In the early morning of the next day, a short scream could be heard in the woods. Isaac, inside his quickly made home for the night, which consisted of sticks and a sheet of leaves propped against a tree, bolted upright, heart pounding, he was sweating as he gripped his shirt over his heart. The last words of his late father still rang in his ears, and the nightmare, its images, still fresh in his mind.
He got up, still hurting and sore from days prior, confused, he said in thought while stretching out:
"Ah... Why the hell am I still hurt? I didn't get hit, all I did was hit that footman and use the mask. It can't be slowly burning me like that guy, can it?!? This must be what happens when one sleeps on the ground."
While struggling with the weight of the scenario and the possible unforeseen consequences, Isaac knew he couldn't stay here in this forest forever. He needed to decide what he was going to do from now on.
"All that lies to the east are the barbarian and nomadic realms, I have to move west. The more civilized feudal lands will have better conditions and economy. For now though... I need food!"
He said, clenching his grumbling stomach, he hadn't ate since 2 days ago! He had already searched the estate before night completely fell yesterday, looking for tools to survive with. Yet he found almost nothing, the place was thoroughly looted by the previous invaders, leaving only gardening tools and miscellaneous items alike.
"What would I catch with a damn shovel!?! Worms!?" He grumbled in anger.
Knowing the surrounding forest of the estate well, having lived here his whole life, Isaac headed towards a nearby river, he had caught salmon and trout there while playing in years past. After a short 40-minute hike, he arrived at the river's shoreline, holding the straightest stick he had seen on the way there. He picked up the sharpest rock he could find on the riverbed and began to whittle the tip of the stick to make a spear. A few minutes later he held up his newfound mighty tool high in the air. The clouds rolled behind it as he inspected it intently.
"..."
"It's... Passable... Maybe I should've just brought the shovel. Ugh, Alright lets find a decent spot." He mumbled then heaved a sigh.
He slowly walked along the shoreline, following the river down stream looking for calm areas in the water after a section of rapids. From his previous experience, he had caught the most fish in those calm pools of water. Once he came across one he often fished at, a smirk came across his face as his eyes locked onto a glimmer of light from a spotted green tail.
"Hah, perfect. Looks like the trout stay here during winter."
He had never fished during the winter as his father wouldn't let him because of the cold. Steadying himself, his spear poised, he inched closer, trying not to scare the fish. As his feet tipped into the water he stopped, if he got wet in this weather, he would be dead in no time.
"*Splash!*"
With a swift thrust, he struck, the once-still water erupting from the violent jab. The rest of the fish scattered as he watched a streak of red flow down the river. Gently pulling the spear up as to not fling the newly attained meal off his spear, a satisfied look appeared on his face, It was no small trout, obviously, he chose the largest one he saw.
To make a fire to cook the fish, he scavenged for dry wood, as the ones covered by snow would be too wet to light ablaze. After about half an hour of searching he made a small fire pit from some sticks that were under a thick layer of leaves, shielding them from the harsh weather. His gaze lingered on his hand as he thought:
"I guess I should try the mask out... Well damn, this is one expensive fire starter." He mused to himself.
As a small flame emerged on his finger, he drew back in pain, yet the flame followed. He was shocked, it hurt like hell but it didn't burn his skin! He could extinguish and ignite the flame with just a thought, yet nothing else could put the flame out. He tried smothering his hand in some nearby leaves but the leaves caught fire shortly after, though the flame died quickly as the leaves were wet from snow.
"So once it leaves my hand it's just a normal flame? This is odd, too odd.." He mumbled with a confused look.
While eating his freshly cooked fish, comforted by the warmth of the campfire and the noon sun's light shining on him. He remembered what his father used to say when fishing and hunting:
"Patience, Isaac. The forest provides, but only to those who respect it."
Whilst reminiscing, a wave of exhaustion flooded his body, as if he had run a marathon. He was no fool, putting 2 and 2 together he began to suspect,
"Does this mask drain my energy? Or could it just be the weather and survival catching up to me.."
He pondered, still uncertain of which one it was. So much had happened these past days it was hard to piece things together clearly. Finishing his meal and tossing snow on the fire to put out the flame, the scent of ash filled his nose from the impact of the snow. He scowled as he began to head westward. The river flowed south so he knew which direction to roughly go.
"The mask draws too much attention, I'll stick to roads but avoid towns for now." Isaac thought, making this decision as he remembered his fathers final words "No one is here to help you".
Days passed. As he trudged through snowy trails, Isaac's body shivered from the cold. He was using the flame to keep himself warm and hunt small game like rabbits and pheasants, shooting it like a fireball. But, it was apparent that using the mask seemed to strain his body every time.
"I can't keep doing this... what a cruel trick, this mask. Every use grants you strength yet makes you grow weak. And my body aches... Is it hurting me? Or is it a soreness like one gets from exercise?"
If this continues it will take ages for him to get to western Europe, constantly resting after using the mask. The mask was a curse yet his only hope of survival at the same time. As a sense of worry formed in Isaac's heart, a sudden thought that both surprised and confused him emerged in his mind.
"Why did father even have a mask like this? He always said it was our family heirloom, but is this enough for people to destroy our entire estate to get it? And why are there floral patterns on it, if it's all about flames then why isn't it engraved with fire or the sun?"
Awoken from his thought by the glare of the sun as it dipped below the horizon, he prepared to make shelter for the night. He wrapped himself in his makeshift blanket, created from the furs and feathers of his hunts.
"*Crack.*"
The stillness of the night was broken by snapping twigs underfoot, but of what? Despite his worry, Isaac strengthened his resolve and peeked out of his shelter. He immediately regretted it as his eyes met with pairs glowing in the dark. Isaac's heart pounded so hard it was almost audible in the quiet forest. He was face to face with a pack of wolves, circling him as they drew closer!
The once-nearing wolves, upon seeing the mask, stopped in there tracks, hesitating. There hair immediately stood on end as if they were in front of a bear. Isaac, prepared to fight, created a flame in his hand, about to shoot it at the wolves, but was surprised at what he saw next. The wolves, once about to hunt him, suddenly started inching backward very slowly while growling, before turning tail and running into the night with a whimper.
As Isaac put out the flame and went back into his shelter, he collapsed onto the floor. He was exhausted and aching, his breathing heavy, yet he felt more awake than ever, adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he stated with conviction:
"I don't know what awaits me in the western lands... But one thing is certain. I will survive. For my father and... For the truth."