There was once a time when Cilen pulled an SS tier character in the gatcha game that he was playing. He thought that the exhilaration from that felt better than anything he'd ever experienced. Obviously he was wrong because setting stuff on fire, totally tops that feeling.

It was a bit of a confusing moment as he wasn't really sure whether or not he was happy at finally accomplishing something he set out to do or the awakening of his inner pyromaniac. Perhaps he was just really glad that he could finally cook the stupid rat corpse plaguing his peripherals.

Chewing on a slice of rat meat, Cilen washed his right hand (remember the other one is gone) in the puddles of muddy rainwater outside. Washing off the blood and grime, he scooped some water from a slightly cleaner looking puddle while praying to whatever higher being watching, that this world didn't have an earth equivalent of the tapeworm or any other parasitic water-based creature.

Maybe it would've been wiser if he boiled the water first and Cilen definitely realized it after he drank his first mouthful. Yet Cilen was Cilen. He has always been unapologetic about the mistakes he makes because he is prepared to accept the consequences for them. Most of the time. Besides, he didn't have a container to hold the water in and he was definitely was not going to spend half his day carving out one.

After he was about done with eating, and his stomach ceased making miniature earthquakes, Cilen slipped the black journal and the pouch with his coins and crystals into his pocket. Surveying the area, he spotted a large stick that felt sturdy and flexible in his hand. He was primarily going to use it to assist him with walking and swatting the occasional monster or two.

He was a bit sad about leaving the campfire behind, but he consoled himself by promising to burn down the forest in its name at a later date. Maybe. Latching onto his walking stick, Cilen hobbled his way deeper into the forest. He didn't know what he was looking for or why he left the safety of the shelter, but he knew that it wouldn't be good if he stayed in one place for too long (he was bored). And so, perhaps a change in scenery might spice things up.

At first, the walking energized him. Every few steps he would see a cool new plant, some wacky bug or an animal to ogle at. But it soon grew repetitive. The forest was huge and everything looked the same. He didn't know how long he was traveling for but it felt like hours and from what he could tell, the sun also seemed to be going down.

Even though Cilen knew he was a complete numbskull, even he could understand that Dark = Bad. Especially so in a completely foreign environment. Concluding that he would much rather be alive than end up as some monster's new chew toy, Cilen picked up his pace and sped south.

He didn't know what he was looking for but he just kept on hobbling. He was thirsty, hungry and exhausted after walking for God knows how long. His foot had started forming blisters and his hand holding the walking stick was scraped red and raw. Countless times Cilen wanted to sit back and cry, just collapse on the ground and lament his fate, curse the heavens and whatever sick bastard threw him here.

But... he couldn't. He was in no position to.

He was in this world now. This was his reality. If he wanted to sit back and complain, he would perish. This was not Earth, where the price for a mistake rarely ended in death. This is the wild now. He had to shut up, grit his teeth and trudge on. Or die.

As the last remnants of warmth and light finally faded, Cilen felt his shoulders slump. His breathing quickened as he clenched his teeth a little harder. A feeling of urgency spread from his fingers and into his chest. It was dark now. And he was alone.