Thin rays of daylight peered through the many small leaves that surrounded the large forest. The clicks of small bugs were like white noise in the naturally silent terrain, and doubled as a suitable cover for hunting. The tug of a roughly made arrow shaft scraped across the shelf of its bow, pointed dead center on the head of a hog-like creature. Unaware of the impending danger, the large hog snorted and leisurely ate away at the grass beneath it; every small turn or shifting motion it would present was mirrored by the bow, as if it were metal attracted to a magnet.

The hog stopped and dipped down for another patch of rich grass to consume, whilst the arrow reached far back until the string practically screamed for mercy.

Thunk!

The sound of a speeding object overtook the noise of the small bugs and quickly caught the attention of the hog. The light arrowhead tore through the quiet winds and dug itself deep into the beast's jowl. With a screeching wail, the Hog pranced about angrily and stomped plants and smaller creatures alike in search of its assailant. A dark figure perched itself atop a tree surrounded by leaves like a squirrel or small bird, patiently yet intently watching the angered hog. The figure pulled another arrow from the hand crafted quiver strapped on their back and placed it on the clearly tortured string with movements that screamed "proficient." In that short time, the hog's search for its attacker became much wilder; the beast rushed rocks and logs and trees with a furious wail that startled the creatures near it, the increased pain from the arrow glued to its jowl only fanning the flames of its anger more.

The figure returned the arrow to its quiver and placed the wooden bow across their shoulders. Their hand tightly grasped a wrapped stone knife and unsheathed it from its leather holster, careful of avoiding any unnecessary noise or movement. The hog crashed against object after object before it finally arrived at the figure's tree, ready to strike once again. The furious beast charged without hesitation towards its target, but was unaware of the swift figure lunging towards it from above. Before it could even hope to ram the poor tree, a thick stone knife found itself deep within the neck of the angry beast, like a panther sinking its sharp fangs into its prey.

The hog let out another wail as loud as the last, which came across as more of a whimper than a roar. The beast wriggled and tossed and turned with all the energy it had, but couldn't shake the figure off for the life of it. The stone knife tore through the hog's innards as it was lifted out of its place with a stream of blood and meat, only to be shoved deep into its head before it could completely react.

Moments pass, seconds but not exactly minutes, before the hog's life drained from its eyes and slumped to the ground beneath. The figure leaned back and relaxed his body as he let out a tired, victorious breath, free of the tension that bound him.

August reached forward and ripped the worn arrow out of its jowl, followed by the stone knife in its head, and checked their conditions with caution. Returning the bloodied arrow to his quiver and sheathing the knife, the boy then scanned over the hog for any stray or foreign objects stuck in its body.

The sounds of squelching were like nails on a chalkboard for August as he carefully rummaged through the hog's open wounds and ensured it was "clean." The rancid smell of blood and viscous stabbed his nostrils to boot, not to mention the fear that more dangerous beasts would follow the smell of blood was beginning to rise. August wasted no time removing his pruney fingers from the nauseating innards of the hog's corpse and used those same fingers to clot the wounds. The boy reached into a bag on his left hip and removed a roll of wrap alongside two strange leather pouches. He removed the lid on the leftmost pouch and revealed a clear-ish gel that he spread along the bleeding wounds. Using a rag to clean the blood, the boy watched as the gel completely stopped any more blood from seeping out. He then did the same with the rightmost pouch and revealed a blue ointment-like substance, spread across the hog's entire body as if it were some sort of sauce. The boy leaned in and took a few whiffs to test its effectiveness, and nodded when he confirmed that he couldn't smell anything on the hog.

August used the wraps to cleanly cover up the wounds, alongside a white sheet to wrap the hog's entire body in, and threw it on his shoulder like a satchel. Returning the wrap and pouches to his back, the boy donned in beast fur, a claw necklace and stolen black pants continued his trek to Jericho City.

Hunting days proved hard for a former prince to adjust to. The transition from a royal catered hand and foot to a lone survivor in the wilderness was jarring to be blunt, and to say he had adjusted would be a lie. The former prince groaned almost instinctively following the thought that he would have to make more arrows, but the undying relish he partook in with the leather utility belt he found by luck was enough to remedy the irritation.

The boy's stamina ran out quickly with his meager experience hunting and hiking. When the sun had finally gone down, he had only covered around 8 miles of ground, taking into account the times he took to rest. At the sight of moonlight, August settled down in an enclosed space, in this case a small cave near a large waterfall, and started a fire using the sparse amount of flint and metal scraps he salvaged along the way.

