The words "Save him." hung in the void, echoing endlessly in a place without form or time. They were the last thing he heard before a searing pain swallowed him whole.

When his eyes cracked open, the boy's first realization hit like a hammer: he was starving. No, it wasn't just hunger. This was the kind of emptiness that twisted the stomach into a beast, clawing and howling for sustenance. How he was even alive was a mystery.

GRRRRRRRRRRR!

His stomach let out a monstrous roar, the sound reverberating in the darkness around him. It was unbearable. If he didn't eat soon, it felt like the pain would simply devour him from the inside out. But moving, even slightly, seemed like an insurmountable task.

He forced himself upright, trembling, the exertion enough to make his vision swim. The world around him was an endless void of shadow—no light, no landmarks, just suffocating darkness. He tried to stand, but his legs gave out immediately, sending him crashing back to the cold stone floor.

GRRRRRRRRRR!

The hunger clawed at him again, a relentless torment. Curling into himself, he pressed his hands against his stomach in a feeble attempt to stave off the pain. And then he heard it: faint scurrying sounds, quick and frantic, like tiny claws against stone.

Rats.

His eyes widened at the thought. He didn't care how disgusting it was—right now, a rat was salvation. If he could catch just one, it might be enough to stay alive a little longer. Desperation burned in his chest, giving him a flicker of resolve.

Dragging himself forward was agony. Every movement drained what little strength he had, but he couldn't stop. He inched toward the wall where the scurrying had come from, arms spread wide in a pitiful attempt to corner his prey. The stone beneath him felt damp, slick with some unknown liquid.

Water? He paused for a moment, confused. He wasn't thirsty. Shouldn't he be? The wetness beneath his hands raised questions that lingered at the edges of his mind. Was this why he wasn't feeling the dehydration that should have been there?

But before he could dwell on it—

GRRRRRRRRRRR!

The beast in his stomach roared again, forcing him back to the task at hand. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward. His plan was crude at best—crawl, spread his arms wide, trap anything that moved. His body protested with every nudge forward, every scrape against the cold stone floor. But he couldn't afford to stop.

In the pitch-black room, with nothing but the sound of his own ragged breathing and the scurrying of unseen creatures, one thought burned in his mind:

I will survive.

The plan was as simple as it was desperate: crawl toward the wall, arms spread wide, and hope to corner a rat before it could slip past him. It wasn't elegant, and it wasn't foolproof, but it was all he had. His stomach roared again, a painful reminder that time was against him.

Dragging himself forward was torture. Each movement was slow, his body weighed down by exhaustion and hunger. His muscles trembled with effort, and his breath came in shallow gasps. Every few inches felt like an eternity, and the damp stone beneath him only added to the misery, slick and cold against his skin.

The first attempt ended in failure. He misjudged the distance to the wall, leaving a gap wide enough for the rats to dart past his outstretched arms. Their tiny claws scraped against the stone as they scurried away, and he cursed under his breath, slumping against the ground in frustration.

"Damn it… too slow," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

He adjusted, dragging himself closer to where he'd last heard the scurrying. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a drum. Again, he stretched his arms wide, trying to form a barrier. Again, he lunged forward when he heard the faint patter of claws. And again, he missed. The rats were too quick, too nimble, vanishing into the darkness before he could even brush their fur.

Failure after failure sapped what little strength he had left. His head swam, his limbs felt like dead weight, and the hunger gnawed at him with an almost sentient cruelty. His thoughts grew hazy, his vision blurred.

GRRRRRRRRRRR!

The roar of his stomach jolted him back to focus, sharper and more painful than before. He clutched his gut, groaning in agony. He couldn't afford to give up—not now, not when survival was so close. But every attempt felt more futile than the last.

The third attempt was clumsier than the others. His hands fumbled against the slick stone, his arms trembling as he tried to maintain a wide spread. A rat darted out from the corner, its movement swift and almost mocking. He swiped at it desperately, his fingers just grazing its tail before it vanished into the shadows.

Frustration bubbled up inside him, threatening to spill over. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to breathe. He couldn't let anger cloud his thoughts—not when he was so close.

For the fourth attempt, he adjusted his approach. Instead of lunging immediately, he waited. He stayed as still as he could manage, his body pressed against the ground, arms ready. His breathing slowed, each exhale shallow and deliberate. The rats were cautious creatures; perhaps if he moved less, they'd let their guard down.

Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the faint scuffling of tiny claws. Then, finally, he saw it—a faint movement in the darkness. A rat crept closer, its nose twitching as it sniffed the air. He didn't move, didn't even blink. He let it come closer, closer still, until it was within reach.

When he struck, it was with every ounce of strength he had left. His hands shot forward, clamping down around the creature with a desperate, almost feral determination. The rat squirmed and squeaked in his grip, but he held on, his fingers tightening despite the creature's frantic struggle.

He had done it. He had caught one.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, the sound hollow and almost crazed. Relief flooded through him, tempered by the gnawing hunger that still twisted his gut. Without hesitation, he brought the rat to his mouth. It wasn't pleasant—raw, bitter, and metallic—but it didn't matter. Each bite brought a flicker of strength back into his body, a grim reminder of what desperation could drive a person to do.

For now, he had survived. But as he sat there in the darkness, the taste of blood and fur lingering on his tongue, he couldn't shake the thought: how long would this last?