Wherever i May Roam - pt1

I've been wandering for what feels like an endless stretch of time, though my makeshift calculations hint that a day here spans roughly 31 hours. I've counted my steps from dawn to dusk, and after some quick arithmetic, that's the figure I've landed on. 

The sky here is unlike any I've ever witnessed on Earth. It's a mesmerizing blend of blue and purple, as if an artist took a brush and swirled the colors together just before dusk. The sun, noticeably smaller and less intense than Earth's, casts a gentle, almost ethereal light that softens the edges of the world around me.

But it's the clouds that truly captivate me. They're not the fluffy, cotton-like formations I'm used to. Instead, they appear as intricate patterns of swirling mist, almost like smoke, but with a luminescent quality that makes them glow from within. They move in a slow dance across the sky, creating ever-changing shapes that defy description.

The climate maintains a steady comfort, never soaring above 86°F or plummeting below 59°F, even when night falls. It's as if the terrain and its flora have a unique mechanism for absorbing energy by day and releasing it by night.

The flora on this alien world is a captivating puzzle, a tapestry of life that defies all Earthly comparisons. Here, an astonishing array of species coexists in what can only be described as a complex dance of symbiosis, each plant contributing to a larger, harmonious ecosystem. Over the recent days, my journey has led me to encounter a multitude of creatures, each more aggressive and enigmatic than the last.

As I navigate this bewildering landscape, I'm still coming to terms with the newfound wellspring of strength that surges within me, a ceaseless torrent of energy that feels both exhilarating and overwhelming. This constant state of heightened alertness is a sensation I've never known before, a departure from any previous experience of restlessness.

Just yesterday, I tasted the elusive gift of sleep for the first time since my arrival. The experience was shrouded in mystery; I surrendered to the embrace of darkness and awoke in the same inky void.

My hunger is relentless, forcing me into a dilemma: either graze continuously or gorge on a single, massive meal. Surprisingly, the native creatures here provide a culinary delight. A makeshift fire and a skewer, crafted from what I can best describe as a tree branch, are all it takes to satiate my appetite.

Why this endless trek? I'm in pursuit of a portal back to Earth. My mind is a labyrinth of questions, and oddly, I find myself yearning for the familiarity of Earth. Just days ago, the prospect of remaining here seemed enticing, but now, a sense of homesickness prevails. I have my reasons.

As I navigate through what resembles a desert, the ground beneath me is an amalgam of sand and some metallic substance. Off in the distance, a rock formation catches my eye. Past experiences have taught me that these formations often conceal a peculiar plant that, when sliced open, exudes water with a watermelon-like flavor. Thirsty for some hydration, I head in its direction.

The sun is at its pinnacle, suggesting it's around midday. The climate is congenial, and a gentle breeze complements the atmosphere. As I approach the rocks, their characteristic dark gray hue, flecked with brown, becomes more distinct. They're fissured and sprouting plants, almost as if serving as nature's incubators. I locate the plant I've been seeking, draw my knife—crafted from the horn of a creature I hunted—and slice it open to relish its sweet essence.

My thoughts meander back to Earth, specifically to the period following my graduation from university. I had just secured an apartment in the city's heart, near a daily market where I frequently purchased watermelon. It was there that I reencountered Dante, a relic from my orphanage days. Time had etched lines on his face, and curiously, he showed no sign of recognizing me, despite his past obsession with tormenting me.

Just as I'm engrossed in this reverie, a distant explosion snaps me back to the present. A column of what appears to be sand billows into the sky, punctuated by an alien roar. Without hesitation, I leap from my perch and sprint toward the commotion. My body feels transformed, effortlessly clocking speeds of 37 mph.

Ahead, a spectacle unfolds. A colossal serpent-like entity, its scales a dark gray, erupts from the earth. Its maw splinters open, unveiling menacing, vine-like tentacles that lash out. Bursts of orange and blue light detonate across its form.

I take cover behind a dune, my eyes riveted on the unfolding drama. Several humanoid figures, shrouded in white cloaks, extend their arms toward the creature, setting off a series of explosions. It's like watching a live enactment of a fantasy epic, as if sorcerers were hurling spells.

