Kael lay sprawled on an endless, liquid surface—an abyss that stretched beyond sight, an infinite ocean of darkness. The water beneath him neither rippled nor reflected; it was an unmoving void, swallowing all light except for a faint glow pulsing from his chest. It flickered erratically, the only semblance of warmth in the cold nothingness.
His eyes remained shut, his consciousness adrift, yet his mind was anything but silent.
Whispers crawled into his thoughts—countless voices, overlapping, distorting, unraveling in endless echoes. They slithered through his skull like creeping tendrils, incomprehensible yet urgent, dragging his mind to the edge of chaos. His breath—if he was even breathing—became uneven, his pulse a weak thrum against the growing storm inside him.
Then, the glow in his chest brightened.
The whispers sharpened, the formless voices molding into something closer to language. Half-heard words scratched at the edges of his understanding, fragments slipping through his grasp just before he could piece them together. His frustration grew—he reached, clawed at their meaning, but comprehension remained just out of reach.
Then, amidst the cacophony, a single voice rose above the others.
Smooth as flowing water yet resonant as the stars, it cut through the din like a silver blade, luminous and absolute. It wasn't merely heard—it resonated inside him, threading through his very being, filling the emptiness with something vast and unknown.
A single command.
"Wake up."
***
Kael's eyelids fluttered open, the golden morning light seeping through the cracks in the ceiling, casting slanted beams across his face. His senses sharpened instantly—birds chirping, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, the faint hum of insects blending into a layered symphony. Even the soft gurgling of a nearby stream sounded unnaturally crisp to his ears, each distinct note forming an orchestra of life he had never quite noticed before.
A distant memory surfaced, unbidden—a time when he and Zarek had stolen a bottle of wine, giddy with the thrill of rebellion. The taste had been wretched, and the next morning, they had both suffered splitting headaches, swearing off alcohol for good. 'At least now I know not to get hooked on that stuff,' he mused, shaking off the fog in his mind.
As he pushed himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, an odd sense of unease gripped him. 'Am I… forgetting something?' The thought flickered across his mind like a candle's dying flame, but he dismissed it, turning his attention to his surroundings.
His gaze landed on Zarek. The young man stood at the far end of the ruined space, his posture tense, a short sword gripped tightly in his hand, his back leaning slightly against a large piece of rubble. His stance wasn't one of hostility—but of caution.
Kael's brow furrowed. Why was Zarek looking at him like that?
It was subtle, but Kael could see it—the slight shift in Zarek's stance, the lingering wariness in his eyes. He had barely taken his eyes off Kael since last night. A weary kind of relief mixed with suspicion. He wanted to trust his friend. He did trust him. But the circumstances demanded wariness.
A strange silence stretched between them. Then Zarek spoke, his voice rough, edged with something unspoken.
"Took your time waking up, huh?"
His gaze flickered toward the opened chest, weapons and armor sprawled around it. Kael followed his line of sight, and the moment his eyes fell on the chest—
Memories crashed over him like a tidal wave.
The weight of the weapons in his hands. The wooden box, ancient and foreboding. His body moving against his will. The strange, pulsating fruit sliding down his throat. The agony. A searing, all-consuming pain that had torn him apart, twisting his mind and body into something unrecognizable.
His breath hitched. His hands clenched involuntarily. He had almost died last night.
Kael exhaled, forcing himself to steady. His eyes flicked back to Zarek, noting the way his friend still held himself like a coiled spring. But beneath the caution, there was something else. Concern.
A smirk tugged at Kael's lips.
"What's so funny?" Zarek asked, narrowing his eyes.
Kael chuckled, stretching his arms lazily. "Just remembering something…" He hummed, then added with feigned innocence, "Like that one time you wet your bed even though you weren't a kid anymore. Oh, and the nightmare about—"
"STOP!" Zarek cut in, his face instantly turning scarlet. "Don't say another word! I get it, I get it—it's you. No need for proof."
With an exasperated sigh, he tossed the knife back into the chest and stalked toward Kael. Seeing his friend approach, Kael assumed he was about to be bombarded with questions about what had happened last night. His expression softened slightly. Yeah, I would have done the same if the situation were reversed.
Then—
A punch landed square on Kael's face.
His head snapped to the side, the force sending him staggering back a few steps.
Not the hardest hit he'd ever taken—but definitely unexpected. He blinked, confusion flashing in his eyes as he looked up at Zarek, who was flexing his fingers with a thoughtful frown.
"…Huh. That should have hurt you more," Zarek muttered, shaking his hand. Then his gaze hardened. "Start following your own damn advice from now on. I thought you were dying or something."
Kael rubbed his sore cheek, grinning despite himself. "I know, I know. You really think I'd eat something suspicious without testing it on you first?"
