Chapter Text
Look, he didn't ask for his day to go like this.
You know how in almost every Isekai story and show the protagonist loses their memories? Yeah, that didn't happen in his case. Even if he wished it did. The memories of how he died were fresh as ever.
His own brother...
He really shouldn't be surprised. He was... awful. Yes, he knew he shouldn't say something like that about 'family' and all that junk. He hadn't considered him family for at least a decade before now. Probably longer.
Family was what you made of it. His real family was his online friends, as sad as that may sound. He chose them as his siblings.
And now they'd never hear from him again. He hoped they'd be okay, especially since there would be no one to tell them the truth. He just hoped they didn't think he had abandoned them. He wished he could have said goodbye.
Oh Gods, he missed them already... missed reading his friend Newt's excited commentary on something he wrote or had drawn. Missed Zee's jokes about 'eating his art'.
He wasn't home with them, instead he was waking up on plush moss, a worn nail beside him, its tip sank into the moss.
The shock of waking up not human anymore had worn away, leaving an empty pit that settled in his stomach. Besides, the ache in his chest made up for that tenfold.
He couldn't breathe. Whatever was wrong was reaching up, choking any air before it could cycle through him.
He knew exactly where he was. The gilded cage was literally screaming at him, letting the human boy know just how fucked he was.
Moss Grotto, Pharloom. This wasn't a dream. He couldn't lucid dream if his life depended on it, and everything felt so real and oh Gods what was he going to do–
He was in Pharloom, likely in Hornets place, given everything he could take in. He's now technically responsible for the fate and future of a dying kingdom. That's Hornets job, not his! He can't save an entire kingdom!! He... He couldn't even save himself...
Was he having an asthma attack, anxiety attack or panic attack? It was kinda important. One of those could only be solved by medicine he currently didn't have access to.
That totally wasn't terrifying.
Okay... From what he knows... this wasn't a panic attack. His thoughts were clear enough, so now it's just a waiting game. If it's his asthma, there's nothing he can do about it. His inhaler is back in his home universe.
The young adult let his head hit the moss once more, ignoring the dull thud and burst of pain it caused. If anything, it only solidified just how real this situation was.
If he wanted to survive for even a second on his own, he needed a checklist.
Number 1: Find a way out of this hole. Hopefully without fighting the Moss Mother guarding his only... exit... Ah.
Could he climb the shaft once high enough? He didn't have Cling Grip, but maybe it was doable?
The twenty year old grabbed a clump of loose moss, and screamed into it. Why couldn't he have been Isekai'd into the Pokemon world instead...?!
-
He could fly.
He was still a Weaver in half part, but he obviously wasn't Hornet, either. Her fur(?) was an ebony black, his a dusty brown with a pseudo mask around his eyes. He had no mask at all, while she did. She was half Wyrm, his other half was Moth.
The boy didn't know his insects that well, struggling to pick out what the burnt orange and brown marking meant in regards to species.
Something... Something with orange in the name?
It'll come to him eventually, hopefully.
The specifics don't matter. Flying meant he didn't need to fight Moss Mother. Yes, sue him, he's a coward for not wanting to fight. But even with his newly gifted nail, he doesn't have much confidence in himself.
Would flying up through the hole skip the Chapel Maid conversion entirely? If so, what else could he skip?
Well, obviously, a lot of Act 1. If he went straight up to Shellwood, he could skip the first Lace fight, Fourth Chorus, and Moorwing. The thought of skipping the Bell Beast fight also crossed his mind, but not only would he need to ring the bell beyond her fight, he couldn't, in good conscience, not free her.
Things would get a bit more linear once reaching Act 2, and beyond that?
Well, he wasn't gonna let Act 3 happen. Not if he had anything to say about it. He'd... He'd find a way, a better way. Somehow.
On the topic of lighter news, he was actually glad there was one rule of Isekai that hadn't been broken. The protagonist forgetting their name. However, he inadvertently had a loophole. It was his deadname he couldn't remember. The name he had no choice over.
He was Kieran, named after his favorite Pokemon character. He was Kieran, the boy that his parents didn't believe existed. The boy his brother hated.
