Felix had been walking for days now, and frustration gnawed at him with every step. Back at the temple, from that vantage point high above the canopy, he could've sworn the forest's edge was close. Yet here he was, still trudging beneath the same crimson boughs, the same choking fog, as though the trees themselves were shifting just to keep him trapped.
He stopped in the middle of the path, dragging in a deep breath until his chest ached, then threw his voice skyward.
"How. Much. Longer?!"
His words vanished into the mist without so much as an echo, devoured by the silence. Not even a bird stirred. Only his own voice mocked him, bouncing back in memory.
It was fair to say Felix was tired of this cursed wood—its endless trees, its suffocating quiet, its red-stained skies. Still, his time wandering hadn't been without gains. The Mist Stalkers had grown bolder, and he had slain more than a few of them in his travels. With each fight, his movements grew sharper, his instincts keener.
And with every kill came another ether gem. He had consumed many by now, each one burning through his veins like liquid fire. Slowly but surely, he could feel the changes. His threads stretched farther than ever before, weaving through air and earth alike, and the strength behind them had sharpened into something dangerous, something almost alive.
For all his frustration, Felix couldn't deny it—this forest was forging him into something stronger.
As Felix walked, he turned a small wooden figure in his hands, his knife gliding over the grain with patient strokes. Carving had become his quiet companion in this forsaken forest, a way to pass the long hours when there was nothing but fog, silence, and the occasional fight to keep him from losing his mind. Killing Mist Stalkers filled the belly. Carving kept the thoughts from eating him alive.
Almost on cue, as if the forest itself had heard his boredom, two Stalkers slithered into his awareness—his threads brushing against their forms like invisible feelers. Felix's lips pulled into a grin. He tucked the half-shaped figure away, sheathed his carving knife, and drew the blade he reserved for blood.
He scaled a nearby tree with the grace of long practice, keeping to the shadows where the fog dulled his shape. Settling onto a thick branch, he slid his bow from his shoulder. Two arrows whispered free from his quiver, the wood clicking softly as he knocked them together against the string.
Below, the Stalkers snapped and hissed at each other, gnashing over the stripped bones of some unfortunate beast. The sound of grinding teeth and guttural snarls echoed faintly up the trunk.
"Filthy little scavengers," Felix muttered, voice a low rasp of disdain.
Thread slid from his fingers like spider-silk, winding around the shafts of each arrow. He drew, the string groaning under the tension. Then, with a steady exhale, he loosed.
For a heartbeat, the arrows seemed to veer wide, vanishing into the fog. But then they twisted unnaturally mid-flight, bending toward their marks with predatory precision. The Stalkers' heads snapped up, eyes glowing faintly as they caught the sound of the bowstring. Too late.
Both arrows sank deep into skulls with a sickening crack. The beasts collapsed mid-snarl, twitching once before going still.
Felix stayed crouched in the tree, bow lowered, a grin tugging at his mouth. The forest may try to bury him in endless silence, but moments like this… moments like this reminded him he could still bite back.
Felix slid down the rough bark, boots hitting the earth with a muted thud. The two grotesque corpses twitched faintly as he knelt beside them, knife flashing in his grip. With practiced efficiency, he carved into the thickened flesh, prying free the ether gems lodged deep inside their chest.
He held the glistening stones up to the pale light, their dark shimmer reflecting in his eyes. A wide grin split his face.
"Wonderful," he murmured, almost reverent.
He wiped the gems clean on his coat, ready to consume them—when something inside him froze. His grin faltered. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to the fog, his instincts prickling like needles along his spine. A wrongness hung in the air, heavy, suffocating.
Felix tucked the gems away, movements steady but tense. His fingers closed around his arrows, pulling them free from bone with a crack, and he raised his bow toward the mist. His breath slowed, shallow. Cold sweat traced down the back of his neck. He didn't know why, but his body did—something was coming.
Step by step, he began to retreat, careful to keep the fog in his sights, every muscle coiled. The pendant tugged faintly at his chest, guiding him, and he obeyed, never blinking, never faltering.
Then, from the veil of mist, a low snarl rippled through the silence. Shapes began to emerge. One Stalker, then two. Then more. Dozens. They crept from the haze like phantoms, claws digging into bark as others slithered up the trees, their hollow eyes gleaming above him.
Felix tried to count, but the numbers blurred, meaningless after twenty. His mouth went dry.
"…Fuck." The word slipped out, quiet but sharp.
In the next instant, he turned and bolted, sprinting full-force into the forest. The abominations roared behind him, the ground quaking under their charge. From the branches above, Stalkers lunged, snarling, claws swiping inches from his back. One landed beside him, snapping its jaws, missing only by a heartbeat as Felix tore past.
The hunt had begun.
