The first hints of dawn were beginning to color the horizon, bleeding soft oranges into the deep blue of night. Birds like creatures were starting to stir, their tentative calls breaking the hush of the early morning. Despite the beauty of the sunrise, the tightness in my chest wouldn't ease.
The dawn felt hollow—a distant reminder of the world I once knew, a world where I didn't walk the line between life and death with every step. No amount of survival could wash away the failures still clinging to me like a shadow.
I turned to see Grizz facing me, his eyes serious beneath his furrowed brow. His bear-like features made him look intimidating, but there was something in his expression—an underlying concern—that told me he was sincere. "You're lucky to be walking out of here with your life," he warned, his deep voice rumbling through the still air. "Radamar doesn't spare people often. You've been granted a rare mercy."
I swallowed hard, the memory of Radamar's transformation still vivid in my mind. The dragon-faced humanoid had loomed over me, his scales glinting like obsidian streaked with molten gold, his eyes glowing with a predatory, otherworldly light. Shadows had rippled around him, as if they were extensions of his will. Facing him had been like standing in the presence of a nightmare made real, and I'd barely escaped with my life. Grizz was right—I was lucky. But luck felt bitter when it was paired with the knowledge of how powerless I'd been.
Grizz's hand fell from my shoulder, and he crossed his massive arms over his chest. "Radmar is the boss around here for a reason," he continued, his tone grim. "He's the only one capable of manipulating so much of this world's magic. Even though we're native woodland beings, this forest doesn't work with us the way it should. Not like the forests back on Earth or our home world. Here, it's different. Unpredictable. Dangerous." Grizz's gaze hardened, his voice dropping to a near whisper. 'If he's set his eyes on you, it doesn't end here. Radamar's reach is deeper than you realize—into shadows, into minds. You'll feel it long after you've left this place.
I glanced back at the bar's weathered door, my stomach twisting with dread that refused to loosen its grip. "It's not natural, is it?" I asked, more to fill the silence than out of genuine curiosity. Deep down, I already knew the answer.
Grizz shook his head, his expression hardening. "No. This place has a mind of its own, and it favors beings like Radmar. He bends the magic here to his will, and that makes him untouchable." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if weighing whether to tell me more. "You were told what we really are, right? You understand what you're dealing with?"
I nodded, remembering the whispered conversations I'd overheard in hushed corners and the cryptic warnings that had come from those who had seen too much. The truth of this world was a tangled mess, one I was still trying to unravel. "Yeah," I said, my voice steady despite the fear that still lingered, coiled and waiting. "I know."
Grizz studied me for a long moment, his gaze piercing, as if searching for something in my eyes. Then he let out a long breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Good," he said. "Then take this as a lesson. Radmar's not someone you challenge lightly, not unless you're ready to pay the price. And trust me, the price is steep."
With that, he turned and lumbered back into the bar, the door closing behind him with a finality that left me feeling more alone than I had before. The clearing was quiet, save for the rustling leaves and the distant call of waking birds. The cold air bit at my face, and the growing light of dawn cast long, thin shadows through the trees. Shadows that seemed to stretch and shift, making me uneasy.
I forced myself to move, heading back to Wayne's shack, each step heavier than the last. My mind was a storm, memories and doubts swirling together. I thought about how far I'd come since I first stumbled into this strange world, how many challenges I'd faced and survived. I wasn't the same weak boy who had once cowered, helpless and afraid. I had changed—hadn't I? I'd grown stronger, learned to fight and to fend for myself. But it wasn't enough. Not yet.
I clenched my fists, feeling the ache of old wounds and new bruises. I'd believed I was finally capable of not just protecting myself but of defending others, of preventing them from suffering the way I once had. Yet, here I was, empty-handed and haunted by my own failure. The realization cut deep, a sharp reminder that survival didn't always equate to strength.
The forest seemed different now, tinged with a sense of unease that hadn't been there before. Soft whispers drifted through the trees, so faint I almost dismissed them as a trick of the wind. I shook my head, trying to clear it, but the whispers persisted, tugging at the edges of my awareness. I told myself it was nothing—just the usual sounds of the forest coming to life with the dawn. But the unease wouldn't leave me, a prickling sensation at the back of my neck that kept me on edge.
