Chapter 004: The Native
The silence came gradually, almost without notice.
Anindira stopped walking when she sensed the subtle change—the insects that had been chirping back and forth all this time now sounded fewer and farther between, as though they were retreating one by one.
The forest was still filled with the gentle sunlight filtering through the gaps in the giant canopy, yet something in the air made the hairs on the back of her neck slowly rise.
"Is it just my imagination...?" she murmured softly, hesitating between continuing forward and turning back.
She looked ahead.
There was no movement, no shifting shadow, only towering trees standing silently and ordinary-looking moss-covered ground.
Yet the unease remained, pressing down on her as though something was waiting in a place she could not see.
Anindira took a deep breath.
Just a brief one, but enough to make her chest feel tight.
"Going forward or turning back... neither comes with any certainty," she whispered.
"If there's a river ahead... that's my only hope."
She forced herself to keep walking. Tiny grains of soil crunched beneath her shoes, the only sound left amid the thickening silence.
A wind blew from ahead—cold, piercing through her thin clothes even though the summer sun was still high overhead. Anindira flinched and rubbed her arms.
"Uwah... why does everything feel stranger the farther I go?" she complained quietly.
The forest was not dark, nor frightening in the sense of being filled with shadows or fog—it was magnificent, bright, and brimming with life.
Yet the unnatural silence gave her the feeling that she was stepping into a territory where humans were never meant to tread.
"Calm down... don't be afraid of your own thoughts," she told herself, though she sounded unconvinced.
Her next step felt heavier.
She held her breath, suppressing the urge to cry that kept creeping upward from her chest.
"I really want to cry... but somehow I'm even more scared of actually crying..."
She looked ahead, toward the gaps between the trunks—the rows of giant trees that seemed to be growing denser and denser. The way back had vanished long ago, leaving only one direction she could choose.
"Dad... Mom... Kak Gavin... will I be able to go home?" she whispered so softly that her words nearly dissolved into the air.
The cold wind came again, passing through the tall trees and brushing against her skin like a warning.
Yet the forest before her continued to wait.
And Anindira, carrying every fear clinging to her body, stepped deeper into it once more.
The sense of horror she had been trying to ignore from the beginning now clung more firmly to her skin, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Inside her head, two sides of herself argued fiercely. Every frightened nerve in her body screamed:
"Don't go there!"
"It's terrifying... gloomy... dark... you don't even know what's waiting ahead!"
But another side of her—the adventurous spirit that had led her in and out of forests without fear for years—strongly rejected all of that.
Anindira frowned. Instinct and logic hurled arguments at one another inside her mind, but in the end, the urge to try before being afraid won.
"How would you know if you don't even try?!" she shouted inwardly. "Don't be a coward! Experience is the best teacher!"
She drew a long breath, trying to measure the courage she had left.
"How long have I been walking, anyway?" she muttered.
The sky visible through the canopy gaps seemed to be darkening little by little.
She bit her lip. "If night falls... I'll become an easy target for nocturnal predators. I need to find a place to spend the night. Now."
She continued forward, more cautious, more pressured by the passing time.
Several minutes later, a faint sound slipped into her ears.
A small but steady roar.
Flowing.
Anindira stopped and tensed.
That was... water.
It was definitely the sound of water.
"Water!" she cried out, nearly jumping with excitement.
"No mistake, that's running water!"
She quickened her pace, half-running through the thick fog hanging low between the trees.
The fog shortened her visibility dramatically—she had no idea what lay beyond it, including how large the river she was approaching might be.
Or whatever might be hiding on the other side.
The moment she reached the riverbank, a freezing chill assaulted her body like icy claws.
It was far colder than the area she had just crossed—a piercing coldness, like the thin air of a high-altitude region.
"Oh my God... it's so cold..." she complained while hugging herself.
Her teeth chattered, and her body trembled violently.
Then a tightness began creeping into her chest.
Her breathing turned ragged.
"Huff... huffth... huffth..." She pressed a hand against her chest, trying to draw in air that felt increasingly difficult to breathe.
"Why... is this happening? My chest feels tight... Is this a high-altitude area? The oxygen is... so thin... If this keeps up, I can't keep moving forward..."
Before she could decide what to do next—
"STOP!"
A man's voice, deep and sharp, struck through the fog.
It was not loud.
It was not a shout.
Yet it felt as though it had sliced through the air and ripped Anindira away from her own thoughts.
Anindira froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The voice was too close.
Too sudden.
And she could not see anyone.
"You could die if you keep going," the man continued. His tone remained flat, yet carried immense weight. "You should return to where you came from."
"A person's voice!" Anindira exclaimed, caught between shock and relief. "I'm not hallucinating because of the thin oxygen, right?!"
"Hey, did you hear me?" the man called again, sounding puzzled that Anindira was muttering to herself instead of answering.
"It really is a person's voice!" Anindira screamed inwardly.
She immediately turned around, ready to run toward him.
"Sir, please help me—"
But her words cut off.
"AH! HUH?!"
The legs that had been prepared to sprint instantly froze in place as though locked by the cold itself.
Her body stiffened.
Her eyes widened in shock.
Because the figure...
...was standing incredibly close.
And he was...
...huge.
The man's height was nearly two meters—a dark silhouette towering within the fog.
Compared to Anindira's petite frame, her line of sight barely reached a little above his stomach. To see his face, she had to tilt her head far back...
...but the thick fog only allowed her to make out the sharp line of his jaw.
Nothing more.
"I can't see his face... only the outline of his jaw..." she thought in alarm.
The young man stood upright, his presence solid and dense like stone forged by the wilderness itself.
His long black hair fell to his shoulders, some strands damp from the mist.
No shirt covered his body—only a piece of cloth or animal hide wrapped around his waist and tied loosely in place.
The accessories he wore were made of bone, plant fibers, and rough stones.
"What is this... some native tribe? Or... what?" Anindira swallowed hard. "Is he my rescuer... or the exact opposite?!"
"Are you just going to stand there?" the man's voice came again—clearer, closer.
He sounded like someone beginning to lose patience, though not angry.
Anindira jumped slightly.
She had no idea how to answer.
"I don't know what you're thinking," the young man continued. The eyes she could not see seemed to pierce straight through the fog. "But we need to leave now. Otherwise, you'll freeze to death before those ahead of you notice your presence."
Anindira said nothing.
The confusion on her face was obvious.
The young man let out a long sigh.
"Huft."
The sound alone revealed that he understood one thing:
Anindira was terrified out of her mind.
"I know I look frightening."
His voice softened—a little.
"But I won't hurt you."
He extended a large hand toward her.
His fingers were long, strong, and covered in scars.
"I want to help you," he said slowly, "to take you away from this place."
Anindira stood frozen.
Her breathing came in broken intervals.
Her face was filled with confusion and questions, while the young man waited—his hand still extended, his body swallowed by the dense fog that gave no indication whether he was a savior...
...or a danger far greater than anything else.