The morning was too quiet.
Inside the underground base, silence carried a strange weight—unnatural, like the air itself knew something had gone wrong. The corridor lights flickered once before stabilizing, casting pale glows across the empty hallway where Arin's room stood open.
No one noticed right away.
It wasn't until a passing guard stopped, confused, that the first ripple of alarm began.
"Room 09-B is… empty, sir."
Within minutes, the base was alive with motion—soldiers rushing through corridors, security feeds flickering on every screen. Commanders barked orders, but no one had answers. Arin was gone.
Shivani was the first to reach his quarters. Her boots stopped at the doorway.
The bed was neatly made. The monitor was off. His uniform hung folded over the chair.
And on the desk—
—a folded note, weighed down by Perin's collar.
Her throat tightened. "No…"
Om Sai arrived a moment later, rubbing the back of his neck sleepily—until he saw her expression. "What happened?"
She didn't answer. She just handed him the note.
Om Sai hesitated before unfolding it. The handwriting was shaky, uneven—like someone fighting himself to stay calm.
To Commander Shivani, Om Sai, and Vayushri (if she wakes before I return):
I'm sorry.
I didn't want to disappear like this, but staying here would only put all of you in danger.
I've seen what happens when I lose control. I can't let that happen again—not near any of you.
You taught me how to fight. You gave me a reason to believe I could still be human. But something inside me keeps growing stronger… and darker. If I stay, it'll destroy everything I care about.
So I'm leaving. Not to run away—but to learn control. To understand what I've become.
Tell Vayushri… thank you. She saved me more than once. Tell her she's stronger than she thinks.
Om Sai… I know you act like nothing scares you, but don't risk yourself chasing me. I'll come back when I can look you in the eye without feeling like a monster.
And Shivani—
You told me once that guilt doesn't make me noble. You were right.
But it also doesn't go away. I'm sorry for making you worry again. I didn't mean to. I just… need to make sure I can face myself before I face you.
Thank you—for everything.
—Arin
When Om Sai finished reading, his usual grin was gone. His hand trembled slightly.
"…Kid…" he whispered.
Shivani didn't move. Her eyes stayed on the collar lying beside the note. Perin's collar.
Her voice came out small. "He… left it behind."
Om Sai sighed, rubbing his face. "He probably didn't want Perin to follow him."
A silence stretched between them. For once, neither had the right words.
Then Shivani's composure cracked. She grabbed the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening. "Why didn't anyone stop him?! We have guards, cameras—how did he just vanish?!"
"Because he's not just anyone anymore," Om Sai muttered, staring at the note again. "You saw what he did last night. The systems probably couldn't even sense him when he slipped out."
A tech officer rushed in, panting. "Commander—his trail ends near the outer corridor. Past that, no heat signatures, no Aura readings… nothing. It's like he disappeared."
Shivani's eyes widened. "Outside the barrier?"
"Yes, ma'am. Straight into the Zone."
Om Sai cursed softly under his breath. "Of course he did."
Shivani turned away, hiding her face for a moment. Her voice was steady—but quiet. "Start a perimeter search. Every drone, every scout. I don't care how deep it goes—find him."
"Ma'am, it's Zone 27 territory," the officer stammered. "The forest alone—"
"Find him!" she shouted. The officer flinched, saluted, and ran.
When the door closed, silence returned—thick and heavy.
Om Sai finally broke it with a tired sigh. "He left to protect us."
"That doesn't make it okay," Shivani muttered. Her voice cracked slightly. "He shouldn't have to fight this alone."
Om Sai leaned against the wall, staring at the floor. "He's always been like that. The type who'd rather bleed alone than let anyone see him hurt."
"…He's just a kid," she whispered.
He didn't argue. Because for the first time, even Om Sai looked scared.
The forest welcomed him like an open wound.
Cold mist clung to his face as he stepped past the last flicker of the base's light. Within moments, darkness swallowed everything—dense, heavy, endless.
The air smelled of damp moss and iron. Every sound felt too close: leaves shifting, insects chirping, the distant echo of something large moving between the trees.
Arin tightened the straps of his torn jacket and kept walking. His steps were unsteady, his body still half-healed.
Don't stop. Don't look back.
He walked until the lights of the base vanished completely behind the trees.
Only then did the silence truly hit him.
It was… alive.
Branches creaked above, whispering against each other. Strange calls echoed—some high and birdlike, others deep and unnatural. Once, he saw glowing eyes watching him from between the roots, vanishing when he turned his head.
His pulse quickened, but he forced himself to breathe. "It's just animals," he whispered. "Just… animals."