Lighting a fire was far harder than he expected, a fact only made worse with the sharp pieces of metal he had no good grip on. He was forced to power through the pain and cut his hands pounding the scrap and flint together, before almost burning himself on the blazing fire he managed to ignite. The scare made the young boy want to stomp the fire dead out of anger, but he stopped himself. He knew all too well sleeping on all but a bed was finally taking its toll on him.

Using the wrap to put pressure on the cuts, August decided to keep them on as a protective next time he had to use the scraps; there was no guarantee he wouldn't get cut, but the chances were lowered.

The boy turned his attention to the dozen worn arrows resting in his quiver. Out of the group, only five were salvageable, the rest were too rough and ragged to be of use any longer. August tossed them to the side and focused on the five he still had; in the morning he would find more stones and branches to use, but for now he had to put his effort into ensuring they were properly sharpened.

He spent a few hours unwrapping the string on the arrowhead, sharpening, re-wrapping and testing its effectiveness despite there only being five. The revelation made him groan, but he had naught to blame but his own inexperience. Truthfully, that was the reason he was struggling so hard now. As a prince he had been taught the basics of basics for everything, from common sense to history and many other topics. The issue was that knowledge didn't translate to experience, so despite having an idea of how to create makeshift weapons and start fires, his lack of proficiency made it all much harder. The only thing that had shown slight improvement was his archery skill, considering his mediocre prowess during the fight with the armored king.

August refused to linger on his many shortcomings and left the remaining tasks for the morning. So long as he managed to get out of the forest, he could eat the hog meat without any worries.

The boy rested on his side and turned to the crackling fire beside him. Though the floor was unquestionably uncomfortable, the exhaustion that washed over him night after night was enough to lull him into a deep slumber, as if he had fallen asleep on a luxurious bed in an expensive inn.

The next day, August decided to travel along the river north of the waterfall. His inclination came from the lessons he was given by one of his many teachers: many of the towns and villages near the coastline of the Kingdom of Janus settle around rivers for immediate water usage. He had a feeling that following the river would lead him to the nearest town, but most of all, it also allowed him to catch smaller prey like fish.

Hunting the aquatic veterans was an entire ordeal in itself. The boy hadn't the guts to risk losing arrows he so meticulously carved and sharpened over a single fish, but his skill in spearfishing was… partially inadequate to say the least.

Equipped with a wooden stick fashioned into a spear, August approached the river carefully, as to not alert his prey. Like the hog prior, the fish, accustomed in the mundanity of their daily lives, hadn't taken notice of their hungry predator. His eyes shone with a determined gleam as the spear struck the cold water and gravel beneath like lightning. The fish, however, treated it like the futile efforts of a large snail; the aquatic creatures swerved and swam in almost every space his spear wasn't. The fish hadn't even spared him the effort and swam away, they simply remained in place, motionless as a statue until he struck, before turning into leaves carried by the winds he just couldn't seem to catch. Their eyes were like stones, weighing down on him with this aura of cockiness he perceived for them. The more he tried and failed miserably, the harder they mocked him with those expressionless faces of theirs.

A rush of anger reddened August's cheeks and whitened his fists. The desire to give up and cry was powerful, almost overwhelming, but he quickly brought his mind back to the consequences of failing. The idea of starving or being attacked by other beasts that followed the scent of the hog calmed and tempered his mind. The cruel truth was that he could no longer cry and be comforted, or pout and receive love and hugs in return; the forest wasn't his mother, if he showed it weakness, it would respond with nothing but crushing reality.

August struck once again and watched as the fish confidently avoided with ease. What it wasn't prepared for, however, was the large hand swooping in the moment it stopped and gripping it with all it had. The flailing fish struggled and squirmed for dear life, but the young boy refused to let such a catch go. Seeing their comrade in the hands of the snail they mocked so heavily, the remaining fish refused to stay any longer and scampered downstream to safety. Honestly, watching them escape made him a bit happy.

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With the hard part over, skinning and cooking it over fire was somewhat uncomfortable but wholly possible for August. He added a myriad of fruits and nuts he confirmed weren't poisonous and placed it all on the end of a cut log he made into a plate of sorts. It looked like little more than a mesh of different foods all slapped onto a plate, but the young boy practically overclocked his brain to overlap it with the seafood dishes he used to have for dinner. Sadly, his stomach didn't give a damn whether it was a five-star course or gruel and consumed it without mercy.

