed at him started prodding at his nerves. It encouraged him to ease his back against the wall and use it as support. He shifted his one working leg underneath him and managed to stand. He applied a bit of weight to his injured side and found that he could still bend his knee a bit without too much resistance.

The feline beastkin's frown reversed upon seeing this. “Well now, that's better.”

Alphonse managed a tired grin. “Yeah. I assume you don't plan on killing me?”

She scoffed. “That would be a waste.”

“Is that right?”

“Yup.”

Her matter of fact tone kept him on his heels. He didn't know what to think of this woman. Questions assaulted his tired mind: What was her game? What was she doing in this godforsaken place?

She seemed to read the look on his face and raised a hand. “Save your questions for later. Lady Rinka will answer them.”

“L-Lady Rinka?”

The woman approached him until she was mere inches from his face. Alphonse attempted to back away, but the wall held him in place to face her.

“No more questions. Save your strength," she said.

He held his hands up in defeat. “Okay, sure. Whatever you say.”

She slid next to him, grabbed one of his arms and slung it over her shoulders. He almost instinctively pulled away, but the fog of fatigue suggested otherwise. Being so close to her, he noticed a spiked, tan mark that traveled along her cheek. A similar one was on the other side.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that he realized he was being saved. He might make it out of this place. The warmth in his chest built up and filled with hope.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Yeah, sure,” she muttered.