I walked faster, my senses on high alert. Every rustle of leaves, every shift in the underbrush made me tense, my hand instinctively drifting toward the dagger at my hip. I tried to convince myself it was just the forest animals waking, going about their morning routines. But the whispers were harder to ignore, growing softer and more insidious, like secrets spoken in a language I couldn't quite understand. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting to see something lurking in the shadows. Yet, whenever I looked, the forest was empty.
By the time Levi's shack came into view, the tension in my shoulders had built to a near-unbearable level. The small, weathered structure sat beneath the drooping branches of an old oak, looking even more fragile in the soft glow of the sunrise. The clearing was bathed in hues of orange and gold, but the beauty of the scene did little to calm me.
Inside, Wayne sat hunched over on a rickety stool, his shoulders trembling with silent sobs. The sight of him, broken and grief-stricken, made my chest ache. Guilt twisted in my gut, a familiar companion that never seemed to leave.
"Wayne," I called softly, my voice barely carrying through the quiet.
He lifted his head, his eyes red and swollen, and for a moment, hope flickered in his gaze. But when he saw me standing there, alone, the fragile hope crumbled, leaving only raw, ragged grief. His sobs turned harsher, the sound like jagged glass cutting through the stillness between us.
"I… I couldn't do it," I admitted, my voice cracking under the weight of my failure. "Radmar was too strong. He's something else, something beyond me. I wasn't enough."
Every tear Wayne shed felt like a weight pulling me under. It was hard watching someone else break…that was worse. It was a reminder of all the promises I couldn't keep, all the ways I'd tried and failed to shield others from the horrors of this world."
Wayne took a shuddering breath, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I knew it," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I knew it was impossible. But… I'm just glad you made it back alive. Levi wouldn't have wanted you to die for him."
His words, full of acceptance but no blame, twisted the guilt inside me until it was almost unbearable. I'd failed them both, and yet here he was, grateful that I had survived. It made my failure feel even heavier, the burden pressing down on me like a weight I couldn't shake.
"I'm leaving," I said quietly, the words tasting bitter. "I hate leaving you like this, but where I'm going… it's not safe. It'll only get worse."
Wayne nodded, his shoulders slumping under the weight of another loss. "I understand," he managed, his voice thick with grief. "You have your journey, and I have mine. We were never meant to stay together long."
I stepped back, my heart aching as I looked at him one last time. The sunrise painted his grief in sharp, painful relief, making the lines on his face more pronounced. "I wish I could've done more," I said. "For you. For Levi."
"You did enough," Wayne replied, his eyes full of sorrow but free of blame. "You tried. And that kindness… it matters, even if it doesn't change anything."
I lingered for a moment, the weight of his words pressing down on me. Then I turned and walked away, heading deeper into the forest. The whispers had faded, and the rustling had ceased, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. I kept my hand close to my dagger, staying on guard until I reached the edge of the forest, where the light of the rising sun cast away the worst of the shadows.
But even as I left, I knew the darkness was far from gone. In this strange, magic-twisted world, even small acts of kindness created bonds that meant more than I could ever admit. Bonds that made the looming dangers ahead feel all the more daunting.
I was almost out of town when Lenny's voice stopped me in my tracks.
"So, you're just going to march off and get yourself killed?" He didn't try to soften the words, his tone sharp enough to slice through the morning air. He folded his arms and stared me down, eyes gleaming with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
"I'm going to find the Obeah man," I replied, lifting my chin. "I can't stay here. Not after everything."
Lenny snorted, stepping closer until I could see the glint of his canines. "Obeah man?" He tilted his head, a wicked gleam of amusement sparking in his gaze. "The way you are now, you wouldn't last ten minutes out there. You think you've got a chance?"
Silence stretched between us, thick with the scent of pine and the distant call of morning birds. I opened my mouth to reply, but Lenny cut me off, his gaze hardening. "Tell me something, Jeremiah. How'd you even manage to kill that triopede?" His eyes narrowed, probing, searching for any hint of deception. "Because if you don't know what kept you alive then, you're no better than dead now."
