He leaned against the stone walls of the cave, waiting a while longer. The cold wind, pouring in through the narrow entrance, pierced through the thin cloth he wore. The sounds of the creature still echoed in his ears; his mind was reliving the terror of that moment.
He couldn't stay here any longer. With his hands, he searched through the stones on the ground and found a dry twig. This twig was far from a weapon; yet, it gave him more security than his bare hands. Its surface was uneven and rough, and though it made his cracked skin ache, there was something strangely comforting about feeling that pain.
When he took a step, his bare feet left the damp cave floor and stepped onto the frozen earth. The snow felt like a thin blade beneath his soles. Every step was a challenge; the hard stones, frozen roots, and sharp shards of ice pierced into his flesh. But he couldn't stop. His entire body ached, yet the pain only pushed him forward.
Amidst the howl of the wind, a voice echoed inside him:
"Staying here means dying."
Without looking around, he moved forward with determined steps. The cave he left behind vanished from sight, like a tomb built from stones. For him, the end of this journey was uncertain. But for now, the only thing he knew was that moving forward was the only way to survive.
First Month
The first month passed in despair. As he wandered through the forest, the cold of the snow crawled up from his feet, as if it was slowly freezing his body. Hunger attacked his stomach like a beast. His eyes were trying to catch every movement in the forest, but finding something to hunt was not as simple as it seemed.
One day, at the end of his walk, he reached a stream. He kneeled and plunged his palms into the icy water. When he pulled his hand back, he realized that his hands had gone numb from the cold. His eyes locked onto his reflection in the stream.
Was that person really him? A pale face, dry and cracked skin. The deep lines under his eyes bore the marks of fatigue and hunger. His lips were thin and covered in blood; every breath he took made the cracks widen. His hair was matted with dirt and grease, seeming to disappear beneath a layer of dark mud.
The despair that filled his chest made his breath grow more labored. But despite this image, a spark continued to burn inside him. A whisper escaped his lips:
"I won't live like this."
Second Month
One day, while wandering through the forest, he found a frozen animal carcass. A fox, lying motionless in the cold. Its body was filled with maggots, but to him, it was a blessing. He tore off pieces of flesh with his hands, pulling at them with his teeth. The meat was tough and bitter, but it was a step taken for survival.
Learning to hunt had been more difficult. He chased a rabbit for hours, but each time, the rabbit outran him. He learned to listen to the sounds of the forest. Every time he disturbed the silence, he realized he had lost his prey. Each lost opportunity in this process was a lesson learned.
Third and Fourth Month
While advancing through the forest, he found a shelter. It was a natural hollow formed beneath a large rock. He covered its entrance with branches and stones. But calling this shelter a "home" was impossible.
The inside of the shelter was damp. The sound of water dripping from the ceiling echoed every night. The ground was hard and cold; whenever he tried to sleep, every bone pressed against the stones. The walls were covered in moss, showing that the shelter offered not life but a fragile peace.
He survived here for a while. He made simple traps; using stones, branches, and fine roots as string, he set up snares. When he caught a bird, he squeezed its neck. The bird struggled, but his hands didn't loosen. When the struggles ceased, a weight settled on his chest.
"Is this a victory? Or just another pain?"
Fifth Month
In the fifth month, everything changed. While tracking a creature through the forest, he accidentally crushed a rhinoceros beetle. The cracking shell and the creature's struggles echoed in his mind like a reverberation.
In that moment, he felt something. A heavy wave rose in his chest, and he felt a shiver run through his veins. He knelt down, pressing his hand to his chest.
In the dark void of his mind, a massive tree appeared. This tree was unlike any natural tree; its presence was both mesmerizing and disturbing.
From its trunk, the entire structure was like a tragedy: The trunk was covered with deep cracks, almost ready to shatter. A faint light spread from these cracks, as if it were an expression of a moving energy inside the tree. The surface of the trunk was rough; its bark was black and grey, each piece appearing like a cracked stone.
The roots looked like the hands of a beast clawing into the ground. They were thin, long, and intertwined in a complex way. Some roots stretched so deeply that it felt like they were drawing something dark from beneath the earth. The visible roots above the surface jutted out with sharp tips, like knives.
The branches stretched upward, but they didn't represent the simplicity of nature. Each one was twisted irregularly, sometimes seeming broken. The pointed tips of the branches gleamed like dark blades at their ends. It seemed as if these branches reached not only for the sky but also for every direction as threats.
The leaves were lifeless. They weren't bright green or warm-toned; they looked pale grey, almost transparent. The sound of the leaves drifting in the wind wasn't a natural rustle, but an echoing wail. Each leaf seemed to represent a deep wound of the soul.
Around the tree, a fine mist constantly moved. This mist enveloped both the tree and the ground. In the mist, vague shadows moved, but never fully appeared. These shadows emitted a faint hum, like echoes from the past.
