EYA

  The m sunlight greets me. With a warm ale touch, it filters through the cracks iemple walls, casting long, golden streaks across the floor. Along with the breeze that drifts in like a fresh sheet being shaken out, carrying the faint st of damp earth and wildflowers. This is my new reality. I have to accept the fact; this is not a dream. Moreover, I’ve tasted death—or rather, almost died. But a new day still greets me. Again. And again.

  It’s not life if we don’t get caught up in the wheel of life. A wheel that spins uainly, erratically. And no one knows where it will turn.

  A few days have passed. My body is feelier. Unfortunately, Poma had to take a lo. It seems she used up a lot of power to help me. I’m grateful. I hought I’d be happy to stay alive. Even though life is painful. Where we will tio be hurt as long as we live. Like a curse. Ohat doesn’t e off. Bound forever.

  Back to the presey. I’ve owed Poma a lot of debt, and I don’t know whether I’ll be able to repay it or not. She has saved me so many times. For no reason. Nor purpose. This keeps b me. But what could I do? Other than accepting her help?

  Ohing that disappoints me about her: she never mentiohe nguage issue. So, I only just realized that the nguages here are different. They don’t speak English. Surprising? Not really. It actually makes seill, it makes me wonder how Poma has been able to talk to me this whole time. Does she have some kind of automatic transtion ability?

  Then because of this, I hought of this nguage problem as one of the things I o pay attention to. After all, it’s not something that’s only found in Isekai stories in general. It’s only natural that I missed it. Those writers o be more creative aive about basic issues like this.

  What I do? I’m just a character iory, right? I just have to accept this terrible reality.

  This makes the world seem to be against me. But Poma said to hold back my ive thoughts, so I try to take it easy and just accept the situation at hand. But nguage isn’t the only problem. There’s the matter of food. That’s right, food. I hadn’t thought about this either. Who would have thought that this fn world would have evolved in a different way from what’s oh?

  It means basic things like taste preferences and food types are pletely different. Surprising? Of course. While Earth has many cultures with their own foods, here they’ve taken it to a whole new level.

  I was thinking about bread at first. Yes, because of the appearance of the people who helped me. They seemed to be wearing simple and modest medieval European clothes. So, I thought there wouldn’t be much difference. But in fact, there is no bread here. Or maybe it hasn’t been fou? I don’t know. They’ve only been making various kinds of soup or pe for the past few days.

  One of the pes is incredibly bnd. It seems to be made from mashed roots, cooked down to a mushy sistency that sticks to the roof of my mouth. The texture is gritty, like sand mixed with glue. They also add some kind of beans to almost every dish. The problem? These beans are extremely sour! When you chew them, the sourness explodes in your mouth. Sharp and overwhelming, making it hard to keep eating. To ba out, they serve a kind of white liquid that tastes like mint, cool and slightly numbing. The bination is strange. Beyond anything my Earthling brain uand.

  I wonder what Gordon Ramsay would say if he tried it.

  Maybe he will feel like he ate poison or something.

  I wouldn’t bme him. I felt the same way. Holy, I thought they were trying to kill me with their abstract cooking. I could it. But there was no other food. And it forced me to eat it. Now I regret it. Because I had diarrhea afterwards. My stomach wasn’t born to eat these otherworldly foods. The cramps hit hard, twisting my insides like someone wringing out a wet cloth. I spend hours hunched over, clutg my abdomen, wishing I could crawl into a hole and disappear.

  Whatever it is, the dice have been rolled. And this is what I got. I have to adapt quickly, and thankfully, I’m not doing this alone.

  It feels strange. I used to talk to Poma so casually, but now I see others worshipping her—making s, singing, and dang for her. Their voices rise in harmony, soft ts filling the air like a low hum that vibrates through the stone walls. The st of burning herbs lingers heavily, earthy and sharp. Making my witch. I’ve withese rituals several times, and it still doesn’t feel real that I’ve been helped by a goddess these people revere.

