The temple of M'lod was a monument to patience and devotion carved from living stone.
Misaki had noticed the architecture when he first entered, but now, as he settled into his third meditation session of the day, he took the time to truly observe his surroundings. The walls were made of pale grey stone, not constructed with blocks but rather hewn directly from the natural outcropping that formed the temple's foundation. Every surface bore intricate carvings—symbols of the seven chakras intertwined with representations of the twelve celestial bodies, their patterns flowing across the stone like frozen rivers.
Bronze bells hung from the ceiling at precise intervals, suspended by chains that disappeared into the shadows of the dome above. They didn't ring—at least not that Misaki had heard—but their presence created a sense of anticipation, as if the entire space waited for some cosmic signal to set them singing. Incense burners sat at each of the seven concentric rings, releasing thin streams of aromatic smoke that spiraled upward in the still air. The scent was complex: woody and sweet with undertones of something sharp that cleared the mind.
Oil lamps lined the walls, their flames steady and bright despite the lack of visible draft. The light they cast was warm and golden, painting everything in soft illumination that made the carved symbols seem to shift and breathe with life.
Around the chamber, villagers engaged in their spiritual practices. Some knelt before small altars built into alcoves, hands pressed together in prayer as they whispered devotions to planetary deities Misaki didn't yet know. Others meditated in various postures—sitting, kneeling, lying flat—their faces serene with concentration. A few performed slow, deliberate movements that looked like a hybrid of martial arts and dance, their bodies flowing through forms that must have held spiritual significance.
And in the midst of it all, Misaki sat with his eyes closed and focused on his breathing.
In. Out. In. Out.
The wild horse of his mind had calmed somewhat over the past few hours. The thoughts still came—they always came—but he was getting better at acknowledging them and letting them pass. The priest's advice had helped. Don't fight. Just return to the breath.
In. Out. In. Out.
There. The warmth again, flickering to life in his solar plexus. This time it felt stronger, more defined. It pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, a small sun burning in the center of his chest.
[SPIRITUAL PROGRESS DETECTED]
[Manipura Chakra: Stirring (2%)]
[Meditation enhances natural healing processes]
[Recovery time reduced: 2 days → 1 day]
Misaki's eyes remained closed, but he felt a smile tug at his lips. Progress. Real, measurable progress.
He stayed in meditation for another hour, riding the gentle rhythm of his breath, feeling that warmth in his chest grow incrementally stronger. By the time Lyria touched his shoulder to signal the end of the session, the sun—Ulth'rk—had sunk even lower on the horizon, painting the world outside in deep amber and crimson.
"You're improving," Lyria observed as they walked back to her hut. "I can see it in your posture. You're carrying yourself with more energy."
Misaki nodded. "I can feel it too. The meditation... it's actually working. My wound barely hurts anymore, and I feel stronger."
"The body responds to spiritual cultivation," Lyria explained. "When you begin to open your chakra channels, even slightly, it enhances your natural vitality. Most people experience this as children and take it for granted. For you, it must be quite noticeable."
Back in the hut, Lyria had him sit on the edge of the bedding while she examined his wound. Her hands glowed with that familiar golden light as she carefully unwrapped the bandages. Misaki looked down and was amazed to see that the entry point of the impalement had shrunk to a pink, puckered scar. The skin around it was healthy, showing none of the inflammation or discoloration he'd expected.
"Remarkable," Lyria murmured. "At this rate, you'll be fully healed by tomorrow evening. The meditation accelerated your recovery significantly." She rewrapped the wound with fresh bandages, her movements practiced and efficient. "Continue your reading while I prepare the evening meal. The more you understand about this world, the better equipped you'll be to navigate it."
Misaki settled back against the wall and retrieved the lexicon, opening it to where he'd left off. The next section detailed the village of M'lod itself and the surrounding region.
M'lod Village - Population approximately 340 residents. Primary industries: logging (Rulwood), farming (starc, mountain root, various herbs), minor dungeon harvesting. The village sits at the edge of the Rulwood Forest, a vast expanse of common timber that provides the nation of Ul'varh'mir with construction materials and fuel. While Rulwood itself is not particularly valuable, the forest occasionally yields pockets of rare wood varieties that can be sold to the capital for significant profit.
Misaki turned the page and found a detailed illustration of a massive tree with dark bark and broad leaves. The text beneath it read:
Rulwood (Common) - The most abundant tree species in Ul'varh'mir. Grows rapidly, reaching maturity in 15-20 years. Wood is serviceable for construction but lacks the durability and special properties of rare varieties. Burns cleanly and hot, making it excellent for fuel and charcoal production.
