A month has passed since we first stumbled into this vast, strange forest. Every day has been filled with new battles, new creatures to overcome, and new memories—if you can call them that. I don't remember much about life before the lab, but here, in this forest, everything feels different. Alive. It's as if the world itself is reminding me how it feels to breathe freely, to exist without chains.
My wolf companion, who's stuck by my side through everything, has changed, too. Ever since it absorbed the essence of that massive black ox we fought weeks ago, it's been different. Bigger, stronger. Its fur is thicker, its gaze sharper, and even the way it moves—steady, powerful—has changed. I can see it in the way it keeps watch, alert and confident, like it knows what it's capable of.
As for me, well… we've developed something close to teamwork, maybe even friendship. Together, we've learned to track, to hunt, and to fight as a unit. We've been taking down some seriously nasty creatures along the way, and I can feel that bond growing stronger with every battle. Sometimes I feel like I'm reading the wolf's mind, or maybe it's reading mine. We don't need words out here; instincts are enough.
Today, something's different. The air has this strange heaviness to it, like the forest itself is holding its breath. My wolf stops dead in its tracks, ears pricked, head low, eyes locked on something in the shadows.
Then, I see it.
It's not like the other creatures we've faced. Emerging from the underbrush is a creature that looks like it slithered straight out of some nightmare—a centipede, easily twice my height, with a segmented, armor-plated body that stretches far longer than I care to guess. Its mandibles drip with venom, each fang glistening with deadly intent. It raises its head, and I feel a chill creep down my spine. Its gaze finds me, cold and unfeeling, like I'm nothing more than its next meal.
My wolf growls, a low, rumbling warning that echoes through the clearing, and without another second to lose, I take a step forward, ready to face this beast head-on. We're past fear out here. Fear doesn't get you anywhere in this forest; it'll only get you killed.
The centipede lunges, its body whipping through the air like a living whip, mandibles snapping as it aims to sink its venomous fangs into us. I dive to the left, narrowly dodging, while my wolf darts to the right, drawing its attention. I grab a piece of broken stone, sharp and jagged, my fingers tight around its edge as I wait for my moment.
The centipede strikes again, this time aiming for my wolf. It dodges, slashing its claws against the centipede's side, and I seize the opening. I launch myself forward, driving the sharp edge of the stone deep into the centipede's plated side. It hisses, a sound that cuts through the air, and whips its tail at me, slamming into my ribs with enough force to knock the breath out of me.
Pain explodes in my chest, but I don't let go. I twist the stone deeper, feeling it slice through the creature's tough armor, and the centipede thrashes, venom dripping onto the ground and burning the grass to ash. I stumble back, just barely escaping another strike.
We've fought hard battles before, but nothing like this. Every move is life or death, every misstep a chance for it to end me right here. But slowly, blow by blow, we wear it down. With a final, coordinated attack, I drive the stone into its exposed underbelly, and my wolf lunges, sinking its teeth into the creature's neck. Its body spasms, but within moments, it falls still.
We're both battered, bloody, and breathing hard, but the feeling of victory—of survival—runs deeper than any wound. This is our life now, and for once, I'm okay with that.
We leave the centipede's carcass behind and continue through the forest, the adrenaline fading and leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake. My muscles ache, each step a reminder of the fight we barely survived, but there's no choice but to keep moving. There's always something lurking, waiting for us to slip up.
That's when I see it—a small shed, tucked away beneath the trees. It's worn, weathered, like it's been here forever, and part of me wonders who built it, who might have lived here once. But right now, I don't care. All I see is shelter. Warmth.
We step inside, and the air is thick with the scent of old wood and herbs, calming and grounding in a way I haven't felt in a long time. My wolf curls up by the door, its body finally relaxing, and I settle down, letting myself breathe for what feels like the first time in days.
The quiet wraps around me, and I close my eyes, letting the exhaustion sink in. But then, the quiet is shattered by a sound—a low, rumbling noise that feels more like a force of nature than anything living. My eyes snap open, and every instinct in my body goes on high alert. My wolf is already up, tense and ready.
And then… I see him.
Standing at the edge of the clearing is a man. At least, he *looks* like a man. He's tall, lean, with hair the color of burning embers, a deep, fiery crimson that seems to flicker in the light. His eyes are the same, two glowing orbs of molten red, and on his forehead, a mark—a dark, red symbol shaped like a flame, etched into his skin.
He doesn't move, doesn't speak. He just stares, watching us with a gaze that feels ancient, powerful. I can feel it, this intense weight pressing down on me, as if his very presence is testing me. My skin prickles, every instinct screaming at me to run, to get as far away from him as I can. But there's something else—something that draws me in, that makes it impossible to look away.
For a moment, we're locked in this silent standoff, and then, without warning, he changes.
It's like watching fire come to life. His body shifts, stretching, growing until he towers above us. His skin darkens to the color of hot coals, flames bursting from his eyes, his mouth, every inch of him radiating heat and power. He's no longer human—not even close. He's a monster, a force of nature, a living inferno standing right in front of me, and I realize, with a sinking feeling, that we don't stand a chance.
But I don't care.
I charge forward, the last remnants of my strength fueling the attack. My wolf follows, our movements perfectly in sync, but the moment we get close, he stops us cold. His gaze alone is enough to root us in place, freezing us where we stand. It's like staring into the heart of a wildfire, an overwhelming, crushing power that makes it impossible to breathe, to think.
My vision blurs, my limbs go limp, and the world fades away, leaving nothing but darkness.
When I open my eyes, I'm back in the shed. My wolf is beside me, breathing steadily, its fur warm against my skin. The pain from the battle is still there, a dull ache that radiates through my body, but it's the least of my concerns. My mind races with fragments of memory—the man with crimson hair, the fire in his eyes, the power that brought me to my knees with nothing but a look.
The scent of cooking meat pulls me out of my thoughts, and I sit up, scanning the room. There, crouched beside a small fire, is the same man, now back in his human form. He glances up as I move, his gaze sharp, almost amused, like he's been waiting for me to wake up.
"Finally awake, are we?" he says, his voice low and calm, with a hint of something I can't quite place.
I stare at him, the words sinking in slowly. I understand him. The realization hits me like a shock, and I open my mouth, trying to respond, but no sound comes out. I'm silent, just as I've always been, but he doesn't seem to mind.
He turns back to the fire, and I watch him, studying every movement. There's something about him, something that feels… familiar, like a memory that's just out of reach. I want to know who he is, why he's here, but I can't ask. Instead, I do the only thing I can—I nod, hoping he understands.
A faint smile crosses his face, and he raises an eyebrow. "So, you're looking for something, are you?" His tone is light, almost teasing, but his eyes are serious, focused, like he's sizing me up.
I nod again, this time more urgently, my mind racing. I can't explain it, but there's something about him, a strength, a knowledge that I need. He can do things I've never seen,
things I don't understand. I clench my fists, my body tense with unspoken questions, unvoiced pleas. I want to learn. I need to.
After a long, silent moment, he sighs, running a hand through his crimson hair. "Alright," he says, almost reluctantly. "I'll show you. But don't think it'll be easy."
I feel a surge of relief, something close to excitement, and nod once more. He chuckles, a deep, almost dark sound, and for the first time, I feel a flicker of hope. Whatever comes next, whatever he has to teach me, I know it's going to change everything.