**10 DAYS LATER**
The waves rolled in with a gentle hiss, caressing the powdery white shore before retreating into the endless expanse of cerulean blue. John Arden ambled along the beach, a crude spear—with its sharpened tip glistening in the morning sun—balanced confidently in one hand while a string of freshly caught fish swayed at his side, their scales flashing like tiny mirrors. The morning breeze carried a symphony of scents: the tang of salt, the richness of pine, and the earthy aroma of damp soil from the distant forest that whispered secrets of wildlife.
He exhaled slowly, allowing the moment to settle in his mind, savoring a bittersweet nostalgia.
*Dad… you'd laugh if you saw me now,* he thought, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the heaviness in his heart. *Fishing to survive. I suppose those weekend lessons weren't wasted after all.*
His thoughts drifted—unbidden—to Fiona, memories fluttering through his mind like leaves in the wind: laughter shared over textbooks, fingers brushing as they passed notes, moments that felt both fleeting and profound.
He placed the glistening fish into a woven basket, its fibers rough under his fingertips, and wiped the sweat from his brow with a weary hand. Behind him stood his makeshift shelter—uneven and crude, yet resilient, constructed from driftwood, branches, and thatch, bound together by an iron will and determination.
It wasn't much.
But it was his.
Then—
**PING.**
A translucent blue interface materialized before him, hovering in the air with a soft, ethereal glow.
**CONGRATULATIONS, SURVIVOR JOHN ARDEN.
REQUIREMENT FULFILLED.
YOU HAVE ENDURED TEN DAYS.**
John blinked in disbelief, momentarily stunned.
"Already…? " he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.
The air shimmered around him, charged with an energy he could feel coursing through his veins.
A beam of radiant light descended like a heavenly sign, striking the sand at his feet. When it faded, a bronze chest stood where the light had fallen—weathered and ancient, adorned with swirling celestial motifs that seemed to shift and ripple whenever he glanced away.
Another message appeared above it:
**REWARD AVAILABLE.
CLAIM YOUR PRIZE.**
A rush of adrenaline coursed through John's body, excitement igniting the spark of hope within him.
"Finally…"
He reached tentatively toward the chest—
---
**10 DAYS AGO**
**Day 1—Arrival**
John awoke beneath a blinding cerulean sky, the brightness overwhelming his senses.
Warm, fine sand pressed against his back as fragmented memories surged forth—light streaming, a sensation of falling, and an echo of a voice that resonated without sound.
*Survive, John Arden. Ten days. Begin your path.*
He forced himself upright and took a tentative survey of his surroundings, heart pounding in his chest.
Untouched wilderness unfolded before him.
Gentle waves broke rhythmically upon the shore. Tall grasses swayed gracefully in the wind, their tips dancing like dancers. In the far distance, majestic mountains reared up, their snow-capped peaks glimmering like diamonds under the afternoon sun.
Half-buried in the sand lay a rugged canvas backpack, its colors muted by sun and salt.
Hope surged within him, pumping adrenaline through his veins.
He tore the backpack open with eager hands.
Inside, he found:
- A worn but sturdy hand axe, the handle weathered yet solid
- A rolled tarp, dark and frayed at the edges
- Coiled rope, thick and robust, promising utility
- A fire starter, its flint glinting with potential
- A metal canteen, heavy and cool to the touch
- Dried meat and hard biscuits—four days' worth of sustenance
- A simple compass, its needle anxiously dancing to find true north
"A starter pack…" He let out a dry laugh, tinged with irony. "Of course."
He climbed a dune, heart racing as he surveyed the expansive land around him.
To the west and south: the beach stretched endlessly, a golden ribbon against the blue.
To the north: dense pine forests stood like ancient sentinels, their needles whispering secrets.
To the east, the towering snow-capped mountains loomed, one narrow pass cutting through them like a gateway.
A river flowed from the mountains, winding through verdant plains and shadowy forests to meet the sea.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
"This is my world now," he whispered, a mixture of awe and fear threading through his voice.
**Day 2—Exploration**
John moved cautiously, marking trees with shallow Xs to avoid getting lost. He followed the river, memorizing notable landmarks as he went.
A lightning-split cedar stood tall, a scar red and raw along its trunk.
A boulder shaped as a crouching beast loomed ominously, casting long shadows.
A fallen tree formed a bridge, moss-covered and treacherous.
Then he found tracks.
Clawed. Deep.
Not human.
His heart raced as he sensed the danger lurking just beyond the edges of his awareness.
He returned to his camp just before dusk, kindled his first fire, and savored a sparse meal under the canvas of fading light.
"...Fiona," he murmured into the flames, each word a silent prayer. "Please be alive."
Sleep came lightly, a fragile promise.
**Day 3—Choosing Ground**
He sought stability and balance: essential elements of water, wood, and visibility.
By afternoon, he discovered the perfect spot—elevated ground just where the river met the sea, a natural fortress.
He pressed his palm into the cool earth.
"This is it."
That night, as the fire crackled and sent sparks spiraling into the heavens, memories danced along with the flames, fueling his resolve.
*I'll find you. Somehow.*
**Day 4—Construction**
Work consumed him.
Chopping. Dragging. Hammering with stones that felt heavy in his hands.
He built a frame.
A roof.
A wall.
The tarp became shelter, draped and fastened with care.
Crude. Leaking.
But enough.
That night, as the temperature dropped ominously, the cold crept into his bones.
John cried quietly, clutching the axe like a lifeline, its familiar weight a grounding comfort.
**Day 5—Progress and Fear**
Rain clouds rolled in, dark and ominous, overshadowing his small haven.
He reinforced the shelter with mud-packed walls, added stone insulation, and carved drainage trenches to mitigate flooding.
He crafted makeshift tools, desperation compelling him forward.
Exploring deeper into the forest, he heard unsettling howls—eerie cries that sent chills coursing down his spine.
Not wolves.
He retreated cautiously, adrenaline sharpening his senses.
Fear became his constant companion, an ever-present reminder of his solitude.
**Day 6—First Blood**
The creature struck without warning.
Rat-like. Twisted. Oversized.
His hand axe became his savior—but it was a narrow escape.
Blood soaked into the soil, dark and unforgiving.
"I almost died," he whispered into the stillness of the night, shaken.
That night, he crafted a spear, determination burning bright.
And he slept clutching it.
**Day 7—Routine**
Fishing. Scavenging. Mapping the territory.
His shelter grew sturdier with each passing day.
Food, however, dwindled, the gnawing ache of hunger ever-present.
**Day 8—Small Victories**
Fish caught, their scales gleaming in the sun.
Herbs found, fragrant and vibrant.
He laughed—out loud, the sound buoyant against the quiet.
At night, he stared at the stars, their brilliance unfathomable.
"Aurelios… I'm still here."
**Day 9—Watching Eyes**
Tracks appeared near the camp.
Larger.
Heavier.
He set traps and reinforced his walls, every creak of the night echoing the tension in his heart.
Sleep evaded him.
Something was watching him.
He could feel it.
---
**PRESENT DAY**
John stood before the glowing chest, runes pulsing in sync with his racing heart.
Ten days.
He survived.
"I actually made it," he whispered, disbelief mingling with triumph.
The chest clicked open.
Unlocked.
John inhaled slowly—
And lifted the lid, anticipation surging through him like a wave crashing against the shore.