The tree, with all its form, represented both a life form and its burden. Its existence felt like both a threat and a fate within him.
That evening, he returned to his shelter, between the moss-covered, damp stones, and began thinking about the tree he had seen that morning.
"It's terrifying," he thought as he tried to sleep.
The night, as always, was restless. As a human trying to survive in a natural hollow in the middle of the forest, he had to keep pace with the Wolf, Bear, and other dangers he didn't know. Especially on nights like these, it was just as hard to sleep without making a sound.
At the first light of dawn, he emerged from his shelter and made his way to the edge of a lake, staring at his reflection.
After five months, when he looked at his reflection by the lake, the image forming on the surface of the water, though disturbed by ripples, carried the marks of his survival struggle. His body was still thin and frail, but the fragility of the early months had been replaced by a hardened resilience. His shoulders looked broader; his muscles weren't defined, but they were firm and functional. This was the result of days spent hunting, carrying, and building shelters in the forest.
His skin still bore the traces of the cold weather, but the cracks and deep wounds from the early months had healed, leaving a tougher texture in their place. His hands were calloused from chiseling stone and wood; the roughness of his palms was proof of his efforts to survive using simple tools. His nails were still dirty, but most of the cracks had healed.
His face had left behind the collapse of the first months. His cheeks were still sunken, but he no longer looked wasted from hunger. The dark circles around his eyes had faded, and his gaze had become sharper and more focused. These eyes carried the weight of survival and experience, yet they were also eyes that drew strength from that very struggle. His lips were cracked, but the cracks weren't deep; the dryness still lingered from constantly breathing in the cold air.
His hair hadn't been washed for five months, but it had stiffened and tangled together with natural oils. The hair hanging down from his neck, though rough in appearance, had provided him with some protection against the cold.
His clothes reflected his struggle for survival. Where there had once been torn garments, now there was a primitive cloak made from several animal hides. These hides weren't proper clothes, but they were enough to protect him from the cold. His feet were no longer bare; he had managed to fashion some rudimentary shoes out of rough hides and moss. This had reduced the impact of sharp stones and ice with every step.
His body was still weak, but the fragility of the early months was long gone. The tension in his muscles and the calluses on his hands had given him functionality. Every mark on his body was not just a testament to his struggle, but also to the new durability gained through that struggle.
Slowly, he made his way to the lake's edge. When his bare feet met the cold surface of the water, he felt a slight shiver. He took a deep breath and, step by step, entered the water. As he moved, the water enveloped his body, gently wiping away the fatigue in his muscles.
He dipped his hands into the cold, clear water. First, he washed his arms, then his neck and shoulders. Carefully, he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to remove the dirt that had accumulated. He washed every part of his body, from his chest to his stomach, from his legs to his back. The water brought a bit of relief to his cracked skin. His hands and feet, especially, which had been most affected by the cold and grime, stayed in the water a little longer.
He spent about thirty minutes in the cool water, cleansing himself. He felt as though he was shedding the weight of the world in that water. Finally, he splashed his face with water one last time and stepped out of the lake.
After leaving the water, he stood by its edge for a while, gazing at his reflection on the surface. He no longer appeared as weary as before. After washing, his skin looked cleaner, and his hair looked more neat. He was still thin and tired, but his cleaner appearance made him feel better. This small change gave him a sense of triumph.
As he looked at his reflection, he touched his face. He examined his cracked lips, hardened hands, and the cuts and scars. Each mark told the story of the struggles he had endured. But those marks now felt like a reflection of the past; his body was slowly healing.
After drying off, he immediately decided to make a fire. Moving cautiously, he gathered a few dry twigs and a piece of wood. He took his flint in his hands and carefully began to strike sparks. The sparks glimmered over the dry grass, and soon a small wisp of smoke began to rise. He carefully lit the twigs, and the fire began to grow.
As the first flames of the fire rose, he started preparing the rabbit he had caught a few days ago. Using a simple knife, he carefully removed its skin. He cleaned the meat and skewered it onto a branch. Leaning over the fire, he began to cook the rabbit. The dancing light of the flames reflected on the slowly browning surface of the meat. The scent of the cooking meat was so strong it could cut through the silence of the forest.
About half an hour later, the surface of the meat turned a golden brown, and steam began to rise from the edges. He patiently checked the rabbit and finally began to eat the cooked meat. Each bite brought him the energy and morale he needed.
After finishing the rabbit, he put out the fire. However, his mind, instead of savoring the meal, was focused on potential threats. As he washed his hands by the lake, his eyes scanned the surroundings. "I hope the smoke from the fire and the smell of the meat don't bring those damn things here," he thought.
Memories of the past resurfaced in his mind. He remembered the day a few weeks ago when a wolf pack had attacked him. The predators' bright eyes had gleamed in the shadows. The attack in the middle of the cold night had brought him face to face with death. But somehow, he had survived; he had quickly climbed a tree and managed to elude them for a while. The fear and helplessness of that moment were still fresh in his mind.
