The moon hung low in the cloudy sky, the mist-like veil blocking the light reflected off it, the little shimmers seeping through ghostly and faint. Shadows cast by it were fleeting and blurred, shapes contorted into but a slight resemblance of the grand trees they imitated. The pale, fading orb sank lower and lower with each passing moment—a sign of respite in this dying world—one with monsters lurking near every nook and cranny, and humans—worse than the Gods themselves—hiding, waiting for their next unsuspecting victims.

His steps moved with cadence, as if practised by a master musician, each one precisely timed, transmitting as little sound as possible as he traversed the vast expanse of woodlands, leaving behind a dead trail of bush behind him, an obvious trail for intelligent beings, but a safe escape for Ren. After all, Beasts were no more than Beasts, and even Minor Monsters were still just Monsters. There was no thought, no thinking beneath their thick skulls, only rage, bloodlust and hunger.

Ren did not know how long it had been since the fight with the Bipedal Wolf—minutes? Hours?—he did not care. What good was keeping track of time if it didn’t help him combat the ferocious adversaries he faced? All he had to do was fend off enough of them, make it to sunrise, and repeat. Everyday until the end of time, just repeating the same cycle, over and over again.

His falchion flashed through the air in a clean swipe, slashing through yet another thick plant, kicking it off the path he had trailblazed. Ren’s ragged breath slowed, heartbeat returning to its usual rhythm, but his mind still ablaze.

Not by measly thoughts of self-reflection or any of those nonsensical luxuries, but by survival.

'I could go back to that watering hole for base; the water was clean, after all, but it’s too open. But the Hunters would find me before the Beasts do. Maybe I could camp in a small opening again? I can last a few more days without water…’

A howl nearby snapped him back to reality, his eyes—adjusted for the night—narrowed, processing all the information in his sights, pupils dilating as he surveyed the area. The smell of dry bark assaulting his nostrils, feeling of cracked earth and dead leaves barely penetrating his thick boots.

It was the howl of a Hound, and those travel in packs.

Ren’s body tensed up, shoulders pulled back and falchion readied, one foot behind the other, ready to turn tail and run at a moment's notice.

‘Scout? Run. Pack? Fight…’ Wasting no time in his thought process to grammatically correct himself, Ren breathed deeply and waited, steeling himself and standing his ground against the unseen threat.

Lifting himself onto the balls of his feet, Ren armed himself with the light falchion and got into a two-handed high guard, favouring the stability it provided compared to the agility of its one-handed counterpart.

The forest was once again eerily silent, broken only by Ren’s heavy, accelerated heart beat, a cold mist appearing from his mouth whenever he breathed out.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a sound, external stimuli caused by the low growl of a Hound to Ren’s left, a telltale sign of an impending ambush. Spinning around, he dodged the first lunging Beast, sidestepping to his left, falchion splitting the creature clean in half down its body. Another Hound charged at him, its razor sharp teeth aimed for his torso. With the momentum from his sidestep, he pivoted about his left foot, delivering a devastating roundhouse kick to the overgrown dogs’ noggin, his left arm letting go of his falchion for but a split second to support the huge movement.

Two more emerged from the shadows, their grey fur blending in with the pitch dark of the night, leaving their bright yellow to look as though they were floating.

‘Four? More than usual, maybe more. Go treeline, isolate fight. Live.’

Outnumbered? Yes.

Outclassed? Never.

Not once had he met a foe who could rival his skill—only a mass of bodies foolish enough to try.

Retreating into the surrounding forest, Ren used the towering trees as cover, turning the battle into a sort of trench warfare. The darkness of the forest only interrupted by the occasional gleam of cool steel against flesh, the silence of the night disturbed by the cries of dying Hounds, uniform smell of vegetation stained by a strong iron stench.

Ren caught a blur of yellow in his peripheral vision, tanking a bite on his left shoulder. Wincing but not flinching, he let go of his falchion with his left hand, reversing the grip with his right and stabbing the disgusting thing straight in its slender body, blade piercing straight out of the other side. The creature breathed its last before going limp and promptly collapsing, its light body making contact with the mushy undergrowth with not much more than a tiny thud.

‘One left, hiding, smart. Kill fast.’

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Going on the offensive, Ren dashed back into a clearing he found—a few metres behind where he had encountered the pack—baiting it into the open so that it did not have any escape. But it never came.

‘Smart dog, run from danger.’

As the final echoes of the hound’s retreat raced into the night, Ren relaxed his stance, scanning bloody ground—littered with fallen Beasts. He knelt and cleaned the blood from his falchion on a patch of damp moss, a ritual which had become second nature.