Felix loosed three arrows in quick succession, the bowstring singing in his hands. One Stalker dropped with a skull pierced clean through; the other two shrieked as shafts tore into their limbs, sending them crashing to the ground in spasms. Felix didn't even slow—he sprinted past, threads snapping taut as they yanked the arrows free, whistling back into his grasp.
Branches whipped at his face as he barreled through the undergrowth, boots sinking into the damp earth. If not for the steady tug of the drifter's pendant pulling at his chest, he would've been hopelessly lost in the endless fog.
A quick glance over his shoulder made his stomach clench. They were on him—dozens of pale shapes darting between trunks, claws raking bark, eyes glowing faintly in the haze. One vaulted from tree to tree, its maw snapping open.
Felix ducked—too late. The beast lunged low, jaws clamping for his legs. Instinct surged. Felix vaulted upward, boots slamming down on its skull. The bone cracked with a wet crunch beneath his heel, the momentum carrying him back into a sprint.
But there was no time to breathe. The others shrieked in fury, surging faster. The ground quaked with their pounding strides. From the treetops, more leapt, branches groaning under their weight before splintering as they dove.
Felix wove through the chaos, threads snapping outward like lifelines. One hooked around a thick branch, jerking him sideways at the last instant as a Stalker lunged where he'd been. Another thread whipped backward, tangling briefly around a beast's forelimb, just enough to trip it and send it crashing into its kin.
Still, more came.
Felix's lungs burned, every breath a ragged knife. His legs screamed as he pushed them harder, faster. Ahead, through the veil of fog, he caught sight of a ridge—high ground. If he could make it there…
A Stalker lunged from the side, claws grazing his arm. Pain flared hot, but Felix gritted his teeth, twisting mid-stride. His dagger flashed, slicing across its throat. Black ichor sprayed as it crumpled, but the strike cost him precious speed. The horde was closing in.
Felix's thoughts narrowed to a single desperate truth: If I stop, I die.
He fixed his eyes on the ridge, heart hammering, as the storm of claws and teeth bore down on him.
He was really hoping the ridge would have a small drop—he wasn't in the mood to be dangling from another cliffside. His chest burned, lungs on the edge of giving out, but he forced himself harder, every stride pounding like war drums in his skull. The treeline ahead thinned, and beyond it he glimpsed the ridge.
Felix pushed on. The mist began to thin with every step, and suddenly the suffocating forest was behind him. His boots struck stone as he broke free of the last line of trees and staggered to the ridge's edge.
He skidded to a halt, chest heaving, the pendant pressing warm against his sternum. For a moment he forgot the snarls behind him. All he could do was stare.
Spread out before him was not more forest, nor mountain, nor barren rock. The land opened into a vast expanse of glittering terrain that caught the pale sunlight in shifting waves. It resembled sand at first glance, but the grains sparkled with a hard, crystalline sheen, as though the earth itself had been shattered into powder. The dunes rolled on endlessly, each crest shimmering like fractured glass beneath the sun.
Beautiful. Fragile. Deadly.
A snarl behind snapped him back. Felix's gaze darted down the ridge. Relief washed through him—it wasn't a sheer drop but a long slope, steep enough to send him sliding, but survivable. Compared to the horde behind, it looked like salvation.
He slung his bow across his back, planted a boot at the edge, and muttered,
"Here goes nothing."
Then he kicked off.
The world blurred as he slid down the slope, dust and stones tumbling around him. The incline carried him fast, his arms spread for balance, instincts fighting to keep him upright. Behind, the Stalkers shrieked and hurled themselves over the ridge after him. Some tumbled, their bodies cracking against stone, but most clambered down with unnatural agility, claws digging grooves in the slope as they pursued.
Felix hit the bottom, boots skidding as he staggered onto the glittering expanse. He braced, ready for the horde to fall upon him.
But they didn't.
The Stalkers stopped dead where the dirt ended, pacing along the line where earth met shimmering dunes. Dozens of them, their bodies tense, claws gouging the soil as they prowled just a few feet away. Their snarls echoed across the ridge, hungry and frustrated, but none set a single claw upon the strange ground.
Felix stood frozen, chest heaving, sweat trickling down his neck. Slowly, a grin tugged at his lips.
Felix staggered back a step, legs trembling beneath him, every breath ragged fire in his chest. The Stalkers prowled at the forest's edge, snarling and snapping, yet not one dared step into the glittering expanse.
A delirious laugh escaped his throat, raw and uneven. He lifted both arms, hands shaking as though they weighed a hundred pounds each. With a final surge of spiteful energy, he clenched his fists—only to leave both middle fingers raised high.
"Not…" he gasped, swaying on his feet, "…today… assholes!"
The words tore from his throat like a battle cry and a curse all at once. His arms dropped limp a heartbeat later, strength abandoning him completely. Felix toppled backward into the strange shimmering dust, consciousness slipping away before he even felt the ground.
Darkness claimed him, but the faint grin still lingered on his lips.