The forest doesn't care that I'm only a year old.
It doesn't care that I've lost everything.
It doesn't care that I cry when no one's looking, or that I whisper to the wind hoping it'll carry my voice to someone who can never hear me again.
A few weeks have passed since I ran? I don't actually remember how long I've been running for. All I know is that it's been some time, since I left her behind.
Elaria. My mother. My everything.
I walk every day, hoping to find the edge of the forest. But there's no end. At least not one I've seen yet.
Just trees. Trees forever. Tall and quiet and cold. They sway like they're watching me, but never say anything back. Sometimes, I wish they would.
I try to remember which direction she pointed. The moment before she died. She raised her hand, arm trembling, finger stretching out toward the trees.
But I was crying too hard to notice anything else. Now all directions look the same.
Trees. Rocks. More trees. Everything blurs together like a bad painting.
At night, I find places to hide. A hollow log. A little dip in the roots of a big tree. Sometimes an old den, empty and full of old smells.
They're never warm. But they're better than nothing.
I curl up in a ball and pretend her arms are still around me. I close my eyes and breathe in slow.
I try to imagine her voice saying "Good job," like she used to. I try to pretend her fingers are brushing my hair back like they did that night by the fire. The night she taught me to heal.
But the forest doesn't care about memories. The wind is sharp. Sometimes it cuts right through my already ripped clothes.
Other times it carries the sound of wolves in the distance, or the heavy flap of giant wings I've only heard once since then.
I don't look up when I hear them. I don't want to know.
And every night, no matter where I sleep, I cry. Not loud. Not anymore.
The first few nights, I cried like a baby, shouting into the dirt, screaming for her. But the noise brought attention.
Once, a bear came. Another time, something worse—I still don't know what it was.
I just saw its eyes. Bright red. Low to the ground. It watched me from the trees and then faded away.
Now, I cry quietly. I let the tears fall on my arm. I whisper her name so low, even I can barely hear it. "Elaria…" I'm scared to say "Mama" out loud now.
Like if I say it again, someone else I love might die too. But at the same time, it's also a name I never want to forget. The first name I know of besides my own.
The worst nights are when I dream. Sometimes I dream she's still alive. I wake up smiling, expecting her to be there. But it's always just moss and leaves and dirt.
The forest doesn't care about dreams either. Sometimes I wonder if she can see me from wherever she is.
If she's proud. If she's angry. If she's disappointed that I ran. But I remember her last words. "Keep running," she said.
So I do. Even when my legs hurt. Even when my belly screams. Even when the blisters on my feet burst and bleed and leave me hobbling for hours.
I keep running. Because I have to. Because I promised. Because I'm still alive.
And somewhere out there, I think the soldiers and other slaves still are too. Maybe the Overseer is already there.
I don't know what I'll do when or if I meet him. I'm not strong. Not yet. But I know one thing—I'll never forget his name. Overseer.
The same way I'll never forget hers.
. . .
Hunger is like a beast inside my belly. It gnaws at me all day.
Sometimes it growls, sometimes it's just this cold, twisting pain that makes my legs weak and my head floaty.
I've gone days with only two or three berries in my mouth, and even those weren't always safe.
There was this one time—I found a bush full of little blue fruits. They smelled sweet, almost like honey. I thought it was god answering my prayers or something.
So I ate. Not too many at first. Just a handful. Then everything went wrong.
My stomach twisted like someone grabbed it with both hands and wrung it like a wet cloth.
My skin turned cold, but my insides felt like fire.
I threw up everything I had, even the water I drank earlier.
Then my vision blurred, and my legs stopped working. I collapsed in the dirt, shaking and sweating.
For a while, I thought that was it. That I was going to die right there under some dumb bush. But I didn't.
[New Skill Acquired]
Poison Resistance (Lvl. 0)
I survived. Barely.
After that, I stopped trusting plants so easily.
No matter how useful that skill is and will be, I'm not gonna subject myself to that kind of torture again. At least not for long while.
Now I only eat what I've tested before. There's a reddish root that grows under trees with thick bark.
When I cook it on a fire I barely managed to make, it tastes like burnt paper. But at least it fills me up.
Sometimes I find mushrooms too. Big ones with round tops and white gills underneath. I eat those only when I see bugs chewing on them first. Bugs don't eat poison, right? I think? It's a gamble every time.
