Kael's stomach growled, a low, rumbling protest that echoed through the tranquil silence of the forest. He’d never known true hunger before—not like this. In Mudtown, hunger had been a constant companion, a dull ache that gnawed at the edges of his awareness, but it was a familiar pain, one he could push aside, ignore, even use to fuel his desperate scavenging.
This hunger was sharper, more immediate, an all-consuming emptiness that hollowed him out, made his hands shake and his thoughts blur. He could feel his body weakening with every passing moment, his limbs trembling with exhaustion, his mind clouded with a fog of desperation. Every step was a struggle, every breath a reminder of how close he was to collapse. Here, surrounded by the overwhelming abundance of nature, the emptiness within him felt vast, a gaping chasm that threatened to swallow him whole. Each pang was a reminder of the fragility of his existence, the precarious thread he clung to in this new world that seemed to oscillate between breathtaking beauty and indifferent cruelty.
He shifted his weight, his legs trembling beneath him. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he staggered, catching himself against the rough bark of a tree. The Shard’s warmth thrummed faintly beneath his skin, a constant reminder of the alien power that coursed through him, yet it felt like a taunt—a reminder of his physical frailty, his inability to harness the strength he so desperately needed. He was still the same scrawny orphan, the one who’d always been picked last, the one who always struggled to keep up. Could a world as beautiful, as abundant as this truly be a place for someone like him?
He glanced around the forest, the vibrant greens and lush undergrowth mocking him with their abundance. Everything seemed to pulse with life, the air thick with the scent of flowers, the hum of insects, the rustle of leaves. It was a cruel contrast to the gnawing emptiness inside him, a world overflowing with vitality while he was slowly starving. His eyes darted from plant to plant, his mind racing, the need to find food a desperate, frantic chant that drowned out every other thought. He had to eat, had to find something—anything—that could fill the void in his stomach
His knowledge of plants was limited to the scraggly weeds that pushed through the cracks in Mudtown’s cobblestones, the pale, stunted things that clung to life in the perpetual shadows. Here, the undergrowth was a riot of color and texture—vibrant ferns unfurling their fronds, delicate flowers blooming in shades he couldn’t even name, plump mushrooms with glistening caps clustered at the base of moss-covered trees. Each seemed to beckon him, tempting him with their alien beauty.
His gaze settled on a bush laden with berries, bright red and plump, each one glistening in the sunlight as if coated in a sugary glaze. The sight sent a pang of longing through him, a sudden, almost painful desire to taste, to consume. He remembered a time, years ago, when he’d stumbled upon a patch of wild strawberries growing in a neglected corner of the city. They’d been small and tart, but they had tasted like freedom, a fleeting escape from the bitter reality of their lives.
His hand reached out instinctively, fingers trembling as they hovered just inches from the glistening fruit. He could almost taste their sweetness, feel the juice bursting on his tongue.
But a sudden, a different, painful memory flashed through his mind. Lira, her face pale and drawn, her eyes sunken with hunger. She’d found a handful of berries, a vibrant shade of purple, growing near the docks. They'd seemed harmless enough, but within hours, Lira had been writhing in agony, her stomach twisting, her body racked with chills. He could still hear her ragged breathing, the whimpers of pain that had turned to dry, wrenching sobs. Bren’s eyes had been wide with terror, his hands fluttering uselessly over Lira’s convulsing form, and Kael had stood there, helpless, the bitter taste of guilt sour in his mouth.
They’d been lucky. Lira had survived, but the memory lingered, a dark shadow over every scavenging trip, a reminder that survival was a fragile thing, easily shattered by a single, innocent-looking fruit.
Kael’s fingers trembled. He wanted to trust this world, to believe that the beauty around him mirrored a deeper goodness, but he couldn't shake the fear, the learned instinct that cautioned against hope. Hesitantly, he plucked a single red berry from the bush and brought it to his nose. The sweet, floral scent teased his senses, so inviting, so deceptively harmless. His mouth watered, a fierce longing flaring in his chest. But fear clawed at him, cold and insistent, a voice in the back of his mind screaming at him to stop, to remember. He was caught between desperation and fear, a tug-of-war that left him paralyzed, his body screaming for sustenance even as his mind recoiled in terror. His mouth watered, his body trembling with need, his fingers twitching as they brushed the soft skin of the berry.