Hours passed. He followed a stream downhill, hoping it led somewhere safer. The moon barely touched the ground here—only thin shards of silver light cutting through the canopy.
By the time he found a clearing, his legs were shaking. He sank down beside a fallen tree, chest heaving.
The air felt thicker here. Every breath hurt. His body screamed for rest, but his mind wouldn't quiet down.
He kept seeing Shivani's face. Vayushri's. Om Sai's grin.
Did I do the right thing?
He stared at his trembling hands, still marked faintly with those dark patterns. His reflection in the water beside him didn't look like him anymore.
"…I'll come back," he whispered. "I swear it."
Then exhaustion claimed him.
He climbed halfway up a large tree—its bark rough and cold—and tied himself between the branches with his jacket. Sleep came in fragments: shallow, haunted, full of sounds that weren't dreams.
Sometime during the night, he woke to distant growls—low, guttural, close. He froze, holding his breath. Two red eyes glowed faintly near the base of the tree, sniffing the air.
It circled once. Twice. Then vanished into the dark.
He didn't sleep again that night.
By morning, the search teams returned empty-handed. The forest beyond the barrier was impenetrable—too dense for drones, too unstable for spiritual tracking.
Shivani stood in the control room, staring at the blank map projection. Her reflection looked tired, almost ghostlike.
Om Sai entered quietly, holding two cups of coffee. He offered her one without a word.
She took it, staring down at the steam. "…Any trace?"
He shook his head. "No Aura. No heat. It's like the forest swallowed him whole."
She closed her eyes. "He's alive."
He raised a brow. "You sound certain."
"I'd know if he wasn't."
Om Sai studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded slightly. "Then let's believe that."
They stood in silence, side by side, watching the empty screens.
Neither said it out loud—but both knew this wasn't just about a missing boy anymore.
It was about a power they still didn't understand.
By the second day, Arin's throat burned with thirst. He followed the sound of water until he found a shallow pond, clear enough to see fish darting under the surface. He drank greedily, ignoring the metallic taste.
His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since leaving the base.
He tried to catch a fish using his hands—failed. Tried again—failed worse. Eventually, frustration made him laugh bitterly. "Om Sai would be laughing his ass off if he saw this."
By evening, he managed to find fruit—small and sour, but edible. It wasn't much, but it was something.
When the sun sank, the forest changed. The colors darkened; sounds multiplied. Strange shapes moved between the shadows.
A growl echoed too close this time. He froze. A creature slinked into view—wolf-like but larger, skin pale and stretched thin over bone, eyes glowing yellow.
Arin's pulse spiked. He slowly backed away.
The beast sniffed the air and stepped forward, claws scraping the dirt.
Arin grabbed the nearest branch—half-broken, barely sharp. "Not tonight," he muttered.
It lunged.
He rolled aside, swung the branch, missed. The creature turned, snarling, saliva dripping from its fanged jaw.
Another lunge. Arin sidestepped, jammed the branch upward—caught the beast's throat by pure luck. It shrieked, thrashing, before collapsing into the dirt.
Arin stood shaking, the branch still in his hands. His breath came in ragged gasps.
He looked down at the dead creature, chest heaving. "…I don't want to kill," he whispered, "but I'll survive."
When night fell again, he sat by the faint glow of moonlight, knees drawn to his chest. The forest hummed around him—still alien, still cruel, but now… just a little less terrifying.
He looked up at the stars—barely visible through the canopy.
"I'll come back," he said softly. "I promise."
And for the first time since leaving the base, Arin's voice didn't shake.