He carefully covered the ashes of the fire with snow and checked the surroundings once again. In the quiet of the lake, there was no sound except for the gentle ripples of the water and the hum of the wind moving through the forest. But he knew that the calm could be broken at any moment. So, he continued to stay alert.
At that moment, in a distant continent, life continued in the quiet of another forest. This forest was known as the Eternal Moonlight Grove, the homeland of the Elves. The air here was neither too cold nor too hot; nature existed in perfect harmony. Moonlight was a constant companion in this forest. The silver light filtering through the leaves added figures dancing in the shadows of the trees.
Within the grove, homes that reflected the grace of the Elves were built. These homes were seamlessly integrated into the trees' trunks and branches, constructed in perfect harmony with nature. The homes perched atop the trees were connected by delicate bridges that shimmered in gold and silver tones. On these bridges, Elves could be seen walking with light steps. Each of them moved as an extension of nature, wearing delicate and graceful clothes that reflected the moonlight.
The structures of the homes were extraordinarily aesthetic: adorned with intricate carvings, filled with star and leaf patterns. The windows emitted a warm light spilling outwards, merging with the natural glow of the forest to create a fairy-tale atmosphere. Beneath each home, bridges and pathways seemed to root into the earth, leading to small resting areas where the Elves who wandered the depths of the forest could relax.
At the center of the grove stood the sacred Lunaris Tree, revered by the Elven people. This tree was larger than all the others, and the soft light radiating from its branches could reach every corner of the grove. Beneath the Lunaris Tree was a clear lake. The surface of the lake mirrored the moonlight, creating a sense of depth as if it belonged to another world.
In the depths of the grove, separated from the other Elves, a figure sat silently in a shadowed space. Eliva, sitting in a clearing a little distance from the Lunaris Tree, was meditating. She sat on a stone rising towards the sky, her eyes closed. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall, reflecting the moonlight. Her long, slender hands rested on her knees, and with every breath, a wave of tranquility spread through the air around her.
Eliva wore a silver garment, which rippled like water with each movement. A short dagger hung from her back, its hilt adorned with star patterns. In the silence, the rhythm of her breathing harmonized with the sounds of the forest.
In this world, Eliva was not just an Elf; she was the guardian of her people, the protector of the Lunaris Tree, and the Eternal Moonlight Grove. The tree growing within her soul, the Eternal Moonlight Tree, was intricately connected to the existence of the grove. However, Eliva's meditation was interrupted. She sensed a branch cracking deep within the tree in her soul. This was a sign of impending danger. She opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the path illuminated by the moonlight, heading toward the grove's borders.
Eliva immediately approached an Elf nearby, instructing them to prepare the guards and search the forest. She then decided to move towards one of the homes perched atop the trees.
The home Eliva headed for was a masterpiece crafted by an Elf artisan, built in harmony with nature. Located among the branches of a towering, immense oak tree, it was both elegant and functional. The home was carved to preserve the tree's natural structure, blending with the branches and roots. The walls were covered with tree bark and finely woven vine leaves. This provided natural camouflage for the house while protecting it from the wind.
The window frames were decorated with finely crafted golden lines. Instead of glass, a clear magical material was used; this material carried the outside light into the home as a soft glow. The vines hanging from the windows seemed like a natural part of the house, swaying gently in the wind and producing a melodic rustling sound.
The door was carved from a tree branch and adorned with handmade engravings. The carvings depicted the history of the Elven people, stars, and the spirits of nature. At the center of the door, there was a small, glowing crystal. This stone was a source of magic that balanced the home's energy.
Upon entering the home, one could feel a warm and peaceful atmosphere. The ceiling was made of branches, and when looking up, it resembled a star map. At the end of each branch, small magical lights glowed, resembling reflections of stars. The floor was covered with soft moss and woven rugs, adding a silent elegance and comfort to the home.
The rooms were separated by delicate wooden partitions, each featuring different details. In the sitting area, a large feathered chair sat alongside a handcrafted table. On the table was a glowing magical crystal. A bookshelf ran along the wall, with old texts, maps, and books of magic neatly arranged on the shelves.
In the bedroom, there was a bed made from the wide branch of a tree. A delicate cover with a sky pattern was spread over the bed. Thin curtains hung from the ceiling, gently moving with the wind. In one corner of the room stood an elven harp; when touched, it emitted a natural melody.
The kitchen was made entirely from materials sourced from nature. Shelves held glass bottles filled with various medicinal herbs, elixirs, and dried fruits. In one corner, there was a small fire pit with a cauldron above it. The overall scent of the house was a light mix of fresh flowers and resins.
Eliva's home was not just a living space, but also a peaceful sanctuary that formed a bond between nature and spirit. This elegant structure in the heart of the forest was perfectly in harmony with Eliva's grace and power.