CHAPTER 2

The forest was dark, thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. My legs burned as I pushed forward, stumbling over roots and uneven ground. The stars above were distant, faint points of light mocking my solitude. Every breath I took felt like a battle, each step dragging me further from what I knew. My family, my life—all of it was gone. The demon had taken everything, leaving nothing but this emptiness inside me.

The quiet around me was unsettling. The only sound was the wind whispering through the trees, a hollow murmur that seemed to ask the same question I kept repeating in my head: What now? But there was no answer. There was only me, alone in the vast, uncaring forest. I had no farm to return to, no family waiting for me. Just the darkness and my own hollow rage.

Pushing deeper into the woods, my strength began to fade. The numbness in my chest spread to my limbs, my legs growing weaker with every step. I stumbled and fell, crashing hard against the cold forest floor. I lay there, gasping for air, my body too drained to move. My vision blurred as exhaustion consumed me. I didn’t even have the energy to cry. The grief was there, lurking, but it felt far away—like something that belonged to someone else. Not to me.

As the night swallowed me, I drifted into a dreamless void.

I woke to the warmth of a nearby fire, its flickering light a sharp contrast to the cold I had felt before. My body ached, every muscle sore from the long trek, but I wasn’t lying on the hard ground anymore. Beneath my head was something soft—a makeshift pillow. For a moment, I lay still, confused and disoriented. How had I gone from being half-dead in the woods to this?

Slowly, I blinked against the glow of the fire and saw an old man sitting by the flames, stirring a pot with a wooden ladle. His back was hunched, his cloak worn and frayed at the edges. He moved with an easy familiarity, like someone who had spent years in the wilderness, at home in its silence.

I pushed myself up, my arms shaking with the effort. The last thing I remembered was collapsing, too weak to continue. Now I was here—alive, but I wasn’t sure how.

“You’re awake,” the old man said, his voice rough and deep like the crackling logs. He didn’t look at me, his attention still on whatever was in that pot.

Suspicion clawed at the edges of my thoughts, though I was too tired to act on it. Who was this man? Why had he helped me?

After a moment, he turned, revealing a lined face, worn by years of living hard but with eyes that were sharp and piercing. He studied me quietly, his gaze searching for something I wasn’t sure I wanted to reveal.

"Found you lying in the forest," he said matter-of-factly. "You’re lucky I did. These woods aren’t kind to those who don’t know them."

I swallowed, my throat dry, but no words came. I wanted to ask why he’d bothered to save me. How could I explain the storm that had torn through my life, the pain and fury that now swirled inside me?

The old man stood, walking over to kneel beside me. He held out a cup of water. "Drink. You’ll need it."

I hesitated before taking the cup, my hands trembling as I raised it to my lips. The cool water was a relief, though the knot in my stomach remained. The old man’s eyes never left me as I drank, watching with the calm intensity of someone used to waiting for answers.

“What’s your name, boy?” he asked after a long pause.

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"Niv," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He nodded thoughtfully. "You’ve got the look of someone who’s lost something important."

That simple statement hit harder than I expected. I stared at the fire, willing myself not to react. "A demon," I finally muttered, my voice thick with barely suppressed anger. "It killed my parents. Destroyed everything. I ran... had no choice."

The old man’s face darkened, his jaw tightening. "A demon?" He leaned back, his voice thoughtful. "Demons don’t attack without reason. There’s always a reason."

I didn’t care about reasons. I only cared about the searing rage that burned in my chest. I wasn’t here for his sympathy. I didn’t need to understand why the demon had done what it did. I needed power—power to make sure I never felt this helpless again.

My eyes flicked to the old man’s hands as he stirred the pot. There was something different about him, something that went beyond the surface. He moved with a kind of quiet control that felt unnatural in its precision. And then, with a casual flick of his wrist, I saw it—a small flame appeared in his palm, lighting the fire once more.

Magic.

My heart raced, my mind locking onto that single moment. This wasn’t a cheap market trick. This was real. The kind of power I needed.

“Teach me,” I blurted out, the words escaping before I could stop myself.

The old man raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. "Teach you?"

"Magic," I said, more forcefully this time. "I need to learn. I need to be strong enough to kill that demon."

The amusement faded, replaced by a hard, unreadable expression. He stood up, turning away from me. "Magic isn’t something you learn for revenge."

I clenched my fists, the frustration boiling over. "You don’t understand. I have to—" My voice cracked, my desperation spilling through the cracks.

The old man sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Revenge will consume you, Niv. It’ll burn you up from the inside until there’s nothing left." He turned to look at me, his eyes filled with a sadness I couldn’t comprehend. "I’ve seen it before. It leaves you hollow."

His words stung in ways I hadn’t expected. I wasn’t here for wisdom. I didn’t want pity. I wanted power.

“I’m not going to teach you magic,” he said, his voice firm. “Not when that’s all you want.”

My heart sank. I needed that power. Without it, I had nothing.

“But,” he continued, softening slightly, “you can stay here. I won’t leave you to die in the forest. You’ll learn to survive—how to live out here. But no magic. Not yet."

I didn’t argue. The truth was, I couldn’t survive on my own—not yet. The forest would swallow me whole long before I found the demon again.

The old man walked back toward the fire, motioning for me to follow. “Come on. You’ll need more than just sleep if you’re going to make it through tomorrow.”

The first few days with the hermit were a blur of exhaustion and survival. He didn’t waste time. At sunrise, I was up and working—hauling firewood, gathering food, learning to track animals and set traps. My body ached in ways I didn’t know were possible, and by nightfall, I collapsed into bed, too tired to dream.

At first, the silence between us was uncomfortable. But over time, it became easier. The old man didn’t talk much, only giving instructions or correcting me when I did something wrong. But he didn’t need to speak for me to notice the small ways he looked after me—ensuring I had enough food after a hard day’s work, adjusting my form when I struggled without a word.

But no matter how busy my hands were, my mind always returned to that flame. The magic. Every night, as I sat by the fire, the craving for that power gnawed at me, stronger than ever. I couldn’t ignore it.

One evening, after a long day of gathering wood, I finally spoke up. "Why won’t you teach me magic?"

The old man didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained on the fire, his face unreadable.

"Magic isn’t for revenge," he said quietly, repeating the same words as before.

I frowned. "That’s not what I’m asking. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I’ve worked hard. I’ve learned to survive. What more do I have to prove?"

He looked at me then, his gaze piercing. There was something deeper in his eyes—something I hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t just stubbornness holding him back. "You think magic will fill that hole in your heart," he said softly. "But it won’t. Power doesn’t bring back what you’ve lost."

His words struck me harder than I wanted to admit. I turned away, my jaw tight, trying to keep the anger from spilling over. I didn’t want to hear this. I didn’t want his wisdom. I wanted strength.

But deep down, I knew he was right.

I stayed silent that night, staring into the fire. But my resolve only grew stronger.