Before long, the area lit up like a Christmas tree, revealing his haven to be a village of some kind. Its occupants, creatures like out of some fantasy story. But these he didn’t recognize. While they shared many features with him, there was no mistaking them as human. Their skin was a pale orange, and two onyx black horns protruded from their heads. Strange markings also adorned some of their faces, much like tribal tattoos, but given the setting, it was unclear whether these were artificial or natural.

  They surrounded him like a mob, with his two rescuers joining him in the center, jabbing their swords in his direction to keep him immobile. The growing crowd protested at his presence, with some barking orders while others cowered in fear, namely the women and children.

  “Fetch the Chief!” the first sword wielder directed into the crowd while not taking his eyes off him, hoping someone would heed his request. Three separate monsters headed off in the same direction without delay.

  The thought of fleeing crossed his mind, but he quickly disregarded it. As bad as this situation was, it was still better than being back out in the forest with whatever those… “things” were. Maybe he could talk his way out of this.

  “Umm, hello. My name is Thomas, what can I call—”

  “Quiet, human!” the first sword wielder barked. “Not a word.” Thomas gulped and raised his hands in a display of innocence. He was no threat; surely, that was plain to see. A disturbance caught his eye in the crowd.

  “Make way!” somebody roared, and the crowd parted, revealing a bulky individual, around 50 years old, followed by an entourage of older-looking monsters.

  “What’s going on?” he boomed, before meeting eyes with Thomas. “A… human? How did he get in here?!” he protested to the first sword wielder.

  “I found him in the forest, I didn’t know he—”

  “You went into the forest?!” the Chief barked. “Why?! You know the rules. Nobody goes into the forest after sundown.” The swordsman took a knee and placed his arm across his chest,

  “My apologies, Chief. I heard screams for help and decided to act. I figured somebody was lost and there wasn’t time to get permission.” He turned to Thomas, glaring, “Although if I had known it was a filthy human, clearly, I wouldn’t have gone.”

  The clan leader’s angered expression eventually relented, and he flicked his wrist dismissively, indicating for the sword wielder to stand. Walking forward, he loomed over Thomas, debating what to do. The crowd hushed to a murmur before one of his entourage spoke up.

  “He must be put to death, I’m afraid.” Thomas’s eyes widened. Another called out,

  “It’s the only way to guarantee our safety.” A third took a different approach, campaigning for caution.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “We must not be rash, my fellow Elders. We must consider the implications. Killing this man could bring about greater conflict.” The entourage began bickering among themselves, debating what should be done, before the leader slowly raised a hand.

  “I agree with Elder Ravi. We must consider all options before action is taken. A misstep here could have far-reaching effects.”

  “Luran!” the Chief ordered, “you brought the human into our village, so it falls on you to guard him. Confine him to one of the empty hutches for the night. We’ll reconvene in the morning to discuss our options.”

  So Luran was the name of his savior, huh?

  “As you wish,” Luran responded.

  “Everyone else to bed,” he announced, motioning for people to leave with both hands. The crowd was slow to disperse despite the late hour, with monsters speaking to each other in hushed whispers. He watched them go before a sharp pain redirected his attention.

  “That way, human,” Luran motioned to the right with his sword. He obliged and continued walking until they arrived at the hutches. They were all filled with rabbits except for the hutch on the end, which was empty. He opened the door and walked inside. Protesting was a waste of time. He considered asking for a blanket, but given the look on Luran’s face, he opted to keep quiet. Luran walked up to the hutch and barred the door.

  “Hands,” he ordered. Thomas raised an eyebrow.

  “Is that really necessary? I'm trapped, naked, and weaponless for crying out loud!”

  “Hands!” Luran reiterated. This time his tone threatened immediate violence if he disobeyed. Sighing, Thomas presented his hands between the bars, and Luran bound them with a piece of cloth. The binding was absurdly tight.

  “Woh, ease up, would you?!” he pleaded. Luran didn’t. Instead, he pushed him to the back of the enclosure with a click of his tongue. Not breaking eye contact, he walked backwards to what was probably the wall of the farm building. He unbuckled his scabbard, which rested at his hilt, and placed it on the ground beside him.

  Drawing the sword, he lowered himself to the ground and sat cross-legged, resting the sword on his lap. The unbroken eye contact was very unsettling. Following suit, Thomas plonked himself onto the ground at the back of the enclosure and lay down. Getting any sleep here would be almost impossible. The ground was incredibly hard and the makeshift prison stank of animals. Not exactly ideal conditions for some shut-eye.

  Out of imminent danger for the first time, he allowed his heavy eyelids to close, but the predicament of his situation caused his mind to race. How did he get here? Where was he? And why were there monsters everywhere? Thinking back, he’d just kind of woken up here, hadn’t he? But what was he doing before? He scrunched his eyelids, trying to bring forth the memory. Oh. That’s right. He’d died. He’d forgotten all about that. The realization shook his very being.

  His life was over. So what was this? Some kind of purgatory? Hell, perhaps? It may have been a hellish day, but this isn’t exactly what he imagined hell would be like if it really did exist. No. Today felt far too real.

  Maybe he hadn’t died. Maybe this was some kind of fucked up game show where death row criminals had to survive for the entertainment of the elites. No, that couldn’t be it either. He hadn’t seen any cameras. And besides, he wasn’t up against other criminals here. He was up against monsters. Real living monsters.

  That confirmed what he didn’t want to believe. He was dead. Or at least, his old life was anyway. This wasn’t his world. It couldn’t be. Such monsters would never go unnoticed back home. He tried to fight back the tears, but when the first few hit, they wouldn’t relent, until he finally cried himself to sleep.