The serpent thrashes wildly from side to side, desperately trying to strike its opponents but failing miserably. Its roars sound like cries of pain, and for a moment, I feel a pang of sympathy for the creature.

However, my focus shifts to the humanoid figures. They must be the ones who provided the advanced technology I witnessed during the battle against the invaders. Observing their potent capabilities, I can't help but wonder how much easier it would be to fend off enemy advances and even defeat the Jumpers if we had such power on our side.

The battle drags on for a few more minutes until the serpent is finally defeated, collapsing to the ground and raising a thick cloud of gray dust. I contemplate approaching the scene to ask for help, but something tells me it's better to observe from a distance. So, I do.

Emerging from behind a dune, I spot what appears to be a vehicle. It hovers a few inches above the ground, quickly approaching the scene. The craft is large, made of silver metal, and windowless—like a floating oval fortress. I estimate its dimensions to be at least 100 feet in length and about 16 feet in height. It looks like a ship sailing through the desert.

Metallic arms extend from the vehicle, seemingly extracting something from the fallen creature. The white-cloaked humanoids enter the craft through an opening on its right side. I count twelve of them.

I prepare to run; I want to see which direction they'll take. After a few minutes, the metallic arms retract, the vehicle performs a 180-degree turn without leaving its spot, and then it shoots off at an astonishing speed.

I sprint as fast as I can, easily rivaling a high-speed car, and reach the top of a massive dune for a better view.

As I crest the dune, my eyes meet a sight so stunning it feels like a dream. Before me stretches an endless expanse of water, an ocean unlike anything I've ever seen. The water is a shade of blue so vivid it's almost surreal, as if someone took the sky and laid it down on the surface of the planet. The sunlight dances on the water, creating a shimmering tapestry of light and color that extends as far as the eye can see.

For a moment, I forget about the battles, the strange creatures, and my desperate search for a way home. I'm captivated by the sheer beauty of this alien world, and for the first time since my arrival, I feel a sense of peace wash over me. It's as if the ocean is speaking to me, whispering secrets in a language too ancient for words. I stand there, awestruck, as the gentle breeze carries the scent of salt and freedom, filling my lungs and soul with a newfound hope.

I watch as the vehicle glides over the water, accelerating at an astonishing speed. It quickly approaches the horizon and vanishes within moments. At least now I know which direction to head in. My decision to observe before acting was wise. They were too powerful for me to approach recklessly. And they've left behind a meal.

I return to the massive desert serpent. Its anatomy is intricate, filled with complex organs—it's fascinating. I spend some time studying the creature's enormous structure, noticing that some parts have been violently removed, likely some sort of organ.

But its taste is even more captivating—a true delicacy. I spend a good amount of time savoring the tender meat, which is not unlike salmon. When did I start appreciating diverse flavors? I've always been picky, even disliking chocolate for its greasiness. Now, the mere thought of chocolate makes my mouth water.

After eating, I set off toward the ocean. The beach sand here is eerily similar to Earth's. I grab a handful and feel various forms of life wriggling through my fingers. This planet is teeming with life at every turn.

The water relaxes my feet instantly, producing effervescent bubbles that soon dissipate, leaving me feeling almost lethargic. The water's taste is far saltier than Earth's oceans, so I decide not to drink it. Better safe than sorry.

I wash myself in the water, removing the grime that has clung to my skin. Any opportunity for cleanliness is a welcome one. As the water calms from my movements, it becomes so clear that I can see my reflection for the first time since arriving here.

I look different. I don't appear younger; I still look like I'm in my 30s, but my skin is flawless. Not a single sign of aging, no spots, scars, or expression lines. I spend a few seconds observing myself.

Then it's time for a test. Can I swim as well as I can run?

I dive into the water, which feels almost like Earth's, with a temperature close to 86°F and a similar viscosity. Swimming is effortless. My powerful muscles easily displace the water, creating waves on the surface. My limbs move naturally, rippling with perfect fluid dynamics. I find that I can swim underwater for several minutes without needing to breathe; a single leap out of the water is enough for a gulp of air before diving back in. I feel like a sea monster as I swim.

My speed in the water is no less impressive than on land; in fact, it might even be faster and more efficient.