His meal finished, the boy reorganized and continued his trek alongside the river.

Every once in a while the desire to make his life easier and use his shadow ability came over the boy, but it became easier to repress the longer he went without it strangely enough. Whenever he used the shadows to do just about anything, August lost starlight that could only be replenished with very long breaks, which meant he would have to sacrifice precious time for traveling or cooking. As useful as it could be, the young boy decided that he would learn to survive without it, and survive he did.

This style of living was painful, like sleeping on a bed of nails right next to a perfectly normal bed. There were plenty of days where food consisted of little more than poorly scavenged fruits and nuts, where despite his careful precautions wild beasts ended up finding and attacking him, as if he were a walking meal just waiting to be eaten. It all felt cruelly unfair, but how could he complain when there was no one to complain to?

August religiously followed the moist path alongside the river for what felt like days, maybe even weeks. At times he would come to sharp rock formations he had to climb over, or waterfalls he had to climb down. Beasts became a common occurrence the farther he traveled, and those were the worst times. It was like everything he met was out to kill him. From the large hog-like beasts that seemed to get a kick out of ramming anything in sight and alerting everything within a mile radius, to the larger and more terrifying tiger-like beasts he so vehemently avoided. Even the insects felt like a brush against death when he considered that they could be carrying lethal diseases. It was a surprise to August himself that he hadn't just fallen out and gave up after so long.

His new life had taken its toll, however. The child's originally bright eyes were constantly bagged, their innocent luster dimmed somewhat. His clothing consisted of ragged pants and the cleaned beast skins of whatever he barely managed to catch, maybe to get even the smallest sense of accomplishment out of the harrowing process. If he couldn't still recall the luxurious, calming daily life he once had, August would have already considered himself a full-fledged savage. Even then, the already fleeting feeling of human interaction was only becoming more and more blurry by the day.

Crick!

The uncanny swish of moving foliage and breaking twigs caught the young child's ears. His initial instinct was to leap into the tree to his left and hide until the perpetrator of the noise left, but something drew him to the sounds. He knew the behaviors of the forest beasts well, from their movements to their daily activities, and this sounded like nothing he had heard before. It didn't take all too much debate, for a child such as himself, August opted to indulge his curiosity and forsake safety in the trees for possible danger in the open. Though to be fair he had a fair bit of confidence in escaping if things took a wrong turn.

August tightly gripped his stone knife with his right hand and used his wrapped left to wade through the thorned and poisonous plants in his path. Weeks in the unknown forest granted the child the ability to silently move about even while surrounded by grass and other plant-life, an ability he used to its fullest. The closer he got, the more noises he could discern. Stomping, a peculiar creaking noise, and the shifting of something solid, as if metal were being moved. In all of the noises he picked up, however, none caught his ear more than the sound of one shocking noise did.

The unforgettable sound of voices, muttering to be exact.

It was certainly English, but August couldn't give a damn if they spoke in tongue; the mere fact that behind the wall of trees and plants in front him were living, breathing humans brought back the childish luster in his tired eyes with a vengeance. All the residual pains, the cuts and bruises and scabs left from torn skin and splinters meant nothing to him anymore. August relished in that drug-like rush of euphoria as he blazed past the many trees and plants on his path. His scuffed voice rang out in sparse exhausted breaths and hopefully pitiful attempts at calling out to them; even as he ran over shards of rock and thorns, nothing stopped the child's gleeful advance to the hope-filled sounds of human voices.

The boy hurriedly brushed a wave of leaves out of his face and let his eyes fall onto the small wooden carriage led by three rough-looking men. The trio all sported a myriad of scars that peered and peaked through their rather basic clothing, incentivized by the coarse weapons they carried. August felt his eyes swell like balloons seeing the first humans in who knows how long. The child in him wanted to do nothing more than run into the closest one's arms and never let go, but his instincts told him otherwise. He looked at the three once more, not as saviors, but as people, and studied them once again.

Their eyes were sharp yet unfocused, the two on opposite sides wore expressions of boredom while the center man had a slight smirk on his face. It wasn't just their appearance, but their very movements and demeanor that screamed "rough." They reminded August very much of the mercenaries his father once talked about, people that did a variety of tasks so long as money was involved. The more he studied the trio, the less willingly he was to interact with them, as much as it hurt; sadly, he was far too late to have any choice in whether or not they interacted.

