Ivor stepped forward in the Scar and the world changed.
The air inside the Scar felt cooler, carrying the scent of damp earth and old trees. Before him stretched a forest, dense and dark, its trees standing in long, uneven rows as far as he could see. Their trunks were thick, bark pale and rough, branches tangled together high above, blocking much of the light.
He turned around.
The entry gate hovered behind him. Beyond it stood a wall of black, stretching endlessly in every direction. No sky. No landmarks. Just a smooth, lightless barrier that swallowed distance itself.
Ivor took a step closer and reached out.
His fingers pressed into the surface of the wall.
It gave way slightly, soft and yielding, like pressing into thick flesh. The sensation made his skin crawl. He pulled his hand back at once and wiped it against his trousers, frowning.
So this was it.
He turned back toward the forest but didn't move forward yet. His body remained still as his eyes scanned the treeline carefully, searching for motion, sound, anything out of place. The forest remained quiet.
Then he noticed the ground.
Boot marks.
Dozens of them.
They began near the gate and led straight into the forest, pressed deep into the soil as if many people had entered together. Some prints overlapped others, old and new mixed together, but all pointed in the same direction.
Straight ahead.
Ivor stared at them for a long moment.
Then he shifted his path.
Instead of following the trail, he turned left and began walking parallel to the treeline, keeping his distance from the forest's edge. His steps were careful. He watched the shadows between the trees as he moved, listening for anything that didn't belong.
As he walked, his father's voice surfaced in his mind.
"Ivor," Kael had said once, sharpening the wooden sword they were using. "All the powerful who rule today are powerful because they used the Scars. They're dangerous, yes. But they're also where people learn to control the world instead of being crushed by it."
At the time, Ivor hadn't fully understood.
Now, walking beside the forest with a Scar wall at his back and danger ahead, the words settled differently.
A small smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth.
Once he had put enough distance between himself and the gate, and the footprints leading inward, Ivor finally turned and entered the forest. He did it slowly, every step deliberate. He avoided brushing against the tree trunks and roots, carefully placing his feet only where he could see the ground clearly.
Anything could be deadly inside a Scar. That lesson, at least, he remembered well.
He walked until the black wall behind him disappeared completely from view. The forest closed in around him, the air growing thicker, quieter. Then he stopped.
Something lay on the ground ahead.
A skeletal hand.
It ended just below the elbow, pale bone half-buried in soil and leaves. Ivor stared at it for a moment, then scanned the surrounding area, searching for the rest of the body.
There was nothing.
No skull. No spine. No scattered bones. Just the arm, as if the rest had been taken somewhere else.
He stepped sideways and gave it a wide berth.
Nearby stood a massive tree, its trunk wide enough that it would have taken several people to encircle it. Its branches were thick and heavy, some of them as large as smaller trees, stretching outward and upward into the canopy.
Ivor didn't hesitate.
He moved to the trunk and began climbing.
Pain flared immediately. His injured shoulder screamed as he pulled himself up. His bicep burned. His leg protested with every push against the bark. He ignored it all, teeth clenched, forcing his body to obey through sheer will.
Slowly, inch by inch, he climbed.
When he reached the first branch, he hauled himself up and sat down heavily, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. From here, he could see farther between the trees, shadows shifting deeper in the forest.
Once his breathing steadied, Ivor looked down at his injuries. The blood on his bicep and shoulder had slowed but not stopped, darkening his skin in uneven streaks. He reached for his dagger and, with a quick motion, cut away the fabric below his other knee. The cloth tore free with a rough sound.
He worked fast.
Using his teeth and one hand, he twisted the strips tight and wrapped them around his bicep and shoulder, pulling until the pressure bit into the wounds. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but he didn't loosen his grip. He tied the knots securely, testing them once before releasing his hold.
His injured leg was already tied, the cloth soaked through with blood, but he chose not to change it yet.
Finally, he opened the bag Bach had given him. He loosened the rope at the top and reached inside, pulling the contents out one by one. Three books landed beside him, followed by five small tin cans and another metal bottle with water.
Ivor picked one tin can up.
It was warm to the touch.
Food.
He stared at the cans for a moment, then counted them again to be sure.
"Only five… for an entire year?" he muttered, disbelief slipping into his voice.
He searched the bag once more, fingers probing every corner.
There was nothing else.
Ivor looked at the pile in front of him, then back into the empty bag, blinking slowly.
This wasn't a joke.
Ivor looked down at the books laid out in front of him. Their covers were worn and frayed at the edges, creased from repeated use. These were not fresh copies pulled from some archive shelf. They had passed through other hands before his.
The first book lay on top.
Its cover bore the image of a planet, and chunks of broken debris drifting around it. Beneath it was a single word.
Phelios.
The name of the world he lived in.
The second book showed a human figure seated in a meditative posture. Blue markings traced across the body, clustered at joints, spine, and chest, forming a pattern. The title was simple, written plainly across the top.
Mana.
The third book was different.
The cover was darker, almost scorched in places. A jagged tear split the image down the center, depicting a distorted opening in space. Across it, the title was stamped in thick red letters, the ink faded but unmistakable.
Scar Survival.
Ivor stared at the three books in silence.