The forest went silent again.
Not normal silence—
The kind that arrives after something has died too close to you.
Andres stood over the fallen creature for a long time.
Not because he was thinking of victory.
Not because he was shocked by strength.
But because his body didn't know what to do next.
His breathing was uneven.
His arm still stung where the claw had cut him.
A thin line of blood ran down his skin, warm against the cold air of the forest.
"…So I really can get hurt."
He said it quietly.
Not surprised anymore.
Just confirming reality.
He looked at his hand.
It was trembling slightly.
Not fear.
Not adrenaline.
Strain.
Because his body had reacted faster than it was built to handle.
"I didn't train for this…"
He muttered.
Then paused.
"…Actually, I didn't train for anything."
A bitter realization.
Everything he had done so far had been instinct.
Survival reaction.
Not skill.
Not mastery.
He exhaled slowly.
"…If this keeps happening…"
His gaze shifted deeper into the forest.
"…I won't last long."
And that was when hunger returned.
Stronger than before.
Not mild anymore.
Not background noise.
It was sharp.
Immediate.
Constant.
His body had started demanding fuel again.
"…Right."
He pressed a hand to his stomach.
"I still need food."
He looked around.
The forest now felt different.
Not safer.
But more understandable.
Because now he knew something important:
This place could kill him.
But it wasn't random.
There were rules.