Darkness.
Not the absence of light, but a kind of unbeing — like a breath held too long.
Then came sensation.
Cold air kissed his skin. Wind rustled unseen trees. The scent of wet earth and pine reached his nose. When he opened his eyes, the sky, overcast and bruised, filtered through the bare canopy of an unfamiliar forest.
He sat up slowly, his body aching, his mind racing.
Where am I?
And then, a voice. Calm. Dismissive. Almost bored.
"You're awake. Good. We don't have long."
A figure stood in the clearing — no footsteps had announced its arrival. Neither man nor beast nor god in the way one might imagine, but something in between: a robe of stars, a face that shifted between old and young, kind and cruel, and a posture that suggested eternal fatigue.
"You're not dead. Yet. Technically. And you're not on Earth anymore. Obviously."
The man blinked. His name... what was his name? His memories were intact. Civil engineer. University medals. A half-completed bridge in Jakarta. A job interview that never happened. Then — a flash. Headlights. Rain. Something slamming into something else.
"Yes, yes," the being said, waving a hand. "Truck. Death. Very tragic. But let's move on."
"What are you?" the man asked, his voice hoarse.
"I am a god. A lesser one, if you must know. Don't look so surprised — I had to go off the registry to pull this off. That's why you're here, in the middle of nowhere. No temples. No witnesses. No divine fingerprints."
The man stood slowly, still unsure if he was dreaming or mad. "Why me?"
"Because your world knows how to build things. Big things. Clean water. Medicine. Machines. My world?" He gestured with a flick of his hand toward the hills. "Still throwing buckets into wells and arguing over whose rocks are holier."
"I'm tired of being laughed at. I want progress. And since divine interference is strictly disallowed — I'm outsourcing it."
He walked toward the man and tapped him on the forehead.
"Language barrier? Gone. You'll understand everyone. Call it divine auto-translate."
Another gesture, and a glimmer of golden light sank into the man's chest.
"I've also uploaded something into you. An interface. You won't see it, but you'll hear it. Think of it as a companion — an AI, trained on your world's entire body of scientific knowledge. Everything your species ever knew, stored inside a crystal seed."
"It won't build for you. It won't think for you. But it will help you... if you learn to ask the right questions."
The man was silent.
"One last thing."
The god looked over his shoulder, nervous now.
"You've been placed far from civilization. No cities. No watchers. The others — the real gods — mustn't know. If they find out I've broken protocol, they'll burn this whole continent to ash and say it was a lesson in humility."
The god began to fade, his form unraveling like smoke in the wind.
"Build a future. Or die trying. Either way, do it quietly."
And then the clearing was empty.
No divine presence. No fanfare. Just the sound of wind and birds and the man — alone, in a world untouched by progress.
He stood there, stunned. His breath visible in the chill air. His heartbeat pounding in his ears.
Then he heard it — a voice, crisp and synthetic, inside his mind:
"AI interface initialized."
The voice returned, clear and mechanical, but with a strange gentleness:
"Please state your name."
He blinked, still disoriented. "Elias," he said at last.
"Acknowledged. Welcome, Elias. For continued communication, please designate a name for this interface."
Elias looked up at the grey sky, thinking for a moment. "Call yourself SAGE — Systematic Artificial Guidance Engine."
"Designation accepted. I am SAGE. Standing by for directive."
Elias took a breath, the weight of cold air filling his lungs. He scanned the forest — tall trees, scattered rocks, distant birdsong. No sign of civilisation. No tools. No shelter. And no clothes — not even a scrap of cloth to guard against the cold.
He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. Survival wasn't just about food or water — exposure could kill him just as quickly.
"SAGE," he muttered through chattering teeth, "what materials in a temperate forest biome can be used to fashion emergency insulation or clothing?"
"Recommended options include layered bark, dry leaves secured with vine cordage, moss for insulation, and animal hide where feasible. Priority: construct a fire, then a debris shelter with thermal mass."
He nodded to himself. First fire. Then insulation. Then shelter. He moved toward a cluster of trees, already scanning for dry limbs and brittle bark.
"SAGE, fire. No tools. What are the most viable options?"
"Friction-based methods are most accessible. Hand drill, bow drill, or fire plough. The hand drill requires the least pre-construction but is physically demanding. Bow drill offers greater efficiency but requires cordage and a suitably shaped spindle and hearth board."
Elias gritted his teeth. He remembered seeing survival shows. The bow drill always looked deceptively simple. "Let's assume I can find or make cordage. Materials for the bow drill components?"
