Unknown Traveller

🕯️ The Knock

Knock knock.

A sharp rap at the door jolted AD from sleep.

His head throbbed — not just from exhaustion, but from overload.So many things had happened in so little time… his brain couldn't process where he was.

For a fleeting second, he thought he was home.

But the musty air, the foreign smell of bark and dried sap, the soft pulse of glowing vine-lamps outside the wooden door — all reminded him:This wasn't Noida.This wasn't Earth.

This was somewhere else.

He stood up too quickly. His vision blurred. His grey waistcoat hung loosely, shirt wrinkled. He'd forgotten to wear the black coat.The cane rested silently by the bed frame.

Knock knock.

"Hey," came a familiar voice. "Dinner's starting. You coming?"

AD opened the door — and there was Cardin, grinning like nothing was strange.

"You look like a ghost," Cardin chuckled. "Let's go. We eat in groups. You're with me tonight."

AD squinted into the night. The glowing vines in the trees had brightened, casting a soft light across the village walkways. The jungle fog had lifted slightly — making it feel less like a dream, more like a place.

He rubbed his temple. He must've only slept for two hours.

[The Gathering]

AD followed Cardin across the wooden platforms, suspended by vines and roots. They passed thick-barked homes woven into tree trunks. Soft blue and green light pulsed from inside the walls — from glowing vine threads, not fire.

In the center clearing, five long tables stood beneath a high canopy of foliage. Each table could seat forty people — and they were filling fast.

AD noticed the tribespeople now more clearly.

They wore structured survival suits made of jungle leather, hardened sap plates, and woven cloths that resembled modern jungle gear. Many had protective goggles hanging from their necks, belts with pouches, vials, and tools. Not cavemen — survivors with logic.

Hair colors ranged from black to chestnut, but some had white streaks. Their eyes glowed faintly in the dark — shades of green, grey, even violet — with slit pupils like reptiles. Their bodies were flexible, light, and strong.

Suddenly, a tall man approached — not old, but not young. His face was sharp, framed by a jagged beard. His coat was darker than the others, reinforced with bone-plated edges.

"Ah," Cardin nodded. "That's the tribal leader — Erven Faelix."

AD watched as Erven lifted a hand in greeting — elbow bent, palm tilted downward.

AD stared blankly. He had no idea how to respond.

Cardin whispered, "He's greeting you, idiot. Do the arm."

Before AD could react, the man laughed. "Don't worry, boy. Cardin told me you're a traveler. My mistake for assuming you'd know our customs."

"I… appreciate it," AD said cautiously.

"I'm Erven Faelix, Leader of the Savax People," he said. "And you're AD Mystwalker, right?"

AD nodded. "Yes. I… lost my path."

"A shame," Erven said, folding his arms. "But not uncommon. Many wanderers came before you. You're welcome to stay with us."

AD hesitated. "I… I wouldn't want to intrude. I'm still a stranger."

Erven laughed loudly. "Stranger? None of us knew each other once. Savax wasn't always this big. We survive by trusting — not blindly, but smartly."

AD gave a polite smile, but his mind was calculating.

He's shrewd, AD thought. [He wants something. A psychologist can see the way his words dodge suspicion but probe for usefulness.]

[And I'm the liar here.I'm the one faking a background.They're just reacting like normal people.Still… trust too easily, and you invite danger.Maybe that's what wiped other tribes out.]

"I'll… accept the invitation," AD said.

"Then tonight," Erven grinned, "we dine for you — AD Mystwalker."

People nearby raised their hands in a short cheer. A few even clapped him on the back. They seemed happy to include him.

No one calls me "Mr." AD noticed. Formalities don't exist here.Status is defined by survival, not title. And survival is shared.

He sat beside Cardin and Mathina — who, as usual, gave him a guarded look. Across the table, a girl addressed Erven as "Grandfather," and AD's eyes narrowed.

He doesn't look older than 40…Does that mean they age slower here?Or is biology that different?Whatever this world is… it isn't Earth.

Or it's an Earth where logic died long ago.

[The Retreat]

Later that night, AD returned to his tree-room. The vine-lamp now flickered softly — someone must've lit it while he was away. It wasn't fire, but a glowing fungus in a bowl-like fixture.

The cane leaned in the same spot. He hadn't brought it out.The pocket watch ticked quietly from the nightstand.

The room was warm — too warm for his nerves.He sat down on the wooden chair, elbows on the table.

A sigh escaped him.

He stared at his gloves.

This isn't home.Nothing here follows rules.Even the people — too kind, too normal, too trusting.

That makes it worse.Because it feels like a trap…even if it's not.

He lowered his head, hands covering his face.

Stay calm. Don't collapse.I'm a psychologist. Not a patient.

But damn it… my head…

His gaze shifted to the watch. Then the cane.

And then he whispered:

"Why the hell did I pick up that phone…?"

The question hit harder than anything tonight.He could see it — the wall phone, the ringing, the shaking.The words:

Are you want to disapair?

He laughed bitterly. "Of course I said yes…"

A pause.

Then, more softly:

No one forces you into the train.You climb aboard.

He stared at the wall, hollow and tired.

And then he remembered a line from the note:

This mission is your fare to the next station.

His voice dropped.

Will the next station be home?Or just the beginning of something worse?

He leaned back, slowly. His eyes fluttered.

Please… let this be a dream.Let me wake up in my room.Just once. Let reality be real again…

Sleep didn't welcome him like an old friend.

It pulled him under like a tide.

Not peace.

Not escape.

Only silence.