Clementine is an island as much of beauty as it is of danger. In no time at all I found that my survival would be much more work than Sage had made it out to be.

The very first thing I did was explore, which was unfortunately cut short as the day’s end approached. As far as islands go in the Orange Archipelago, Clementine is not one of the largest but it’s no slouch when it comes to size, especially verticality; the terrain was hilly, even mountainous the further I went into the island. With my lack of skill and knowledge at creating shelter, my initial idea was to see if there were any caves anywhere at all that I could use to my advantage. After all, the most sturdy and safest shelter would be something held together by nature itself, right?

This took me well into my first evening there. Much of the area nearest the beach I had landed on was covered in a veritable tropical forest, each tree topped with leaves larger than the shrubbery of Persea. Every skitter of an insect, every patter of rodent feet, every little intrusion pounding on my eardrum caused me to sweat profusely on that trek of uncertainty. My hand never left the hilt of Sage’s dagger, my sweat so thick that the handle was covered in the sloppy butter of it.

During my exploration of the forest, I noted that I saw little to no fruit or vegetables in the area, which was worrying. Killing an animal wouldn’t be hard for me morally speaking, but hunting for food would be less stable than foraging, and my ability to cook was more lack thereof. I had also never skinned an animal or prepared one in any way—in fact I should say that I never even thought of these things because the idea of hunting was too nebulous, too foreign. My sickly nature and the way mother had gone about hiding me from the public so they wouldn’t see my anti-athleticism in action led to me knowing nothing of carnivorous food endeavors save for the hunt itself.

When the sun fell just below the horizon, I had reached the edge of the forest and made it to the inner mountains of Clementine.

I was unaware of their size.

Sheer rock towered above me and seemed to reach up to touch the clouds, each mountain forming a barrier that divided the island in half. In some ways, this was helpful and necessary. I would not get lost in my stay on Clementine if I made sure to stay on one side of the fence, so to speak. Conversely, with there being—as far as I could tell—no edible vegetation on this side, it meant I’d need to hunt for food.

My grip on the dagger tightened.

It made no difference to me which mountain might have a home, so I chose the one closest to me. The closer I got, the more I saw there was no way I would be able to reach anywhere near the peak. There was no trail on this mountain or presumably any of them, so my search would stay at the ground level, and my inexperience caused me distress, for I knew not that caves would be more likely on the ground anyway.

Luckily, before the sun was completely gone I noticed a cave in the ground where the mountain I was searching dipped and turned into the next mountain. The entrance didn’t look huge, but it was big enough for me to enter if I knelt down. I had no form of light and wasn’t sure how to make a fire, so I entered and stayed near the entrance where I could see out.

The inside didn’t feel too large, and the dampness was cold and uncomfortable. I couldn’t see myself living there for the next thirty days, but the idea of creating a shelter in the open with sticks or something didn’t seem too plausible for me either.

My stomach growled, echoing in that little chamber. The stars began peeking out, the dimly lit sky my only sense of comfort on that first night. I heard the hoot of owls, the only predator I was aware of, and imagined with jealousy that they were well fed.

Had I known this was how my day was going to be, I would have eaten before I left.

I’d have said goodbye to Rose and Parsley, too. And Conifer. I frowned deeply at the thought of him. He must have missed me, surely. If I were there his recovery would be going better. I could poorly sing him a song of his, Parsley could bring us some food and the four of us could talk to each other and tell stories and have a nice time. It would feel warm, like home.

Instead I was stuck in a cold, damp cave, alone.

My stomach growled again, and soon I was asleep.

♣      ♣      ♣

I’m unsure of how much time passed. No dreams happened for me, so it couldn’t have been too long. I had no sense to track the moon’s position in the sky, so when I saw it was almost full and slightly to the left it meant nothing—especially when I wasn’t aware if left was east or west, north or south.

None of this mattered, though, for I was awake and alert, my heart pounding in my chest with the vigor of a man in danger.

The crunch of footsteps sounded outside, around the corner of the mountain, coming closer and closer. It was so quiet that I normally wouldn’t have heard, but I was too on edge. The sound was all I could hear besides the beat of my heart in my throat. I unsheathed the dagger, its blade flashing in the light of the moon. Everything in me knew this was a predator coming, probably returning to its cave. The steps were growing louder and louder, and my heart felt like it would regurgitate from my mouth in a frothy, bloody heap if it didn’t show up already. The sound was just outside, merely steps away from the entrance.

