The white rabbit wrinkled its nose and hopped around, almost as if it were excited to see Heron.

  But Heron was not excited to see the rabbit.

  His eyes tracked the creature as it proceeded to jump into a bush. Once it was out of sight, the leaves rustled for a moment before it quieted into nothingness. Heron was alone again, and his thoughts were vibrating through his brain.

  What the hell was going on?

  The boulder was right there. And so were the remnants of the campfire he had left behind when he had ventured off by the shoreline of the lake today in search of civilization. With the orange haze in the sky slowly dimming into darkness, Heron’s blood chilled and the tips of his fingers twitched. Somehow, even after a second full day of walking away from this place, he had ended up right back where he started. Again.

  This shouldn’t be possible. It couldn’t be possible. But it happened again.

  If walking perfectly straight was Heron’s superpower, he didn’t want it. Not if it meant what he thought it could signify.

  His body ached from the exertion. Heron wasn’t used to pushing himself physically—he was an office worker, a salary-man, and an indoors-only kind of guy. He couldn’t even remember the last time he worked out or had done a full day’s worth of an outdoor activity. Maybe college? That was ages ago. Since the morning of yesterday, he’d been stuck in this bizarre place where there was no visible sun and three moons in the sky.

  Collapsing onto his knees, Heron stared blankly at the charred ashes on the stone fire pit he had created earlier today. His muscles ached and his back hurt, and all he could show for it was… a long walk. A full day’s walk. He didn’t know whether to be impressed with himself or scared by the two coincidences that had now stacked on top of one another. Yesterday, the exact thing occurred.

  So today, he had done everything he could to avoid the same results.

  He had been afraid that yesterday he had fallen into the trap of the average lost person who would end up circling around and end up back where they started. So he’d brainstormed a method that he thought was foolproof. Since there was no sun to track in the sky—due to it being invisible for whatever reason—he’d opted to use the three visible moons as a guiding point.

  To his dismay, the results were the exact same even though he had taken an entirely different path as the day before.

  Heron shook his head as he stood up—now wasn’t the time to fret on how he got here. Night was coming and fatigue was washing over him wave after wave. Not just from the lack of food and water, but also the other basic survival needs that he had failed to meet. Sleeping in the wilderness was not only bad for his sanity, it was likely wrecking his body each night he slept without shelter.

  Gathering wood for the fire, Heron dragged his feet as he carried the sticks reluctantly back to camp. This space he had grown used to was never meant to be permanent, and he was beginning to fear it would be at this rate. Brushing the horrifying thought out of his mind, he started the fire with his newfound magical powers. He was already exhausted down to the bone that even starting the smallest flame felt burdensome.

  Every spark of magic drained his energy. He couldn’t pass out. Not yet.

  Making himself as comfortable as he could by the fire, Heron stared at the crackling flames as the darkness crept in. The moonlight was deceptive, making the evening appear less lonely—but it wasn’t any more encouraging than the hearth in front of him. He didn’t feel any safer, and right now, he wasn’t worried about predators or monsters that belonged in this magical world. He was worried he didn’t have what it took to survive.

  Magic was draining, but so was walking for an entire day while running on fumes.

  As Heron waited for his energy to recover, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes, letting the heat of the fire warm him as his thoughts wandered. There were only three possibilities in his mind as to how he ended up here again.

  One, he really had circled back on accident like the average chump.

  Two, some mythical overlord like a magical god was playing a prank on him. This seemed unlikely—from the stories that Heron had enjoyed reading in his downtime in his previous life, those powerful beings were supposed to bother overpowered main characters and not some mid-30s salary-man.

  Three, the last and least likely possibility, was that this planet… was just ridiculously small. So small that he could wrap around it in a day’s worth of walking.

  Now that seemed absurd.

  What were the chances that Heron had reincarnated onto a planet that was the equivalent of a budget friendly, open-world, indie video game?

  He hoped the odds were slim to none, but given his circumstances and the pattern that was emerging, he couldn’t count the possibility out. And Heron was concerned that the best case scenario out of all three possibilities was the fact that he was just lost and really awful at walking straight.

  Both alternatives—a god-level prank and a tiny planet—were not on Heron’s bingo card this year, and he did not relish in the idea of either of them.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The results of both days left Heron anxious as they served as sufficient data points to his thought process—that this couldn’t go on any further and he had to find a solution for his dilemma. Since he had no way to confirm whether or not he was walking perfectly straight, it was impossible for him to determine which option had the highest likelihood. Which indicated there was a probability that he would not find civilization tomorrow or even the day after.

  Heron was on his own. Maybe for good.

  The thought sent a shiver down his spine. What was the worst case scenario? That he would rest here tonight, wake up tomorrow, spend a whole day walking, and still end up in the same position as he was currently? There was no certainty that he would come across a village or even a person, given that he hadn’t and it’d already been over two days in this new world.

  Heron couldn’t afford to keep looping. If he was walking in circles, it was only a matter of time before he would succumb to ruthless wilderness.

