Cold wind whipped against his face first, carrying the scent of damp earth and blooming pine.
Cohen opened his eyes, blinking against a brilliant, gold-tinted sunlight that felt entirely foreign. His boots sank into soft, mossy ground instead of the scorched bone-dust he had stood on only moments before.
Grey, glittering ash drifted off his tattered black cloak, swirling gently in the breeze. These tiny flakes were the physical remnants of his home world, clinging to his clothes like stubborn ghosts. He brushed his sleeve, watching the dead dust dissolve into the vibrant green grass of this new realm.
"Where..." he whispered, his voice cracking from weeks of silence. No answer came, only the cheerful chirping of insects and the gentle rustling of leaves overhead. Everything here was too bright, too alive, and it hurt his chest to look at it.
Slowly, he uncurled his left hand, exposing his pale, calloused palm. Resting there was a single, shriveled petal of a star-lily, once the national flower of his lost kingdom. It was dry, brittle, and drained of its brilliant sapphire hue, much like his own soul.
Grief surged through him, a heavy weight that threatened to crush his lungs. He closed his fingers over the fragile relic, squeezing gently so as not to turn it to dust. This small piece of trash was all he had left of a civilization that had once hailed him as their ultimate protector.
"I failed them," he muttered to the empty forest. His mind flashed to the image of the sky tearing open, of the absolute erasure that had devoured his friends, his family, and every mountain and sea he had sworn to guard. He had been strong enough to survive the apocalypse, but not strong enough to stop it.
Standing up straight, he took a deep breath of the foreign air. It tasted sweet, rich with a wild, untamed magic that pulsed through the very soil of Ertheria. This world was young, bursting with potential, a stark contrast to the decaying corpse of his homeland.
Deep within his chest, a massive reservoir of power stirred. It was a terrifying, cosmic force, capable of shattering continents with a simple thought. Cohen shuddered, quickly pulling his mental barriers tight, locking the energy behind heavy, imaginary iron doors.
"No more," he told himself, adjusting his tattered cloak to hide his sword hilt. He did not want to be a savior anymore, nor did he want to be a god. Anonymity was his only goal now, a quiet life where he could simply exist without the burden of everyone's survival on his shoulders.
Walking forward, his boots made soft thudding sounds on the forest floor. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting bright spots on the ancient, thick-trunked trees. He wanted to be a simple adventurer, a nameless traveler who took small requests and slept under the stars.
A stream gurgled nearby, its crystal-clear water rushing over smooth, colorful pebbles. Cohen knelt by the edge, scooping up a handful of the cold liquid to wash the grime from his face. His reflection stared back at him from the rippling surface.
Tired, dark eyes looked out from a face that was still relatively young, though his expression carried the weight of a thousand lifetimes. Silver streaks ran through his black hair, a permanent mark left by the raw energy he had channeled during his world's final hours. He splashed the water over his skin, shivering at the icy touch.
---
Birds flitted from branch to branch, their colorful feathers catching the light. Cohen watched them with a quiet fascination, his lips pulling into a faint, rare smile. Life went on, even when an entire universe had ceased to exist just beyond the veil of reality.
Flowers of deep violet and gold bloomed along the riverbank, exhaling a sweet, intoxicating perfume. He reached out to touch a leaf, noting how the plant hummed with a tiny, innocent spark of mana. This world’s magic was different—softer, more cooperative than the harsh, demanding energy of his past.
"If I am to live here, I must learn their ways," he murmured, rising back to his feet. His old clothes were ruined, the fabric scorched and stained with soot that refused to wash out. He looked like a survivor of a war, which was accurate, though the war had been lost completely.
Adjusting the leather strap of his scabbard, he felt the reassuring weight of his sword. It was an ordinary blade, devoid of any enchantments or divine blessings. He had intentionally chosen it from his vast armory before the end, wanting something humble to match his new life.
Quiet footsteps carried him deeper into the woods, away from the river. He focused on his breathing, using an ancient meditation technique to suppress his presence. To any passing beast or scout, he would seem like nothing more than a common peasant wandering the wilds.
He took a few steps forward, his boots sinking slightly into the rich loam. A soft, humming energy vibrated through the soles of his feet, connecting him to the earth. It felt like a warm welcome, a gentle invitation from a world that did not know his sins.