The forest was different that morning. Quiet—but not peaceful. It was the kind of silence that trembled before something broke. The air carried a sharp metallic scent, like the breath before a storm. Arin woke to that stillness. His clothes were damp, his back sore from sleeping against the bark of the same massive tree that had sheltered him the night before. Dew clung to his hair, and his stomach gnawed at him again. "Another day," he muttered, brushing off his jacket. His voice felt small in the vastness. He climbed down, gripping each uneven ridge of bark until his boots touched the wet earth. The mist hadn't lifted yet—it hung low between the trees, weaving strange shapes that looked almost human if he stared too long. He didn't. Not anymore. Arin adjusted the strap of his half-torn pack and began walking. Every step sounded louder than it should. Birds didn't sing here. Wind didn't move. The forest simply watched. He'd gotten used to the weight of eyes he couldn't see. The first two days had been about survival—finding water, avoiding creatures that moved like smoke, building small fires that didn't last long. He'd stopped counting the scratches on his arms. Food had been roots, bitter fruit, and the occasional insect. But today felt different. The deeper he walked, the less human the world became. Trees were wider here, twisted upward like they were trying to escape their own roots. Some pulsed faintly beneath their bark, veins glowing soft green light, like the forest had a heartbeat. Arin stepped carefully between them, hand instinctively hovering near his knife—useless against most things here, but comforting to hold. Then he heard it. A sound that didn't belong. Low. Wet. Guttural. He froze. The noise came again—closer this time. A shuffle. A drag. The snap of something heavy brushing against branches. Arin crouched low, eyes darting through the mist. The shape emerged slowly—four-legged, broad-shouldered, its skin glistening as though dipped in oil. Its head was wrong—too many eyes, too wide a mouth. It sniffed the air once and turned toward him. He didn't move. Not even a breath. It tilted its head. Sniffed again. Then growled—a deep, vibrating sound that felt like it shook the trees. Arin's pulse spiked. His hand tightened on his knife. The beast lunged. Arin dove sideways, rolling through dirt and leaves as claws slashed the spot where he'd stood. The air split with the sound of teeth snapping shut. He came up hard on his knees, knife ready. The creature turned, muscles rippling beneath its hide. Its growl deepened, vibrating like thunder through its throat. "Fine," Arin breathed. "Let's see how human strength holds up." The beast charged again. Arin didn't back away this time. He waited—counted the steps, the breaths—and moved at the last instant. His blade slashed across its shoulder, shallow but enough to draw dark blood. It roared, spinning, tail whipping through the air like a club. The impact threw him backward, pain bursting across his ribs. He hit the ground, gasping. His knife slipped from his grip. The creature was already on him, claws digging into the dirt beside his head. He reacted without thinking. Grabbed a rock. Slammed it into one of its many eyes. Once. Twice. A third time. Hot liquid splattered across his arm. The beast screeched, jerking back. Arin didn't hesitate—he tackled it, driving his shoulder into its jaw with everything he had. The move wasn't graceful. It was messy, desperate—but it worked. The creature stumbled, crashing into a nearby tree. Arin grabbed his fallen knife and drove it up, deep beneath the creature's jaw. It screamed—a horrible, human-like sound—and thrashed violently, nearly throwing him off. He held on, every muscle screaming, until finally it collapsed with a shudder. For a moment, everything was still. Then Arin fell backward, gasping, his arms trembling uncontrollably. Blood dripped from his forehead into his eyes. His lungs burned. His chest ached where the tail had struck him. But he was alive. He looked at the beast's corpse—it was already beginning to dissolve, its skin bubbling away like wax under fire. In seconds, only the faint metallic smell remained. Arin wiped his knife clean on the ground. "What the hell are you things…" he whispered. The forest didn't answer. He staggered to his feet. His body protested every movement, but he pushed on. One slow breath after another. The sun broke through the trees briefly—a narrow ray of gold, cutting across his face. For a fleeting moment, the forest didn't feel like hell. Just quiet. Watching. He didn't see the other eyes in the dark, hidden behind the mist. Smaller creatures. Their heads low. They had seen what he did. One of them hissed softly—and then, as if understanding something deeper, they all retreated into the shadows. Arin leaned against a fallen log, letting himself breathe. He wanted to laugh—out of exhaustion, maybe out of relief—but nothing came out. His reflection caught faintly in a puddle of water beside him. His face was filthy, blood-streaked, eyes hollow. "Still human," he said softly, almost testing the words. For now. He spent the next few hours patching himself up. Using torn cloth for bandages. Collecting what little he could from the forest floor—berries that didn't smell like poison, bark that could hold water. When night came again, the mist returned—thicker than before. The forest seemed to breathe with it, inhaling and exhaling softly. Arin built a small fire in a hollow between two roots. The light barely touched the surrounding trees. He ate in silence. Every crack of the fire sounded like a whisper. Every movement in the dark made him glance up. And yet, beneath all of it, something inside him began to shift. A rhythm. A focus. He realized he wasn't just surviving anymore. He was learning the forest's rhythm—the timing of its danger, the weight of its silence, the way even fear could be predictable if you faced it long enough. It didn't make him fearless. Just… steady. He leaned back, staring up through the branches. The stars barely reached through the canopy, but a few found their way in—tiny lights between monsters. "Still here," he whispered to himself. The words didn't carry far. But for the first time since he'd left the base, they sounded like a promise. Far in the darkness, something large moved again—but it didn't approach. The forest had seen what he could do. And for tonight, at least… it let him be