Ahmed Khan wiped the sweat from his brow as he cycled down the dusty roads of Kot Addu. The sun hung high in the sky like a relentless forge, baking the flat alluvial plains that stretched out endlessly around him. It was mid-summer, and temperatures had soared past 45 degrees Celsius, turning the air into a shimmering haze. Dust storms were common this time of year, whipping up fine particles from the parched earth and coating everything in a layer of grit. Ahmed pedaled harder, his white shalwar kameez clinging to his skin, soaked through with perspiration.
Kot Addu, his home, was a city of contrasts. Nestled in the southern part of Punjab province, Pakistan, near the mighty Indus River, it was a place where ancient history met modern industry. The city owed its name to Addu Khan Mirani, a tribal leader from centuries ago, and its roots stretched back to around 1500 AD. With a population exceeding 104,000, it buzzed with life—farmers tending to fields of wheat, cotton, sugarcane, rice, maize, and vibrant orchards bursting with mangoes, citrus, guavas, and pomegranates. The land was irrigated by the Muzaffar and T.P. Link canals, drawing life-giving water from the Indus, making agriculture the backbone of the local economy.
But Kot Addu was more than just farms. It was an industrial hub, home to the Kot Addu Power Company (KAPCO) and the Lalpir Thermal Power Station, which lit up much of Pakistan's grid. The Pak Arab Oil Refinery (PARCO), the country's largest, hummed with activity, processing crude into fuel. Cottage industries thrived too, with skilled artisans creating intricate Kundra embroidery and other handicrafts that were sold in markets far and wide.
Ahmed, at 22 years old, was a typical young man of the city. Born and raised in a modest home on the outskirts, he spoke Saraiki fluently, the melodic language of southern Punjab, laced with influences from neighboring Multan. Urdu was his second tongue, used in school and official matters, while Punjabi echoed in conversations with friends from the north. English? He knew enough from his studies at a local college affiliated with Bahauddin Zakariya University, where he pursued a degree in electrical engineering. His dream was to work at KAPCO one day, contributing to the energy sector that powered his nation.
Life in Kot Addu was collectivist, as was much of Pakistani culture. Family and community came first. Ahmed lived with his parents, two younger sisters, and an elderly grandmother in a simple brick house surrounded by mango trees. Mornings began with the call to prayer from the nearby mosque, a reminder of the predominantly Muslim population. Hospitality was a core value—guests were treated like royalty, offered sweet tea, fresh fruits, and stories of local legends. Ahmed remembered tales of Pathanay Khan, the legendary Saraiki folk singer born in Kot Addu, whose soulful renditions of Sufi poetry still echoed in cultural festivals. Or Hina Rabbani Khar, the former foreign minister, a symbol of the city's political prowess.
Today, Ahmed was heading to the Taunsa Barrage, about 16 kilometers away, for a rare day off. The barrage, a massive structure on the Indus, was a popular spot for locals to escape the heat. He packed a small bag with mangoes from his family's orchard, some parathas his mother had made, and a bottle of water. The road took him past public gardens, shrines like that of Mai Maharban, and the tomb of Shah Ali Akbar—places steeped in spiritual significance.
As he approached the river, the air grew cooler, carrying the scent of water and wet earth. The Indus flowed powerfully, its waters a lifeline for the region. Ahmed parked his bicycle near a cluster of trees and walked to the barrage's edge. Families picnicked nearby, children laughing as they splashed in shallow pools. He found a quiet spot, sat on the concrete ledge, and gazed at the horizon.
His mind wandered to his future. College was tough; exams loomed, and the pressure to succeed weighed heavily. "Ya Allah, guide me," he whispered in prayer, a habit ingrained from childhood. The culture here emphasized loyalty to family and community—interdependence was key. Ahmed helped on the farm when needed, plowing fields or harvesting cotton under the brutal sun.
Suddenly, the sky darkened unnaturally. A dust storm? No, this was different. The wind howled, but instead of sand, a swirling vortex of iridescent light appeared before him. Colors danced—blues, greens, purples—like a portal from the video games he played on his old phone. Ahmed's heart raced. "What is this?" he muttered in Saraiki.
Before he could back away, an invisible force pulled him in. The world spun, his body tumbling through void. Flashes of strange landscapes assaulted his senses: towering castles, winged creatures, forests alive with magic. Pain surged through him, as if his very essence was being rewritten.
Then, blackness.
When Ahmed awoke, the heat was gone. Cool grass tickled his skin, and the air smelled of pine and wildflowers. He sat up, disoriented. His clothes were the same, but his body felt… different. Stronger, taller, more vital. His skin glowed faintly, and a strange energy coursed through his veins.
A translucent screen materialized before his eyes, like a heads-up display from an RPG game:
Welcome to Elandria, Traveler.
Race: High Human
Level: 1
Class: Unassigned
Sign-In System Activated. Sign in at locations to receive rewards.
Ahmed blinked, rubbing his eyes. "This can't be real," he said aloud. But it was. He had been isekai'd—transported to another world, just like in those web novels he read late at night.
Standing, he surveyed his surroundings. A lush forest stretched out, with trees taller than any in Pakistan. In the distance, a mountain range pierced the clouds, and strange birds with iridescent feathers soared overhead. This was no Kot Addu; this was high fantasy.
As the reality sank in, the system pinged again:
First Sign-In Location: Ancient Forest Glade.
Reward: Basic Survival Kit (Water Flask, Dagger, Map of Nearby Areas). Skill: Language Comprehension (All Elandrian Tongues).
Ahmed felt items materialize in his hands—a simple dagger, a flask, and a parchment map. Words in an unknown script became readable: "Welcome to the Kingdom of Eldoria."
His adventure had begun. But deep down, amid the excitement and fear, he longed for home—the dusty streets, the call to prayer, the taste of ripe mangoes. Could he find a way back? Or was this his new fate?