Chapter 14.2: The Other Survivors
Chapter 14.2: The Other Survivors
Year 0001, 9-10th Month: The Imperium
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A Hidden Spot
The events that led before they found the shelter…
After running for what felt like hours, the children finally reached a spot just a few meters outside the gloomy forest. Gasping for air, their lungs burning with each ragged breath, they paused to take in the chilling, thought-provoking atmosphere that emanated from the dark woodland. Even Erik, whose willpower was stronger than the others', could not escape the forest's bone-chilling aura. The trees loomed before them like ancient sentinels, their twisted branches reaching toward the sky like gnarled fingers. Shadows seemed to move of their own accord between the trunks, and an unnatural silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the children's labored breathing.
Yet, determined to stay focused on survival, Erik forcefully snapped out of his trance and shook Betty and Bren from their fearful reverie. Their faces were pale, eyes wide with terror at the nightmarish scenes they had witnessed in their village.
"We need to find a place to hide," Erik urged, his voice steady despite the underlying fear that threatened to crack his composure. His fingers tightened around the worn handle of his father's knife, the only weapon they possessed. "Keep your eyes open for anything we can use as shelter."
As they scanned the surroundings with desperate attention, Bren—ever the observant one, even under extreme stress—pointed to a spot off to their left. "Look, over there," he whispered, nodding toward a small clearing they had passed earlier. His keen eyes had spotted what the others had missed.
In that clearing, a massive fallen tree lay partly concealed by an overgrowth of untamed weeds and grasses as tall and thick as the children themselves. The ancient trunk had been hollowed by time and elements, creating a natural cavity large enough to shelter all three of them. It was a perfect hiding place—shielded from plain sight by nature itself. The undergrowth had reclaimed the area, providing additional camouflage that would hide them from casual observation or passing threats.
They moved quietly toward the clearing, stepping carefully to avoid snapping twigs or rustling leaves. Erik led the way, his body tense and alert, cautiously approaching the spot to scout for any potential threats that might be lurking nearby. He crept forward, every step measured, muscles coiled and ready to flee at the first sign of danger, until he was close enough to inspect the area thoroughly.
After a few tense minutes that felt like an eternity to the waiting children, he returned, his expression slightly relaxed though wariness still lingered in his eyes. "I think it's safe," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "There's no sign of anyone or anything around, at least for now."
A collective sigh of relief passed between them, their shoulders sagging slightly as the immediate tension eased. For a brief moment, the crushing weight of their harrowing escape lifted, and they allowed themselves a small respite from constant vigilance.
They laid down their makeshift bags on the dry ground and settled near the fallen tree, arranging themselves so they could keep watch in all directions. With careful whispers and quiet breaths, they tried to calm their racing hearts and gather their scattered thoughts. The sound of distant bird calls provided a small comfort—where there were birds, there weren't likely to be immediate predators.
In that silent clearing, tucked away from the chaos of the village and the menacing forest beyond, they found a fleeting sense of security—a precious moment to catch their breath and gather their strength for whatever lay ahead. Betty wiped away a tear that had escaped down her dirt-streaked cheek, while Bren nervously fidgeted with a small stick he had picked up.
In that fragile pause, as the forest loomed ominously in the distance, the children knew that this temporary haven was their only hope. Together, they braced themselves, aware that the night was far from over, but grateful, if only for a moment, to have found a small sanctuary in a world gone mad.
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A Feeling of Relief
A few minutes later, as they rested in the clearing and prepared to assess their meager supplies, Erik suddenly glanced behind him and noticed a thin trail of black smoke rising into the sky. The sight made his blood run cold. With a quick, urgent gesture, he pointed it out to the other two, his finger trembling slightly as it traced the path of the dark plume.
Betty and Bren turned slowly, their eyes widening in horror as they saw not just one, but several lines of dark smoke spiraling upward into the cloudless sky. Each plume twisted and curled like malevolent spirits, testifying to the devastation that had befallen Pipik Village. The realization sank in with crushing weight: every wisp of smoke came from the place they had just fled, the only home they had ever known.
"The whole village..." Betty whispered, her voice breaking. Her small fingers clutched at the fabric of her worn tunic, knuckles white with tension.
"Everyone..." Bren added, his young face contorted with grief beyond his years.
Erik remained silent, his jaw clenched tight against the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. His mind replayed the terrifying moments of their escape—the screams, the clash of weapons, the merciless brutalities of the raiders who had descended upon the peaceful village of Pipik like demons from ancient tales.
