For whatever reason, the monster—of which he was certain had been moments from tearing him apart—could not step out into the light. Silas lay where he had fallen, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths as realization washed over him. It couldn’t follow. It wouldn’t follow.

Relief flooded through him like a tide. He let his head drop back against the sun-warmed earth, his body sinking into the dirt with exhaustion. He had been so certain he would die, that nothing would save him. And yet, here he was. Alive.

The pain that had wracked his body, the bone-deep aches and sharp pangs from his wounds, all seemed to be fading. The hollow feeling that had gnawed at him, a strange sort of emptiness he hadn't even realized he carried, was lifting. He blinked in confusion, flexing his fingers, expecting stiffness, but instead feeling… fine. More than fine.

He sat up abruptly, startling himself. He felt good. More than good—he felt amazing.

His eyes flicked to the flashing red bar in his vision. It had been alarmingly low when he first saw it, but now it was filling, little by little, a steady, visible increase.

“My skill,” he murmured.

Photosynthesis.

He looked back at the description, reading it again, this time truly processing the words. Absorb energy from the sun to restore stamina and gradually replenish health. Prolonged exposure increases overall vitality, but effectiveness depends on environmental conditions.

It was working. The sunlight was healing him, strengthening him. He touched his ribs where the creature had struck him—no sharp pain, only a lingering ache. His energy was returning faster than should have been possible.

His mind raced with the implications. He was no longer bound by the same limitations he once had. Did this mean he needed less food? Could he sustain himself simply by being outside? What happened if he was in the dark for too long? Would his body weaken? There were so many questions he needed answers to.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, the sky shifted. A cloud drifted over the sun, casting a shadow across the ground. The momentary loss of warmth was jarring.

And then—

The creature stepped forward.

Silas’s breath caught in his throat as he watched, frozen in horror, as the monster tested the edge of its boundary. No longer halted by the protective embrace of the sun, it slithered forward, its foot pressing into the lightless patch of ground.

Only for the sun to emerge again.

With a hiss, it recoiled violently, stumbling back into the ruins of the building.

Silas shuddered.

Safer. Not safe.

His relief turned to cold, calculating fear. The light protected him—but only so long as it remained. A single cloud, a moment of darkness, was all it took. He couldn’t just sit here and wait for nightfall. He had to move. He had to find shelter.

For the first time since waking, Silas took in his surroundings.

It was once a beautiful town. That much was obvious. The buildings—though now cracked and overgrown with vines—had been constructed to blend seamlessly with nature. Trees still lined the streets, their branches tangled with creeping ivy, wrapping around the remnants of wooden homes. The cobbled roads beneath him were cracked but still intact, though grass and weeds pushed through the gaps. In its prime, it must have been a place of harmony, a civilization built within nature rather than in opposition to it.

Now, it was a ruin.

Decay had set in. Many of the structures had collapsed in on themselves, roofs caved in, walls reduced to rubble. Signs of past life lingered, abandoned carts left to rot, wooden fences crumbling where they stood. A once-thriving place, now left to the elements.

His eyes caught on a faded, worn sign attached to the building he had been thrown from. The paint had chipped away in places, the lettering barely legible. He stepped closer, narrowing his eyes at the inscription:

Orphanage of the Seed.

His stomach twisted.

What had happened here?

There was no time to dwell on it. He needed a plan. He needed direction.

He forced himself to think rationally, methodically. What were his priorities? What did he need?

1. Find shelter. The sun would not last forever, and he had no intention of spending another night exposed to those things.

2. Find people. If there were any survivors—anyone who could explain what had happened to this place—he needed to find them.

3. Find a weapon. The wooden splinter had saved him once, but it wouldn’t be enough if he was attacked again. He needed something better, something permanent.

With those three goals cemented in his mind, he took his first cautious steps into the ruined town, carefully navigating the well-lit streets, avoiding every stretch of shade, every possible hiding place.

His heart hammered in his chest, his senses hyper-aware. He did not know what dangers lurked here.

But he would find out soon enough.

As he moved steadily away, the creature stared hatefully at him with its one remaining eye. Then, slowly, it turned its gaze downward, toward the blood upon the ground. Its eye gleamed with a sinister light.

It lowered its head, lapping up the spilled blood, basking in its scent. A low, guttural rumble of satisfaction emanated from deep within its chest.

Its prey.

It now knew his smell.