The following pages detailed the rare woods, each with its own illustration and description:
Tra'vvv (Rare Wood) - Found only in specific groves near the capital. Extremely dense and resistant to both physical damage and magical corruption. Used primarily for high-quality weapons, shields, and protective talismans. A single Tra'vvv log can fetch prices equivalent to a year's wages for a common laborer.
Tra'inki (Elastic Wood) - Possesses unusual flexibility while maintaining structural integrity. Used for bows, siege equipment, and specialized construction where shock absorption is required. Harvesting is dangerous as the wood can snap back violently if cut improperly.
Tra'ji (Fire Wood) - Burns with exceptional heat and duration. A single log can fuel a forge for an entire day. The smoke produced has minor magical properties that some smiths claim improve the quality of worked metal.
Misaki was absorbed in reading about Tra'űlth'x̌o—the ship wood that grew only on mountain peaks—when he turned the page and froze.
The illustration showed a humanoid figure, but wrong. Its skin was gray and mottled, hanging loose on the bones. Empty eye sockets stared from a skeletal face, and the hands ended in blackened claws. The text above it read simply: THE UNDEAD
He scanned the entries, his stomach tightening as he read the names:
Shy'kan - Basic undead. Former humans reanimated through dark magic or natural corruption. Slow-moving but numerous. Weak to fire and blessed weapons.
Shy'myr - Advanced undead. Retains some combat instincts from life. Faster and more coordinated than Shy'kan. Often leads small groups.
Shy'kran - Elite undead. Possesses fragments of magical ability from its previous life. Extremely dangerous. Can sometimes cast basic chakra-based attacks.
Shy'gor - Beast undead. Reanimated animals, usually Vro family predators. Maintains predatory instincts. Hunts in packs.
The list continued with increasingly disturbing variants. Misaki looked up as Lyria returned, carrying a tray laden with food.
"What are these?" he asked, gesturing to the page. "The undead. Shy'kan, Shy'kran... why do they all share the same naming pattern?"
Lyria's expression darkened. She set the tray down and settled into her chair with a heavy sigh. "Because they were all once people of M'lod. The 'Shy' prefix denotes our village. When someone dies and returns as undead, they retain fragments of their former identity, including their naming convention."
A chill ran down Misaki's spine. "You mean these are... your people? Former villagers?"
"Were," Lyria corrected quietly. "Once a year, at the height of the dark season when Ulth'rk hangs at its lowest point and the night cycle extends to thirty hours, the undead rise. They emerge from the Rulwood Forest and attack any settlement they can reach. M'lod, being on the forest's edge, bears the brunt of it."
She stood and moved to the small window, gazing out at the village. "The capital sends minimal support. A few soldiers, some blessed weapons, basic supplies. They consider us a buffer—a sacrifice to keep the undead from reaching more valuable territories. Every year we lose people. Families. Friends. And every year those same people return the following dark season as undead, wearing the faces we loved but filled with nothing but hunger and rage."
Misaki felt his throat tighten. "How long has this been happening?"
"Generations. Centuries, perhaps. The undead are a fact of life in Ul'varh'mir, but they hit the frontier villages hardest." Lyria turned back to him, her amber eyes reflecting deep weariness. "Five years ago was the worst in living memory. The undead came early and in unprecedented numbers. We lost nearly a third of the village in three days. Chief Shy'yao's own son fell defending the eastern barricade. The next year, Shy'yao the Younger returned as one of them. The chief had to watch his son burned on a pyre after we finally brought him down."
The silence that followed was heavy and oppressive. Misaki looked down at the lexicon, at the illustrations of shambling corpses, and felt a new understanding of the danger this world presented. This wasn't just fantasy adventure. This was survival against existential threats that returned like clockwork.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "That's... I can't imagine."
Lyria managed a weak smile. "We endure. We adapt. And we hope that one day, someone will find a way to end the cycle permanently." She gestured to the tray. "But enough darkness for now. You need to eat."
The tray held a wooden plate piled with roasted meat, a mound of mashed starc topped with herbs, and a thick slice of dark bread. Beside it sat a clay mug filled with amber liquid that smelled yeasty and slightly sweet.
"Rook'wook roasted with redcooil pepper," Lyria explained, pointing to the meat. "The Rook'wook is a small bird we raise in coops. High in protein, helps rebuild muscle. The redcooil pepper aids circulation and chakra flow. The starc provides complex carbohydrates for sustained energy, and the sha'ku'shuk herbs I've mixed in will continue supporting your spiritual channel development. The bread is Thornbread—made from ground mountain root. It's dense and filling. And the drink is Ur'geriw ale. Mild fermentation, good for digestion, and it contains minerals that strengthen bones."
