The Chronicles of the Unaligned Scholar (Chapter 1)
The fluorescent lights of the university library hummed, a familiar, comforting drone. Giorno leaned back in his uncomfortable chair, rubbing his eyes. Hours spent wrestling with Proto-Indo-European verb conjugations had left his brain feeling like overworked mush. He glanced at the clock: 4:37 PM. Almost time to head home, grab some instant ramen, and maybe lose himself in a fantasy webnovel for an hour or two. Anything but more ancient languages.
He picked up a heavy, leather-bound book he’d requested from the archives – a peculiar, untranslated manuscript said to be a collection of obscure myths. Probably just gibberish, but his professor encouraged digging into the weird stuff. As his fingers traced the unfamiliar script on the cover, a strange sensation prickled his skin. The air in the usually sterile library felt… charged.
The book in his hands suddenly grew cold, intensely cold, radiating a chilling aura that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. The lights flickered violently, then died, plunging the section of the library into darkness. Panic flared. What was happening? A power surge?
A low, guttural sound echoed from the stacks nearby – not human. A scraping, dragging noise, accompanied by a foul, metallic scent, like rust and decay. It was followed by a chilling moan that spoke of pure, mindless malice.
Terror, cold and absolute, seized Giorno. This wasn’t a power surge. It sounded like something from the grim fantasy he sometimes read. Something wrong.
He stumbled back, dropping the heavy book with a thud. As it hit the floor, a blinding white light erupted from it, not like lightning, but soft, pervasive, and utterly overwhelming. Giorno instinctively raised his hands to shield his eyes, his heart hammering against his ribs. The cold, the sound, the terrifying scent – it all intensified for a split second, swallowed by the pure, searing light.
And then, silence.
When Giorno cautiously lowered his hands, he wasn’t in the library anymore.
He stood in a forest. Ancient, towering trees with leaves the colour of deep emerald stretched towards a sky he didn’t recognize, a sky painted in hues of orange and purple he’d never seen at sunset. The air was fresh, clean, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth, utterly devoid of the decay he’d just experienced. Birdsong, real birdsong, filled the air.
He was alone. The silence was broken only by the sounds of the wilderness. His backpack, his phone, his keys – all gone. He was wearing his casual clothes – jeans, a t-shirt, a light jacket. And clutched in his hand, where the cold book had been, was a stone. Not just any stone, but a smooth, palm-sized object of deep azure, etched with glowing silver lines forming symbols he didn’t recognize. It felt warm to the touch.
As he stared at it, bewildered, a sudden influx of information flooded his mind. Not in words he had to read, but as pure understanding. The symbols on the stone… they represented concepts. Connection. Comprehension. Adaptation. And the stone itself… an artifact of immense, unaligned power.
He understood the language of the forest – the rustling leaves weren’t just wind; they carried subtle meanings. The bird calls were distinct, conveying information. It was like a filter had been removed from his perception. This wasn’t just knowledge; it was inherent understanding, a new way of processing reality. The runestone. This was its power.
He heard a snap of a twig nearby. Giorno froze, his senses, amplified by the stone, picking up the sound with startling clarity. Something was approaching. Something large.
He pressed himself against the rough bark of a tree, his heart pounding again, not from decay this time, but from raw fear. He was a scholar, not a survivor. He knew nothing about this world, nothing about fighting, nothing about…
A figure emerged from the trees, moving with predatory grace. Tall, clad in leather and mail, carrying a large axe. Her face was stern, framed by short, practical hair, her eyes sharp and assessing. She was clearly a warrior. And she looked dangerous.
Her gaze swept over the area, pausing when it landed on him. Her eyes narrowed, focusing on the glowing runestone clutched in his hand.
“You,” she stated, her voice deep and resonant, in a language Giorno didn’t recognize, yet understood perfectly thanks to the stone. “The artifact. Where did you get it? And who are you?”
Giorno swallowed, his mind racing, his newfound comprehension processing the warrior’s stance, her probable intent, the situation’s peril. He was lost, weak, and held something she clearly wanted. His quiet, predictable life was definitely over.
“I… I’m Giorno,” he managed, holding up the glowing stone slightly. “And… I think I’m not from here.” His adventure, terrifying and unexpected, had officially begun, and the first powerful woman of this new world was staring him down.
