Her sleep had been mixed. She had drifted in and out of flashes of the standoff with the caribou. But with that threat gone and the tower door locked behind her, she’d felt safe enough to let her guard down that night and actually get some sleep.

  “As long as no more savage beasts come sneaking up on me and wreaking havoc with my nightmares, that door could probably do the trick,” she thought, glancing fondly at the solid entrance.

  Was this what she was in love with now? A door? In her old world it had been her phone.

  Her mother was right, she needed a boyfriend.

  She took her time rising. It was another early morning, and she still wasn’t used to this earlybird routine. She was more of a nightowl type. She needed a proper bed in this place, she deserved it. Her body deserved it. Sleeping on the hard, cold floor was a brutal wakeup call every single morning.

  She started a fire, warmed the room, and prepared a simple breakfast. While she ate, she arranged her tools and equipment near the door.

  She took a moment to remember her checklist so that she could prioritize. Her research token was inventoried so there was no rush on that. She needed to turn her attention to the coming days. Her original plan had been simple: fix the door, move on.

  But now that she had a locked door to sleep behind, she wondered if she should aim higher. Why trek all the way back to Rivermark just for a few comforts? Sure, a proper shower, food she didn’t have to kill herself, a bed, and some supplies for the tower would be nice. But there was something more important on her shopping list now.

  Answers. As she chewed another bite of her porridge mixture, thoughts rose up that she had pushed aside for a while.

  How did I get here?

  Why am I here?

  And most importantly, how do I get home?

  “Just your average existential questions,” Riley mused, the words slipping out with a half laugh.

  She pressed her fingers into her temples and shook her head.

  “Ugh, I need caffeine,” she muttered, as if the right cup of coffee could untangle the mess of survival, loneliness, and the absurdity of falling in love with a locked door. She froze with her makeshift spoon halfway lifted. She had not given those questions real attention in days. Her life had been full of fire building, rock smashing, door repairing, and not dying. She had slipped into a routine that felt suspiciously familiar.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe she was going through the motions because they were the only things that reminded her of her old life. Gathering resources, repairing structures, checking the HUD. These were the actions she used to take every day in the game. Nothing else here felt familiar, so she clung to the only things that did.

  She thought about how she used to freak out when she could not find her phone under the bed covers in the morning after a late night of gaming. Now she had not had her phone in days. It felt like she had been thrown into a cold turkey detox without warning. Her chest tightened at the memory of it.

  The question of how she might get home lingered like a heavy weight on her shoulders. She pushed her empty helmet-bowl aside and whispered, "I guess I have to start somewhere."

  She decided that thinking through it while gathering resources might help. She’d found that physical work seemed to clear her mind. She stood, walked to the door, unlocked it, grabbed the cart, pulled it open, and then gasped so sharply she dropped the handle.

  She froze.

  Her hand stayed clamped on the door while her eyes widened to the size of plates. Her mouth fell open as a chill swept through her entire body.

  "What the actual F..." she breathed, unable to complete the sentence.

  Hanging in front of her tower was the mutilated carcass of the same caribou she had killed. It had been suspended on three sticks lashed into a crude triangular frame, the body sagging like some grotesque banner. Three claw marks tore straight through the center of the display, deep enough to split hide and muscle. They weren’t random scratches; there was no doubt these were the same scratches she had seen before which meant the same culprit was behind this act of intimidation too. They had been purposefully carved into the meat. It was deliberate, a ritual, a warning, a message left for her to read.

  The whole thing reeked of menace. The caribou wasn’t just dead, it had been staged. And standing there, staring at it, Riley couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t looking at the remains of her kill anymore, but at the opening move in someone else’s game. Someone wanted her to know she was being watched. That those moments she had felt in the forest wasn’t just her imagination running wild. Whoever had done this had probably watched her in that fight and had done nothing to make their presence known. Were they waiting to see who would be victorious? Were they wanting to see how she handled herself, what she was capable of? And then they were bold enough to drag the carcass to her front door in some sadistic checkmate. This was a reminder that she wasn’t alone out here, and that her tower wasn’t the fortress she wanted it to be.

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  Her stomach tightened. She had thought killing the caribou meant the threat was over. Now it felt like she had stepped into something larger, something she didn’t understand. The fight hadn’t ended with the pickaxe. It had only drawn new attention.

  Riley hugged herself and took a step back. Every instinct screamed at her to close the door and hide forever.

  A sudden bark broke the silence, followed by the sound of fast galloping. The dog burst into view, not focused on Riley but on the horror in front of her home. It growled as it lunged at the suspended carcass, pulling and tearing at it as if trying to destroy the thing entirely. It was angry, upset, and determined to rip the structure apart.

  Riley stood frozen, watching as the dog shredded the display with a fury that felt bigger than instinct. This was retribution. The dog was sending a message of its own to whoever had staged the carcass, to whoever thought they could frighten her. The signal was clear: this was his territory and he was protecting it. She shivered as the reality sank in.

  She needed this thing gone just as much as the dog did. She gathered a few of her tools and joined the dog in dismantling the disgusting display. She loaded the remains onto the cart and walked with the dog beside her toward the trees. Together they hauled it far enough into the woods that she would not see it again.

