The rain kept pouring through the night, relentless. By morning, it still showed no sign of stopping.
Alarion huddled beneath a twisted tree trunk, soaked through, his makeshift tent barely holding up behind him.
"This thing won't survive another night," he muttered, watching water stream from the leaves above.
He tilted his head up, squinting at the sky. Grey clouds rolled endlessly, smothering any light the sun tried to offer. As his gaze dropped again, he caught sight of a small nest in the branches above.
A mother bird sat there, wings spread wide over her hatchlings, shielding them from the downpour with soft feathers.
Alarion stared.
I wonder what that feels like... the warmth of a mother.
He blinked slowly.
I know I have one. But… I can't even remember her face.
A soft chuckle escaped his lips...dry and bitter.
"Hah… I really am a waste of a son."
Flashes of memory hit him.
The day he was placed in the barrel.
The screams.
The fire.
The sound of steel tearing through flesh.
His own voice, crying. So many crying.
But no matter how hard he tried… his mother's face was a blur.
"...Tch." He looked down.
His boots were sinking. The forest floor had turned to slush.
The mud clung to him like it didn't want to let go.
"Damn it."
He scrambled toward the tent, untying Elaria's body carefully. Her skin was cold but still looked… alive. He gently slung her over his back and spotted a large tree root coiling through the mud like a rope. He used it to steady himself as he searched for a climbable tree.
The first attempt — he slipped.
Second — bark peeled, hands bled.
Third — branches snapped beneath him.
But he didn't stop.
His limbs trembled. Every muscle ached. But on the fifth try, he reached a thick branch strong enough to hold them both.
He collapsed on it, panting.
Then he carefully untied Elaria, wrapping her arms around the branch and securing her body against the trunk with strips of cloth.
Only after she was safe did he finally look at his hands.
Dozens of splinters. Some deep.
Blood ran down his fingers in tiny rivulets.
He tried to pull one out.
"Guh—!"
The pain hit sharp. He grit his teeth, vision blurring.
One by one, he tore them out.
Hands shaking. Eyes watering. Breathing uneven.
When it was over, his palms looked like they'd been chewed by stone.
He leaned back, pressing his head to the wet bark. Let the rain hit his face. Let the numbness set in.
Finally...
But then...
SKAHR!
A sharp echo from the forest floor.
He froze.
Then a long sigh.
"Ahhhh… Now I have to go back down for that dumb Crown."
He slowly descended from the tree, doing his best to avoid cracked bark and brittle branches.
"Not planning on getting any more splinters..." he muttered.
THUMP.
His boots hit the mud-soaked forest floor, sending dirt flying in every direction.
He winced as cold wetness splashed against his legs, but didn't stop. Step by step, he trudged back to where the crate lay, half-buried in muck.
He picked it up, wiped the edges clean, and hooked it onto his waist.
His eyes lifted toward the tree again — and his heart sank.
No way... I can't climb that again. I already used up all my strength.
He took a deep breath, hands on his hips, gaze drifting toward the treetops, then back to the soaked earth.
What am I even still doing in this flicking forest?
I said I'd leave here over a week ago... and here I am, building tents and climbing trees like this is home.
It's not. It was never meant to be.
He slapped his cheeks. A sharp sound. Wake-up pain.
I need to restore the human race. That was always the goal.
His chest rose. A spark of energy lit behind his eyes.
I still have work to do.
But then his eyes fell on Elaria .. tied carefully to the branch above.
His voice softened.
But first... how do I even get her out of here?
This forest isn't letting me move fast and I can't keep using a bundle of clothes and tree stems to carry her like some traveling pack.
He looked around, scanning the dense trees, then down at the crate again. His thoughts turned.
If I'm going to leave, I need to figure out a better way to carry her. Something stable. Something fast.
Something that won't slow me down anymore.
He thought about it for almost an hour.
The rain had started to ease, thinning into a soft drizzle. Patches of pale sky peeked through the gray.
Alarion sat beneath the tree, eyes on the crate hooked to his waist, deep in thought.
Then....
What if I just… hmm… Yes. Yes!
That might actually work!
He jumped to his feet, mud still clinging to his boots, and began scanning the area.
If I can build a crate big enough to hold Elaria's body… but shaped in a way I can carry on my back…
His fingers tapped against the side of the original crate.
It's possible. I know how.
He paced, mind racing, recalling what he had learned growing up how to bind planks, how to weave rope from dry grass, how to balance weight over the shoulders.
But then he stopped.
Wait...
His gaze swept the forest again. It hit him like a slap.
Ahh… I don't have any tools. Not a blade, not even a shard of glass.
He clenched his fists.
On the island where I grew up, resources were everywhere. Stones. Shells. Bone. Anything I needed, I could find. But here?
His eyes trailed over the wet leaves, slick bark, brittle twigs.
This forest is alive — but not kind.
He dropped to the ground and slumped against a root, wiping sweat from his brow.
The rain finally stopped.
The birds didn't return. The wind was still.
What do I do now…?
His thoughts felt heavy again. That creeping weight of helplessness. Not panic just the numb kind of dread that settles in when plans fall apart.
He looked up at Elaria's body, still resting carefully on the high branch above.
Even now, she looked like she was only sleeping.
I have to try something. Anything.
But what?
Suddenly, a loud sound echoed from deep within the forest, startling him.
"Huh? What was that?"
Alarion's heart raced. His body tensed, and his breath hitched. He quickly jumped to his feet, dusting the mud from his clothes, and headed toward the source of the noise.
The deeper he ventured, the more his hands trembled from fear. I don't have the strength to fight anyone or anything, he thought, his mind screaming at him to turn back. But something..an invisible force pulled him forward. He couldn't stop himself. Something inside him pushed him closer, no matter how terrified he felt.
Then, as he neared a clearing, he saw it.
Above him, shrouded in a dark, tattered cloak, stood a figure.
His breath caught. It was the same figure he had glimpsed when he'd blacked out after the demon attack , But just as quickly as he spotted it, the figure vanished again—gone, like smoke in the wind.
"Who... or what was that?"
Before he could even think, his eyes snapped down.
There it was.
The sight of it froze him in place.
What he needed. Everything. Every tool. Every material, perfectly intact. Not a single mark of damage.
How is this possible?
He bent down, his hands shaking as he touched the items, each one miraculously untouched by time or the storm. His mind raced. Could it be the figure?
The weight of the thought settled like a stone in his gut. But how? Why are these things intact? If the figure caused the noise, why didn't they break when it happened?
He stood still, staring at the array of materials.
And then, a thought stabbed into his mind.
Did it heal Elaria and me? Was it them?
The more Alarion thought, the more his unease grew. Whoever....or whatever...it was seemed to be helping him. But why?
And why now? What does it want from me?