Relief and terror mingled in their hearts as they exchanged glances. They knew with terrible certainty that if they hadn't been banished just days earlier, if they had remained under the village's shelter, they might have shared the same fate as those still trapped inside. If they and their parents were still alive, if they had reached the village with them—along with countless others—they all would likely have suffered the same cruel end that was now marked by those rising columns of smoke.
For a moment, they silently offered thanks to the gods for the bitter twist of fate that had saved them. In that brief moment of clarity, they understood that their banishment, as harsh and unjust as it had been, had become a matter of life and death—an unintended salvation.
"We're alive because they cast us out," Erik said softly, voicing what all three were thinking. The irony was not lost on any of them.
Their hearts pounded with a mix of sorrow and grim relief. It was a stark reminder that in this brutal world, sometimes even the cruelest decisions held a hidden mercy, a lesson they were learning far too young.
Betty wiped away a tear. "Do you think anyone else got away?"
Erik shook his head slowly. "I don't know. But we have to keep moving. We can't go back there now."
The smoke continued to darken the horizon behind them, a somber reminder of all they had lost and the uncertain future that awaited them.
---
A Reminiscing Comfort Food
As the evening began to settle, darkness crept over the land, casting long shadows through the towering trees. The three friends huddled together inside, while Erik sat near the entrance way of the hollowed trunk of the massive fallen tree, its thick bark providing a semblance of shelter against the chilling air that grew more biting with each passing minute. The weight of exhaustion and fear pressed upon them like a physical burden, yet they dared not let their guard down in this unfamiliar wilderness.
Earlier, they had planned to scout the area while there was still daylight, hoping to scavenge for food and assess their surroundings. However, the terrifying possibility that the raiders might have ventured this far into the wilderness kept them rooted close to their hiding place, fear overriding hunger. Instead, they remained within a hundred meters of the fallen tree, wary of making themselves visible to any pursuing enemies.
Fortune, however, had not entirely abandoned them. Nearby, nestled among the undergrowth and partially hidden by a cluster of ferns, they stumbled upon a bush brimming with wild berries—the same kind they had once snacked on back in their village during summer foraging expeditions with the elders. The small, dark fruits hung in clusters, their presence a small miracle in their dire situation.
A wave of familiarity and nostalgia washed over them as they reached for the ripe, plump fruit. Betty's eyes lit up with recognition, the first genuine light in her expression since their flight began.
"Look!" she whispered excitedly. "These are just like the ones Mother used to put in the sweet bread during festivals."
The mention of festivals brought a painful tightness to their chests—memories of community gatherings, laughter, dancing, and the warm security of their original village life that now existed only in their memories.
With careful hands, they plucked a handful of the juiciest berries, their dark skin glistening in the dim light like tiny jewels. Tentatively, they took their first bites, and the sweet, tangy juice burst onto their tongues, a sharp contrast to the bitterness of their circumstances. For the briefest of moments, the flavor transported them back to simpler times—before the war, before the loss, before the fear that now dominated their every waking moment.
"Remember when Old Man Ta-usuug caught us stealing berries from his private bushes?" Bren asked softly, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "He chased us halfway through the village."
"And then gave us a whole basketful anyway," Erik added, the memory bringing an unexpected warmth to his chest.
For just that fleeting instant, the warmth of childhood comforted them, the taste of the berries a tangible connection to everything they had lost. But reality remained ever close, lurking in the darkness beyond the trees. And as the wind howled softly through the branches, carrying with it the distant sounds of unknown creatures, they knew that their struggle was far from over.
The berries would sustain them for now, but tomorrow would bring new challenges, new hungers to satisfy. In the growing darkness, they ate sparingly, saving as many as they could for the uncertain days ahead.
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Preparing the Hollowed Tree
As the last golden hues of sunlight faded from the sky, Erik busied himself preparing their shelter for the night. He stepped cautiously into the hollowed-out trunk of the fallen tree, his sharp eyes scanning the dim interior. The musty scent of decaying wood filled his nostrils, but it was far preferable to spending the night exposed to whatever dangers lurked in the forest.
The floor of their newfound refuge was littered with jagged stones, sharp debris, remnants of time and decay. Small insects scurried away as he disturbed their domain, disappearing into tiny crevices in the weathered wood. The hollow was spacious enough for the three of them, but comfort would be a luxury they couldn't expect.