"For the hearth board and spindle: dry, non-resinous softwood, such as cedar, poplar, or willow. For the bow: a green, flexible branch approximately arm's length. For the socket or handhold: a piece of harder wood or smooth stone with a slight depression. For tinder: finely shredded dry bark, grass, or punk wood."
Elias began his search. The ground was damp, but he found a fallen branch, a section of which seemed drier a few feet off the ground. It was some kind of pine. He snapped off a piece. "SAGE, identify this wood."
"Analysing visual and estimated density based on fracture pattern... likely a local variant of Pinus Sylvestris. Suitable for fuel, less ideal for friction fire components due to resin content, but potentially usable if very dry sections are found."
He discarded it for now, looking for something else. His eyes scanned the forest floor, desperate. He needed a sharp edge. After several minutes of increasingly frantic searching, his bare foot brushed against something hard and angular. A piece of flint, its edge chipped naturally to a wicked sharpness.
"Thank you," he whispered, to whom he wasn't sure. The god? The universe?
With the flint, he could work wood. He found a dead, standing sapling of a lighter-coloured wood SAGE identified as "potentially a Betula Minor – birch-like, good for spindle and hearth if dry." He laboriously sawed and scraped with the flint, his hands already raw.
Making the divot in the hearth board, shaping the spindle, finding a curved branch for a bow – it took hours. For cordage, SAGE directed him to a fibrous inner bark of another tree, which he painstakingly stripped and twisted.
The sun, a pale disc behind the clouds, was beginning its descent when he was finally ready. He assembled his crude bow drill, placed the spindle in the hearth board, and nestled a small pile of painstakingly gathered fluffy, dry moss and shredded bark nearby as tinder.
He began.
It was agony. His muscles screamed. Sweat, despite the cold, beaded on his forehead. The spindle slipped. The cord snapped twice, forcing him to re-twist it. He cursed, his breath pluming.
"Maintain consistent downward pressure and a smooth, even motion," SAGE advised, its tone unperturbed.
"Easy for you to say," Elias growled, but he tried again. And again.
Finally, a wisp of smoke. Then more. A tiny ember glowed in the dark dust. He carefully tipped it into his tinder bundle, cupping his hands around it, blowing gently.
The tinder smouldered, then caught. A tiny, precious flame.
Elias nearly wept with relief. He fed it tiny twigs, then larger ones, until a small, crackling fire blazed in the deepening gloom. The warmth was a physical shock, a wave of comfort that made his aching body sag.
He huddled close, shivering uncontrollably now that the exertion had stopped. The fire was life.
"SAGE," he said, his voice raspy. "Bark. Leaves. Clothing."
"Strip large, flexible pieces of bark. Inner bark is often more pliable. Overlap them for coverage. Secure with vine cordage. Stuff with dry leaves or moss for insulation. This will be rudimentary and offer minimal protection, but better than exposure."
The next hour was a clumsy, fumbling effort in the firelight. He stripped bark from a fallen log SAGE deemed suitable, cut rough holes with his flint for his arms and head, and tied the stiff pieces around him with more twisted fibres. He looked ridiculous, a patchwork creature of bark and desperation, but the wind no longer bit directly at his skin. He stuffed handfuls of dry leaves between the layers.
"Shelter," he gasped, fatigue setting in hard.
"A simple lean-to against a large rock or fallen log is fastest. Use sturdy branches for the frame, then layer smaller branches and debris thickly on top and sides to insulate and weatherproof. Position the entrance away from the prevailing wind, with the fire near the mouth for radiant heat and protection."
He found a large, moss-covered boulder that offered some natural windbreak. Dragging branches, piling leaves and pine boughs, he constructed a crude, A-frame lean-to, just big enough to crawl into. He lined the floor with more boughs and leaves.
By the time he was done, the forest was pitch black beyond the fire's circle. Exhausted, aching, but alive, Elias crawled into his shelter. The ground was still cold, the bark stiff and scratchy, but the fire at the entrance cast a warm glow, and the wind was blunted.
He lay there, listening to the crackle of the flames and the sigh of the wind in the alien trees.
"SAGE," he whispered.
"Standing by."
"Tomorrow... water. Food. Better tools."
"Affirmative. Prioritised tasks: secure potable water source, identify edible flora and fauna, improve tool efficacy."
Elias closed his eyes. He was a civil engineer. He'd built bridges that spanned kilometres, designed systems that brought clean water to millions. Now, he was a primitive man, fighting for basic survival with a rock and a prayer to a lesser god he wasn't even sure he believed in.
And yet… a tiny spark, not just from the fire, but within him. A challenge. This world was a blank slate. The god wanted progress.
He, Elias, knew how to build.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips before exhaustion claimed him. The first day was done. He had survived.