He hesitated, his fingers trembling, and then, with a quick, decisive movement, he popped the berry into his mouth.
The flavor exploded on his tongue, a burst of sweetness and tangy acidity, followed by a subtle, earthy undertone. It was unlike anything he’d ever tasted. The juice, warm and sticky, coated his tongue, and he couldn’t help but moan, his eyes closing as he savored the sensation. He popped another berry into his mouth, and then another, each one a tiny explosion of flavor, a burst of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
For a moment, as he devoured the berries, he forgot everything else—the pain in his ribs, the fear that gnawed at his gut, the aching loneliness that had been his constant companion since his expulsion. He was just a boy, lost in the simple pleasure of eating, surrounded by a beauty he couldn’t quite comprehend, and for a brief, shining moment, it was enough.
But even as he savored the sweetness, a prickle of fear crawled up his spine. His mind conjured images of Lira, twisted with pain, her face pale and etched with fear. What if these berries, too, were poisonous? The sweetness on his tongue turned bitter, the juice a corrosive acid burning its way down his throat.
He stopped eating, his hand hovering over the remaining berries. Panic surged within him, a cold wave of nausea that had nothing to do with hunger. He scanned his body, waiting for the pain to hit, for the betrayal of his senses to manifest in a sudden, agonizing death.
He waited, breath caught in his chest, muscles tensed, every nerve on high alert.
His mind raced, conjuring images of poison seeping through his veins, his body convulsing, his skin breaking out in cold, clammy sweat as the toxins took hold. He imagined his stomach cramping, his limbs locking up, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps as the world blurred around him, as darkness closed in. Every beat of his heart felt as though it was a countdown, each second stretching into an eternity as he waited for the first hint of pain, the first sign that he had made a fatal mistake.
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, the sharp sting a small, grounding pain against the overwhelming terror that clawed at his mind. He was alone, utterly alone, in a place that was as beautiful as it was deadly, and there would be no one to help him, no one to save him if he fell.
But nothing happened.
No pain. No dizziness. No tremors of weakness. Just the fading echo of the berries' sweetness and the soft, reassuring thrum of the Shard’s energy beneath his skin.
Relief flooded him, washing over him like a cool wave. He slumped against the base of a tree, his heart still hammering, but his body relaxing for the first time since he’d stumbled into this world. He had been so sure he’d made a mistake, so sure that his desperate hunger had led him to his death. But somehow, against all odds, he’d been right. These berries were safe, nourishing, a gift from a world that, perhaps, wasn’t so hostile after all.
Emboldened by his newfound confidence, Kael decided to push further into the forest. He had no illusions about this place—no illusions that it would be kind or forgiving—but he was driven by a need to understand it, to grasp its secrets, to survive. He picked his way through the underbrush, careful to avoid the thorny brambles that snagged at his clothes, the dense patches of nettles that left angry, stinging welts on his skin. The forest was alive with movement, with the rustling of leaves and the chittering of unseen creatures. Birds flitted through the branches above, their bright plumage a blur of color against the green canopy.
Stolen story; please report.
He found more berry bushes, their branches laden with fruit of varying hues—deep blues, vibrant yellows, and a delicate pink that looked almost translucent. He was cautious now, taking only a small sample of each, waiting for any sign of adverse reaction before eating more. He avoided the mushrooms, remembering tales of deadly fungi whispered around campfire gatherings in the slums. He collected a few edible leaves, recognizing them from their faint resemblance to the pale, scraggly plants he’d sometimes found growing in the cracks of Mudtown’s cobblestones.
He found a small, bubbling spring hidden beneath a thick canopy of ferns. The water was even colder than the stream, the taste clean and crisp, like ice melting on his tongue. He drank deeply, feeling the liquid spread through him, a soothing balm against his dry throat and aching muscles.