  Opening his eyes slowly, Heron watched the flames dance from his campfire. The heat hit his face and he felt fortunate that the night was forgiving—it wasn’t freezing or even cold—but rather, it felt like a nice, summer’s night out. But that could change without a notice. He didn’t know what season it was, or if there were even seasons at all.

  One thing was certain, his priority—besides food and water—was the need for shelter.

  Heron had been a homebody the majority of his adult life. As a kid, he’d gone hiking and camping with family and friends. Even though it’d been over a decade since he attended university, he still remembered camping with his university buddies. It’d been so long, but even he knew the basics of survival. Shelter was important due to possible weather conditions and other environmental hazards.

  Granted, Heron had yet to have an ant-arc himself, he ought to figure out his shelter situation anyway.

  But finding shelter as a task wasn’t easy. From his walk—between yesterday and today—Heron hadn’t seen any caves or shelter-like places that would be suitable for him to stay. Regardless, searching for a shelter was out of the question. There was no guarantee that he would come across one, and by then he would be tapped out if it took another day or two to settle in.

  Furthermore, he’d grown rather fond of his spawn point.

  At this moment, Heron made the decision that while searching for a human society, he would create a temporary shelter in this clearing. He needed a place to rest, to recuperate his physical and magical energy, and in the event that he wound up here again. With his newfound determination and goal, Heron felt hope rise in his chest as he could plan and take action towards his target.

  The question was, how?

  The ground was firm and grass was soft as Heron glanced around his surroundings, the flames crackling before him. Night had crept up on him, and it was just as quiet as the night before—prior to him passing out. With the three sources of moonlight, he could see the trees that surrounded the clearing and the large boulder that was nearby.

  Frankly, this world was gorgeous—he just hadn’t had the time to appreciate it. He’d been so busy trying to survive that he’d barely taken in the sight. After all, he wasn’t here to sightsee. This was a battle for survival; it was hardcore camping in another world.

  What were the options of a temporary survival shelter? Normally, folks would buy a tent if they were out camping. While Heron had experience camping, he was definitely not one of the hardcore campers who survived in the random wilderness. Even calling his camping experience legit was generous, it was more like glamping where there would be a designated site, a grill, and an air mattress.

  And right now, there was no way Heron could summon a freaking tent.

  Melon bread made him pass out, for crying out loud. He still hadn’t confirmed what it was that made him faint from creating melon bread. Whether it was the components, the size, or how delicious it was, Heron had no clue what the limitations of his magical abilities were. Maybe melon bread was his kryptonite and he could summon a tent just fine. But he wasn’t going to risk it, what if it could’ve been worse?

  He passed out from summoning a melon bread, what if summoning a tent could kill him?

  Heron groaned as he flopped sideways, lying on his side as he faced the fire, his palm holding his head up as he stared into the flames. Maybe he could summon a tarp? One of those waterproof blue tarps that people always seemed to have in their possession in a dusty storage bin? No, that was risky too. Creating a tarp from scratch seemed like it would require more energy than a melon bread would. So that was out of the equation.

  His stomach growled; clearly Heron was using too much brain power trying to solve his problem. Turning onto his back, he stared at his hand. He missed his farming game. Though he couldn’t quite say he missed his old life—considering he lived to work and overtime was his middle name—dying out here in the wilderness in his second life was not a top contender.

  Was he destined to only eat potatoes until he could figure out if there was a way to increase his magic potential?

  One plain, roasted potato and some water later, Heron sighed while sitting upright. He was glad he hadn’t crashed out yet, but his eyes were beginning to droop. He didn’t dare to create salt at the current moment. He did not want to faint while mid-potato. Choking and dying from starch was probably his least favorite way to go.

  And he couldn’t sleep just yet, not when he still hadn’t decided how he was going to create a temporary shelter from scratch.

  Staring across the clearing, Heron’s eyes settled onto the trees that surrounded his campsite. They were still, seemingly lifeless, and stood with all the history and years it took for them to grow to the size they were. His mind wandered, until it traced back to a memory from earlier today. His eyes widened as his breath hitched. He’d purified the lake water earlier. Or at least, he thought he did.

  So what could he do with an existing tree?

  Standing up slowly, Heron hobbled over to one of the trees nearby. He stared at it, his gaze leading from the base of the wood to the top where the branches resided and the leaves waved gently from the drifting air. If he could purify water—which was essentially removing the impurities by force or deleting them from existence—could he also use force to obtain something from this tree?

  The thought of using magic once more tonight struck fear into Heron’s heart. But he needed to know, otherwise he wouldn’t sleep soundly. Inhaling slowly, he steadied his pulse, closing his eyes to focus on his imagery. He envisioned what he wanted from the tree, what he was willing to take from the tree, and how he would obtain the image in his mind. He needed a long branch, one that was twice his height.

  Heron was going to build a shelter.

  Opening his eyes, Heron focused on the tree before him. Placing his palm on the bark, he focused on the retrieval of what he wished to summon from the existing wood. If things went well, he would get a long branch, thick enough to bear the weight of the shelter he had imagined. He prayed he wouldn’t fail, because if he did, passing out would be the best case scenario. And in the worst case?

  He’d be dead. For the second time. With no reincarnation lined up.