Zarek scoffed, but a flicker of confusion crossed his features. "Wait… you ate something?"
Kael barely had time to respond before Zarek moved toward the chest, his previous caution seemingly lessened.
"Also… I don't feel dizzy near that thing anymore."
Kael's gaze snapped toward the chest. That ominous presence—the one that had been unbearable before—was now… gone.
His expression darkened. "More like something made me eat it," he murmured. "You shouldn't have gone near the chest. It was dangerous."
Zarek raised a brow. "You're one to talk. What happened to 'let's leave it alone till morning'?"
Kael sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "I thought nothing too bad would happen… just forget about it. Thinking back, I feel like an idiot too." His gaze sharpened. "Did you find a small wooden box inside?"
Zarek tilted his head. "One? Have you lost your memories from last night? There were three of them inside. One was in your hands before you fainted."
Kael's stomach twisted. Three?
His voice was low, serious. "You didn't open them, did you?"
Zarek shook his head. "Nope." Then, without hesitation, he took a step closer to the chest.
By the time they reached the chest, Kael noticed something strange—the resistance was gone.
Last night, an invisible force had kept them at bay, a suffocating pressure that had made even standing near the chest unbearable. But now? It was just… sitting there. Unassuming. Harmless.
Kael's gut twisted. This wasn't right.
His thoughts flickered back to the loss of control he had suffered, the way his body had moved on its own, the agonizing pain that had nearly torn him apart. Was the force that had gripped him last night responsible for this eerie calm? Had it already taken what it wanted?
'I just hope that whatever it was… it won't hurt me again.'
A bitter feeling lodged itself in his chest—hope. That was all he had. He hated how powerless that made him feel.
Shaking off the thought, Kael focused on the chest and peered inside.
Three identical wooden boxes sat neatly in a row, as if nothing had ever happened. His gaze shifted to Zarek, who had handled one of the boxes before. There had been no visible effects on him. No sudden convulsions. No loss of control.
'So it really was just me.'
Sighing in mild relief, Kael bent down and reached for the first box—the one he had opened last night.
His muscles tensed the moment his fingers brushed against the wood, instinct bracing for another brutal assault on his mind. But nothing happened. His consciousness remained firmly in place, his body fully under his control. A small mercy.
Lifting the box, he inspected it carefully. No changes. No strange pulses of energy. Just an old wooden container, unassuming in its appearance. But as he turned it over, his fingers brushed against something rough—engravings.
His eyes narrowed as he traced the text with his fingertips. The symbols meant nothing to him at first, a language he didn't recognize. But the longer he stared, the clearer it became. Like a whisper at the edge of his mind, urging him to understand.
"What was inside it?" Zarek's voice broke through his focus.
Kael clicked his tongue. "Don't disturb me."
Zarek scoffed but didn't push further.
Instead, his gaze drifted back to the chest. One of the remaining two boxes caught his attention. He had planned to wait for Kael before opening another one, but curiosity gnawed at him.
And besides, Kael wasn't answering him anyway.
Without hesitation, Zarek reached in and lifted the box. It was oddly weighted—both incredibly light and deceptively heavy all at once, like it couldn't decide what it wanted to be.
He ran his fingers over the engravings, but unlike Kael, he paid them no mind. With a small exhale, he flipped the lid open.
A faint red glow seeped out, pulsing like a slow heartbeat.
Zarek's brows furrowed. Inside, nestled against the dark interior, was… a fruit?
'A lemon? No… an orange?'
The object was similar to a deep red-orange, its translucent skin revealing intricate patterns inside. It pulsed with a rhythmic hum, like it was alive. The longer Zarek stared, the heavier his head felt—like the fruit was staring back.
A strange reluctance crept into his chest, a silent warning in the back of his mind.
'Maybe I shouldn't touch it…'
Then he scoffed at himself. Kael touched one, and he's still breathing.
Reassured by that simple logic, Zarek reached inside and gently picked up the fruit.
The moment his fingers made contact, a deep, steady throbbing traveled through his palms. His hands trembled slightly from the sensation—not pain, but something else. Something he didn't have the words for.
Meanwhile, Kael's attention remained locked on the engravings.
The symbols were shifting. Molding themselves into meaning.
A sentence emerged before his eyes:
—The Will of Veylis—
'Will? Veylis?'
His mind raced. Was Veylis a name? A place? A title?
The words gave him nothing but more questions. His frustration built, but before he could dwell on it, he lifted his gaze—
—and his eyes locked onto Zarek, standing there, the throbbing fruit cradled in his hands.
