??? – Day 1
Ren Kisaragi had died.
He'd been pushed in front of a bus, coffee still warm in hand, and now he was here—waking on uneven cobblestone, staring up at a burnt sky full of unfamiliar constellations.
The ground beneath him was cracked. The stone plaza stretched wide, surrounded by buildings of mismatched stone and timber, patched together like afterthoughts. Everything looked old. Not ancient like temples—old like it had been used and abused. Weathered, crooked, and tired.
And the people—
Ren sat up slowly. He didn't want to draw attention yet.
Children ran barefoot. A woman carried a basket of fish, their silver bodies still twitching. Two men argued at a stall lined with dusty bread. Their clothes were rough-spun and patched. The air smelled like firewood and mud. It was a living place—but quiet. Not silent, just… hushed. Like everyone was used to something terrible.
Ren reached into his coat. The pen was still there. Cold. Real. Heavy with expectation.
"Great," he muttered. "Middle management in another world."
He stood and tried to blend in, walking carefully. His black business slacks were already drawing eyes. A girl stared at his shoes like they were relics. A vendor squinted at his tie like it might be a weapon.
He didn't understand their words, but their tone was clear.
He wasn't welcome.
---
Hours Later – A Dusty Shop
He wandered until he found it—a narrow, lantern-lit room filled with scrolls and brittle tomes. No one stopped him when he stepped inside. It smelled of oil, parchment, and faint incense.
The shopkeeper didn't speak, merely nodded and waved him deeper.
Ren combed the shelves until he found it: a leather scroll case tucked between a cracked atlas and what looked like dried lizard skin.
Inside—
A map.
Old, inked in black and red, its edges singed. The writing was unreadable—looping symbols with sharp edges—but the drawings spoke for themselves.
Seven crowns. Seven regions. Seven disasters.
He laid it out across a worktable and studied it carefully.
1. Delvaris – mountainous and jagged in the far north, with images of giant horned beasts and blizzard winds curling around black peaks. A kingdom carved from cold and stone.
2. Veltrenne – an island chain to the east, dotted with spires and sails. Likely maritime, trade-based. Coral reef dragons lined its coasts.
3. Khorvayne – central plains, wide rivers and massive farming terraces. A picture of a giant chained golem dominated its crest. Likely the breadbasket.
4. Sireath – the southwestern deserts, marked with sunbursts and glass towers. Thin serpents wound through dunes, and floating stones hinted at old magic.
5. Braylocke – deep forests in the southeast. Beast-like humanoids drawn in red ink. Tribal emblems everywhere. Something primal about it.
6. Haldrith – far western cliffs with castles perched like vultures. Ruins drawn into the cliffsides. Fog symbols suggested mystery or decay.
7. Taurion Vale – smack in the middle, encircled by all the others. A walled city bigger than anything else, with a shattered crown drawn beside it.
Seven kingdoms. But no unifying empire.
And beside the Vale's broken crown, a strange black symbol was inked—like an eye with a line through it. The only part not faded with age.
Ren rolled it up and slipped it into his coat.
He didn't know what any of it meant.
Not yet.
---
Village Edge – Sunset
Ren walked along winding paths, through rows of houses built from pale mudbrick and slanted timber. Rooftops sagged under their own weight. Walls bowed inwards like they were tired of standing. Some homes were abandoned entirely, overgrown with black vines that had red blossoms like bleeding eyes.
He noticed small shrines—one on each corner. Crudely built. Not for worship, but warning. Effigies made of bundled sticks and rusted nails, all staring outward, never inward.
At every corner, people watched him, and murmured.
Ren knew the pattern. He'd seen it in boardrooms and bureaucracies.
Fear of change. Suspicion of outsiders. Threat of disruption.
Even here, thousands of miles—or dimensions—away from anything familiar, human systems didn't change.
That was when he heard it.
A voice.
"...That tie. Are you from Earth?"
He froze.
And turned.
A man leaned against a post. Late twenties maybe. Skin like copper, hair dark and messy, dressed in travel-worn gear—not local. A strange half-smile crossed his face.
Ren stared. "You speak my language?"
The man shrugged. "Took years to remember it. I was a little younger than you when I got pulled in."
Ren's blood ran cold. "You're not from here?"
"Nope. Used to be a systems engineer in Osaka." He extended a hand. "Now I'm just a guy trying not to die before my next meal. Name's Lark."
Ren didn't shake his hand.
He narrowed his eyes. "How many of us are here?"
Lark's smile faded slightly. "Not many. And none with that pen."
Ren instinctively touched the pen in his pocket.
Lark leaned in, voice low. "Whatever you're here to do… the kingdoms won't make it easy. This world punishes questions it can't answer."