Kyan quickly pulled away from Lyara, his movements swift and impersonal, like a shadow dissipating into the darkness. He didn't need to say a word. The look he gave her was enough to convey his coldness, a coldness that left no room for doubt about his intentions. Lyara, still dazed, barely had time to react. The pain from the blow to her body prevented her from moving, and she collapsed, feeling an increasing pressure on her muscles as her mobility drained away.
Meanwhile, Kyan moved forward without looking back. Each step he took pushed him further from the forest, from Lyara, and from the shadows that haunted him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, but his mind was distant, indifferent to the weight of what he had just done. He needed to get away, and nothing else mattered.
As he ran, the terrain grew more uneven, and the sound of the river in the distance grew clearer. The cold breeze and the sight of dark trees flashed quickly past his vision. He didn't stop. There was no time to stop. His instincts were in control, and he knew that if he paused, the shadows, the memories, could return.
When he finally reached the river, Kyan felt a sense of vertigo. His body was exhausted, the fatigue hitting him with unexpected force. He forced himself to continue, but something inside him was breaking. A weakness he hadn't felt before. The impact of the run, the lack of rest, and the overuse of his body without the relief of pain… it was all taking its toll. He could barely keep his eyes open.
It was at that moment that his vision blurred, and his feet failed him. The exhaustion was too much. His consciousness faded, and without control, he collapsed forward, falling into the river.
The cold current quickly swept him away, but his mind was already blank, and he had no strength to fight against the water. All that remained was darkness.
...
The scent of bitter herbs and burnt wood filled the air. Kyan woke with a start, his eyes wide as he gasped for breath. For a moment, he believed he was back in the endless cycle of deaths. He felt cold sweat trickling down his forehead, and his hands trembled as he looked around. It wasn't his bed, nor the forest.
He was in a rustic cabin, with aged wooden walls and cracks that let the daylight filter in. The furnishings were simple: a table, an old chair, and a makeshift stove releasing faint smoke. A lit fireplace warmed the room, and near it, an elderly man stirred a cauldron, mumbling to himself.
Kyan tried to move, but a weight on his body kept him lying down. It was then that he noticed the bandages on his arm and torso, tightly wrapped. He felt a buzzing pain in his muscles, as if his body was finally demanding payment for all the extreme effort.
"So, you woke up, huh?" the old man said without turning around. His voice was rough, with an irritated tone, as if he had little patience for conversation. "I thought you were dead for good."
Kyan didn't respond immediately. He was still trying to process what was happening. His eyes, however, were drawn to something unusual: a white tail protruding from the old man's back. It moved slowly, as if it had a life of its own, while he continued to stir the cauldron.
"Who… where am I?" Kyan managed to murmur, his voice hoarse and low.
The old man finally turned around. His face was marked by time, with deep wrinkles and a thin, unkempt beard. His eyes were small but sharp, as though he was always analyzing everything around him. He wore simple clothes, patched in several places, and had a grim expression.
"You're in my house, where else would you be?" The old man nodded towards Kyan's bandaged body. "I found you floating in the river, almost fish food. Lucky for you, my hunting trip led me there."
Kyan tried to sit up, but the old man clicked his tongue in disapproval.
"Don't move. I'm no miracle worker. Your body's a mess, boy. If you want to ruin my work, go ahead, but don't expect me to stitch you back together."
The old man's harsh tone made Kyan hesitate. He sank back into the makeshift pillow, still staring at the man.
"Why did you help me?" Kyan asked, distrust evident in his voice.
The old man shrugged.
"I'm not a saint, if that's what you're thinking. I just don't let someone die out here if I can do something about it. But don't think I care about you, kid."
Kyan watched the old man more closely. The white tail swayed slowly, as if it was as natural a part of him as his gray hair. The man's behavior, grumpy and direct, contrasted with his appearance, which, at first glance, might suggest he was just a hermit.
"Aren't you going to tell me your name?" Kyan asked, still with a hint of distrust in his voice.
"I'm not the type to care about introductions," the old man replied, returning to stir the cauldron. "But if that's what you want to know, call me… Krelan."
Kyan watched the man in silence for a moment, trying to understand what was happening. He was here, saved, but part of him still felt that something was off. The sensation of being in a reality that didn't make sense bothered him.
Krelan, ignoring Kyan's gaze, picked up a wooden spoon and tasted the contents of the cauldron. His eyes sparkled slightly as he savored what he had prepared before giving a dry smile.
"Now, you just need to recover. But if you keep trying to get up before it's time, you'll end up making it worse."
Kyan relaxed a little. There was something about Krelan, despite his rudeness, that seemed genuine. Even though the old man hadn't done it out of kindness, he was still there, trying to save his life.
Gradually, Kyan let his eyes close again, feeling exhaustion take over.