One moment, he was minding his own business, leisurely munching on a particularly flavorful leaf, enjoying the peace and simplicity of his newfound existence. The next moment—whoosh!

Something grabbed him.

The world spun violently, his body jerked upward, and before he could even process what was happening, he found himself airborne, caught in the iron grip of something sharp.

What the—

His panic exploded in an instant, all the calm of his carefree day shattered. His body dangled helplessly, buffeted by the wind, the ground below disappearing as he was lifted higher and higher. He twisted his small, fragile form, trying to break free, but the talons gripping him were unyielding.

I’m being carried away by a bird!

Terror surged through him, every nerve screaming in primal fear. His heart—or whatever passed for one—pounded in his tiny chest. He craned his head upward, just barely catching a glimpse of his captor: a large, black-feathered bird with eyes sharp as knives, scanning the landscape below.

His mind raced. How did this happen? Why didn't I see it coming?!

Then, it hit him.

The glow. My stupid, glowing body! He had marveled at the soft, ethereal light that came with his evolution, but now it felt like a death sentence. He might as well have painted a target on his back and waved a flag for every predator in the sky. The bright shimmer of his Sage Larva form made him stand out against the earth like a beacon.

Why did I evolve into something so... shiny?!

The bird's wings beat steadily, effortlessly slicing through the air as it carried him farther and farther from the safety of the ground. The wind rushed past his face, a cold and unforgiving reminder of how helpless he was. His body twisted again, futilely struggling against the bird’s grip.

Think! Think!

Panic had taken over, his thoughts jumbled and frantic. He needed to do something, but what could he do? His tiny body was caught in the talons of a predator several times his size, his options painfully limited.

Wait... Camouflage!

It wasn’t perfect—he was already in the bird’s grasp—but maybe, just maybe, it would confuse the bird enough to let him go. He focused, activating the skill, hoping that his form would shimmer out of sight. But the bird’s claws remained tight around him. He wasn’t going anywhere.

The bird let out a sharp screech, and in an instant, it dipped downward, plummeting toward a tree far below. The sight of it made his heart lurch.

Oh no. Oh no no no no...

The bird swooped down toward a nest perched high up in the branches of a massive tree, a collection of twigs and leaves woven together in a chaotic yet strangely deliberate design. As the nest came into focus, he spotted something else inside.

Baby birds.

Three tiny, featherless hatchlings squawked and chirped, their beaks wide open in hungry anticipation. Their eyes hadn’t even opened yet, and they were already ravenous for food. They squirmed and writhed in the nest, completely dependent on the return of their parent—the very bird that now carried him.

I’m the food.

The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. He wasn’t just caught; he was about to become a snack. The bird’s talons tightened for a moment before it released him, and he fell into the soft, but uneven, floor of the nest.

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He landed hard, his body rolling painfully between the twigs and dried leaves. He quickly righted himself, panic overtaking his every thought. He looked up just in time to see the large bird flap its wings and fly off again, presumably in search of more prey.

But that wasn’t the end of his problems.

The baby birds chirped, their heads turning blindly toward him, drawn by the scent of fresh prey. They didn’t care what he was; they were hungry, and he was food. One of the hatchlings, larger than the others, lunged forward with surprising speed, its tiny beak snapping toward him.

He dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding being snatched up by the baby bird. His body trembled with fear, his mind racing.

I need to get out of here!

The nest was huge from his perspective, a tangled mess of twigs and leaves that formed an intricate barrier between him and the outside world. He scanned the edges, searching for any possible escape route, but the nest was high—far too high for him to simply leap out. Even if he did, he’d fall to his death.

The second baby bird made its move, lunging at him from the side. He barely managed to roll out of the way, the force of the hatchling’s beak sending a gust of wind past him. Its small, sharp beak came down hard on the twig where he had been just a moment before, splintering it into pieces.

They’re babies, but they’re strong!

His mind whirled as he tried to come up with a plan. He couldn’t take them on directly; they were still clumsy, but their strength far outweighed his. The third bird was slower than the others, still figuring out how to move properly, but the other two were quickly learning how to coordinate.

One snapped its beak at him from the right, and the other lunged from the left. With instinct taking over, he activated Instinctive Dodge, narrowly avoiding the dual attack. His tiny body darted through the gaps in the nest, sliding between twigs and leaves as he scrambled to find a better position.

The first bird was relentless. It followed him closely, pecking at the ground just inches away from his retreating form. Its sharp, jagged beak stabbed into the nest’s base, sending bits of wood and debris flying into the air. His body twisted, barely managing to dodge the continuous onslaught.

The second bird, realizing it had missed, let out a frustrated chirp and circled around, trying to cut him off from the other side. He could see the strategy forming—they were going to box him in, trap him in a corner of the nest.

No way am I getting eaten by baby birds!

He slid between two twigs, the rough edges scraping against his newly evolved body, his thoughts racing. His movements were frantic but calculated, each dodge and weave taking every ounce of his focus. But he was faster now, more agile. The Sage Larva form wasn’t just for understanding—it made him nimble in ways his previous form hadn’t.

As the first bird lunged again, he ducked under its beak, using a loose twig to spring himself forward, propelling his small body out of the immediate danger. The second bird, having overestimated its reach, collided with the first, sending both baby birds tumbling into a confused heap.

He didn’t have much time to celebrate, though, because the third bird, the smallest of the three, had finally figured out how to move. It snapped its beak experimentally, then set its sights on him. Its beady, hungry eyes locked onto his shimmering body.

Oh no.

This one was slower, but more deliberate. It approached carefully, testing the ground beneath it with each step. His eyes darted around, searching for a way out. The nest walls were too high, the floor too unstable. He was trapped.

But he wasn’t going down without a fight.

Bite.

He readied himself, bracing for the baby bird’s attack. The little bird lunged forward, and this time, he didn’t dodge. Instead, he darted toward the hatchling’s beak, sinking his mandibles into its soft, fleshy skin.

The baby bird let out a startled screech, its tiny body jerking back in pain. It wasn’t a deadly attack—far from it—but it was enough to make the bird hesitate, giving him a precious moment to dart away. He scrambled across the nest, his mind racing as he tried to form a plan.

The other two baby birds had recovered by now, shaking off their confusion and turning their attention back to him. Their beaks snapped eagerly, their tiny feet shuffling across the nest as they closed in from all sides.

I’m not going to survive this if I don’t think fast, he realized, his heart pounding in his chest.

But then, amidst the chaos of the moment, something strange happened. A new surge of understanding flickered in the back of his mind. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The Apex of Knowledge—it was working. He could see it, the tiny patterns in the birds' movements, the rhythm of their attacks. There was an opening.

And that’s when he knew—he had a chance. This wasn’t over.

Not yet.