Something touches me. Wet. Soft. Sniffing.
I open my eyes. A small cat walks to the river. Tail raised. In hunting mode.
It makes a pitiful sound as it dives in and comes back with a fish.
It sits and eats. It snorts without looking at me.
Fine.
I get up. I can do it too. Maybe. I take a stick, pull a knife from my small waist pouch, and sharpen the tip.
A spear.
I step into the river. Cold. My knees shake. The cat watches now, as if it knows I am going to fail.
Whatever. Just one fish.
I close my eyes. My vision goes dark. The current grows quiet. Or my mind does. My sight returns… stretches? Bends? I can see around the bend of the river what is coming. The shadow of a fish twisting in water I am not supposed to see through.
What—why—how—
They draw closer.
Hold.
Hold.
Now—
I drive the spear down.
I freeze completely.
Just like that? Is that the price of today?
A fish thrashes on the tip of my spear, fighting as desperately as I am. Instinct makes me glance toward the trees, ready to call for the cat—idiot. It is obviously gone.
"Of course," I mutter. "Eat this fish and sleep like royalty."
I build a fire. The scent of roasting fish fills the air, and my body reacts faster than my mind—relief, raw and embarrassing.
One fish disappears quickly. My stomach still feels like an empty room, but I do not have the strength to catch another. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I must sell this cursed crystal.
The fire dims. Sleep wins.
---
Morning drags me back with too much light. I wake, grimacing. My stomach complains, but not as violently as yesterday—enough to try again before heading to the next village.
I walk to the river. I try to reach that strange silence—whatever once bent the world long enough to hand me a fish I did not deserve.
Nothing.
Birds chirp. Water runs. The world refuses to bend for me again.
I try again. And again.
All I gain is an hour wasted.
"...yes. Of course," I mutter. "Why would anything be easy twice?"
Hunger is not my enemy. Hunger is more like my oldest companion, arriving the day my father dies and never leaving. Hunger walks beside me, a reminder that no one will step in if I fall.
I follow the river downstream toward the village across the way—Edevane Village, of course, to sell this black crystal.
The only thing that feels alive is the black crystal tapping against my chest, cold and heavy like a warning. I can still see yesterday's fire—the relic shop exploding, the old man's screams swallowed by smoke. I want to believe it is not my fault.
"Still alive, are you?" a voice cuts through the air.
Close. Too close.
I stop. My body reacts first—shrinking, tightening, calculating. I hide behind a tree and peek out. Someone stands on the hill, wrapped in bandages from head to toe.
He walks down slowly, each step measured. The crystal on my chest vibrates, as if it recognizes him.
Steel whispers.
"I walk all night without rest," he says, his voice dry, "and the first thing I hear is you touching it."
My throat locks.
He stops a few steps away. Something shifts in his voice.
"So you truly are holding it."
My mouth refuses to move. My legs root themselves to the ground.
"Boy." He now stands directly in front of me.