[Day 2601]
I returned to the survival shelter. The deer's words still echoed in my mind, like fragments of a dream refusing to fade.
Philip walked beside me, quiet as usual. I broke the silence first.
"Philip... what happened to vehicles, guns, all that tech?"
He looked at me with tired eyes. "Most of it became worthless here. We ran out of fuel within weeks. And guns? Not enough ammunition, and even if we had some… tell me, how do you kill a beast the size of a house with a bullet?"
I said nothing. There wasn't anything to say.
The rest of the day passed in silence. I helped with a few tasks, mostly wandered the edges of the barricade. When it got dark, I didn't go back to the hut. I just lay under the stars, watching the heavens drift like slow flames in a dying hearth.
The deer. That thing.
I replayed everything it had said, over and over. That pressure it gave off—unnatural. The way it healed, absorbing life from nearby plants. The controlled bursts of energy, the subtle warping of gravity when it moved. That body that wouldn't die even if you struck its heart.
And yet… it was weakened. There was no doubt.
Could I strike it down? No. Not yet. Not without knowing where it came from. And most of all… who was Aldric? Why did the monocle man want him dead so badly?
I eventually drifted to sleep, the stars flickering in my vision like burning questions without answers.
By morning, I had made up my mind.
"Philip," I said, "gather everyone. All survivors."
He raised an eyebrow but obeyed without question.
They assembled quickly. Word of my command spread fast these days. When I arrived, they had made a makeshift throne out of scavenged wood and scrap metal. It sat atop a raised wooden platform—primitive, but respectable.
I sat on it.
Philip stood beside me, silent and loyal, the old man's face carved from stone.
Before me stood all the survivors, and I saw them not as one group—but as many.
"Philip," I said calmly, "I want you to separate them. Not by name or rank—but by world. I want to know where each of them came from."
It took time. But eventually, four distinct groups emerged from the crowd.
Group One was from Philip and Cecil's world. A world that once held flickers of electricity, flickers of resistance. Their technology was far inferior to mine. Steam-age relics and pre-modern ideals. But their survival instincts were impressive.
Group Two came from a world that resembled medieval Europe. That one was obvious. Noah stood among them, his armor rusted, his blade nicked, but his posture proud. They spoke of knights and castles, of feudal lords and kings. A world steeped in sword and honor.
Group Three intrigued me most.
They were… newer. From a world much more advanced than even mine. A few of them were still learning our common language. Some had strange devices, now broken, and they spoke of AI, planetary networks, starcraft. One even brought a camera—which I took for study. A few among them whispered of a world where martial arts were born from technology. A hybrid of science and spirit. One of them described beasts and warriors clashing for dominance in vast megacities. Their presence reminded me of the deer—powerful, refined, but broken and scattered.
Group Four was closest to my heart.
They came from a world like mine. An internet era, perhaps a few decades behind. Phones, memes, sarcasm, and confusion. Most of them were ill-equipped to survive in this world, but they were adapting fast.
A few scattered individuals remained outside the groups—lost in language, isolated. We would reach them eventually but the point is not all of them come from ruined worlds like philip and cecil.
After this, I gave orders.
Clear more trees. Expand the barricades. Fortify every entrance.
I formed new scouting groups—to map the nearby areas, search for food, water, and old ruins. I assigned watch teams to keep an eye on the deer at all times. I wanted no mistakes.
And like a divine decree, my words echoed across the clearing.
They moved instantly. No one questioned me.
Tools were forged. Bows and arrows crafted. The "Crow's Bows" were improved, their power enough to take down small beasts now. We built traps, watchtowers, smoke signals. The ruins became restricted zones. Only authorized scouts were allowed near.
The shelter began to change—from a crumbling refugee camp into a rising fortress.
And as for me?
They worshipped me.
I sat beneath swaying palm fans, carried and waved by willing hands. My food came warm and fresh. I didn't ask for any of it. They offered—and I didn't refuse.
I was treated as a living god.
But somewhere deep down, I still missed the hum of an electric kettle. The softness of bedsheets. The quiet beep of a microwave.
I looked out over the crowds of people, rebuilding a new world from the shattered remains of many.
And I knew, this was only the beginning.