The forest was alive with sound. Leaves rustled under the faint wind, and the distant cries of beasts echoed through the trees. Yet tonight, the familiar noise felt heavier, more deliberate, as though the world itself were conspiring against him.
The old man walked ahead, his movements swift and noiseless despite the uneven terrain. He blended with the shadows, his tattered cloak brushing against the undergrowth. The boy followed, struggling to keep up. Every step was a battle, the lingering weight of the curse coiling around his soul like chains.
"You're slowing down," the old man said without turning, his voice sharp. "What happens when you can't keep up? What happens when something stronger hunts you?"
The boy's fists clenched. He forced his legs to move faster, ignoring the dull ache in his muscles and the throb of the invisible chains.
"I won't fall behind," he said through gritted teeth, his voice steady despite his exhaustion.
The old man stopped suddenly, turning to face him. In the dim moonlight, his expression was unreadable, but his piercing gaze cut through the boy like a blade.
"You'll need that defiance," he said. His tone was calm but carried the weight of something final.
---
The ravine was narrow and deep, its jagged walls cutting through the landscape like a wound. Mist clung to the ground, swirling around the base of the cliffs, and the air was thick with a silence that felt unnatural.
"This is where we part," the old man said abruptly, stopping at the edge of the ravine.
The boy froze. His gaze darted between the old man and the dark expanse ahead. "What do you mean?"
The old man's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "You've survived nine years of training. You've learned to fight, to endure, to think. But now, you'll learn to stand alone."
The boy felt the weight of the words sink into him. "I'm not ready," he said quietly.
"You're never ready," the old man replied. His voice was cold, unyielding. "But the world won't wait for you to be."
He gestured toward the ravine. "There's a beast that roams these cliffs. It's fast, cunning, and stronger than anything you've faced before. Kill it, and bring me its fang. That's your task. Do it, or die trying."
The boy stared at the ravine, his heart pounding. He wanted to protest, to demand a reason, but he knew better. The old man's challenges were never negotiable.
"How do I find it?" he asked finally.
The old man smirked. "You won't have to. It'll find you."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the boy standing alone at the edge of the abyss.
---
The hours crawled by.
The boy crouched at the base of the cliffs, his blade resting across his knees. His eyes scanned the shadows, every flicker of movement setting his nerves on edge.
The air felt thick, oppressive. Each breath carried the faint metallic tang of blood, though none had been spilled yet. He tightened his grip on the blade, forcing his racing thoughts to quiet.
Then, it came.
A low growl rumbled through the mist, resonating like distant thunder. The boy froze, his pulse quickening. The sound grew louder, each step deliberate, reverberating through the ground beneath his feet.
From the shadows, the beast emerged.
It was massive, its body covered in black fur that shimmered faintly as though laced with spiritual energy. Its eyes glowed a fierce amber, burning with intelligence and hunger. Its claws scraped against the stone as it prowled closer, muscles rippling with deadly precision.
The boy's breath hitched, but he did not run.
"If you run, you die." The old man's voice echoed in his mind. "If you fight, you might survive."
The beast lunged.
The boy dove to the side, the creature's claws slicing through the air where he had been standing moments before. He rolled to his feet, raising his blade just in time to block the beast's second strike. The force of the impact sent him staggering back, his arms trembling under the weight of the blow.
The beast snarled, its lips curling to reveal jagged teeth. It was fast, far faster than anything he'd faced before.
"Think," he whispered to himself, his grip tightening on the blade. "Strength isn't enough. Be faster. Be smarter."
He stepped back, lowering his blade slightly as if in submission. The beast tilted its head, watching him with a predatory gleam. It lunged again, and this time, the boy didn't dodge.
Instead, he dropped to the ground, sliding beneath the creature's claws. As it passed overhead, he slashed upward, the blade carving a deep gash along its side.
The beast roared, staggering back as blood sprayed across the rocks. Its movements became erratic, its snarls filled with fury.
The boy circled it, keeping his blade low. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his body screaming for rest, but he refused to falter.
"Watch its steps," he thought, his eyes narrowing. "Find the rhythm."
The beast lunged again, slower this time. The boy sidestepped, swinging his blade in a quick arc. The strike landed, biting into the beast's shoulder.
Minutes passed like hours. The boy danced around the creature, each movement calculated, each strike precise. The beast's growls turned to pained whimpers, its strength fading with every cut.
Finally, it collapsed, its massive body hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
The boy stood over it, his blade trembling in his hand. Blood dripped from the weapon, pooling at his feet.
For a moment, he simply stood there, his chest heaving, his mind reeling. Then he knelt, driving his blade into the creature's chest and carving out its fang.
When he returned to the old man, the sun was high in the sky. His clothes were torn, his body battered, but he held the beast's fang tightly in his hand.
The old man raised an eyebrow as the boy dropped the fang at his feet.
"You didn't die," the old man said, his tone flat.
The boy's gaze didn't waver. "No."
The old man nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Then you've taken your first step. Remember this: strength isn't born in comfort. It's forged in blood and shadows."
The boy said nothing. He stared at the horizon, the weight of the battle still pressing against him. But beneath the exhaustion, something new stirred—a flicker of pride.
He had faced death and won.