Once, I ate a leaf I saw a strange looking horned rabbit nibble, and my tongue went numb for an hour. I couldn't even talk to myself without drooling. I laugh thinking about it now, but it wasn't funny at the time.
Water's another problem. Most streams are fine, but once I drank from a puddle and ended up hugging the ground again, shaking for hours.
Now I make sure the water is moving. If it flows fast and smells clean, I drink. Otherwise, I skip it, no matter how thirsty I get.
One time, I was so dehydrated I thought the trees were talking to me.
I heard voices in the leaves, whispering things I didn't understand.
I laughed. Then I cried. Then I passed out.
[Skill Increased]
Poison Resistance (Lvl. 1)
When I woke up, it had rained. That rain saved me.
I've gotten better at finding shelter too. When the skies turn gray, I look for low caves or thick trees to sit under.
I can't risk getting soaked anymore. Last time, I shivered for a whole day. Couldn't even move. Just curled up in my clothes and hoped something didn't eat me in my sleep.
It's weird. Sometimes the animals help more than people ever did.
I follow birds now. If they're pecking at something, it might be safe. I learned that from watching a hawk dive at a bush and pull out a rabbit.
The rabbit was eating those same berries I was about to touch. Guess I almost became a rabbit that day.
And sometimes… when it's not too cold or too scary, I sit down and try to practice magic.
It's hard. I don't have much energy most days. But I still try.
I sit, close my eyes, breathe slow, and try to find that tiny flame inside me. It's always there. Flickering, soft, weak. But not gone.
I remember Elaria's voice in my head. Her instructions. "Wrap the light like a bandage," she said. So I try.
When I cut my hand on a rock, I focused as hard as I could. The magic didn't come easy, but I felt a little warmth flow into the wound. It closed. Not completely, but enough to stop the bleeding.
I smiled for the first time in days. That tiny spark? It was mine. Even if the world forgot me, even if everyone I love is gone, that flame still lives in me.
I have to believe it means something. Even if it's small. Even if I'm still weak. Even if the forest doesn't care.
The sun is almost down when I hear the snap. A branch, cracking nearby. Too sharp to be wind. Too heavy to be a squirrel or bird.
My heart jumps into my throat. I drop the stick I was poking the fire with and crouch low behind a rock.
The forest goes quiet. No birds. No bugs. That's when I know something's wrong.
I peek around the stone, just barely. I don't see anything at first. Just ferns, trees, dirt. Then I spot it.
A figure. Shorter than me, maybe, but way meaner looking. Its skin is green and rough like moss-covered bark. Its nose is long and hooked, and its ears stick out sideways like bat wings.
In one hand it holds a crude dagger made of bone, tied to a wooden hilt with some kind of string. Is that what I think it is? A goblin. So those things also exist here.
My stomach drops. I've only heard of goblins once—from the other slaves who whispered about creatures in the woods. They said goblins were dumb, but mean. They'd eat anything. Even children. Even me.
I duck lower behind the rock, holding my breath. My heartbeat pounds in my ears so loud, I worry it'll hear it too.
The goblin sniffs the air. Snorts. Then takes a few steps closer to where I left the fire. It knows I'm here.
I grip the sharp stick I've been using to dig roots. It's not a weapon. It's barely even a tool. But it's all I have.
When the goblin moves toward the fire, I make a choice.
I run. But not away. I charge straight at it.
The goblin jerks around, surprised, but too late. I slam into it shoulder-first, knocking it sideways.
It screeches and tumbles across the ground. I don't stop. I swing the stick down, aiming for its head.
The goblin rolls away. It shrieks and jumps back to its feet, swinging the bone dagger at me. The blade grazes my arm. A hot sting flashes through my skin.
I scream—not from pain, but from panic—and swing again. This time the stick cracks across the goblin's arm. It drops the dagger. We both scramble for it. I reach it first.
My fingers close around the hilt. The goblin lunges, mouth wide, teeth sharp and yellow.
I stab. The dagger goes in deep—right into its neck. Its eyes go wide. Then it goes still. Blood leaks from the wound, dark and sticky. It smells awful. Like rotting meat and metal.
I back away, shaking. My hands tremble. My knees buckle. I fall to the ground, breathing hard.