He liked to think most people would hate losing their name. But for him? It was a blessing.
He was Kieran, and he would find a way to save this kingdom, no matter how scared he was. He had to.
The sensation of having wings was strange. He could wrap them around himself, folding over into a cloak of sorts. That would help in the colder areas but he was glad about not needing to climb Mount Fay.
Everything was so much more vibrant than before, experiencing this world through a screen. He could hear the trickle of water from the room beyond and the buzz of Mossmirs as he tested the his new ability.
Flying was difficult. Bugs made it seem so easy, but actually doing it was tiring. He stopped on a ledge, wings drooping. Come on, he could rest when he got up to Bone Bottom!
The air was far more stale than the Moss Grotto, dust and ash filtering from the Marrow.
Good. He could stop here, chat with Pilby (what a idea that was! Talking with one if his favorite characters!) and then go and meet Sherma when he was ready. He could go open the door for him, then double back and shoot for Eira (and by extension, Silkspear).
-
Child of a different land... We who remained have waited long... Bind our strength to yours... Reclaim the future of our haunted kingdom...
The first part of the message is what stood out to him. Did the Weavers know he was an outsider? If so, why didn't they reject him? Surely they should have known he wasn't the big awesome hero they'd been waiting for, right?
He couldn't dwell on it, he had a friend to free and a bell to ring.
Kieran did a test run, gripping the worn nail that must've been his own tightly. Like how he saw in the game, he chucked it like a javelin.
"WHOA-HOHO!!" He cheered as the weapon flew back into his hand. That was awesome!
He could do a spell, he had magic! Real, genuine magic!
The hybrid Moth took to the air, swooping as he continued to cheer. His light giggling filled the otherwise desolate Marrow.
It was only when his claws touched the warmed bells did he realize what he was about to do. His first real fight. Against a boss that does double damage. Ah.
-
Kieran learned a hard way what death was like here.
He couldn't keep up with the Bell Beast. A falling bell caught him off guard, even with his flight advantage, letting Eira leap at him, his vision going black before the boy could react–
"–ck you, you piece of shit. I fucking hate you!!" Kieran didn't consider himself weak. He was the oldest, so he had that going for him. But his brother was bigger than him, taking their father's height.
He had something metal. For an awful moment, Kieran thought he would harm himself, but instead the younger boy rushed at him.
He raised a fist. This wasn't the first time he'd wrestled, he'd done so with his sisters when his mom needed to leave for laundry at night. There were special rules, no biting or pulling hair, and never enough to make someone bleed.
This wasn't like that, however. This was real. A real fight. Far worse than any tantrum or outburst he's had. Kieran almost didn't think he had it in him, but he should've known better.
Now he was paying the price. A strike knocked him down, a punch to his side, and there was a sharp gasp, and soon enough, pain flared. Right where his brother punched him.
But it was sharper now, and through the haze, Kieran felt the trickle of liquid running down his side.
Something was pulled out from the area, which caused more voices to join in, growing panicked. He couldn't see, just blurred shapes. Kieran was made all too aware that they were his own tears.
It hurts. Fuck.
"Mom...?" He spoke in a quiet, rasping voice.
"No..." His mother's voice broke through. Strained and breaking. Like she truly loved him, despite her faults. "Nononono- baby... hold- on their way-"
His hearing was going. He just wanted her to hold him, tell him everything would be okay, even if she never did such a thing in his life.
He just wanted to be loved, unconditionally. Was that too much to ask?
– and he was back at the bench near Shakra, her singing grounding him. He held his nail against his chest, the cold metal a welcomed break from the heat.
He was here, he was alive. Not bleeding out surrounded by people who truly couldn't have cared about him in different circumstances. Not crushed under the Bell Beast, pilgrimage cut short.
He could respawn.
That was a relief. He didn't need to worry about even the slightest mistake.
That didn't mean he wanted to 'die' again any time soon. The memory it triggered hurt, the echoes of where the knife stabbed him blitzing through his body.
The former human let himself sink into the metal of the bench.
At least he had a safety net. He was gonna need it.