If I didn’t move, I felt as if I would die.

So I leapt out with a warcry somewhere between actual tears and a fit of useless warbling, and when I opened my eyes to see the enemy I was greeted with a rabbit whiter than the moon.

At first, I spent my time recovering from the excitement and took a few much needed deep breaths. Then I debated on attempting to kill it. After all, I hadn’t eaten and it was right there. It was practically begging me to kill it. So, dagger in hand, I took a tentative step forward and watched him bounce away with graceful agility, an agility too much for me to handle at that hour of the night.

Sheathing my dagger, I curled back up and shut my eyes. I was too exhausted to feel weak or disappointed in myself for not pursuing the rabbit any further. That sort of feeling was for the next day.

At least, it should have been.

Instead, my eyes snapped open and I was back on my feet in seconds as the rabbit bounded back my way, toward the cave, being chased by an incredible creature I had never seen before in my life. It was a little larger than the baby behemoth I had seen on Durian, so maybe six or seven steps long and another six steps tall. It was covered in a short coat of grey fur, massive paws, and claws that were more talon than nail. Circling its neck was a mane of flowers, bright white with yellow centers. As the beast neared, I noticed that the flowers were actually growing from its neck as if it were a mobile garden. Its head was that of any carnivore, long and intimidating with presumably more teeth than necessary just in case a few went missing. There was a regalness to it, though, an almost royal aspect that I recognized instantly. Being near it was almost like being near my mother.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Before I could blink the beast mauled the rabbit instantaneously, seizing its life in less time than it took me to decide whether or not I should even try to do so. Holding the carcass in its teeth, ichor dripping warm droplets in the grass, its eyes caught the light of the moon and glowed in my direction.

That’s when I realized I was about to be the main course.

We locked eyes for a moment, a brief eternity before I turned and sprint off away from the cave I’d hoped to call my own. My eyes burned from waking up prematurely, and I couldn’t see where I was going in the darkness. I felt the beasts presence behind me, hot on my heels, when I slipped and skidded to the ground so fast my whole world was flipped. When I got my bearings, I looked behind me and saw nothing, the creature wasn’t in my sight. All I heard was the sound of my heavy breathing, the light rhythm of insects buzzing and chirruping, and nothing else.

I hadn’t gone far, and my curiosity was stronger than my intelligence. Staying low to the ground, as out of sight as possible despite the lack of vegetation, I made my way towards the cave, to see if the creature was still there or not. If it had gone away I could at least return to my spot and sleep, maybe. Sleep would come slower without shelter.

Making my turn wide, I remained fifty or more steps away from the cave, crouching low so it may not see me, and I looked long and hard at the hole to see if there was any movement, or even a trail of blood leading somewhere. From my spot I could see neither, and after waiting for a while the exhaustion returned to me and the need to sleep outweighed the need to know where the creature was. My hand never left my dagger, though; wherever the creature may have been, I knew it was dangerous, not only by its look but by the speed it took that rabbits life. With movement that quick, I had no chance. Even Bitter would have trouble against such a beast.

When I was forty steps away, eyes flickered in the hole, catching the light of the moon just right and I froze in my spot, a yelp escaping my tired lips. Backing away as slowly as possible, I returned to the higher ground I was on and sat there, dumb and unsure of what to do. I don’t remember all the options I thought over, for I thought of many. The two options that really called to me were running and fighting, though.

Running is obviously the most logical choice, I would think everyone reading this would agree with that. It guarantees my safety and gives me a much more reasonable chance of survival.

Fighting, though. Now there’s an idea.

You have to understand, I was there to train and I knew it. I also knew a power lay within me behind a wall so high that without a push, I had no way of reaching it. Sage had showed me without words that all I had to do to reach the power of Vastmire was to send myself into danger. As unwitting prey, taken by surprise, I was nothing.