Misaki picked up the mug and took a cautious sip. The ale was smooth and slightly fruity, with a pleasant warmth that spread through his chest. "Everything here has purpose beyond just taste."
"Food is medicine, medicine is food," Lyria quoted. "We don't have the luxury of eating purely for pleasure. Every meal is chosen to support health and power development."
Misaki tore into the meal with enthusiasm, savoring the complex flavors. The Rook'wook was gamey and rich, the pepper adding a pleasant heat. The starc was creamy and herb-laced, and even the dense Thornbread had a nutty quality that grew on him.
Between bites, Lyria studied him with curious eyes. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Your hair. It's so short. Almost shaved. Is that common where you're from?"
Misaki ran a hand over his buzz cut and chuckled. "It's practical for space travel. Long hair in zero gravity is a nightmare—it floats everywhere, gets in your eyes, clogs air filters. Most astronauts keep their hair short. I just went shorter than most."
"Zero gravity," Lyria repeated, testing the words. "A place where things don't fall. I still struggle to imagine it."
"It's strange at first. Everything floats, including you. You have to strap yourself down to sleep, and eating requires special preparation so food doesn't drift away." Misaki smiled at the memories. "But there's something beautiful about it too. The way light moves through liquids, the perfect spheres water forms, the sensation of floating without effort..."
"It sounds both wonderful and terrifying." Lyria leaned forward. "Tell me more about your world. About Earth. What was it like?"
For the next hour, between bites of food and sips of ale, Misaki painted pictures with words. He told her about cities of steel and glass that stretched toward the sky, about vehicles that moved without beasts to pull them, about devices that let people communicate across vast distances instantly. He described oceans that covered most of the planet, about the single moon that orbited Earth, about the International Space Station where he'd trained.
Lyria listened with rapt attention, occasionally asking questions that showed how alien his descriptions must sound to her.
Finally, she asked the question he'd been expecting: "Do you want to go back?"
Misaki laughed—a genuine, full-throated laugh that surprised even himself. "No. Honestly? I don't think I do."
Lyria blinked in surprise. "But your home—"
"Was a place I was trying to escape," Misaki interrupted gently. "I grew up in an orphanage. No family, no real connections. I joined the space program because I wanted to find something bigger than the loneliness. And now..." He gestured around the hut, to the village beyond. "I've found it. Magic is real. There are monsters and dungeons and powers I can't even imagine yet. And yes, it's dangerous, but it's also alive in a way Earth never was for me. I'm already loving it here."
Lyria's expression softened into something warm and genuine. "I'm glad. Though you should know—loving it here won't make survival any easier. Which brings me to a practical matter." She set down her own mug and fixed him with a serious look. "As soon as you're fully healed, you'll need to find work. The village has been generous in caring for you, but that generosity won't last forever. You'll need to contribute."
"What kind of work is available?" Misaki asked.
"Depends on your abilities and interests. Once your chakra affinities manifest, you might qualify for combat roles—helping defend against beasts or joining dungeon expeditions. Those pay well but are obviously dangerous. If you have crafting aptitude, Torran the blacksmith is always looking for apprentices. Same with Millia the cook, or Shorn the builder."
She counted off on her fingers. "There's logging in the Rulwood Forest, though that requires strength and endurance you might not have yet. Farming is always an option—we need people to tend the starc fields and mountain root terraces. The scouts division led by Vellin takes people with good observation skills and light builds. And then there's general labor—hauling, cleaning, maintenance work. It doesn't pay much, but it's steady."
Misaki absorbed this information, his mind already turning over possibilities. "What about someone with engineering knowledge? Technical skills?"
Lyria tilted her head thoughtfully. "That's... unusual. We don't have many technical specialists outside the capital. But if you can apply your knowledge practically—improving tools, designing better structures, solving mechanical problems—the village council might create a position for you. You'd have to prove your worth first."
"Challenge accepted," Misaki said with a grin.
Lyria smiled back. "Good. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, if your wound has healed as I expect, we'll start discussing specifics. For now, finish reading that lexicon. The more you know, the more valuable you'll be."
After she left, Misaki returned to the book, reading by lamplight as the night cycle deepened outside. He learned about the village's defensive structures, about the seasonal patterns of beast migrations, about the rare herbs that grew in specific conditions.
But his mind kept returning to Lyria's words. Find work. Prove his worth. Contribute to the community.
He could do that. He would do that.
This was his world now. Time to start making his place in it.
[QUEST UPDATE: Survive and Adapt]
[Objective: Recover from Injuries (Progress: 90%)]
[Objective: Study the World (Progress: 25%)]
[New Objective: Integrate into Village Society]
Misaki smiled and kept reading.