He opens his eyes and what does he find?
Total darkness again.
He doesn't bother looking around, knowing fully where he was.
"Gods above... if there are any... why make it so difficult.." he whispers.
His thoughts float everywhere.
Where did it go wrong?
What exactly went wrong?
What caused the backlash?
Was it the glyph patch or the glitch...
He asks, but no one answers.
Silent tears run down his face, reflecting the outside world.
"Such a pitiful child.." White murmurs, noticing the tears.
"Should I really turn him in?" She pauses, taking another bite from the ox's leg.
"Naaah.... those freaks are going to open up his head," she says, her whole figure shivering from fright.
"He can be a great asset if given time... but time only favors the strong..." she says, reminiscing about a past she'd rather keep hidden.
"And it seems he isn't normal either... from the way he fought, it was as if the world was listening to him.... hmmmm... I've decided."
With that, she goes back to silent observer mode and vanishes from sight.
Back in the void, Eylin's body had just finished undergoing the first wave of pain, his consciousness still intact.
As usual, clarity comes after the pain.
His thoughts start running again without his consent.
He relives every action from that morning over and over.
"What's the point..." his voice comes out rough.
His face is full of red tears.
Yes, tears of blood.
But the world never favors the weak as another wave hits, jerking his body from the ground.
His body contorts into shapes not normal to mankind. And with that come the wails that can bring chills to anyone who hears them.
Thud!!
His body hits the ground with zero energy left within.
The clarity lasts longer this time, the replays going on for an extra cycle.
But wait!!
This time he grasps something.
In his semi-conscious state, an action keeps cycling more often than the others.
"Equivalent exchange..." he murmurs. "I'm such an idiot.." he coughs, trying to raise his body but failing.
His motions are cut short as the third wave hits him, sending him back into reality.
In the void, the same pair of eyes open, but this time with a certain mature glow.
"Tsk... tsk... human stupid.. world... not acknowledge..." and with that, the void goes silent.
Back in the forest, Eylin's figure stirs awake.
Groaning, he opens his deep red eyes, locking them to the skies.
"I see... now I see... a thief, that's what I am.."
With that, exhaustion finally takes him, the night claiming his body.
His safety left to fate.
White looks at the boy, then back to the skies. "One day to go... hope you won't disappoint.." and with that, she sits back in lotus position and dives into meditation, her senses maxed out.
The night passes with no disturbance.
Eylin's eyes flicker open, appearing disoriented.
He looks around, trying to ground himself.
"Hehehe.. seems like fate's been my mistress lately.." he murmurs, lifting his junk of a body.
The pain hits him in full force, making him gasp and shortening his breath.
Tears threaten to spill from the corners of his eyes, but he holds on.
"Big boys don't cry.." he consoles himself while dragging his body toward the corpse.
On the way, he picks up his makeshift daggers.
They seem to have seen better days.
His figure overshadows the corpse as he gets to work.
With his extensive butchering knowledge from childhood, the job is done quickly.
He observes the quills that almost took his life, a shiver running through his body.
"That makes it two... gotta find a way to keep count.." he bends down, picking the quills and stacking them like arrows.
"These gonna prove useful..." he picks up pieces of meat his body can carry and finds a safe place to recuperate.
Eylin drags himself through the undergrowth, every step a negotiation between will and collapse.
The forest is quiet.
Too quiet.
He hates that.
He hates silence now.
It reminds him of the void.
He reaches a shallow depression between two thick roots of an ancient tree. The trunk curves inward, forming a natural barrier on three sides. Above, the canopy is dense enough to hide smoke and movement.
Good enough.
He drops the meat beside him and leans back slowly, jaw clenched as pain flares across his ribs.
The quills.
He pulls one out.
Slowly.
The wet sound makes his stomach twist.
He doesn't scream.
He refuses to.
"Two," he mutters again, looking at the stacked quills.
Two kills.
Two survivals.
Two times he almost died.
He stares at the quills longer than necessary.
"They demand payment…"
His mind drifts back to the void.
To the replay.
To that single repeated action.
Equivalent exchange.
He closes his eyes.
Reconstructs the fight.
He didn't lose because he was weak.
He lost because he tried to cheat.
He tried to force a larger output than what he offered.
He tried to patch instability with more instability.
A thief.
That word stings.
"I wasn't paying…" he whispers.
He was stealing from the world.
And the world took interest.
The backlash wasn't random.
It was correction.
Balance reasserting itself.
He presses his bloodied palm into the soil beside him.
"Nothing is free."
He thinks about the quills.
The meat.
The pain in his lungs.
The blood he shed.
Everything has weight.
Even survival.
He exhales slowly and begins cleaning the meat with mechanical precision. Childhood instincts take over. He separates sinew, preserves fat, wraps usable portions in broad leaves.
The process grounds him.
The process stabilizes him.
No glyphs.
No power.
Just hands.
Just work.
After finishing, he leans back and lets his head rest against the bark.
His eyes drift to the canopy.
If he wants to survive this forest…
He must calculate.
Not react.
Not rage.
Calculate.
He picks up one quill and presses its sharp tip lightly against his thumb.
A drop of blood forms.
He studies it carefully.
"That's currency."
A small, almost invisible core glyph forms in the dirt.
Nothing complex.
Just a binding line.
He hesitates.
Feels the weight of the forest.
Feels the world.
Then gently lets the blood drop touch the line.
The soil firms slightly.
Barely noticeable.
But stable.
No tremor.
No void.
No screaming.
He smiles faintly.
Not because it worked.
But because it didn't punish him.
Above, unseen, White remains in meditation.
Her senses stretch across the area.
She feels the ripple.
Tiny.
Measured.
Controlled.
Her eyelids twitch.
"…He learned."
The wind shifts softly.
Eylin lowers his hand.
He doesn't push further.
Not today.
Today is for healing.
For internalizing.
For memorizing the rate of exchange.
He eats slowly.
Chews deliberately.
Each bite a reminder:
Energy in.
Energy out.
He leans his head back again.
Exhaustion presses down on him.
But this time—
It isn't the exhaustion of someone broken.
It's the exhaustion of someone rebuilding.
The forest does not disturb him.
The monsters shall not swallow him.
And somewhere deep in the void—
The pair of eyes remain closed.
Watching.
Waiting.