“Nothing can live for ever in the dark core of a shadow, the Umbra.

  Sooner or later, it will seek the partial illumination of the Penumbra where all you need is faith. Faith in what you are given.

  But to live in the Light? To survive there, exposed for all to see, you must have absolute belief in your own abilities, and in those who stand beside you.”

  (SolDiri Teachings)

  Darkness surrounded Davy, not the chaos of a bloody massacre, but something vast and silent. His ears were ringing. “Reckon that was the explosion,” he thought.

  He forced himself upright. His legs wavered, his head spinning as if the ground itself had turned unsteady beneath him.

  Coloured motes of light danced around him. Blinking in and out of existence like other worldly fireflies. “Rattled… again.” he thought.

  Their flickering light cast dark shadows across what looked like a cave. Its edges lay beyond reach, black as night.

  He swatted at one as it floated near; but missed; or thought he had. A dark shimmer spread across his hand. Warm and fleeting, leaving behind a shadow that felt real, as if darkness itself had weight and feeling.

  “Either I’m dead or my mind’s gone soft,” he muttered, shaking his head, regretting it instantly as pain lanced his mind. His legs buckled, and he dropped to his knees.

  The motes moved with purpose, surged forward, through him, around him, leaving dark trails of warmth that steadied his trembling limbs. For a moment, it felt like they were holding him up, a hand reaching out to steady a drunken stumble.

  “Could this get any stranger?” he wondered.

  The motes retreated, pulling together into a corner of the void, their individual colours combining to reveal a passage ahead. A dim light flickered at its end. He hesitated, then followed.

  The path led him out onto a rocky ledge, where an alien valley unfurled beneath him; lush, wild and unfamiliar.

  A ribbon of dense green forest cut through rocky edges, leading the eye towards a solitary standing stone perched high on the bluff opposite.

  Stange creatures flittered between the trees.

  Flyers, possum-like beasts with wings, flew from tree to tree, snatching fruit and chasing one another through the canopy. Catching a snack as the day drew to a close.

  The valley’s alien beauty was stark, almost hypnotic, against the jagged cliffs that crowded in.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  It didn’t take long for Davy to realise two things: he wasn’t dead, and this wasn’t San Antonio.

  He came to this realisation slowly, as he looked around.

  The stars above, barely visible as twilight settled over the valley, were scattered in unknown constellations.

  But also, the air smelled different, cleaner, untouched; wrong.

  No, this was definitely not San Antonio.

  Time blurred; days folded into weeks, maybe months.

  At first, survival was instinct. He found a stretch of fertile land near the river, above the flood zone, and made it his own.

  The ring-tailed creatures, sharp-toothed and quick, had been easy prey at first, but they learned fast. His traps, once full, now sat empty more often than not.

  The balance had shifted; he was no longer the hunter; he was being watched. Fortunately, he’d caught enough, their pelts were now clothes and a hat. Their meat dried and stored.

  Davy leaned against the rocky crag, adjusting the brim of his hat and fiddled with the colourful braid that tied a silver dollar to his wrist. This wasn’t the frontier he’d known, but it didn’t matter.

  He’d always thrived on solitude; carving a life from nothing, taking only what he needed, adapting to every challenge. Here, there were no squabbling factions, no politicians, no compromises. Just him and the land.

  But some nights, when the valley eventually fell quiet and the stars lit up the unfamiliar sky, he’d sit on the bluff and let his mind wander.

  He thought of the men who’d fought by his side. Were they dead? Had they won?

  He thought of his wife and kids too. The thoughts gnawed at him, a bitter mix of guilt and longing.

  He shook his head. There was no point in wishing for what was lost.

  His hunting knife, though strong was no substitute for an axe, so the cave had become home. It’s strange dark walls and twisting depths illuminated by the glow of the motes. They seemed to be watching, moving; a fire that lit his way.

  On those rare occasions when he was alone, his eyes adjusted. He could now see in the dark as if it were day, unsure how that had come about.

  He didn’t trust the motes, not fully.

  But they hadn’t harmed him… yet.

  And that suited him just fine.

  Most evenings, Davy sat on the bluff, watching the sun drop behind the standing stone, its fall perfectly aligned with the valley.

  A flyer had taken to coming near, it just stood there, almost invisible against the rock, looking at him. He threw it a piece of fruit. At first, the flyer was wary, but after watching him, and the red scrap, it decided to snap it up in deft hands and gobble it down. “It’ll be dark soon,” he muttered. The flyer cocked its head then flew off. He watched it glide into the canopy of the forest.

  As he tracked its flight, a glint of light caught his eye, like light on broken glass. The motes were suddenly there, buzzing around his head, then darted into the cave. He stared, dumbstruck, as the area around the cave’s entrance shifted into an unbroken rock face.

  One solitary mote lingered, its green oscillations pointing to where the entrance had been.

  It moved toward the rock, then back to Davy. As it floated near, a warm sensation heated his body, but not like a cloak. This was from the inside out – “weird”. Then the mote passed through the surface of the wall. He reached out, gently following the mote with his hand and watched, it... vanish.

  “What the!” He jerked away, staring at his hand, slightly greyed and cold. Slowly, the shadow leached away, colour and sensation returned. He exhaled sharply, flexing his hand. The mote reappeared, darting frantically into the wall and back again. It seemed… agitated.

  Turning towards the standing stone, Davy spotted a small black bird coming his way, impossibly fast across the horizon.

  “Well, I’ll be,” he muttered, shading his eyes against the setting sun.

  As he stepped forward, the rock wall shifted, enveloping him in hazy darkness. Through the haze, he watched the bird resolve into a strange mechanical contraption.

  It swooped into the valley, hovering over his field, still wings turning the air into a violent whirlwind. Davy called it “a Bird,” but even that felt wrong. Its wings didn’t flap, and the hum it gave off made his teeth ache; creating a storm that churned up his plot and the food growing there.

  “Hey, that’s my darn dinner!” he growled, starting towards the shadow’s edge, knife in hand.

  Before he could move, a curtain of motes blocked his path. Their message clear, STOP.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw a solitary ringtail dart across the open ground, away from the Bird and towards the forest. A red beam shot out from the Bird, striking the creature mid-leap.

  It crumpled, scorched and lifeless. “That ain’t good.”