Near the chest, Zarek crouched, his right hand gripping the red-orange fruit while the wooden box rested in his left. Its surface pulsed, slow and deliberate, like a second heartbeat.
Kael's chest tightened the moment he saw it.
Something was wrong.
His heart pounded against his ribs, and a cold sweat broke out across his skin. He didn't know what that fruit was, but his instincts screamed—Zarek shouldn't be holding it.
Acting on impulse, Kael shot forward, his hand reaching out to snatch the fruit away or toss it somewhere—anywhere but in Zarek's grasp.
He never made it in time.
The fruit melted.
Not like soft flesh giving way under pressure, but like liquid wax under a scorching flame. It slithered—**not dripped, not spilled—**but slithered down Zarek's arm like a living thing.
Kael froze. His mind couldn't keep up.
The liquid coiled around Zarek's wrist, racing upward with unnatural speed, slipping past his elbow, his shoulder, before reaching his face.
Zarek barely had time to flinch before it forced its way into his mouth.
There was no chance to resist. No chance to even react.
The moment it touched his lips, the liquid forced itself past his teeth, slipping down his throat before he could gag or even lift his hands to claw at his own neck.
His body jerked violently.
Then came the pain.
Zarek's muscles seized as his back arched sharply. His breath hitched, but he couldn't even scream. His entire body convulsed, spasming so violently that Kael thought his bones might snap.
His fingers curled into claws, digging into the dirt. His legs kicked involuntarily, his whole body writhing like he was being electrocuted from the inside out. Kael had never seen pain like this.
He had seen people beaten, broken, and tortured. But this… this was something else entirely.
Kael's panic surged, and without thinking, he lunged, gripping Zarek by the shoulders.
"Zarek!" He shook him, but it was pointless. His friend wasn't even there anymore—his eyes rolled back, only the whites visible, body convulsing in a rhythm that was completely unnatural. This wasn't something human hands could fix.
How do I stop this?!
Kael had no answer. He could only hold on and hope—**hope—**that Zarek wouldn't die right in front of him.
And then, just as suddenly as it began…
It stopped.
Zarek's body went limp, the tension snapping away like a cut string. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, his vision unfocused, blinking rapidly like he was trying to remember where he was.
Kael didn't release his grip, still tense, still watching for any sign that another attack was coming.
But none did.
Zarek's breathing slowed, his fingers twitched, and finally—his eyes focused.
The first thing he saw was Kael's face inches from his own.
'Should've listened to him.'
He forced his lips into a weak smirk. "I think I'm still alive." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
Kael's expression was unreadable. He swallowed hard, but the relief in his eyes was clear as he exhaled sharply.
"Are you okay?"
Zarek hesitated before answering. "I… I think so?" He flexed his fingers, shifting his shoulders. His body didn't feel as bad as he expected, but there was an odd sensation, like something else had moved inside him, then settled.
"It felt like I was about to die," he admitted, rubbing his throat, "but then… everything just went numb. And now it doesn't feel that bad anymore. Did you go through the same thing last night?"
Kael's jaw clenched.
No.
Last night had been different—longer. Worse.
Zarek's convulsions had lasted only seconds. Kael's had felt like an eternity trapped inside his own body.
And that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was the whispering.
Kael had heard something speak to him when it happened—something ancient, something hungry. But Zarek… he didn't seem to have heard anything at all.
'Isn't this unfair?'
The thought came unbidden, bitter and resentful, before he pushed it down.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he muttered, not wanting to get into the details. "And I remember telling you not to touch the box."
Zarek let out a half-hearted chuckle, still catching his breath. "You didn't tell me just opening it was dangerous."
Kael shot him a look—the kind that made it very clear he wanted to slap him upside the head.
But in the end, he let it go. The damage was done. There was no undoing what had already happened. The only thing left was to move forward.
Taking a deep breath, he reached for the box Zarek had dropped.
Inside, there was another engraving.
It read:
—The Will of Ithriel—
Kael's lips pressed into a thin line. Another name.
'First Veylis. Now Ithriel.'
There wasn't enough information to make sense of it yet. He'd have to put it aside for now.
With a sharp exhale, Kael shut both boxes and placed them back into the chest. His gaze shifted to the weapons and armor.
They couldn't afford to waste time.
He straightened, glancing at Zarek. "Wear the armor. Take a dagger or a short sword—don't take both."
Zarek raised a brow. "What's the plan?"
Kael tightened the straps on his cuirass. "We're going to look around for food. Once we find something, we'll scout the area and figure out which parts are safe and which aren't."
His tone turned grim. "If there's something out there worse than those rabid dogs, it'd be suicide to stay in one place too long."
Zarek was silent for a moment, adjusting his greaves.
"…You've really thought this far ahead already?"
