The morning after the chaos, the Crimson Moon convened in the small makeshift camp on the mountainside. Darius and Selene, still visibly shaken from the situation, stood side by side as the leader addressed them with a grave expression.
"We've searched the entire area where he was taking by the hawk bandit," Ronan said, his voice calm but edged with tension. "Even hired assistance to track any residual traces of him. But… Virel is nowhere to be found." He let out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair. " The bandit who took him has not been found yet. Whatever happened, happened."
Selene's hands tightened into fists, her knuckles white. "No… no, that's impossible. He was right there, Darius I saw him!"
Darius shook his head slowly, a grim look crossing his face. "I know, Selene. It's… beyond our reach now." His gaze hardened as he stared at the distant forest beyond the mountains. "We have to accept that he's out there somewhere. We can only hope he survives."
The tension in the air was palpable. Even the seasoned members of the Crimson Moon, usually unshakable, had unease etched into their expressions, without a trace, Virel was effectively lost.
---
Meanwhile, far below the mountains, the world seemed to stretch into endless green. Virel's eyes fluttered open, his vision blurred from the impact. Pain radiated through his arms and legs, a dull, aching throb that made every movement excruciating. Branches had clawed at his skin, tearing shallow cuts across his arms and face. His wooden sword lay broken beside him, partially buried in the undergrowth, useless in the state he was in.
He groaned, trying to shift his weight, only to wince sharply as a searing pain shot through his ribs. He felt like a ragdoll, thrown from heights no five-year-old body should endure. His breathing was shallow, ragged, and every inhale burned. The forest canopy above allowed only thin slivers of light to fall across the moss-covered ground, giving him little sense of direction.
"This… isn't the city… not even close…" he muttered, struggling to push himself upright. His tiny body shivered with a combination of exhaustion and lingering adrenaline.
Virel's mind raced as he tried to recall everything he had learned over the past weeks. The mana side-step, the minor reinforcements, even the tiny control he could exert over his fractured mana core. Yet none of it could undo the physical damage. Even attempting to form a minimal barrier left him dizzy, and he quickly realized that pushing his broken core now would risk permanent injury or worse.
He pressed a hand to his ribs, feeling a grim certainty settle in. He had survived the fall, yes, but his body was at its limit. Every step forward was a cautious calculation, avoiding uneven roots, jagged stones, and anything that might aggravate his injuries.
---
As he limped through the dense undergrowth, flashes of memory emerged unbidden. Not of this world, but the one before his former life as Kael.
Kael had been a commander in a distant, war-torn land, a strategist who had led entire armies into battle. He remembered the heat of the sun on the battlefield, the deafening clash of steel, and the scent of earth and blood mingling as men fought for their lives and their ideals. He remembered making choices that had led to victory and others that had caused terrible loss.
He could still feel the weight of his old sword, the flow of mana in that life, disciplined and precise. The battlefield had been unforgiving, yet he had thrived there, guiding and protecting those who relied on him. Now, as Virel, he was trapped in a five-year-old body, fragile and untested in a world unfamiliar and unforgiving.
Yet Kael's memories offered a strange comfort. They reminded him that even when the odds seemed insurmountable, he had survived before. He had fought and endured. And even now, despite the unfamiliar body and the pain, he knew that instinct, strategy, and cunning were still his to wield.
---
Focusing on the present, Virel assessed his injuries carefully. His left leg throbbed, scraped from a branch that had cut deep during the fall. His right arm was stiff, likely bruised from impact against a tree trunk. Each movement was deliberate; a single misstep could mean collapse. Yet he forced himself to move, relying on the sparse mana he could draw into his broken core just enough to reinforce his limbs without overtaxing them.
The forest itself was quiet, almost unnervingly so. Birds chirped faintly in the distance, the rustle of leaves the only sound accompanying him. Virel could sense faint traces of mana in the air, residual energy from the earlier battle that lingered even here, far below the mountains. He tapped into it cautiously, reinforcing his legs for a short burst so he could climb over fallen logs and tangled roots with minimal effort.
With each careful step, the memories of Kael resurfaced not just the victories, but the failures, the pain of losing comrades, the cold calculation required to survive in a world where even the smallest error could be fatal. The contrast between Kael and Virel was stark, yet oddly grounding. He realized that even though his body was small, fragile, and limited, the mind that had once orchestrated entire campaigns was still intact. Strategy, awareness, and instinct weren't constrained by size.
He pushed forward, climbing a small rise, when his foot caught on an exposed root. He stumbled violently, landing hard on his side. Pain lanced through his torso, but he forced himself upright, gritting his teeth against the ache. For the first time, he allowed himself a moment to breathe, closing his eyes and recalling a technique from Kael's life a method of steadying the mind in moments of extreme stress.
Slowly, Virel opened his eyes, scanning the forest around him. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. For now, he was alone, hidden from pursuers, but vulnerable and exhausted.
Yet beneath the pain, a quiet determination stirred. He had survived falling from impossible heights. He had survived injuries that should have broken him. And even in a five-year-old body, he carried within him the memories and instincts of Kael the Kael who had never surrendered.
Virel inhaled deeply, the cool forest air filling his lungs. His ribs ached, his limbs screamed, but he was alive. And as he slowly got to his feet, bracing himself against a tree for support, he knew that his journey had only just begun.
---
Wounded, exhausted, but determined, Virel took his first steps into the unknown forest. Memories of Kael flickered through his mind as he stumbled forward, each step a reminder of the life he once led and the resilience that now resided within him.
The forest stretched endlessly ahead, and somewhere in its depths lay the path that would shape his new life.