"Look at the brat over there, think he's got a mum for me?" The short rightmost man questioned in a rather irritated tone. His gruffly voice alone was enough for August to tighten the grip over his knife.

"Aww suck it up, Kelson. You seriously can't still be mad about the incident over at the last town." The center man let out a hearty laugh, though the contents behind his laughter didn't feel all too jovial.

"Stuff it, you sod! You took a perfectly fine woman and hogged her all for yourself. I barely got a look at her before you offed the poor wench." The short man shot back.

The leftmost man pointed directly at August, throwing a pit right in his stomach. "What should we do with him, Forr?"

The jovial man turned to August with a wide smile that sent chills down his spine, "Oi kid, we're quite hungry out here. You wouldn't happen to have a mum that could whip us up something nice, would ya?"

"I… I don't." He reluctantly responded, "I'm lost."

"Tch. Well that's a shame." The jovial man shook his head, "Kelson, take care of the brat. He's got a nice sack over him that may have some food in it."

August could feel his initial happiness and joy slowly crumble over the course of the small conversation, but they didn't completely shatter until he heard that single sentence from the jovial man. Piece by piece, the elation he felt meeting people after so long was replaced by a perpetual fear and the heavy desire to run. Seeing the almost happy expression on the short man's face as he pulled the chipped blade from its sheath, the unsettling, sleazy expression on his comrades that calmly watched, August wanted to cry, but for completely different reasons compared to before. He had no confidence fighting the grown men, too lost in his shock to consider escaping; overrun by fear and betrayal, the young child began to tear up as he pleaded with the trio.

"W-wait, I can give the hog to you! I don't wanna fight for it, I just want to find a town!" He desperately exclaimed.

"Sucks for you, kid. That town you wanted to find has already been "cleaned" by us already." The jovial man laughed.

"Die, brat!" Without warning, the short man upon reaching August raised his blade high and swung it down with ample force. The boy had experience fighting people far above his own skill, so much so that he was sure that with the help of his shadow ability, the trio would be nothing but fodder. Only, he had no confidence in ensuring their lives if he did. Even if they were out for his life, the thought of taking their lives made him sick to his stomach.

The chipped blade aimed for August's skull, but his instincts moved his trapped body just enough to avoid the deathly blow; sadly enough, he didn't completely avoid the attack.

"Ahhh!" The wailing cry of the hurt boy rang out as he shot backwards with his hands over his mouth and chin. Thin lines of blood began to seep through the crevices in his reddened fingers and fall to the dirt covered road the trio traveled on. The pulsating waves of heat August felt on the cut couldn't distract from the sharp pain that made his tears fall like rain. He felt like the left end of his lips were separated from the rest of it, down to the bottom end of his chin. Were it not for his groomed instincts, the sight of a crushed skull on the corpse of a foolish boy could easily be imagined.

August looked at the three men with disbelief, hardly holding back the desire to wail out in pain. Even through his watery vision, he could see the contend glares they shot at him like flaming daggers. A sense of helplessness washed over the mentally tired boy with the conclusion that they wanted him dead, no ifs ands or buts about it. The sick feeling he got thinking about doing the same to them felt like a joke, a joke he couldn't help but take seriously. If he did nothing, his death would be certain, but if he did, he wasn't sure if he could take it.

He felt horrible, like he could throw up at any second. He hated that this was his first encounter with other people with a burning passion, hated that his options in this situation were so dangerous and limited, but there was his shadow ability. Using it, he could easily escape their hunting range and continue his trek to another town, but the very thought felt wrong. These three were dangerous, without the slightest care for the lives of others; the thought of letting less able people encounter the trio left a horrible aftertaste in his mouth.

His father would never let such people off easily.

With unyielding reluctance burrowed in his heart, the teary eyed boy slowly backed away to the trees he appeared from. The trio watched the young child edge backwards with his horribly torn and blistered feet into the shadow of the trees. His black hair practically blended in with the dark opening, while his sinister yellow eyes glared at the three, like a predator watching its prey.

"Think you can run? Fat chance, brat!" The angry tone of the short man shot out as he steadily stomped his way to the young boy.

Behind him was the jovial man who had suddenly dropped his smile. That man stared at the boy they mocked and were all but ready to kill, aware of one difference the other two hadn't noticed: the childish luster in his eyes that led him to interact with the trio had entirely vanished, replaced by a cold, void glare. It didn't feel like a child's eyes in the slightest.

Even with his astute observation, not even he had noticed that the dark space August placed himself in, was staring right back at them.

And was terribly starving.