Azrael half walked, half slide down the scree slope. The rocks were loose and the footing precarious. As such the going was slow, but in almost no time he reached the edge of the jungle, where rocks from the mountains had slid downwards and tried to encroach into the jungle.

The jungle itself put up a fierce resistance with tall trees towering high above the brazen rocks that had come tumbling down and thick underbrush presenting an impenetrable barrier towards the mountain. Here and there ferns and other bushes grew alongside the decomposing, moss-covered stumps of crushed comrades, while vines and roots hung down from the canopy above ready to grow the next generation that would stand guard.

Overall, it was taller, denser and darker than he had envisaged from above, though beams of light valiantly pierced through the dense canopy in an attempt to reach the forest floor.

He took a step forward, the foot stepping onto soft loam instead of hard rock. He pushed aside a fern frond and took a second footstep, then a third and a fourth. Each step he was forced to move a branch or step over a root and after twenty paces he paused.

The jungle was alive in a way that the forest near his house wasn’t. His forest was inhabited. There were birds, deer, boar, wolves and the occasional rabbit. Occasionally he would see one, mostly he just saw the birds flit by.

Here? Here the forest seemed to breath. Humidity pooled on canopy leaves, falling down onto the large ferns, who dropped it onto the bushes, who let it trickle onto the flower, who in return passed it onto the moss before it sank into the ground to be absorbed by the roots.

Birds were constantly making a racket, flitting through the trees above in flashes of red, gold, green and blue, as they searched and fought for nuts and other treats. The other wildlife was no less active, each occupied in their own tussles or else complaining about the noise of their neighbours. No other word sufficed to explain how it felt – other than alive. And he had stepped into its domain.

He looked back at the way he had come. The mountains were almost invisible, blocked out by dense leaves and moss-covered trunks. It was almost impossible to see where he had come from. For safety’s sake he carved a thick X into the nearest tree, a little scared how easily the jungle had swallowed the view – how easily it had almost swallowed him. A little further and he would have lost all sense of where he came from.

Carving a large X onto the next tree he continued on, now purposely cutting or snapping the branches of trees and ferns as he went. Natives be damned, he wasn’t going to die due to being lost. That was just a stupid way to die.

Above, the birds seemed to laugh at him as they flew away from the noise. He ignored them, his mind already planning how to catch them to eat. He who laughs last, and all that.

A little while later and he was back to the drawing board. The birds, no matter how many nuts he gathered to put into a snare didn’t come down from their tall canopies. Why would they when they had all the food they could want tucked safely amongst the leaves?

That being said, it wasn’t all bad news. He had managed to find natural corridors amongst the wild jungle that were evidently used by local fauna. Branches were bent and the leaves mixed in with mud, though not enough to tell what kind of animals roamed the forest floors. Aside from a few vine snares and two overly perfectionistic pit traps he had placed along these paths, he tried to avoid going anywhere near their habitats. He was hungry, but not yet desperate, though he had tried to eat a few of the nuts that the birds had dropped from the canopy. Earthy and a bit bitter were the politest way to describe them. Inedible was another. The activity left him frustrated and hungrier than before.

Worse, the insects had found him. Small swarms hovered around him, while larger flies came to investigate the sweat on his skin. The natural humidity coupled with the blazing midday sun made just being there an ordeal.

At some point the birds had returned, dismissing him as a threat. They called, laughed and fought in the canopy above, completely oblivious to his plight. Their bird song was a constant white noise that mixed with the grating buzz of insects and was promptly ignored to some subconscious process. He wished it was as easy to ignore the heat, or the constant beads of sweat that rolled down his brow to soak into his shirt. Already he was completely drenched.

Rising from the floor - where he’d been trying to crack the nuts on a rock– he picked up his machete.

During the course of the day he’d traded the longer spear to something easier to manoeuvre. A machete was the obvious choice. It was easier to carry between the many interlocking plants, while retaining the satisfying feeling of safety that a larger weapon had. In reality though, his machete was more of a gladius – bladed on both sides.

Azrael looked up. Already he’d been in the forest for several hours. While the days were still long they were shortening as summer turned to autumn. Still, that meant he had another five or six hours to find something edible and get back to his shelter.

Honestly, he felt a little ridiculous. There was so many plants and so many animals that logically he should have found something to eat. The problem was really that the plants were too dense, he wasn’t sure which flowers or odd fruit he found were edible and the animals all had the home advantage – vanishing when he got close. It was frustrating.

Abandoning the nuts, he turned back down his path of destruction. Bent leaves and snapped branches led him past rows of carved crosses. With extreme care he followed them, past two untouched pit traps and several snares. Many had their contents stolen or scattered. If he’d thought about it earlier he should have tried to remember which nuts and berries he’d put in to see which ones weren’t poisonous. As it was only the last snare held any hope – not because it had caught anything, but because the fruit had been too large to carry off. Half eaten remnants of a fruit lay scattered around a chewed through snare.

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Azrael sighed, bending down to have a closer look at the fruit. Completely white inside the fruit looked like somebody had wrapped two large cloves of garlic in a brown snakeskin. He frowned, sniffing at the half-eaten fruit. It smelt sweet. Probably a good sign. Maybe. He tried to recall whether he knew of any similar fruits in the real world but came up blank. If the lack of dead animals and the general destruction of the scattered fruit was anything to go by then these were probably fine. The only problem was that he didn’t know where these fruits grew. He’d found these on the floor… somewhere… along his way.

