Chapter 2: What’s in the Bag
With his sexuality crisis decisively and heroically resolved, Jamie moved on to less important matters.
Namely: how the heck he was supposed to get out of this forest in one piece.
Luckily, the Goddess—divine, terrifying, and apparently not completely heartless—had taken that small logistical detail into account when she dumped him in the middle of nowhere. The rucksack and assorted gear sitting near where he’d first woken up strongly suggested something dangerously close to compassion.
Jamie started back toward it, then stopped.
Right. Water.
Kneeling at the river’s edge, he scooped up several cupped handfuls and drank until the gnawing dryness in his throat finally backed off enough to stop screaming at him. Cold. Clean. Almost offensively refreshing.
Once that small miracle was handled, Jamie stood and took five steps before freezing again.
“What is this fabric?” he asked, suddenly distracted.
He pinched the unfamiliar material between his fingers, rubbing it thoughtfully. Soft—softer than anything he’d ever touched—but not flimsy. Definitely not cotton. Not silk either, though silk came closest.
This was… something else. Durable wasn’t quite the right word.
Robust came closer.
No—this wasn’t just clothing. Jamie felt it now that he was paying attention. The dress protected him.
Armor.
That thought immediately drew his attention to his legs. Armor or not, everything below his knees was doing a whole lot of trusting. The dress stopped just above them—short, fitted, and frankly a little unfair. Still, it was undeniably beautiful. Silver stitching traced elegant patterns across the white fabric, the kind that looked like it took dozens—maybe hundreds—of hours to embroider. Definitely not your standard “walk around town” outfit. Jamie leaned closer to one sleeve. The stitching wasn’t decorative.
It was runes.
Tiny ones, woven into the fabric in shimmering silver—flecked with subtle metallic blue he hadn’t noticed at first. Easy to miss unless you were looking closely.
“Okay,” Jamie muttered. “That’s cool.”
The dress looked like something straight out of Lord of the Rings. He could picture an elf wearing it without any mental gymnastics at all. Which made sense. Unfortunately.
There was only one thing he didn’t like about it—and no, it wasn’t the length. He was a quarter Scottish on his mom’s side and had worn a kilt to more than a few costume parties. He’d even gone commando once or twice.
He shifted his weight, just to be sure.
“Nope. All good in the underwear department.”
No, the problem was the color.
White.
Out here. In the middle of nowhere. Wearing a white dress was basically begging the universe to teach him a lesson.
“Oh, crap,” Jamie said, suddenly remembering where he’d been lying not long ago. He frantically scanned the fabric for grass stains.
Nothing.
Not a single smudge.
The dress was pristine. Absolutely clean.
“Huh,” he said. “Okay. I’m not mad about that.”
Dirty clothes—especially normal clothes—drove him insane. Sports gear was one thing, but everyday wear? Unacceptable.
Still suspicious, Jamie gave the dress another look.
“Nope. There has to be a stain somewhere.”
Normal meant stains. He needed that to be true.
He executed a quick twirl to check the back—
—and immediately regretted every life choice that had led him to this moment.
“…Did I just Sound of Music myself?”
This was absolutely his mother’s fault. Her favorite movie. She’d made him watch it countless times growing up. He was very deliberately not thinking about how much he’d actually enjoyed those moments. At least he hadn’t held one arm dramatically toward the sky.
Mostly.
He definitely had his arms out. For balance.
Totally different.
Shaking his head, Jamie double-timed it toward the gear pile, determined to forget the last thirty seconds of his life.
Up close, the equipment looked even more out of place—at least by Earth standards. Weapons. Armor. A cloak. The kind of stuff you’d expect in a fantasy game, not reality.
Then it clicked.
He wasn’t out of place.
He was the wrong genre.
Classic isekai.
The realization should have terrified him. Instead, it felt oddly… familiar. How many times had he daydreamed about something like this? Sure, waking up as a woman hadn’t been on the wish list, but Jamie refused to let that derail him.
He wasn’t the type to sit around waiting for someone else to fix his problems.
Time for a plan.
He defaulted to the same system that had carried him through high school and college:
Segregate. Analyze. Prioritize. Perform.
SAPP.
Which, in practice, meant: dump everything out and make piles like a responsible raccoon.
That meant inventory. Jamie spread out the forest-green cloak and sat on it, pulling items from the rucksack one by one and arranging them neatly beside him. There was more inside than he’d expected, but after fifteen minutes everything was laid out.
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The pack had been organized perfectly.