But even as he explored, a strange unease began to settle upon him. He was used to the harsh, predictable brutality of Mudtown—the violence, the hunger, the constant threat of betrayal. Here, the world seemed to operate on different rules, rules he couldn’t yet grasp. The beauty around him felt almost oppressive—too perfect, too pristine, as if the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to disrupt its delicate balance.
He glanced down at the berries he’d collected earlier, a handful of red, blue, and yellow jewels cradled in the folds of his tunic. They looked vibrant, almost glowing in the dappled sunlight, their skins unblemished, unmarred by the grime and decay that permeated everything in Mudtown. He felt a surge of something close to desperation as he stared at them. What if they weren’t enough? What if this sweetness was just a cruel trick, a prelude to a deeper, more insidious hunger that gnawed not just at his stomach, but at his very essence?
He turned a corner, following a narrow deer trail that wound between a stand of towering pines, their scent a heady mix of resin and earth. A sudden snapping sound sent a jolt of adrenaline through him, and he froze, his hand instinctively reaching for a weapon he didn't possess. The forest around him seemed to hold its breath, the birds falling silent, the rustling leaves replaced by an oppressive, waiting stillness.
His heart hammered against his ribs as his eyes darted from shadow to shadow, trying to pierce the dappled light filtering through the trees. He saw it then, a movement at the edge of his vision—a dark shape crouched low to the ground, its eyes glinting with a predatory intensity.
Kael’s breath caught in his throat as the creature rose, its movements deliberate, almost graceful, despite its bulk. It was a coyote, larger than any of the mangy, sickly dogs he had seen in the packs that roamed Mudtown, its coat thick and dark, blending into the shadows beneath the pines. Its muscles rippled beneath its fur, every movement deliberate, controlled, its gaze fixed on Kael with an unnerving focus. He could see the creature’s breath misting in the cool air, the slight twitch of its ears as it listened, assessed. Its eyes were the most unsettling feature, intelligent and watchful, fixed on him with a laser focus that seemed to strip him bare, revealing his weakness, his fear, his vulnerability.
He wanted to run, to turn and bolt into the forest, but he knew that would be the end. The coyote’s eyes followed his every movement, its gaze intense, almost calculating. It was as if the creature could sense his fear, could smell the terror that seeped from his pores, that it was waiting for him to break, to show weakness. He took a slow, steadying breath, forcing himself to stand still, to keep his eyes on the coyote, to show it he wasn’t prey. His mind raced, a frantic litany of thoughts—he didn’t have a weapon, didn’t even have a stick or a rock.
He thought about the stories they whispered in the slums, tales of monstrous beasts that roamed the dark forests, creatures that were said to be more than just animals, possessed by some malevolent force that thrived on human fear. Was this one of those beasts? The thought sent a wave of cold terror through him, and he closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself to remain calm, to think. He didn’t even have a stick, a rock—anything—to defend himself.
Slowly, he straightened, lifting his chin, his heart pounding so loudly it felt like it would burst from his chest. He took a slow, measured step back, watching the coyote’s reaction. Its ears flicked forward, its head tilting slightly as if curious. Kael held his breath, his heart pounding so loudly he could hear it over the rustling leaves. Another step back, still watching the coyote intently, gauging its reaction.
Then, in a moment that defied his expectations, the creature simply turned away. It sniffed the air, its nose twitching, then padded back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.
Kael stood there, his whole body shaking, as if awakening from a nightmare. He couldn’t understand it. Why hadn’t it attacked? Had he somehow projected a strength he didn’t possess, fooled the beast into thinking he wasn’t worth the effort? Or was it something else entirely—a mercy, a dismissal, a signal that he didn’t belong in this creature’s world?
The tension drained from him, his legs buckling as he slumped against a tree trunk. He let out a shaky breath, the air rasping in his lungs, his body still buzzing with adrenaline. He had survived. He leaned back against the rough bark, his head spinning, his chest aching. He was exhausted, weak, vulnerable. Every breath felt like an effort, every beat of his heart a reminder of how close he’d come to death.