  Not once. But many times. Even Enyeka is treated with reverence. Last night, these people gave her food and smeared a kind of oil on her head. The oil smells rid floral, like crushed jasmine mixed with something spicy, and they also applied it to parts of the temple itself, leaving the air thick with its fragrance.

  Among the five people who helped me and came to this temple, one of them is the priestess, Aliyah. She’s a woman with long brown hair wearing a simple white robe that folds loosely over her body. It seems to be a ceremonial garment because she only wears this wheering the temple, and she stays at the altar for most of the day. I don’t know what she’s doing there, exactly.

  What I do know is that Aliyah unicate with me. Not because she uands English, but through some kind of spirit nguage. It seems simir to telepathy, allowio speak directly to my mind without words. Poma uses something like this too. The catch? I have to wear the necka gave me, and I ’t stray too far from Aliyah. It affects how well this spirit nguage works.

  Oher iing thing: Aliyah is blind. I don’t know what happeo her, but she ’t see. Because of this, I’m staying with her at the shrine while the other four are out fing in the forest. I’m here not just to keep her pany but also to help if she needs anything after finishing her duties at the altar.

  It’s a bit b, but what I do? I just wait, sitting in the er of the room. The fragranear the altar is overp, cloyingly sweet and sharp. Stinging my il it feels raw. My eyes water slightly as I try to breathe through my mouth instead.

  Then I see Aliyah stand up. She had been sitting in front of the altar for a while, her hands restily on her p. I quickly walk over to her. I just want to help her walk. The temple’s uneven, half-destroyed floor makes it hard for her to move on her own. Her bare feet shuffle cautiously over the cracked stones, each step hesitant.

  I stand beside her, my arm for support. Her hands are soft and smooth, cool against my skin, and I smell a strong, pu fragrance ging to her clothes, almost medial in its iy. After guiding her carefully, we reach the outer area of the temple. We both slowly sit down oeps, the cold stone pressing into my thighs.

  The breeze picks up outside, carrying the faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. It feels refreshing pared to the heavy atmosphere ihe temple. For a moment, I y eyes, letting the wind brush against my face, cool and soothing.

  Now we just have to wait for the other four to return from the forest. Today is the day I finally leave the forest and these ruins behind and head back to civilization. Though I feel a bit pessimistic about what might await me, curiosity still lingers in the bay mind. I imagine adventures in this strange world, but deep down, I know I won’t do anything reckless. All I really want is to live a normal life.

  “My dy seems exhausted. It seems like helping you made her pay quite a price,” Aliyah says, her voice soft but carrying an edge of . She looks at me with her strange gaze. Her blind eyes somehow pierg through me, as if she sees more than sight alone allows.

  Although she may not be as beautiful as Poma in the sense of having pale white and smooth facial skin, Aliyah is still quite an attractive woman. Her long brown hair falls over her shoulders in loose waves, catg the sunlight that filters through the cracks iemple walls. Somehow, like Poma, her words often feel sharp and ued, cutting straight to the heart of things.

  “I had no iion of doing that. But you’re right, I do owe her a lot,” I reply to Aliyah.

  Then she smiles at me and, with a chuckle, says, “You are lucky. Not everyone get a blessing from a being like her. Ordinary people only accept the fate we receive.”

  An ordinary person? Did she not see me as a normal human being? Did Poma tell her about the mysterious card I had and my status as a chosen one?

  Before I ask her, she adds, “I know you have mas. Rest assured, I won’t tell anyone even if I know something. That was one of the promises I made to my dy.”

  I don’t know why, but… Poma and Aliyah both seem to have something in o es to speaking. Often leaving only half-information and giving a very mysterious impression. But I shouldn’t worry, because Poma herself arranged all this. So, it should all be fine, right?

  “Looks like I scared you a little there. You don’t talk too much. And I don’t know anything about you either. Maybe while waiting for the others, could you tell me what your home pce is like?” Aliyah ges the subject while smiling at me. Her brown eyelids flutter slightly, her expression warm despite her blindness.