But if I were to enter that cave swinging the dagger, should the creature attack me—and should this theory be sound—Vastmire would surge through me and keep me not only alive, but make me strong enough to get rid of the thing before it could be a threat to me. Which was a big deal. With thirty days to survive there, having a predator not only hunting me but hunting my food sources would be a huge issue for my survivability.

With all of these thoughts in mind, understand that I didn’t think of any of this at the time.

I chose to fight because I was in absolute dire need of my daily sleep.

Well, okay maybe I also wanted to see if I could win. But my confidence in that was low, despite that theory. I just knew there was no way I was going to be able to relax without a roof above me, so I went back to the cave, dagger drawn and ready to go, stopping only to check the fear which rose each time those eyes glowed with that soulless, hungry gaze.

Five steps away from the cave, and the creature finally stood and came out, its steps phlegmatic and curious as if to say, “Who would be so crazy as to challenge me, king of this land?”

Standing before him, I questioned it myself. Who? Me?

Why me?

The standoff was more nerve wracking than the actually fight. We circled slowly, feeling each other out and trying to find an opening. Either I was leaving no openings, or he was full or something, because he didn’t attack me right away. Myself, well I was too frightened to actually get started. I just held tight to the dagger and hoped it could cut when I needed it to.

Then the beast growled and leapt forward, paw chopping downward like an axe. I took a step back, but was too slow and received a small cut down my calf. Sweat began pouring out of me in response, and I took another step back with more speed the next time, dodging another chop, then another, before the beast took a step back and reset the situation, circling me now with a more relaxed gaze. More comfortable.

It knew it was winning.

My palms were slick, and the blade was faltering in my hand. I used my free hand to grip my wrist to keep it from shaking, and I took a deep breath in an attempt to maintain some level of calmness, of clarity.

When I was finished, the creature took a step forward, ready for the kill. Steadying my breathing, I stepped in and decided it was all or nothing in that moment. If I did nothing, then I would die. If I at least attempted to hit the creature, I could possibly get away from it or even kill it out right. It was better to move than to stand still, waiting to die.

Most battles, as I’ve come to learn at my age, are fast. Much, much faster than it takes to read the words I’ve written here. In mere seconds, a life is over. In a moment, a kingdom could fall. A battle is an explosion of energy from both sides, resulting in the world changing drastically. That’s part of the draw, I think; the desire to change the world with your own two hands. You take everything you have and throw it at the enemy, proving that you’re worth living and worth listening to. You rule the kingdom now, or you eat their meat. Whatever the fight is for, you have changed the status quo. And it only took a few seconds.

This also took only a second, perhaps two.

I stepped in, mere inches from the paw chopping downward to my left, and I saw the eyes of my enemy widen with surprise. Even a novice like me recognized the emotion on its face. So, taking advantage of this, and using the energy which was ready to burst forth from the excitement that I had not yet died, I launched my dagger forward in a stab, still holding it with both hands to help steady it. I missed its head, and its neck, but managed to slice a portion of the flowers in its mane on the way to cutting its torso open like butter, the blade so sharp that I wasn’t sure I’d done anything until I stepped back and noticed all the dark, nearly black blood dripping from the beasts chest. A roar rang out so loudly that birds flew in massive flocks away from the area, and the beast almost sent me running with that voice, so loud it was. Instead, fear kept me still, my eyes analyzing its every move so I could keep myself from dying. I imagined that the creature would come at me with enough anger to kill me twice over.

Instead, it stared at me, breathing ragged and heavy, like each breath weighed a ton. It took a step forward but before its paw hit the ground it winced and growled; the pain was acute. I must have hit something that really hurt, because it shook its mane, sending petals twirling to the ground like snowflakes, and it backed away from me with its eyes never leaving mine, and in seeing that agony on its face I myself grew empathetic, and felt sorry for hurting it, majestic and royal as it was.

When it left my sight, I relaxed my muscles, feeling the tension from anxiety lingering in my back like a mouth sore, sharp and painful to the touch, constant.

I walked back to the cave, wiping the dagger of blood with my shirt, and when I curled up to finally sleep—which I finally got—a frightening thought crossed my mind.

Killing was not in my nature.

Followed by the possibly more scary thought that the beast I had almost died to was still out there, waiting for me, stalking me like the prey I was, ready to do to me what I could never accomplish against it.