  Good riddance, she thought. I never want to see that rotten thing again.

  A few questions jabbed at Riley while she stood there shaking, hands still sticky with cold sweat.

  Why hadn’t the HUD screamed a single alert? Someone had been right outside her door all night, rigging up that nightmare, and the system acted like nothing happened.

  And the dog. He’d been curled up somewhere close enough to hear her breathe, yet he hadn’t growled once until she opened the door. Dogs were supposed to smell blood and strangers from half a mile away, weren’t they?

  She looked down at him.

  “Well? Did you miss the memo on guard-dog duties or what?”

  He tilted his head, ears flopping, and gave her the most useless, innocent stare in the history of canines.

  Riley let out a short, shaky laugh. The questions were already fading, pushed aside by the same tired truth that greeted her every morning.

  This was her life now. Questions stacked higher than resources, with answers nowhere in sight.

  At the river she splashed cold water on her face to clear her mind. The dog stayed close. Now that the carcass had been disposed of, its mood seemed to lighten, and so did hers.

  They moved in sync while she worked. Riley gathered rocks, wood, and ore with renewed determination, fueled by adrenaline and anger. Every resource brought her one step closer to getting the hell out of here. She needed to kick this exit plan into high gear. She managed to complete an entire day’s worth of gathering before midday.

  She paused for lunch, eating quickly. The dog hung around near the river but refused to come into the tower. Instead, it wandered to the edge of the woods, almost as though it had taken up a guard position. When she finished eating, she returned to gathering resources.

  This was what she had wanted to do before that horrifying start to her morning. Returning to the rhythm helped push away the lingering creepiness.

  As she worked, her thoughts returned to the that exit plan. How could she get out of here if she didn’t even know where she was or how she got here? “Where do I begin? Where is the logical starting point?” she prompted herself out loud.

  She thought back to the day she woke in the clearing. She remembered the wrong-colored sky, the new attire and then being chased through the forest before falling off that cliff. She had not had a single moment to process any of it.

  That seemed like a good place to start. The cliff. The clearing.

  But before that, she still had her trip to Rivermark planned. While she was there, she would take advantage of the fact there were people there who might be able to help give her answers. Maybe they would know of someone else who had arrived here just like she had, after all, why would she assume she was the only one? And if nothing else, maybe they knew who or what to expect at that clearing so that she could at least be a bit more prepared before she walked into another ambush.

  Getting answers was a remote possibility but she allowed herself to have hope. If she had fallen out of the sky or through a portal or whatever had happened, surely someone had noticed. Someone must know something. Maybe the town had records. Maybe there were scholars or magic users who understood these things.

  She considered the people she had met. Maybe tower-building wasn’t all Zelgra knew about. The tea seller might have heard stories. Even the people she had shared a bunkroom with could have information. They traveled. They talked. They heard rumors.

  Then there was Garron, the caravan driver. Friendly, observant, and someone who traveled back and forth regularly. If anyone had heard strange news, surely he had.

  She was determined. This would not be a casual trip back to town. She would stay for a day or two and gather every bit of information she could. She also wasn’t leaving without some creature comforts. A backpack. A water skin. Utensils. A blanket. A pillow. A toothbrush. Clothes that did not feel like they belonged in a museum exhibit. She would take anything she could get at this point. She was tired of feeling half feral. Sure she wanted to be functional, but she also wanted to be comfortable. Achieving goals was one thing. Achieving them while miserable was another.

  Was that spoiled of her? First-world problems kind of thing?

  She didn’t care. The universe couldn’t expect her to go from lattes to boiled twigs without even a toothbrush.

  Her purpose for returning to town solidified. She needed information and supplies; both were worth investing in.

  She kept gathering resources at a fast pace. With that steak in her system, she felt stronger and more focused. As she worked, she caught the occasional glimpse of the dog. She smiled at the sight of the him. His presence eased the loneliness, even though the carcass left at her doorstep had already proven she wasn’t truly alone, someone out there was watching.

  She knew she could not confront whoever it was. She was not ready for a fight. She was not trained for any of this. She tried to imagine herself in hand-to-hand combat and nearly laughed. She was more likely to poke someone in the eye by mistake than actually defend herself.

  No. Better to go back to the village. Better to be around people. Better to take a small vacation from the stress and the isolation before it swallowed her whole.

  With her new goals in place, Riley worked through the next couple days like she was training for an Olympic event. She gathered resources from dawn until dusk and planned how she would approach her questions once she reached Rivermark. She rehearsed conversations in her head, imagining how each person might react. She still had no idea where she would begin, but now she had a plan and that alone made her feel steadier.

  On the night before she planned to leave, she organized her coins and tools by the door. She checked her supplies twice. She felt nervous, excited, and strangely proud.

  “Now that I have a plan and enough coin,” she thought, “I will wake up at dawn, pack my things, and head out to catch the caravan back to Rivermark.”

  With that final thought, she lay down by the fire, pulled her blanket around her shoulders, and drifted peacefully into sleep.