Sora Yatagami was a young boy who lost everything. His parents were framed by a mistake they never commit.
After that none of his friends and other family wants to take him in. And thanks to that Sora lose trust in people and the idea of being in a...
That was the first thing he'd noticed, through the fragmented thoughts he had just before awakening. The air coming into his nostrils brought a wealth of information. The smell of sweet flowers. The smell of fresh grass. The bracing, cleansing smell of trees. The tempting smell of water to a parched throat.
He focused on his hearing and was overwhelmed by an instant deluge of sound: The rustling of countless leaves. The cheerful twittering of songbirds. The soft hum of insect wings. The distant trickling of a creek.
Zora(mind): Where was I? Certainly not in my home.
There were none of the usual features of waking there, like the sunny smell of dried sheets, the AC's dehumidifier's growl, or the distant traffic over on the Kawagoe Bypass. Plus, the shifting patterns of green light on his eyelids weren't coming from the reading light he forgot to turn off, but from the shade of branches.
He pushed aside the lingering temptation of sleep and opened his eyes. Countless bits of light leaped into his sight, and he blinked rapidly. He had to lift the back of his hand to rub at the welling tears, as he sat up.
Zora: What the hell...Where am I...?
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The first thing he saw was clumps of light-green grass. Little white and yellow flowers appeared here and there, and brilliant pale-blue butterflies wandered among them. The carpet of grass ended just fifteen feet ahead, replaced by a thick forest of gnarled, decades-old trees.
Zora(mind): I remember being at Agil's place. Then I left with Philia. But I can't remember what happened next.
No matter how hard he tried to remember, he had no memory of coming to a place like this and taking a nap.
Zora(mind): Was I sleepwalking? Amnesia? No, that can't be... I remember, Kirito and the others...
He shook his head to dispel the disturbing possibilities. At that point, he belatedly realized that he was wearing an odd outfit. It wasn't the T-shirt he used as nightwear, or his school uniform, or any of his personal clothes. In fact, they didn't look like any kind of clothes anyone would buy at the store.
Zora: My clothes. Cotton... No, Hemp? I've never seen clothes like these before. Am I in a game?
His top was a half-sleeve shirt of crude cotton or linen, dyed pale blue. The consistency was uneven and rough. The sewing along the sleeve was clearly done by hand, not a machine. There was no collar, just a V-cut in the front, tied with a brown string.
His trousers was the same material as the top, but an unbleached cream color. There were no pockets, and the leather belt around his waist was fastened not with a metal buckle but with a long, thin wood button. His shoes were also hand-sewn leather, and the thick leather sole was studded with a few cleats for slip resistance.