Kael finished securing his dagger's sheath. His voice was firm.
"The situation is still unclear, but I know one thing: this forest is just as dangerous as the grass fields. Maybe worse."
He gestured toward the endless stretch of trees. "There's no sign of civilization. As far as I can tell, we're the only ones left from the slave group—maybe a few others survived, but we can't count on that. If we don't start thinking ahead, we'll be devoured just like the rest."
Zarek frowned, the weight of their predicament settling on his shoulders.
He had thought freedom meant survival would be easier. But here… death was just as sudden and unpredictable as before.
Before long, they were both donned in their incomplete armor, armed with daggers strapped to their waists.
For the first time since waking up in this nightmare, Kael felt a little safer.
He turned to Zarek, his expression sharp. "Let's not waste time. Stay close, and tell me the second you see something unusual."
Zarek nodded. "Got it."
And with that, they moved out.
***
Crunching sounds echoed inside their base as Kael and Zarek savagely ate the slightly burnt rabbit. After scouting the area nearby, they finally found a few wild rabbits. The rabbits bolted the moment they sensed danger, but Kael and Zarek managed to hunt two, making their dinner much more enjoyable. There was nothing to season the meat, but it was better than nothing.
Aside from their meal, five fruits resembling brown-colored apples rested on a large leaf, which they had used to carry them back. Zarek had stumbled upon the tree bearing these fruits while chasing one of the rabbits. Their previous experience with strange fruits had been disastrous, yet Zarek, ever curious, insisted they test its edibility. Thankfully, they found it safe to eat, securing another source of food that could last them weeks if rationed properly.
Juice dribbled down Zarek's chin as he took another hearty bite. It had been years since they had last eaten meat, and despite being slightly overcooked, it tasted heavenly to them both.
Once their meal ended, Kael picked up the wooden bowl beside him and took a deep gulp of water. The bowl, carved by Zarek throughout the day, was unexpectedly refined and practical. Kael had assumed Zarek was just playing with the dagger, but the results exceeded his expectations, earning his reluctant praise.
'Today sure was productive,' Kael thought as he passed the bowl to Zarek. Not only had they confirmed the presence of smaller prey to hunt and secured a sustainable food source, but they had also made several crucial discoveries. Kael had begun to notice that this forest differed drastically from any he had ever seen or read about.
Unlike ordinary forests, which belonged to specific climates and regions, this one defied natural logic. It was neither a tropical rainforest nor a temperate woodland—it was something else entirely, something unreal. The terrain fluctuated unpredictably, and the trees and plants seemed like they belonged to different ecosystems, yet they thrived together. It felt more like something pulled from an ancient legend or a fantasy novel rather than a naturally occurring forest.
Another thing he noticed was the way the wildlife changed the deeper they ventured. After hunting the rabbits, they had cautiously explored further and spotted an animal resembling a deer drinking from a nearby stream. But there was something off about it—its antlers seemed twisted in unnatural patterns, and its eyes gleamed with an eerie, almost intelligent light. Kael immediately sensed that if they traveled any deeper into the forest, they would encounter creatures far more dangerous than mere rabbits.
That realization reinforced his decision to remain in their current shelter. This spot, for now, was their safest option.
As Kael mulled over these thoughts, Zarek let out a satisfied burp and stretched, saying, "So, you were saying something about the future? I'm exhausted, so tell me before I pass out."
Just as Kael parted his lips to speak, a rhythmic crunch of footsteps echoed from outside. The sound sent a shiver down his spine, and his entire body tensed. Zarek, sensing the same unease, instantly reached for the dagger at his waist and got to his feet, moving cautiously. He exchanged a glance with Kael before peering through a narrow gap between the rubble.
Under the dim glow of the stars, a lone figure emerged from the shadows. A man, clad in the same tattered clothing as the other slaves, trudged toward them. His clothes were stained with blood, his hands dripping with it, and his movements carried an air of exhaustion and quiet menace. Across his back, he carried a woman—her dark hair cascading over his shoulder, her head resting limply against him.
She wasn't a child—she was their age. Her face, partially obscured by her tangled locks, looked eerily serene, as though she were merely sleeping. But the way her body hung against him told a different story. Kael's pulse pounded in his ears.
The man's steps were heavy, deliberate, yet he moved with an unsettling calmness, like a specter emerging from the night. The eerie silence that followed each of his footfalls made the air feel thick and oppressive.
Kael felt his fingers twitch toward his weapon.
The man finally stopped just outside their makeshift base, his face barely illuminated by the starlight. His cold, piercing eyes locked onto Kael and Zarek through the narrow opening.
Without a word, he took another step forward.
Kael swallowed, his throat dry.
The night had just become far more dangerous.