The smell of stone and dried blood greeted him as he opened his eyes.
Dominic blinked, stiff and sore, joints creaking like rusted hinges. Morning light—if it could be called that—filtered through the jagged edges of the crevice, casting silver lines across the floor. The sky above was a dull blue-gray, swirling with clouds that didn't move like normal weather.
The Dormant Realm had no concept of "normal."
He sat up, biting down a groan, and rubbed his chest. The wounds had started closing—thanks to the beast essence absorbed yesterday—but the exhaustion lingered, like cold smoke in his veins.
Still… he was alive.
And now—he had a goal.
The Federation Stronghold.
It had to exist somewhere nearby. Every Dormant Region under exploration was anchored by a Stronghold—a heavily fortified base that served as a hub for teleportation, supply drops, and communication back to the Federation.
If he could reach it, then maybe… he could return to Terros. Back home. To his mother. To his sister.
But the map in his head was still incomplete. Just fragments of old memories—military logistics classes, orientation briefings, whispers from other Realm-bound candidates.
Dominic stood, stretched, and checked what little gear he had. A bone shard from the beast he killed. Scraps of cloth. Beast gland sac which will be of useful later.
"Alright," he muttered, eyes scanning the strange landscape beyond the rocks. "Find the path. Get to the Stronghold. Survive whatever the hell this realm throws at me."
He took his first step out of the crevice, the silver glow beneath his skin pulsing gently.
And somewhere, far beyond the jagged cliffs and mist-laced forests…
The Stronghold waited.
Dominic stood just outside the crevice that had served as his shelter, a strip of torn cloth now tied around his wounded thigh. The pain was still there, but dulled. His body had begun adjusting. Evolving. The silver vein-like patterns beneath his skin pulsed faintly, reacting to the ambient energy of the Dormant Realm.
He scanned the rocky ridges, noting the faint scratches etched into the stone—claw marks. Feral-tier beasts had made this area their hunting ground.
I can't stay here.
He took a breath, grounding himself.
"The plan…"
He whispered it to himself, not out of doubt—but to organize the whirlwind of thoughts screaming in his head.
Step One: Reach the Stronghold: Karthun: It was just two weeks from he just has to get out of this forest.
Step Two: Avoid direct confrontation.
His stats were impressive for a Dormant-level human, and the 100% feral gene gave him a massive edge—but it didn't make him immortal. Especially not against Dire-tier or Predator-tier beasts. If five low-tier humans struggled against one feral beast, then he'd need to stay hidden, out of sight, out of scent. Use the terrain. Outsmart, not overpower.
Step Three: Survive the zones ahead.
He recalled the fragmented data he'd seen from his partial memory sync—geographic overlays and mission logs. The Whispering Thicket. The Shattered Plains. The Veil of Mists. Each zone was crawling with increasingly stronger creatures.
He moved.
Step by step, he picked his way down the rocky slope. Each footfall had to be careful—one slip and he'd trigger a rock slide that would echo for miles. Worse: it'd paint a target on his back.
Dominic crouched, placing a hand on the rough ground. The stones were warm beneath his palm—not from the sun, but from pulsing veins of elemental energy running deep underground. The Dormant Realm wasn't just a prison. It was alive.
Lightning cracked in the distance. Then a howl—not human.
He ducked low, pressing against the shadows of a ridge wall. His eyes narrowed. A pack of feral beasts—wolf-like things with jagged bone protrusions and luminous blue eyes—skulked along a higher ridge. Sniffing the wind.
One of them paused.
Lifted its snout.
Growled.
It smells me…
Dominic's fingers grazed the small pouch he'd crafted from his torn cloak—inside, crushed beast gland sacs he'd harvested from the corpse of the one he killed. The scent was overpowering… and useful. He smeared a bit across his skin. The stench hit him hard —but it worked. The beast above snorted, shook its head, then moved on.
Camouflage. It wouldn't last forever—but it bought him time.
He pressed forward. Heart steady, breaths measured.
Between each heartbeat, his mind mapped out the next phase:
Find water.
Secure higher ground tonight.
Avoid direct lines of sight.
Harvest materials to craft scent dampeners.
Every decision mattered now.
