Chapter 2

The morning light didn't dispel the darkness, but rather replaced the forest's eternal gloom with a softer, more penetrating light. Shafts of light, filtering through the gaps in the lofty treetops, carried suspended dust particles and tiny, glowing spores, slanting across the mossy ground. Meereen was awakened by a strange, dew-scented coolness.

He took a sharp breath, and the sharp pain in his chest made him curl up instantly. However, just as he was about to face the familiar tearing feeling, a strange feeling seized him.

The pain has eased.

He cautiously tried taking a deep breath again. True, while the dull ache in his left rib cage still lingered, the sharp pain that had felt like being cut by a knife with every breath was gone. He lowered his head in disbelief and gently touched his left rib. The swelling had largely subsided. Even more shocking was his ankle, which had been swollen like a bun the previous night and tightly wrapped in moss. Now, only a slight soreness and tightness remained. He tried, very slowly, to bend his ankle. The sharp pain was gone, only a slight discomfort from overstretching the muscles.

This couldn't be possible. He vividly remembered the impact of the fall, the excruciating pain that felt like bones were shattering. How could such a serious injury have healed to this degree overnight? Even the best healer in the world he remembered... He stopped his thoughts abruptly. The concept of that world seemed so distant and unrealistic here.

He untied the bandage around his ankle. The skin was a little red, but the bruises had faded considerably, and the swelling had almost disappeared. This was definitely not the speed of natural healing. A cold, slightly unsettling thought flashed through his mind: What had happened to him?

The instinct for survival overwhelmed his doubts. The unexpected improvement in his injuries was a blessing. He grasped the rough, cold tree roots and tried to stand. His right ankle, though still weak, was strong enough to support his weight. The pain in his ribs reminded him to remain cautious, but it was no longer a fatal shackle. A surge of strength surged from him, a feeling of having survived a disaster.

He looked around, the ancient forest revealing even richer layers in the morning light. Last night's vague fear was replaced by a clearer understanding: this place was beautiful but dangerous, and he needed a more stable foothold than to huddle among the tree roots forever.

Milin shuddered, jerking his head to dispel the cold, dead scene. But the moment the rune's glow and his companions faded, it seared his nerves like a brand. That world was filled with cold magic and destruction, while the forest here was unfamiliar, but at least it was full of life.

He forced himself to focus on the present: food, water, shelter… He licked his chapped lips, his gaze fixed on the brightly colored berries growing on the low bushes. Bright colors often signified poison. He recalled an ancient method of identification: applying juice to the skin to observe the reaction. He carefully plucked a dark purple, smooth-skinned berry, squeezed the juice, and applied it to a small patch of skin on the back of his hand. After waiting a moment, seeing no stinging or redness, he plucked another scarlet berry and repeated the test. This time, a burning sensation quickly spread over the area where the berry had been applied, and his skin turned slightly red. He immediately wiped the juice away with his sleeve, still feeling a lingering fear.

He memorized the appearance of these two berries. Finally, he found an unremarkable, bluish-black berry. The juice test showed no reaction. He hesitated, then plucked a small one, gently bit through the skin, and tasted the juice. It was sour with a hint of sweetness. After a moment, he felt no discomfort. He cautiously ate a few, and the sour juice moistened his parched throat.

Water was more readily available, the morning dew condensing into glistening beads on the giant fern fronds and mosses. He carefully collected these, using large, relatively smooth-edged hard leaves he had found to roll into a funnel, to quench his thirst. He also found a low-lying area where clear, earthy, shallow water oozed from beneath the moss. It tasted crisp and sweet, seemingly clean.

Shelter was key. While the sunken roots of the trees could block the wind, they weren't safe enough. His gaze fell on a few strange-looking trees not far away. Their trunks were thick, and massive branches branched out about two meters above the ground. Tough vines entwined the branches, forming a natural, relatively flat platform, atop which lay a heap of dead leaves.

There, an idea took shape: a dwelling above the ground, safe from most terrestrial threats.

Milin closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the crisp forest air, suppressing the grief and powerlessness surging in his heart. The architectural techniques of that world, those fragments of knowledge about using structures to support weight and using energy beams to reinforce joints, though vague, seemed to guide him instinctively.

He set to work, first needing tools. He found a piece of black flint with a relatively sharp edge and a thick, tough hardwood branch. Using vines and flexible bark fibers, he repeatedly tied the flint flakes firmly to the end of the branch, crafting a crude but effective axe.

With an axe, his efficiency increased greatly. He cut down a large number of straight and tough young branches as thick as his arms, and collected a large number of flexible vines and broad and thick fern leaves. He climbed onto the selected branch platform and began to build.

He crisscrossed thick branches around the edges of the platform, forming a basic framework. Using vines, he skillfully tied and knotted the branches, resulting in a surprisingly stable structure. Then, he densely arranged thinner branches on the framework to form the skeleton of the floor and walls. Finally, he laid layers of thick fern leaves like tiles on the framework, holding them down with vines at the edges. He also included a viewing port and a door curtain for easy access, also made from large fern leaves strung together with vines.

The entire process took most of the day. Sweat soaked his tattered gray clothes, and the pain in his ribs flared up slightly with repeated exertion, but it didn't intensify. When the setting sun once again cast dappled light and shadows into the forest, a tree nest nearly three meters above the ground, covered in giant fern leaves and offering excellent concealment, was completed.

Meereen sat in the home he had built, his back against the sturdy trunk, peering down through the observation hole. A sense of groundedness he had never felt before washed over him, a mixture of fatigue and a small sense of accomplishment. He had survived the first day and built a shelter.

Just then, while he was sorting the vines, a sharp barb on one of the vines accidentally cut a long gash on his arm. Blood gushed out instantly, bringing a sharp pain.

He frowned and subconsciously tried to find moss to stop the bleeding.

In the seconds it took for his gaze to rest on the wound, something astonishing happened. As if pulled inward by invisible threads, the edges of the torn flesh were visibly closing inward. The bright red blood quickly congealed and darkened, leaving a faint, almost imperceptible silvery-white glimmer deep within the wound. In just a dozen seconds, the hideous wound was reduced to a shallow red mark. A moment later, even that vanished, the skin returning to its original state, leaving only a trace of sticky blood as a testament to the trauma.

Meereen froze, his eyes fixed on the smooth, restored skin, his heart pounding in his chest.

Self-healing, so fast and so thorough.

This wasn't simply a case of strong recovery; it defied all physiological common sense. Last night's unusual healing of his ribs, the reduction of swelling in his ankle, and now the instantaneous healing of his wound—everything had an answer. But the answer itself brought deeper confusion and a hint of worry.

Where did this ability come from? Was it the mutation of the fall, or was it related to that destroyed world full of cold magic, the silver light that was last seen in that world.

Night fell, and the darkness of the forest seemed even more intimate than it had been the night before, now that he had a corner of his own. Meereen had lit a small fire of dry moss, and the flames crackled, driving away the chill and the deep darkness. He stared at the dancing flames, and also at his own intact arm.