  But speaking of home... do I even have one? After my father’s death, everything ged. It’s hard to think of home as the same pce it used to be. Expining the details of modern life wouldn’t help Aliyah uand anyway—our worlds are just too different. So, what I say is very limited. Or maybe I never had a home again after my father was gone. I don’t know. I ’t expin it.

  “It’s a very different world. Hard to expin. But pared to this world, my pce feels like a sid dying o’s only a matter of time before it all ends,” I say to her, staring at the bright sunlight streaming through the broken windows. A sun that isn’t quite like the one I remember.

  Because I realize something. This pce. This world. It’s going to be my home from now on. I o accept that. There’s regret, sure, and maybe even a longing to go back to Earth. But is that really possible? Hoeople in isekai stories actually return? Almost none, I think.

  Aliyah hums softly, sidering my words. “A dying world? That doesn’t sound too different from this one. Maybe you won’t have a hard time adapting because of that. In the end, you’re just ging pces. Life, I think, is the same everywhere.” She chuckles, a warmth in her voice that oddly soothes me.

  Her words hit the mark. Whether it’s Earth or this fn world, life remains the same. The same struggles, just in different pces. The realizatioles something in me. If there were no unknowies or lurking Lovecraftian horrors, this could almost be the perfect world for me.

  “You’re right,” I admit. “But aren’t there gods here? I don’t know much about them, but don’t they have a strong influen this world?” Even Poma had avoided discussing them iail, only ever giving me vague warnings.

  Aliyah exhales, her expression shifting, something weary creeping into her features. “The gods? Your life will be fine as long as you accept your fate.” There’s a pause, her fingers absently trag the fabric of her robe. “Though I hate to admit it, the teags of the West may have a point. Humans are mortal beings bound by fate.” Her expression wilts. Like a flower left too long in the sun. The smile on her lips fades, and for a moment. She seems lost in thought.

  Theurns to me, leaning in slightly, her presence close enough that the st of temple oils and faint herbs fills my nose. “But I think you’re different,” she murmurs. “Two humans won’t see things the same way, even if they look at the same pce. What do you think? Do you believe fate binds us all?”

  Fate? More like a curse to me. Maybe there’s some truth to it. That my dreams ’t be achieved could be because it’s my fate. But if that’s true, why should I bother dreaming of being a writer in the first pce? What’s the point of living if everything is predetermined?

  Hah! This reminds me of Oedipus’ tragic story. I hope I don’t end up with the same ill-fated life.

  “You don’t seem to be able to answer yet? What’s b you?” asks Aliyah, who agaiurns with a faint smile on her face.

  “I guess you’re right, and I couldn’t find any other answers either. Then I remembered a tragic story from where I e from. A story about how strongly fate bind us,” I reply while looking down at my hands. They’re calloused nh from days of gripping tree branches and stumbling over roots in the forest.

  Ironically, there’s also the saying: destiny is in our hands.

  It’s just that. I don’t think this expression means anything. Especially if we never had the power to ge it in the first pce? What humans do against fate and the cycles of this world? Other than hope for meriracles?

  As I sink deeper into my thoughts, Aliyah suddenly perks up. Though I know she is blind, something in her dark eyes seems to glimmer with i.

  “I’m ied in hearing the story of where you came from. Maybe whehers e, you share them with the rest of us?” Aliyah replies with an eager expression. I don’t know what makes her so ied in me or the things from Earth.

  We hardly even spoke before except in times of his was the first time she’s been so active like this.

  But it’s not bad. I should also start getting to know Aliyah and the others as well. “That’s fine. I’ll tell you about it. You tell the others ter,” I reply briefly.

  Aliyah then takes my hand and says, “Thank you. I will be very happy to hear it.” Her grip is ge firm, her fingers cool against my skin.

  But then I remember. I’m a terrible writer. Will I even be able to tell the Oedipus story properly? I hope my storytelling skills aren’t as poor as my writing. If they are, I might have to question the point of my existence.

  EYA