‘Last sight of water was the watering hole,’ he thought, already calculating his next moves. He needed time to recover, his mangled shoulder needing treatment quickly or he would succumb not to the injury itself, but the vast amount of infections he would garner. The journey was risky, but his condition was riskier.

Finally, a bright ray of light shone from the East, the fall sun gracing Ren with its warm embrace, chasing away the multitude of Beasts and Minor Monsters of the night. Heaving a large sigh of relief, Ren finally let his guard down after those exhausting fights, a moment of respite in the hostile setting of the jungle blessing him like a reverie.

As the burning ball of gas crept higher, Ren examined his shoulder, wincing at the torn skin and bruising, adrenaline wearing off. It was a shallow bite, but he knew better than to dismiss it. Infection could turn any wound—small or large—into a death sentence.

He scanned the tree line, gauging the distance from the watering hole nestled in a small clearing not far from where he’d just fought. The bath of dead bushes paving the way for him. He hated moving in the open, but with the light of day came the peace of sunshine, Minor Monsters and Beasts alike fearing the luminescence.

‘2 klicks, give or take.’ Ren thought, basing his decision on instinct alone.

Moving along the metaphorical red carpet, Ren’s steps quickened, his senses remaining sharp, trained on every shadow which lingered near the edges of the sun’s reach, where the safety of its radiance did not reach. Even in the daylight, he was cautious, never truly at ease.

Soon enough, he reached the depression in the earth, filled with the root of life, ironically with none near. The water sparkled invitingly, its stagnant surface free of ripples and imperfections, calm and serene—as though untouched by the chaos of the world around it.

‘What harm could a double check be?’ he thought.

Kneeling, he first dipped his fingers in, testing for any bitter aftertaste—a lesson he’d learned the hard way in his early years. Satisfied, he drank deeply, quenching his thirst with the refreshing cold water like a hard earned beer after a long day’s work, not like he would know—his parents never let him try the enticing beverage—as he was ‘too young’ and he would ‘pass out’.

Ren’s face softened as memories of his family resurfaced. He momentarily froze, thoughts drifting back to a time when he had felt something other than survival. His mother’s warm touch, ready to mend whatever hurt he had, even as the world around them had begun to fall apart. His father, always stoic, an ever-present glimmer of hope in his eyes, believing the world could be saved…could have been saved.

Ren’s hand trembled as a quiet ache blossomed throughout his chest. His gaze lingered on the water, its calm surface contrasted the chaos within him. For a brief moment, he could imagine their voices, a fleeting echo in the back of his mind, only for it to dissipate as quickly as it had come.

‘Would they have been proud of me?’

The question was asked, but the answer wasn’t given, and Ren did not know if it ever would.

His breath hitched, and he quickly swiped a hand across his face, rubbing away the tears he hadn’t noticed formed. The thought of them—so close, yet so far—felt like a cruel joke. A sigh escaped his lips, hollow and fleeting, before he turned his focus back to his shoulder. He didn’t have time for these thoughts, not now, not when survival was still his only goal.

Ensuring no danger was near the shallow water, he stripped down to his bare self, carefully dipping a toe in to test the waters—like a child going swimming for his first time. Sheathing his falchion, he soaked himself into the cool water, relieving his agitated nerves and sending all the stress away, the memories fresh in his mind—mother’s warmth and father’s resolve forever etched in his brain.

His wound stung, a reminder of his mortality, that he could perish at a moment's notice, powerless and afraid. Even if this shallow wound heals, how about the deeper ones? The ones which were not physical at all?

His fathers voice rang in his head, ethereal yet organic, fleeting but so real. “Remember, Ren.” He said, voice warm and unshaking. His arms rested firmly on Ren’s shoulders, gaze staring directly through Ren’s eyes, as if speaking not to him, but his very essence.

“Strength is not just your physical might nor combat prowess. It is spirit, mind and soul, your unwavering resolve, and most importantly, your-”

He was not allowed to finish his sentence.

An arrow shot through father’s head, killing him instantly and painlessly, limp body sprawled across the ground, his falchion the only remembrance of his noble self in this destructive world.

Ren did not even get to mourn.

His mother picked his stunned self up, still frozen in shock from the brutal scene in front of him.

“Hunters! Everyone protect Lucy and the boy!” someone shouted in the distance.

The last thing he remembered were his mom’s last words.

“At least you must survive, Ren.” she uttered, throwing herself back into the battlefield, praying to whatever god that she could to buy enough time for Ren to run.

And he ran.

Away from the madness.

Into the forest.

All alone.

To fulfil his mother’s dying wishes.

To survive.