Uncomfortably perfectly. Exactly how he would have packed it. It was, without question, a starter kit. Everything he needed to survive for about a week.
Jamie nodded to himself.
“Okay,” he said. “I can work with this.”
That accounted for the main compartment, but the ruck also had two medium side pouches—and two much smaller ones, each holding a glass bottle.
“So… glass exists,” Jamie said, filing that little discovery under Operation: Get Jamie Out of This Mess.
The bottles were empty, stoppered with cork, and clearly meant for water. That was a relief. His working plan involved following the river downstream, but being able to carry water meant he wouldn’t be married to it. Rivers were great right up until they weren’t.
Jamie’s optimism ticked up another notch.
The real treasures, though, were tucked into the smaller pouches.
Soap.Toilet paper.Toothpaste.
Jamie froze, then exhaled slowly, reverently. They weren’t in any modern packaging he recognized, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were a thing—and Jamie had them.
“Oh, thank you,” he whispered to no one in particular.
He hadn’t even let himself think about bathroom logistics yet, but knowing those bases were covered lifted a weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying. He had zero interest in discovering which local plant doubled as toilet paper—and with his luck, he’d have gone straight for this world’s version of poison ivy on day one.
Some problems, it turned out, really had been solved by divine intervention.
As good as all that was, Jamie’s final discovery lit a fire under his hopes that maybe—just maybe—everything would be okay.
Coffee.
Actual, honest-to-goddess coffee.
Jamie very carefully set the pouch down like it might spook and vanish if startled.
“I have coffee,” he whispered reverently.
He briefly considered jumping up and down in celebration, then remembered he was alone in an alien forest wearing a magical white dress and decided maybe not tempt fate. Still, the emotional urge was there. Strong. Potent. Much like the coffee itself was clearly going to be. Sure, there would be hardships. Monsters. Starvation. Existential dread. Gender complications. Probably paperwork. But coffee? Coffee meant civilization existed somewhere. Coffee meant mornings could still be negotiated with. Coffee meant hope.
There wasn’t any cream, of course. Jamie sighed.
“You never get everything you want,” he said, magnanimously forgiving the universe.
Jamie was pleased to discover the pouch also held salt, sugar, pepper, and a handful of other spices—nothing exotic, but enough to turn survival rations into something approaching food. Jamie smiled as he lined them up.
“Okay,” he said, nodding to the rucksack. “You and I are officially on good terms.”
Still sitting, Jamie shifted his weight enough to reach for the first of the two weapons laid out beside the rucksack. The sword.
It wasn’t anything he recognized from the countless games he’d played growing up. Shorter than a longsword and clearly built for speed, it looked like it wanted to stab first and ask philosophical questions later. Jamie slowly drew it from its leather scabbard, the blade sliding free with a quiet, almost polite sound. The steel was beautiful. Double-edged, just over two and a half feet from tip to crossguard, with a narrow profile that suggested precision rather than brute force. The grip was sized perfectly for one hand, settling into his palm like it belonged there. Not heavy. Not light. Balanced.
Dangerously comfortable. It reminded him of a strange love child between a medieval European shortsword and a rapier—thicker than the latter, sturdy enough to parry without immediately regretting the decision. This wasn’t decorative. This was a tool meant to be used.
Probably on living things.
“That’s… unsettling,” Jamie muttered, giving it an experimental swing through the air.
The blade hummed softly, slicing cleanly through empty space. No wobble. No drag. Whoever made this knew exactly what they were doing. The metal itself caught his attention next. It wasn’t steel—not really. The surface carried a faint silver-blue sheen that shimmered subtly in the light, like moonlight trapped under glass. Jamie tilted it, watching the color shift.
Fantasy world after all, he reminded himself.
“If this thing starts glowing when monsters show up, I’m officially calling bull dung,” he said, carefully lowering the blade back toward his lap.
He tested the edge with his thumb—lightly. Very lightly. It was sharp enough to make the point without demanding a blood sacrifice. Jamie nodded, satisfied.
“Okay,” he said. “You’re the ‘don’t get eaten’ plan.”
He slid the sword back into its scabbard, suddenly aware of how real everything was becoming. A sword wasn’t a prop. It was a commitment. One that strongly implied the world he’d landed in was perfectly comfortable trying to kill him.
Normally, this would have been a “drink about it” moment. Instead, he just breathed and kept going.
“One weapon down,” he said. “Let’s see what other terrible decisions you’ve armed me with.”