Because failure didn't mean death.
Failure meant becoming prey.
The forest thickened as Dominic moved cautiously, each step deliberate to avoid snapping twigs or rustling the dense undergrowth. The heavy canopy above filtered sunlight into scattered beams, painting patches of gold on the mossy ground. The air was thick with moisture, a mix of earth, rotting leaves, and an underlying sharpness—the scent of lurking beasts.
He paused near a cluster of bluish-green plants curling around jagged stones. Dominic knelt, recognizing the distinct appearance from old lore—Veilroot. His fingers brushed the rough leaves and roots, feeling the oily texture beneath. This was no ordinary plant; it was the key to survival here.
Pulling a small knife from his belt, he carefully dug around the base, extracting enough roots without damaging the cluster. He collected leaves as well, mindful not to take too much and upset the fragile balance of the forest floor. As he worked, his mind reviewed what he had learned about the Veilroot scent blocker: a natural, crude way to mask human scent from beasts who hunted by smell.
Dominic found a clear spot near a shallow stream, its cold water trickling over smooth stones, and began the preparation. Crushing the roots and leaves with smooth stones, he mixed the coarse paste with water, its earthy aroma rising sharply. Applying it cautiously to his wrists and neck, he felt the slight stickiness cling to his skin, blending his scent with the forest's rich tapestry.
Or so he thought.
As the scent blocker took effect, Dominic crouched low stopping himself from vomiting. "This smells like shit, a god level shit.," he grimaced, eyes widening as though he wants to breathe through it.
He turned his face slightly and saw some fishes floating upside down.
"At least today's meal is settled" he muttered confused.
Who would've known the mixture of two unrelated chemical's scents could cause this.
Evening.
The forest seemed to close in around Dominic as twilight deepened, shadows thickening like a creeping fog. Every rustle of leaves sent a shiver down his spine, every distant snap of a branch echoed like a warning. The scent blocker masked his presence, but he knew that wasn't enough — beasts here had other senses sharper than any human's.
He paused suddenly, breath caught in his throat. Ahead, a faint glimmer flickered—was it a pair of eyes reflecting moonlight? No time to think. Instinct took over. Dominic flattened himself against the trunk of a massive oak, heart pounding so loud he feared it would give him away.
A guttural growl rolled from the underbrush. The brush trembled violently as something large crashed through the ferns, its heavy breathing ragged and wet. Dominic's muscles tensed, ready to spring, but the beast didn't see him. It veered off just a few feet away as though running from something, its shadow stretching long and monstrous under the rising moon.
Dominic could swear he saw a look of pure disgust on its face.
He exhaled slowly, feeling the cold sweat bead on his forehead. That close, and still alive. The forest had no mercy.
Pressing forward now with more caution, Dominic moved silently, every step calculated. His eyes darted to every flicker of movement, every whisper of wind carrying potential danger. The night wasn't just dark—it was alive, watching him, waiting.
Suddenly, a flash of movement to his left—something slithered between the roots. He spun, knife raised, but found only a small, harmless forest serpent—that looks as almost as if it's playing dead or is it? It doesn't matter—move. The release of tension was brief. The woods played tricks on him; every shadow could hide a predator.
Then, without warning, a low, wet snarl erupted behind him. Dominic whirled, but only saw a wall of darkness. The ground trembled subtly, the heavy thud of large paws beating closer. He sprinted, heart hammering, breath ragged.
Branches whipped his face, roots threatened to trip him, but he couldn't stop. The growls behind grew louder, more urgent. It was a pack, no doubt—hunters of the night drawn to his scent despite the blocker.
Dominic dove into a thicket, wedging himself behind a fallen tree trunk. Leaves scraped his skin as he held his breath, muscles coiled tight. The pack thundered past, their heavy breaths and panting filling the air moments before disappearing into the dark. Probably due to Dominic's tiredness he thought he heard retching sounds along with the pants.
He waited long after the sounds faded, sweat chilling on his skin. The night's silence was a new kind of danger — waiting to pounce.
Finally, when dawn's faint light pierced the horizon, Dominic forced himself to move again. The forest was merciless, but so was he.
—Then heard a growl close by—.