Raincaller Pt 2

Óttarr clung to the edge of the hollow, his fingers digging into the slick bark as he tried to make sense of the chaos around him. His mind churned with fragmented thoughts, looping over the impossibility of what he'd just witnessed. The rain was no longer just a background noise—it felt alive, like a second heartbeat thrumming through the forest, heavy and unrelenting. He couldn't tell if the water on his face was from the storm or the cold sweat dripping from his temples.

The Raincaller was gone, its colossal form swallowed by the canopy above, but the air still buzzed with its presence. It was like the forest itself was an extension of the creature, each drop of rain and flicker of bioluminescent fungi a whisper of its lingering awareness. Óttarr's chest tightened at the memory of its eyes—those piercing, glowing orbs that had locked onto him with a weight that felt as physical as the storm pressing against his skin.

It had looked at him. Not through him, not past him, but at him, as though it were appraising something it couldn't quite place. The thought sent a shiver crawling down his spine. It hadn't attacked him outright, but that didn't feel like mercy. There was no warmth in its gaze, no indifference. It had seen him. It had judged him. And then it had chosen to leave him alive.

Why?

Óttarr sagged back against the wall of the hollow, his limbs trembling from more than just exhaustion. He couldn't shake the feeling that its departure wasn't a dismissal. It had been deliberate, calculated. The Raincaller hadn't fled, nor had it ignored him—it had made a decision.

The faint hum in the air, the one he'd thought was part of the forest, felt louder now. Or maybe it had always been there, and his encounter had simply attuned him to it. The nest—if that's what it even was—glowed softly around him, the veins of light pulsing in a rhythm that seemed alive. It was intricate, almost beautiful, but the more he studied it, the more unsettling it became. The vines weren't just draped over the wood—they were fused to it, growing in patterns too perfect to be natural. Fungi with faintly glowing caps sprouted in symmetrical clusters, and the whole structure seemed to breathe, rising and falling in subtle waves as though it had a pulse of its own.

Óttarr reached out hesitantly, his fingertips brushing against one of the glowing veins. A faint vibration traveled up his arm, almost imperceptible, but enough to make him jerk his hand back. His breathing hitched as he stared at the place he'd touched, half-expecting the nest to react. But nothing happened.

For now.

The question circled back in his mind like a vulture: Why had the Raincaller spared him? He tried to rationalize it. Maybe it didn't see him as a threat. Maybe it was full, or just curious. But none of those explanations fit. The way it had looked at him, the deliberate movements, the quiet calculation in its eyes—it wasn't the behavior of a mindless predator.

No, the Raincaller wasn't just an animal. It was something else entirely. Something ancient. Something that didn't belong in a world he understood.

Óttarr dragged a hand through his damp, faded blue hair, his fingers shaking as they tangled in the knots. He forced himself to breathe, to think. Staying here wasn't an option. The Raincaller had left, but that didn't mean it was gone. And even if it didn't return, this place wasn't safe. The nest felt less like shelter and more like a trap now, as if it had lured him in just to hold him here, defenseless.

He glanced out of the hollow, squinting through the relentless sheets of rain. The forest below was an endless tangle of shadows and movement, each sway of the vines or flicker of light a potential threat. The towering trees and massive plants loomed like silent sentinels, their gnarled shapes twisting in the dim glow of the fungi.

Óttarr's stomach churned as the enormity of the situation settled over him. He was alone in a world that didn't make sense, surrounded by creatures and landscapes that defied logic. The thought of stepping out of the hollow, of leaving even this precarious perch of safety, made his chest tighten with dread.

But staying here was worse.

If the Raincaller came back, he doubted he'd get a second chance. And even if it didn't, this forest clearly had more than one way to kill him. The uneven ground, the rain-soaked plants, the strange sounds in the distance—it all felt hostile, as though the world itself was working against him.

Óttarr pressed his palm against the wall of the hollow, the damp bark rough under his touch. "Alright," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the storm. "You've been through worse. You've made it out before. You'll make it out again."

The words felt hollow, but they were enough to push him into motion. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, his muscles protesting every movement. His legs were stiff, his back ached, and his clothes clung to him like a second skin, heavy with rain. But he couldn't afford to stop now.

He cast one last glance at the pulsing nest, its eerie glow casting long shadows on the hollow's walls. Part of him wanted to stay, to rest, to hope that whatever had spared him before might spare him again. But he knew better.

This forest wasn't just alive—it was watching him. Testing him.

Óttarr swallowed hard, steeling himself against the fear clawing at his chest. He crouched at the edge of the hollow, gripping the slippery bark with numb fingers. The rain lashed against his face as he peered down into the misty depths below. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to stay where it was safe.

But this place wasn't safe.

Taking a deep breath, Óttarr swung himself out of the hollow and into the storm.

(Give stone)