My chest feels tight. My fingers won't open. They're still gripping the handle.
It's dead. I killed it. I actually killed it. My first real fight… and I lived. Barely.
I don't feel like a warrior. I'm just a scared little boy with blood on his hands. But I'm alive. That has to count for something.
Then—just like before—the strange glowing window appears in front of me, floating in the air like a ghost made of glass.
[New Skill Acquired!]
Combat Instinct - Basic(Lvl. 0): Your body reacts slightly faster to danger.
I blink at it.
"Combat… Instinct?" I whisper. So I can… get stronger?
I've been wondering for the longest time now. This thing is giving me something. Something like… a path. Or a guide?
I look down at the dead goblin. Then at the dagger in my hand.
And for the first time since Elaria died… I feel something strange.
Not happiness. Not yet. But a spark. A tiny, dangerous spark. Hope.
Not because the world is kind. But because I might finally be able to fight back.
I don't sleep that night. The fire I made died hours ago. My breath puffs out in white clouds. I sit near the goblin's corpse, shivering, the dagger still in my hand.
I don't even feel tired. My body's sore. My arm's bleeding. My stomach's empty. But my mind won't stop spinning.
I killed something. Not just bugs or a squirrel or a rabbit. A real monster.
It tried to kill me, and I killed it first. My whole body's still shaking from it, like the fight's still going on inside me.
That glowing window keeps floating in my memory.
Combat Instinct. So… if I fight more, I can get stronger? It's like a game, I guess. Kind of. But also not?
There's no menu I can scroll through. No "level up" music. Just pain, sweat, fear, and blood.
Still… it means I'm not helpless. Not anymore.
When morning comes, the forest feels different. Not safer, exactly. But less like it's laughing at me.
I bury the goblin. Not because I care. But because I don't want the smell drawing something worse.
Then I wipe the dagger clean on its torn rags and strap it to my belt using a strip of leather from its pouch. It's a bad weapon. But it's mine now. And I know how to use it. Kind of.
Afterward, I move again. I don't have a real direction, but I keep walking. My legs are heavy, but there's something pulling me forward now. Not fear. Not desperation. Purpose.
That's a big word. It's not something I'm used to hearing. I didn't get it then. But I think I do now.
I keep my eyes sharp. I step lighter. I check every bush before getting close.
I try to remember the goblin's movements—how it charged, how it swung wide, how it left its chest open when it got angry. I replay it over and over in my head.
When the sun's overhead, I stop to eat. Just a few berries and one of those roots I roasted yesterday. Not much, but enough to keep going.
Then I practice magic. I sit cross-legged, like Elaria showed me. I place my hands on my knees. Close my eyes. Breathe in. Out. In. Out.
It's not easy. My body's tired, and the sounds of the forest keep creeping in. But I find it.
That tiny flame. That spark deep inside my chest. It flickers when I focus on it. I pull it toward my fingertips, just like she taught me. Slowly. Carefully.
Then I press both hands to the cut on my shoulder from last night. Warmth spreads through my skin. Like sun touching a bruise.
The pain fades. Not all the way, but enough. Enough to smile.
It worked again. Magic. My magic.
The world hasn't given me much. But this? This I'll take.
As I stand, I hear rustling up ahead. I freeze, crouch low. My heart beats faster. My hand goes to the dagger. Another goblin?
No. A boar. Big. Tusks curved like sickles. Its eyes lock onto mine, and it snorts.
It doesn't charge. Not yet. I could run. I probably should. But instead, I stay still.
I feel the weight of the dagger in my palm and I think to myself.
What if I can survive another? What if I can win? What if I can keep getting stronger?
Slowly, carefully, I rise to my feet. The boar stomps once.
I raise the dagger. "Come on," I whisper. It snorts again. And it charges.
[Current Status]
Name: Albus
Age: 1
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Class: Slave(Former)
Occupation: None
Location: Sentinel Forest
Strength: 3/Toughness: 3/Stamina: 4/Dexterity: 3/Perception: 5/Charisma: 2
Titles: Soul Migrator/ Blood Moon Curse
Skills/Traits: Minor Healing(Lvl. 1)/ Poison Resistance(Lvl. 1)/ Combat Instinct - Basic(Lvl. 0)