I clenched my jaw, the memory of the triopede still vivid. Its scaled hide, the stench of its breath, and the raw fear that had clawed its way through me. But I told him anyway. When I finished, Lenny threw his head back and laughed, the sound harsh and cold against the quiet morning.
"That's it?" He shook his head, disbelief evident in his expression. "If that's the best you've got, Radamar's mercy really was wasted on you." He leaned in, close enough that I could see the wild glint in his eyes. "Jeremiah, you wander out to the borders of this land, the places even the trees won't protect… you're going to die. And I mean painfully."
I took a step forward, meeting him eye-to-eye, and with a grin, reached up and flicked his nose. "So, what's it gonna be? Are you going to train me? Maybe we do one of those classic montages before I walk out there and face whatever horror awaits."
His face twisted into a snarl, and he pushed me back roughly, his muscles tense and jaw tight. "Do that again, and you'll lose an arm. Orders or not, I'm not your toy," he growled, barely restrained. But in that moment, it clicked—the push was forceful, but his hands had only grazed me. Even now, he was holding back.
I smirked. "Guess Radamar still wants me alive. Can't hurt me, can you?"
"Alive only means breathing, Jeremiah," he shot back. But the truth was clear. Whether by Radamar's orders or something else, Lenny's power over me had its limits.
voice a low rumble. "And don't think I won't tear that smirk off your face if you push me. Orders or not, I can still make you wish you'd never crossed me." His gaze drifted briefly, and for an instant, there was something else—an unspoken thought, simmering just below the surface. If you're foolish enough to die out there, his look seemed to say, I'd miss out on a good meal.
He stepped back, his expression settling back into a scowl. But I didn't miss the way he eyed me, as though he were sizing me up, wondering just how far I'd make it. Part of him, I realized, wouldn't mind if I dropped dead right now. A free meal, and no questions asked.
The crunch of leaves behind us broke the tense silence, and I turned to see Wayne and Grizz approaching. Wayne tilted his head, his round eyes softening. "I thought you were leaving," he said, his tone tinged with confusion. "Thought you'd be gone by now." Grizz, standing beside him, gave a single, slow nod, his gaze shifting between me and Lenny.
I looked at them—their faces covered in fur, features sharp and wild, like creatures from a nightmare. They could be terrifying if they wanted to be, each of them capable of tearing me apart without a second thought. And yet, in this moment, I could see something different beneath the rough exteriors, something almost… protective.
Wayne's round eyes softened as he watched me, and even Grizz, towering and bear-like, seemed to hold back a sigh. They didn't need to speak for me to sense the unspoken concern behind their words. Even Lenny, who'd threatened to eat me more times than I cared to count, was staring with an intensity that didn't feel like mockery this time. It was almost like he was taking stock of me, as if he didn't quite know whether I'd make it through what lay ahead.
The shift was subtle, but I felt it all the same—a silent recognition that, despite the threats, we were bound by something deeper.
I turned to Lenny, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth as I caught the edge of irritation flaring in his eyes. "Lenny here has graciously offered to train me," I said, letting my voice drip with exaggerated gratitude. "After all, he doesn't want to see me dead and eaten by something else."
Lenny's eyes flashed, his fangs bared in a snarl. "I said no such thing."
Ignoring him, I glanced at Wayne and Grizz. "So, I've decided to accept the offer." My grin widened as I looked back at Lenny, watching his jaw clench in frustration. "Might as well learn from the best, right?"
The silence that followed felt heavier, as though the very air was shifting, tightening around us.
Wayne and Grizz exchanged glances, unreadable expressions passing between them but I could swear I could spot a smile from Wayne. Perhaps they knew what I was in for. Perhaps they understood that the "gracious offer" was more of a death sentence than an invitation. But they said nothing, only watching as I steeled myself for the road ahead.
Lenny's gaze lingered on me, predatory and cold. "Training starts, three hours from now," he said finally, his voice low and unyielding. "And don't think for a second I'll go easy on you. You'll wish you'd walked out of here while you still had the chance."
But I only nodded, my heart pounding with a strange mix of dread and determination. I wasn't leaving. Not yet. I would train. I would survive. And when the time came, I'd be ready for whatever waited on the other side of that forest.