Daylight filtered through the cave mouth in golden beams, illuminating motes of dust that danced in the warm air. Nightborne took a slow breath, filling his lungs with the scent of damp earth and fresh pine. This wasn't the diner kitchen back on Earth, nor was it the lifeless rock face he'd left behind in Warp 1. Here, the island thrived in vibrant green—an entire world rewound two centuries.
He stood and stretched, every muscle protesting, then glanced around the cave. Mossy stones formed natural benches; a shallow depression held the charred remains of old campfires. He knelt to gather dry ferns and broken sticks, arranging a small bundle on flat rocks near the entrance. With flint, he coaxed sparks to life until flames flickered, crackling in a bright, welcoming glow.
Just as he settled beside the fire, the distant laughter of children drifted through the trees—a sound he hadn't heard since childhood. It pulled him to his feet.
Without a sound, he flattened against the cave wall, activated his Shadow Blend, and drew one Flying Shadow Dagger from his belt. Whispering the command word "Anchor," he sent it sailing; it embedded itself in a sturdy oak twenty feet away. In a heartbeat, he teleported to the tree's lower branch.
From this vantage, he saw two children—one boy, one girl—splashing in a gently flowing river. Their bare feet kicked up droplets that shone like diamonds in the morning sun. Each carried a small wicker basket, pausing now and then to fill it with berries or pebbles.
Nightborne held his breath as he watched them for twenty minutes. They played hide‑and‑seek along the riverbank, racing through knee‑high water before ducking beneath overhanging vines. They paused at a fallen log bridge, balancing across it like experts, then giggled as they plucked wildflowers.
When the children finally pushed away from the water's edge and followed a dirt path into the forest, Nightborne deactivated his blend. He slipped from the branch to the ground and walked the same path, careful not to disturb leaf litter or snap twigs.
His journey led him through sunlit clearings and groves of birch until the trees parted, revealing a countryside village nestled in a shallow valley. Thatch‑roofed cottages clustered around a central square. Smoke curled from stone chimneys, and laundry fluttered on lines between posts. Chickens scratched for bugs in pens; cows munched clover in shaded fields; pig‑like animals with bristly coats plodded past.
Down by the river's widened bend, a wooden fishing boat drifted in, oarsmen hauling nets heavy with silver fish. The catch was unloaded by a group of villagers who laughed and joked as they dipped baskets into cool water and dragged them ashore.
Nightborne took a deep breath and strode into the square. His boots stirred dust from the cobbles, and heads turned. Some villagers paused in their chores; others hurried by, eyes on their work. He forced himself to relax, lifted his chin, and approached a stone well at the center.
An old woman in a faded shawl sat on its edge, weaving a basket from willow twigs. She looked up and studied him—her sharp gaze softened into a welcoming smile.
"You must be new," she said, voice warm. "I'm Bertha. Come share our morning meal."
"Thank you. I'm… just passing through," he replied.
She patted the spot beside her. "Nothing wrong with that. Folks here are friendly."
Nearby, a dozen villagers gathered bowls of porridge and cups of sweet nettle tea. Nightborne accepted a bowl from a kindly baker and took a seat on a wooden bench. He sipped the steaming liquid and tasted hints of honey and wild oats.
"Where are you headed?" asked a tall man with leathered hands. He held a fishing net coiled over his shoulder.
"Just exploring," Nightborne said. "I woke up different today." He gestured to the cave behind him.
They nodded, uninterested in details. Each had their own concerns—tending fields, mending roofs, teaching children. Between sips, he learned the village name: Greenwood Hollow. They spoke of spring planting, the upcoming festival of the two moons, and a strange rumor of shadows moving on their own at night.
After breakfast, Bertha invited him into her garden to help gather kindling and roast tubers in the hearth. While she braided sausages over open coals, Nightborne noticed the wooden door frame above the oven carved with runes—the same style he'd glimpsed in the ruined statue hall ages ago.
He pocketed a scrap of wood embossed with the symbols.
When the villagers returned to their tasks, he stepped aside and opened his system:
[Inventory: Direwolf's Claws; Blade of Forgiveness; ShadowSteel Daggers; Darkness Wire; Flying Shadow Daggers]
[New Ability Unlocked: Dark Domain — Lvl 1]
Conjure a sphere of impenetrable darkness around you and one target, forcing a one‑on‑one duel. Use shadows to your advantage. Each victory within Dark Domain grants experience to increase its radius and duration.
He closed the menu. Dark Domain. A perfect echo of the island's future trials.
By midafternoon, he offered to help the blacksmith, hauling coal and fetching tools. He traded wit with the baker, kneading dough for evening buns. The villagers treated him as kin—except for a few wary glances when shadows shifted near him.
As dusk approached, Greenwood Hollow glowed under the twin moons. The larger moon cast pale silver light; the smaller, a golden hue that flickered like candlelight. Nightborne thanked his hosts and set out to test his new ability.
He found a secluded glade where moonlight struggled to reach. Setting his daggers at his belt, he closed his eyes and focused on the patch of darkness within the trees.
"[Dark Domain]," he whispered, drawing a circle in the air that shimmered before vanishing.
The glade's shadows thickened, pressing inward until he could see only the faintest silhouette of his own hands
"Perfect," he said. "Now, where's my test subject?"
Nearby, a lone wolf‑like creature with glowing yellow eyes emerged, drawn by the magic. It snarled and lunged. Nightborne smirked and pressed his hand—the shadows obeyed, cocooning both of them. Inside, he moved unseen, striking with the ShadowSteel Daggers.
In seconds, the creature collapsed, dissolving into wisps that vanished into the dark. The domain dissolved in a ripple of black mist.
He slid open his system again:
[Inventory: Direwolf's Claws; Blade of Forgiveness; ShadowSteel Daggers; Darkness Wire; Flying Shadow Daggers] [Ability: Dark Domain — Level 1] [Description: Conjure a pitch‑black arena around you and one opponent for a one‑on‑one duel. Use the shadows to your advantage.] [Progress: 1/100 defeats in Dark Domain (99 remaining)]
Nightborne pocketed the small Tier 1 Energy Crystal he had retrieved and let the numbers sink in—he would need a hundred duels to truly master this arena.
"That's... going to be interesting," he muttered, closing the menu.
He returned to the village under the soft glow of the moons, carrying a small pelt and a Tier 1 Energy Crystal he'd retrieved. Bertha and the others eyed him curiously as he presented the pelt like a hunter's trophy.
"Where did you find that?" Bertha asked, impressed.
"Just out back," he said with a grin.
That night, he settled by a fire near the cave, splitting wood for morning and roasting a small meal. Greenwood Hollow slumbered peacefully below. Nightborne leaned back against a log, staring at the twin moons.
"This era might have a chance," he thought. "But I'll make sure the future has one too."
He closed his eyes, the rumble of distant wildlife lulling him to sleep.