It had been 3 days since his departure from the village. Ren walked east, following the faint track that the elder had described. The path wound through low hills covered in coarse grass, then slipped into a landscape of rolling plains punctuated by thickets of trees. He had no mount, no company, only the distant cries of birds and the rustle of wind.
The mornings were mild, the afternoons warm beneath a sun paler than the one he'd known on Earth. He kept a cautious watch on his surroundings, wary of bandits or beasts, but for the first day, he encountered only a few timid deer and a scattering of curious rabbits that vanished at his approach.
As dusk approached, Ren found himself in the shadow of a large forest—its trees dark and foreboding, the canopy thick enough to swallow the last rays of sunlight. He knew traveling at night might be risky, but without a bedroll or proper shelter, he'd have to either press on or find some nook to rest until dawn.
His belly rumbled, reminding him of the meager provisions he had scavenged. He still had a few strips of dried meat he'd taken from the village's humble offerings, and a flask of water. It wasn't much.
A distant howl cut through his thoughts. Ren froze, heart thumping. That sound was unlike any he'd heard so far—a savage, hungry cry that seemed to carry with it an unnatural note. He had no weapon save a sturdy walking stick he'd picked up along the way. For a moment, he considered turning back, but that would lead him nowhere. He needed to reach Arendale, and the city lay beyond this forest.
He took a deep breath, then stepped beneath the leafy gloom.
The forest closed around him like a fist. Branches snatched at his clothes, and the underbrush snagged his boots. The air was damp and rich with the smell of earth and decay. Night birds twittered softly, and something scurried across the leaf litter near his feet. Another howl echoed through the trees, closer this time. He moved quietly, placing each step with care.
Half an hour passed in tense silence, broken only by the quiet sounds of the forest. He began to think he might be alone after all—that the howl had come from a distant hillside. But as he neared a small clearing, the moon's pale light revealed something large and dark lurking at the forest's edge.
Ren caught his breath and pressed himself against a tree trunk, heart pounding. The creature—whatever it was—was prowling among ferns and saplings. He could see only its outline, a hulking silhouette with a low, hunched back and disproportionately long arms. Its head swiveled as it sniffed the air, and Ren had the horrible suspicion that it was searching for him.
He dared not move. The creature stepped into the clearing's center, and the moonlight fell upon it. Ren bit back a gasp. It was unlike any animal he knew. A twisted amalgam of wolf and ape, with matted fur and a snout full of jagged teeth. Its eyes gleamed with a feral intelligence. The creature stepped forward on knuckled hands, claws raking the earth.
Ren's heart hammered. He realized this was no ordinary forest predator. Was it some magical beast, a demon of this strange land, or a mutated predator? He remembered the elder's warning: the road can be dangerous, especially alone. He had nothing but a stick to defend himself, and even if he had a sword, he doubted he could best that monster in open combat.
He considered his options: he could try to slip away quietly or climb a tree. But the branches above looked too thin and twisted to hold his weight. Another idea took shape—if he moved slowly, perhaps he could find a dense patch of underbrush to hide in and wait until the creature moved on.
Carefully, he shifted his weight to his right foot and began to edge sideways, keeping his body pressed low. The creature grunted, and Ren froze, willing himself to remain absolutely still. After a moment, the beast snorted and scraped at the ground. It seemed uncertain, as though the scent it followed had gone cold.
Ren waited, every muscle tensed. His lungs screamed for a full breath, but he took shallow sips of air. Eventually, the monster turned and lumbered toward the opposite side of the clearing. When it disappeared behind a fallen log, Ren seized the moment. He dropped to a crouch and crawled beneath a tangle of blackberry brambles. The thorns scratched his hands and tore at his sleeves, but he forced his way in, creating as little noise as possible.
Inside the thorny shelter, Ren settled onto his belly, wrapping his arms around his head to minimize his profile. He could barely see beyond the leaves. He heard the creature's heavy footsteps circling the clearing. There was a loud huff, a sound like claws on wood. Ren waited, heart thumping like a war drum.
Minutes passed. The footsteps came closer, then receded. He imagined the creature sniffing at the edges of the forest, frustrated. Eventually, silence fell, broken only by the quiet chirr of insects. Ren dared not move. He remained curled under the brambles, blood trickling from a few shallow scratches, breathing as quietly as possible. The forest canopy shifted overhead as a light breeze stirred the leaves.
He waited, counting heartbeats, until the moon had shifted position in the night sky. Only then did he slowly, gingerly extricate himself from the thorns. He stood, wincing as the brambles caught in his clothes. He scanned the clearing. Empty. No sign of the creature.
With a careful step, he moved back into the cover of the forest. He wouldn't risk traveling at night any further. Instead, he'd find a hollow tree or a secure nook and try to last until dawn. The elder's words drifted through his mind: fate is both a tapestry and a blade. Tonight, he felt the sharp edge of it.
He might not fully understand this world or the forces at play, but he knew one thing—he would have to be clever, cautious, and determined if he wanted to survive, much less find the answers he sought.
Clutching his walking stick, Ren pressed deeper into the darkness of the forest, quietly seeking shelter. The distant cry of the creature haunted him, echoing in his mind. Dawn would bring new challenges, but also new hope. For now, all he could do was endure.