Elias ran as if the devil himself were on his heels. Branches whipped his face, tearing his skin, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. The growls came from behind, closer each time, mixed with the crunch of leaves and the snap of broken twigs. That thing—because he wasn't sure it was a person—didn't tire. It didn't hesitate. It just chased him, like a wolf smelling blood.
The forest was a maze of shadows. Twisted trees rose around him, their branches like claws that seemed to want to grab him. The darkness was so thick he could barely see where he stepped. He tripped over a root, fell to his knees, and the stick he carried slipped from his hands. He cursed under his breath, groping for it in the damp earth. No time. The growls were right on him.
He got up and kept running, his heart pounding in his chest like a broken drum. His lungs burned, his throat was dry as sandpaper. But stopping was death. He knew it, even if he didn't understand why. That thing didn't want to talk, didn't want to help him. It wanted something else. Something that froze his blood just to think about.
The ground changed under his boots. Soft earth gave way to rocks, and the forest opened into a clearing. The faint moonlight, barely a silver thread between the clouds, lit up what was ahead: a kind of abandoned camp. Remains of a fire, dirty rags hanging from branches, bones scattered on the ground. Human bones, some still with scraps of flesh stuck to them.
Elias stopped, just for a second, horror pinning him in place. They weren't just bones. There was a skull, split in half, with teeth marks on the edges. The rotting smell was so strong it turned his stomach. He wanted to vomit, but there was nothing in his body but bile and fear.
A growl snapped him out of it. The figure appeared at the edge of the clearing, staggering but fast, as if hunger pushed it beyond human limits. Elias didn't wait to see it better. He ran toward the camp, looking for anything he could use. A weapon, a hiding spot, something. His hands shook as he rummaged through the debris. He found a rusty knife, its blade notched but sharp. Better than nothing.
He crouched behind a pile of broken branches, holding his breath. The savage entered the clearing, sniffing the air like a dog. Its body was a map of scars and filth, muscles tense under dirty skin. Its eyes, glinting under matted hair, scanned the place. Elias gripped the knife, the handle slippery with sweat. If it found him, he wouldn't go down without a fight. He wasn't a hero, but he wasn't easy prey either.
The savage took a step toward him. Then another. Elias felt a chill, as if the air itself had grown heavier. Then, something changed. The thing turned its head, looking toward the forest. A new sound broke the silence: a howl, distant but guttural, as if another creature were answering. The savage growled, showing broken teeth, and ran off into the forest, leaving Elias alone.
For a moment, he didn't move. He didn't trust luck. But the silence returned, broken only by the deafening thud of his own pulse. He let himself breathe, though the air tasted like death. He stood slowly, the knife still in his hand, and looked around. The camp was an improvised graveyard. More bones, more rags, and something he hadn't seen before: a rope tied to a tree, with dried blood on the knots. As if someone had been tied there. For a long time.
Elias stepped back, the knife trembling in his hand. This wasn't an accident. It wasn't just a shipwreck. There was something wrong with this island, something beyond a hungry madman. His eyes landed on a tree at the edge of the clearing. Something was carved in the bark, a strange symbol: a circle with crossed lines, like a broken star. It didn't look made with a knife, but with something rougher. Fingers, maybe. Or teeth.
He approached, hypnotized despite himself. The wood was worn, but the symbol was deep, as if whoever made it wanted it to last. He touched the lines, and a shiver ran down his spine. He didn't know why, but he felt it didn't belong there. Not in this world.
A crack made him turn. The forest was still, but the air had changed. Heavier, thicker. As if the island itself were watching him. Elias gripped the knife and backed away, looking around. Nothing. Just shadows. But the shadows seemed longer now, sharper.
Then he heard it. Not a growl. Not footsteps. A whisper, barely audible, like a voice carried by the wind. He didn't understand the words, if they were words. But he felt they were calling him. To him.
Elias didn't wait to figure it out. He ran again, away from the clearing, the symbol, that damned whisper. He didn't know where he was going, but it didn't matter. He only knew one thing: if he stopped, he wouldn't move again.