The forest seemed to close in around him, the shadows deepening, the air thickening with an oppressive weight. The trees loomed overhead, their branches intertwined like a dense canopy, blocking out the fading light. The air was cool, damp, filled with the scent of pine and something darker, an undercurrent of decay that made his skin prickle. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, sent a jolt of adrenaline through him, his senses straining to catch any sign of movement, any hint of the dangers that lurked in the shadows.
He felt small, insignificant, a fragile spark of life in a world that seemed to pulsate with a power he could barely comprehend. He knew now, without a doubt, that this place was dangerous. It wasn’t just the creatures that lurked in the shadows or the strange, alien flora that surrounded him—it was the very air, the very ground beneath his feet. It was as if the world itself was watching, waiting, testing him.
He closed his eyes, the memory of the coyote’s gaze still sharp in his mind. He didn’t understand this place, didn’t know its rules, its dangers. But he was here, and for now, that was all that mattered. He took a deep breath, the air cold and crisp in his lungs, and pushed himself to his feet. His body protested, every muscle aching, but he forced himself to move, to take one step, then another, his legs unsteady but determined.
He needed to keep moving, to keep exploring. He couldn’t afford to stay in one place, couldn’t afford to let his guard down. The forest was beautiful, yes, but it was also a predator’s hunting ground, and he was prey, vulnerable and exposed. He picked his way through the underbrush, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow, his ears straining for any sound that might signal danger.
As he walked, the forest seemed to close in around him, the trees pressing closer, their branches intertwining above him, blocking out the sky. The light grew dim, the air thick with the scent of pine and earth, and something else, something darker, a hint of rot and decay that made his skin prickle with unease. He felt like an intruder, a trespasser in a world that didn’t belong to him, that didn’t want him.
But there was no going back. The portal, the life he’d known—it was gone, shattered by the Shard’s power. He was alone, adrift in this alien world, a fragile spark of life clinging to the edge of oblivion.
He pushed forward, his steps slow and deliberate, his senses sharp. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, made his heart jump, but he forced himself to stay calm, to stay focused. The forest seemed to stretch on forever, an endless sea of green and shadow. But he kept going, driven by a stubborn, desperate need to survive, to keep moving, to find some semblance of safety in a world that seemed intent on breaking him. He was tired, so tired, his body aching, his mind numb with exhaustion. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not now.
He stumbled, his foot catching on a root, and he fell to his knees, the impact jarring, sending a sharp pain through his bruised ribs. He stayed there for a moment, gasping for breath, the forest spinning around him. He wanted to give up, to collapse, to let the darkness take him. He pushed himself up, his vision swimming, and took a shaky step forward. Then another. The ground blurred beneath him, his feet dragging, his limbs heavy. But he kept going, his mind a blank, his body moving on instinct alone.
Kael found himself pressed up against the dense trunks of trees, their rough bark scraping against his skin, the branches overhead forming a tangled web that seemed to shut out the sky. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic, desperate rhythm that matched the wild pulse of his thoughts. He had to get off the ground, had to put some distance between himself and the dangers that prowled the forest floor. He glanced up, the branches seeming impossibly high, the climb treacherous, but he had no choice.
Taking a deep breath, he reached up, his fingers scraping against the bark, finding purchase. The wood was rough under his hands, the tree’s surface cool and unyielding. His muscles protested, his limbs trembling with fatigue, but he forced himself to keep climbing, his mind blank, his focus on one thing: getting higher, getting safe.
He climbed higher, his body moving on instinct, his fingers clutching at branches, his feet finding small footholds in the bark. The higher he went, the more the fear ebbed, replaced by a strange, hollow calm. He felt almost weightless, suspended in the cool, still air, the world below him a distant blur. When he finally stopped, perched high in the branches, the ground far below, he felt a strange, bittersweet relief. He was safe—at least for now. He leaned back against the trunk, his body trembling, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The leaves rustled softly around him, the air cool against his skin. He looked down, the forest floor a patchwork of shadows and light, and felt a pang of sadness, a longing for something he couldn’t name.
He was safe, at least for now. But the fear, the uncertainty, the raw, aching loneliness—they were still there, a dark shadow that clung to him, that whispered in his ear, reminding him that he was alone, that he was vulnerable, that he was prey in a world that seemed intent on devouring him.