Time had a strange weight here.
Golden didn't measure it in days or nights anymore. He measured it in thirst, hunger, and the ache of solitude. Six months had passed since that first terrible day—the Cerberus, the unicorn, the impossibly alien world.
He had searched every corner of the ruined structures, following faint traces, hoping to find another human. Nothing. Not a soul. Not a scrap of civilization that belonged to someone alive. Just echoes, shadows, and the quiet gnawing knowledge that he was alone.
At first, he had tried to stay sane by rationing water and food. He drank from shallow pools, from rain that collected in stone basins, sometimes barely a mouthful at a time. He had learned to trap small animals—rabbits mostly, sometimes rodents that scurried under the ruins. He ate wild fruits when he could identify them, but more often than not, his stomach growled empty, reminding him that survival here demanded more than courage.
The first month, he had cried almost every day. The second month, he stopped noticing the days at all.
By the third month, he had grown meticulous. Every footprint, every scratch in the stones, every sign of movement—he catalogued in his mind. He had learned where to hide, how to move silently, how to stretch food and water into the next day.
By the fourth, fifth, and sixth months… he had begun to forget what other humans looked like.
The sound of footsteps… laughter… voices…
Had it ever existed, or was it a dream?
Golden often talked to himself to keep the sound of speech alive. Sometimes he even imagined conversations, asking questions that no one answered. Slowly, his mind began to twist in on itself. Shadows became figures. Rustling leaves became whispers.
And still, no human came.
He survived But at what cost?
Hunger and thirst had left him gaunt. His chest remained scarred from that first attack. His hair grew long and tangled, his clothes tattered beyond repair. His hands were calloused, fingers nimble from months of trapping and foraging.
Yet none of that mattered if he couldn't find someone else. If he remained alone, the isolation would crush him before any creature ever could.
Golden stood at the edge of the ruins one morning, staring at the horizon beyond the jagged stones. In the distance, the world opened up—forests, rivers, and valleys he hadn't dared to explore before
If I stay here, I die anyway.
He had made a choice.
One that might be even more dangerous than the Cerberus or any divine beast:
Leave the safety—or relative safety—of the ruins.
Venture into the unknown world.
Search for humans.
Find a settlement.
Learn,Survive and Adapt.
Golden tightened the strap of the makeshift satchel he had fashioned from scraps of cloth. The trap for rabbits, a small pile of gathered fruits, and the knife he had salvaged from ruins rested inside. He didn't feel confident. He didn't feel prepared.
But he felt alive.
"Maybe… I can find someone like me," he whispered. "Someone alive."
He took a deep breath, letting the violet wind wash over him, carrying dust, ash, and the faint scent of decaying stone. Then he stepped forward.
The ruins fell behind him.
The unknown world stretched out ahead.
And Golden walked toward it, careful, alert, desperate—and just a little… hopeful.