[Craftman’s Eye] also wasn’t of any help.

Unknown Fruit

An unknown sweet smelling fruit with white flesh and brown snake-patterened skin.

Like he’d suspected the Skill only recognised crafting materials. For everything else it only showed what he already knew.

With a growling stomach, he continued on his way back. His head remained on a swivel, now these fruit added to his list of things to look out for – alongside danger and signs of his passing. He found neither fruit nor danger before he stumbled across the first of the many rocks that made up the scree slope to his shelter. Somehow the walk up was even worse than the slog through the dense foliage.

He was hungry, tired and sweat-soaked. Below his feet the stones kept shifting, threatening to send him back down. Multiple times he almost did end up taking a sudden ride back down to the mountain base when a seemingly solid stone slipped out under his weight and went tumbling down. To make things worse he couldn’t use [Wind Step] to speed up his progress as the skill threatened to start an avalanche.

Absolutely exhausted and mentally drained he stumbled into his shelter, where he lay down – spent. Vehemently, he wished he was back in his cabin. There was food, water and a soft bed. The wish sparked a thought and he ran his tongue across his slowly chapping lips.

With a laboured groan Azrael pushed himself up and used his mana to shape a large bowl out of stone, filling it with [Water]. It was flavourless and not particularly cool. The [Water] mana in the air made it easier to conjure, even as the ambient [Fire] mana made it warmer than it usually was when he summoned it. Either way, he sculled it greedily. It quenched his thirst and blessedly a bit of his hunger, but left him feeling bloated.

Done with the day he sealed the entrance and lay down to sleep.

In the few minutes before he sunk under, he realised that the Holy Empire would most likely need two to three days to dismantle the dragon and vacate the cave. That meant at least two more days before he could try to return back home.

With a sigh he let his mind rest, his eyes closing. Outside the sun observed the world for another few hours, before coming to its own rest.

*****

Talahria lay in the comfy confines of the shadows, waiting for the man’s breathing to even out. She wasn’t exactly sure who he was. Self-proclaimed, he was the rumoured ‘Lord of the End Forest’. According to the First Shadow the ‘Lord of the End Forest’ was an NPC guardian. This man was clearly a player.

The Sword King had called him ‘Azrael’ and the Guilder from Holy Empire had called him ‘Sam’. Nobody could seem to agree who he was, though despite potentially being a charlatan his skills were real. She’d seen him take out the dragon at the end, the midnight cloak and dreadful black lance still clearly imprinted in her memory. And on her arms. Black wisps still burnt into her arms, the previously scalding pain now reduced to an ever fading irritating itch.

It was hard to reconcile the dangerous figure from the fight with the clumsy person trying to crack nuts with two rocks. She doubted she would fare better than him if she was suddenly thrown out into the wilderness though, but that was besides the point. He was probably a Ranker and she wasn’t. She was also in the awkward position of being confined to his shadow. She hadn’t meant to end up here, but that’s the way it’d turned out. Her Queen had also ordered her to keep an eye on him – which she was.

Talariha licked her gums. While the shadows were quite comfy they did little to support her other needs, such as food or water. Food she’d seen her unwitting chauffeur struggle with, however he’d left a refilled bowl with water on the other side of his small shelter. Not that she could reach it. With the evening’s remaining sunlight dimly illuminating the interior she was trapped underneath the man’s shadow. She would have to wait till full dark when his shadow merged with the surrounding darkness to slip out – an unfortunate shortcoming of her Skill. The First Shadow had figured out how to manipulate any that he inhabited, but that expertise continued to elude her. Hers had evolved to slide through shadows instead.

Still, night fell soon enough, the shadows darkening enough for her Skill to register them as valid exit points. With a barely audible sigh of relief she carefully slipped back into the real world, careful not to step on the sleeping figure in the cramped space of the bolder. She stretched as best as she could, stifling a groan of relief. The shadow space wasn’t uncomfortable or cramped, but it felt the same as laying in a hammock all day – eventually her muscles complained.

A rock tumbled down the scree slope outside and she froze. Her breath stalled, her heart slowly slipping down to the deepest pit of her stomach. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was suddenly even dryer than it was moments ago. She turned and looked back at the sleeping figure. Her knees trembled. They were still fast asleep – seemingly impossibly so.

With trembling hands she cupped the bowl of water and brought it to her lips. Ripples oscillated across its surface. Adrenaline sent tremors through her whole body, but still she drank. Slowly, almost excruciatingly so, she took her first hesitant sip. It was followed by a second and a third. Outside another rock clattered in the darkness. She paused, her senses on high alert.

For the next half minute she stood rock still, but nothing moved and nobody woke. She tried to take another sip when she heard it. The swish-hiss of something moving across rock, the quiet snuffling and the gentle scrape of something sharp across rocks.

The bowl slipped, but she caught it. The remaining water splattered onto the stone floor and the sleeping man stirred. Something scrapped across the holes at the entrance. It was too much.

Leaving the bowl she dove into the comfortable familiar depths of the darkness. Her heart beat harder than she had ever thought possible.