"I do not deserve this peace," he whispered, staring up at the golden canopy. His hands trembled slightly, the ghost of his failures still wrapping around his wrists like invisible chains.
Memories of the screams of his people flooded his mind as he remembered how the sky shattered into a million burning pieces. Standing in the center of the destruction, his hands had glowed with a power that could move stars, yet he had been completely helpless to save them.
Only he had survived, pulled through the dimensional rift by some cruel twist of fate. No divine voice had explained why he was spared, nor had his own stubborn magic allowed him the release of death. Either way, he was here now, a relic of a dead universe walking among the living.
"A fresh start," he said, the words tasting like ash on his tongue. Closing his eyes, he forced the horrific images back into the dark corners of his mind.
Moving forward was his only choice, a way to find a peaceful life with the hollow ache in his chest. If he could not save his own world, perhaps he could at least find a quiet corner in this one to exist in peace.
Haunting thoughts of his former life tried to claw their way back to the surface. He remembered the laughter of his disciples, the warm hearth of his cottage, and the bright blue sky that had once hung over his home.
Anger, cold and sharp, flared in his gut, but he quickly extinguished it. He could not afford to let his emotions run wild. A single slip of his concentration could unleash a shockwave of mana that would flatten this entire forest.
"Calm," he whispered, placing a hand over his heart. The steady beat beneath his palm was slow, deliberate, and entirely under his control. He had to remain a ghost, a passing breeze that left no trace behind.
Leaves crunched under his boots as he walked, the sound grounding him in the present. He looked up at the towering trees, marveling at how they seemed to touch the very clouds. This forest felt ancient, filled with secrets that had slept for millennia.
Perhaps he could find a small village nearby, a place where he could rent a quiet room. He could register at an adventurers' guild, take on simple hunting quests, and earn enough coin to buy bread and tea. It was a small, pathetic dream for someone of his stature, but to him, it was paradise.
---
Wind picked up, rustling the canopy and sending a shower of golden leaves spinning to the forest floor. Cohen paused, lifting his head to catch the changing scent of the air. A sudden, metallic tang hit his nose, sharp and unnatural.
Blood. It was fresh, pooling somewhere not too far from where he stood. He debated turning back, wanting to avoid any trouble that might draw attention to himself.
Curiosity, however, got the better of him. He stepped lightly, moving between the massive trunks with the silence of a hunting cat. Ahead, the trees thinned, revealing a small clearing bathed in sunlight.
Scattered across the grass were the shattered remains of a wooden wagon. Boxes were broken open, spilling colorful silks and dried herbs into the dirt. No bodies were visible, but the large pools of dark red blood painted a grim picture.
"An attack," Cohen whispered, his brow furrowing as he inspected the damage from a distance. Deep gouges were torn into the wooden planks of the carriage, marks left by incredibly large claws. The wood was also scorched, blackened by a high-heat flame that had melted the iron brackets.
Whoever had done this was long gone, or so he hoped. He stepped into the clearing, his eyes scanning the tree line for any signs of movement. This world, for all its beauty, was clearly not without its own dangers.
Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. A heavy pressure settled over the clearing, making the very air feel thick and difficult to breathe. He knew this sensation well—it was the aura of an apex predator, a creature that ruled its territory with absolute authority.
Birds exploded from the canopy in a panicked frenzy, their cries echoing through the silent woods. Trees began to groan, their thick trunks snapping like dry twigs in the distance. Whatever was coming was massive, and it was moving incredibly fast.
Cohen braced his feet, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his ordinary sword. He hesitated, his fingers hovering just inches above the worn leather grip. If he drew his weapon and fought with his full strength, the resulting explosion of power would be felt for miles.
"Hide it," he muttered, forcing his hand away from the blade. He had to rely on basic physical enhancement, nothing more. Even a fraction of his true power would tear his own fragile disguise to shreds.
Ground beneath his feet trembled, sending small pebbles dancing across the dirt. A terrifying roar ripped through the forest, a sound that was half-reptilian shriek and half-thunderclap. It rattled his teeth and made his ears ring.
This is not going to be simple, he realized, his gaze locked on the shaking treeline. If he ran, he might lead the monster to a nearby settlement. If he stayed, he had to fight without exposing his god-like strength.
A massive, emerald-scaled beast, unseen until now, crashes through the undergrowth, its shadow engulfing Cohen just as he realizes his powers might still be active.