You are probably wondering how I survived. In all heroic tales the chosen one would find some way to get himself out of trouble. A magic sword, a clever trick. Or maybe even getting rescued by anyone from a powerful wizard to a beautiful princess. I was not so lucky. As it turns out, powerful magical artifacts and people generally don't journey out into the middle of nowhere just for the sake of one unlucky man dying in the wilderness. Shocking, I know.

But you are emperor, master of the continent, you say. Well, that was the man I became, and not the man who I was. I arrived in the world in a sorry state, with half my limbs and less than half my bones. No magical artifacts to guide me, no newfound powers to protect me. But the gods were merciful enough to grant to me the one treasure that shall save my life. A knife.

From the blue skies dropped a gleaming blade which reflected all the sun's light. My hopes rested on that single knife from the moment I saw it, a light in a tunnel without end. The knife was my own, if I were to guess. Thrown in the casket that carried me to this world by some scared scientist that was unsure where it led. The kind soul to send it, whoever they were, have no doubt seen nothing of their experiment. But it was what I needed to live.

I struggled, beating at the fly's eyes with every bit of strength I could muster within my battered body. My blows rained down in a storm of furious punches that seemed to annoy the creature more than anything else. But it did not stop my run. Oh and I did run, like I had never ran before. Each hobbling step was a leap for my chances of survival. I felt the fly's teeth pierce my shoulder, and I turned around to swat it off again. Mud was flung into my eyes, wicked claws digging into my injured limbs, but I did not give up, no.

The pain of the cuts and torn flesh were flea bites compared to the fear of death. Large bites, to be sure, but nothing compared to death. I kicked, punched, and screamed until I finally reached the knife, a minute or hour later, I couldn't be sure. It was a wonder I had not bled out. Then I stabbed, like a serial killer on a rampage against his worst enemy. Blood coated my body, most of it my own. Hot, sticky, and smelly in my army uniform.

I could not describe my satisfaction from seeing it's blood. That murky, browning blood that leaked as I sliced through its black armor like butter. I had thought to kill it, to slay the creature that had turned my strong shoulders into mangled humps of flesh. But it flew. Oh, the disappointment as I saw him flee over the many trees that belonged to the accursed forest I found myself in. The buzzing of its wings as it passed by like a shadow. In a moment it was gone, and I left alone in a forest clearing with too many injuries to count and a knife.

Thank god it was a useful knife. If you ever need to prepare for surviving the wilderness and could only bring one thing, bring this. The salesmen called it Victorinox, we in the army called it the all purpose knife. It was really all purpose. You could use it for anything from cutting up vegetables to filing your nails. But being a housewife was the least of my issues. I needed food, water, and medical attention. If I could get those, knowing where I was would not hurt either.

Now the first two were not hard to get, or so my training told me. Wilderness survival for a navy SEAL should not be that hard. We did get some of the best instructors after all, and were prepared for almost any situation. But certainly not without our limbs intact! All the things that we were taught, living off the land, building fires, catching food and more required strength and speed, none of which I possessed. That placed me in a dilemma. I needed food and water to recover my strength and strength to obtain food and water. See the problem? That's what I had to deal with for the next few days.

I would say that my days in that forest was hell, but I walked through it some time later and discovered it was not a fair comparison. But to say that I was not miserable would be a lie. Building a fire involved rubbing sticks and striking stones, which I could scarce manage with one arm. It was late into the night by the time my fire started, but I had to all the fuel I could ever need to stop it from going out.

Then came my wounds. By now they ached like nothing else, flea bites coming to visit once more. Only swatting would not rid me of them this time. Instead, I dug into them with the tweezers of my knife, ripping hardened mud and rocks out of my flesh. Oh, the lengths I went to stop an infection that would inevitably come. I had tried creating some disinfectant but could not find any salt. This was no island by the ocean. Some part of me had wished it were.

But I lived, and endured. As for why I could think of many reasons, but if you were to ask I would point to one. The stars, the millions of stars watching over me like the eyes of souls long came and past. It was their radiance that ever brightened the twilight sky, and coaxed me to sleep as crickets sung the song of rest and renewal. They shone and flashed like fireworks as the sun set, flashing lights in a world of darkness.

If the giant flea was not an indication already I knew that I was no longer on earth. If I was, it was a place far, far, away from home, so isolated it was never found on any map of the world. A place where the stars shined impossibly bright.

But the stars smiled upon me, guarding my hope as my mind slipped into dreams. I was alive, and they reminded me of a time long before in my childhood. I was a part of something special, something greater. I had traveled to another world.