It's insane to think that I've plunged into this body of water without knowing its extent. But I have no other way to learn anything if I don't take this route. Worst case scenario, if I start to feel tired, I'll consider turning back, but cautiously so as not to exhaust myself.

However, hours have passed since I began swimming, and not a hint of fatigue has shown itself. It's a shame I can't make a fire here; otherwise, I'd have caught various marine animals I've seen so far to sample.

The marine fauna is a spectacle in itself. Unlike the creatures I've encountered on land, these underwater beings display a vivid array of colors—crimson reds, electric blues, and neon greens. Fish-like entities with iridescent scales dart in and out of coral formations that resemble multi-tiered castles. Some creatures have elongated, ribbon-like fins that trail behind them like underwater banners. Others have intricate patterns on their bodies, almost like a form of natural armor. It's a mesmerizing underwater world, a kaleidoscope of life that seems to celebrate its own diversity. Yet, despite their vibrant colors, none of them have tentacles or limbs, staying true to the unique characteristics of this planet's life forms.

It took me the better part of the day and some of the night to swim. Astonishingly, even after all that time, I feel no fatigue. When I emerge from the water to breathe, I spot an island—a sprawling landmass teeming with lush vegetation. I notice an immense diversity of what I'll start calling trees; although different from Earth's, they still look like trees to me.

The planet's two magnificent moons cast ample light onto the waters, allowing me to see clearly underwater.

Haven't I mentioned the moons? One is significantly larger than the other. The larger moon has a silvery hue, its craters and valleys visible even from this distance, giving it a textured appearance. The smaller moon, on the other hand, has a bluish tint, almost as if reflecting the planet's unique atmosphere. Together, they illuminate the night sky, their celestial dance casting a spellbinding glow on everything below.

Finally, I reach the island. I'm panting but not tired. It seems that fatigue only sets in after days of relentless activity without sleep. Since I slept yesterday, I feel like a power plant operating at full capacity.

The island's features don't differ much from the mainland. It spans several miles and is densely vegetated. My clothes, the same ones I wore under my armor, are all I have. I wring them out carefully, mindful of the hole torn in the abdomen area by Jumper's tentacle.

I put on my shoes, which were securely tied to my back, and venture into the forest. There's an abundance of wildlife here—many small creatures and some large ones. Interestingly, I haven't seen any flying life forms, no insects or mammals, just monstrous beings, usually tripodal or limbless. They pose no threat; I easily sidestep any that approach and continue on my way. I only kill for food or self-defense.

After some time, I arrive at an area where the forest thins out, giving way to low-lying vegetation and scattered shrubs. Still no sign of the humanoids. I suspect their destination lies beyond this island. I decide to spend the night here; it's comfortable and there's food. It's best to wait for daylight to get my bearings.

I find a spot with less vegetation, suitable for a fire to cook food. It's near a rocky area, and the ground is sandy, resembling the desert's but finer and lighter. I build a fire and successfully hunt a tripodal creature with brown skin, resembling a spiky ball with legs. I'll call it a "wild pig." I return to my fire and begin roasting it. It will easily yield 60 pounds of good meat, enough for two meals. Like I said, I eat a lot.

Humming to myself and enjoying the cooked meat while more is roasting, I spend a few hours relaxed, leaning against a rock. 

One, two, three, four. I think there are seven or eight. Seven. Definitely seven.

Seven beings are surrounding me. At first, I thought they were animals and found their behavior intriguing. For a moment, I felt like I was being hunted by humans. But these are bipedal; I can hear the footsteps of two legs. Strangely human-like.

How did I sense them? I don't know. I just did. Best not to dwell on questions I can't answer.

"Hello, I know you're there," I say in a friendly tone, avoiding sudden movements. But I'm alert, already in combat mode, my heart racing, fueling my body. I can feel my veins bulging.

The footsteps stop. Silence.

After a moment, a figure rises from behind a bush directly in front of me, fully illuminated by the intense moonlight. 

It's definitely a humanoid.

No taller than five foot nine, the figure is cloaked in a worn, brown mantle. This isn't one of the group I saw earlier—a relief, as I'm not eager to test my strength against them.

The figure slowly approaches and removes its hood, uttering words in a language I've never heard, filled with discernible consonants.

But it's not human.