His hand drifted toward the second weapon.
“Wait, are wands considered weapons or accessories?”
Like the sword, it came with a scabbard—at least that was what Jamie was calling it—and he slid the wand free. Standing now, excitement bubbled dangerously close to the surface as he gave it a few experimental flicks.
He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and—half in jest—pointed the wand at the nearest tree.
“Expelliarmus.”
Nothing happened.
Jamie stared at the tree. The tree stared back, unimpressed.
“Hmm, 10 and ¾ inches. Holly, slightly bendy. Great for charms work,” Jamie said using his best Ollivander impression.
Jamie stared at the tree for a long second, then lowered the wand.
“…Okay. So we’re not doing that kind of magic.”
He gave the wand another experimental swish, this time without saying anything, just in case the universe preferred subtlety. The universe remained unimpressed. Jamie sighed and slid the wand back into its scabbard.
“Worth a shot,” he muttered. “Ten points to me for optimism.”
He knelt again and examined the wand more closely. It wasn’t a stick with delusions of grandeur—this thing was clearly crafted. Smooth, warm to the touch, with faint grooves spiraling down its length like they’d been grown rather than carved. Tiny runes—actual runes, not decorative nonsense—were etched near the grip, almost hidden unless the light caught them just right.
Okay. So not a toy.
“I just need to learn how to use the darn thing.”
Jamie filed that away under analyze and set the wand beside the sword, careful to keep both within arm’s reach. If this really was a fantasy world—and all available evidence screamed that it was—then these weren’t props. They were lifelines.
Jamie moved his focus to the last item provided to him. This one he actually recognized. The black leather cuirass was clearly tailored for his new body.
“Armor for the ladies,” he said, his tone implying it was designed less for survival and more for turning heads—something you’d expect to see at a cosplay convention. Jamie knew better, of course, but leaning into the humor helped keep the panic at bay.
Meant to protect the most vital parts of his torso, he slipped the cuirass over his head and adjusted it until it felt right, tightening the leather straps along the left side. Once secured, it fit like a glove. Jamie nodded in approval.
Yeah. This was staying on.
At least until he reached someplace that felt remotely safe. The more he thought about it, the more he realized this meadow definitely didn’t qualify—especially not once night fell.
Thankfully, he still had plenty of daylight. Jamie glanced toward the forest, suddenly aware of how exposed he was, and wondered what might be lurking among the trees. Watching. Waiting. Debating whether he looked like an easy meal. The trees remained still. Birds chirped. No ominous growls. No boss music.
Jamie exhaled.
“I’ll take the win,” he muttered.
“Alright,” Jamie said, clapping his hands once. “Next step of SAPP.”
He paused.
“…Prioritize.”
Food: handled.Water: river, bottles, check.Shelter: pending.Immediate threats: unknown, but presumably large, angry, and bitey.
And then there was the big one.
Civilization.
Jamie looked downstream again, toward where the land dipped and the river curved out of sight. That path would take him past the giant tree.
He frowned.
“Of course it would,” he muttered. “Why wouldn’t the obvious, safest-looking route lead directly past the thing that screams final boss?”
The tree hadn’t done anything. It just stood there, enormous and silent, as if patiently waiting for him to make a bad decision. Jamie didn’t trust it. He’d played enough games to know that scenery like that was never just scenery.
Still, rivers meant water, and water meant life. Civilization liked rivers too. People were predictable like that.
Decision made, Jamie began repacking the rucksack, returning everything to its unnervingly perfect place. The sword went on his left hip—felt right. The wand, after some consideration, went on his right. Cloak over shoulders. Bottles secured.
Jamie adjusted the straps of the cuirass one last time then strapped it on his shoulders. Making sure he could still easily reach both weapons once the ruck was on, he felt ready to go. He felt ridiculous. He also felt prepared—well, prepared-ish, which was the best he was going to get today.
“Alright,” he said to the empty meadow, adopting the tone of someone who absolutely had a plan. “Downstream it is. No detours, no heroic nonsense, and definitely no touching ominous trees.”
The tree loomed.
Jamie sighed.
“Just… stay over there,” he told it, pointing firmly before turning and starting toward the river’s bend, boots crunching softly through the grass.
New world.New body.Questionable goddess life choices.
But he had coffee, a sword, and a plan.
“Oh yeah, let’s not forget a wand I don’t know how to use yet.”
“Alright,” Jamie said, “Let’s go not die.”
Behind him, the meadow remained quiet.