With careful hands, he began to clear out the debris, ensuring that no hidden dangers would trouble them as they slept. His movements were methodical, deliberate, as he removed each stone and twig, creating a clean space within their wooden sanctuary. Every now and then, he would pause, listening intently for any sounds that might signal danger, but the forest remained relatively quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the evening breeze.
Once satisfied with his work, he gathered thick bundles of dry grass from the surrounding area, using his father's knife—his last tangible connection to the life he had lost—to cut them down. The blade, though worn from years of use, was sharp enough to make quick work of the tough stalks. The handle, smoothed by his father's calloused hands over countless years, felt both foreign and familiar in his own grip.
As he worked, Erik's mind wandered to his father—the strong hands that had wielded this very knife, the stern but kind voice that had taught him so much about survival, about honor, about being a man. Now those hands were likely cold, that voice forever silenced. He blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, focusing instead on the task at hand. There would be time for mourning later; now was the time for survival.
He carried armfuls of the dry grass back into the hollow, arranging them into makeshift bedding that covered the hard surface beneath. It was crude compared to the straw-filled mattresses they had slept on in the village, but it would provide some measure of comfort against the cold, unforgiving ground. He laid the grass thickest where Betty and Bren would sleep—the youngest deserved what little comfort he could provide.
As he worked, Betty returned with some broad leaves she had gathered, laying them across the top of the grass to create a smoother surface. Bren, not to be outdone, had collected a handful of sweet-smelling herbs that, when crushed and scattered among their bedding, would help mask their human scent and keep insects at bay—a trick his grandmother had taught him long ago.
Together, they transformed the hollow log from a mere hiding place into something that, while far from the comfort of home, could at least offer them shelter for the night ahead.
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Huddling for The Night
By the time the final remnants of daylight vanished beyond the horizon, the sky was no longer an endless void of darkness. Instead, three luminous moons had risen, casting a soft, silvery glow over the land. Their pale light filtered through the towering trees, illuminating the forest floor in a ghostly shimmer. Though faint, the glow was enough to soothe the children's lingering unease about being swallowed by complete darkness.
The first moon, Thea, the largest and brightest of the three, cast a golden pearlescent glow across the landscape. The second, Arley, smaller and with a reddish tint, hung slightly lower in the sky. The third and smallest, Lunark, with its distinctive Ethereal Emerald hue, seemed to watch over the other two like a distant guardian. Together, the three moons had guided travelers and provided comfort to the fearful for countless generations.
They sat close together inside the tree, wrapped in the single blanket they had managed to bring with them during their hasty flight. Its thin fabric, frayed at the edges and bearing the embroidered emblem of Pipik Village, barely provided any warmth, but their shared body heat made up for what it lacked. The crisp autumn air bit at their exposed skin, a sharp reminder that winter was fast approaching—a season that would bring new challenges to their already desperate situation.
Erik shifted slightly, making sure that Betty and Bren were as comfortable as possible. He could feel their small bodies shivering beside him, though whether from cold or fear, he couldn't be certain. He wanted to reassure them, to tell them everything would be fine, that they would survive this ordeal and find safety somewhere. But deep down, he wasn't sure if he believed it himself. The world beyond their village had always been spoken of in hushed, fearful tones—a place of danger and uncertainty.
"Do you think we're safe here?" Betty whispered, her voice small in the vastness of the night.
Erik hesitated before answering, not wanting to lie but unable to voice his deepest fears. "For tonight," he finally said. "We'll figure out what to do tomorrow."
Bren, always practical despite his young age, added, "We should take turns keeping watch. I'll go first."
Erik shook his head. "No, I'll take the first watch. You two get some sleep." His tone left no room for argument, and in truth, both of the younger children were exhausted beyond measure.
As Betty and Bren settled against him, their breathing eventually slowing into the rhythm of sleep, Erik stared out at the moonlit forest. The silvery light transformed the trees into ghostly figures, their shadows stretching like dark fingers across the ground. He clutched his father's knife tightly, finding solace in its familiar weight. Despite his exhaustion, he was determined to keep his friends safe through this first, terrible night.
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The First Night in the Open World Beyond the Safety of Civilization
As the night deepened, the forest around them came alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures. The eerie calls of unseen beasts echoed through the trees—some distant, others disturbingly close. The rustling of leaves, the snapping of twigs, the hoots and growls of things that lurked beyond the veil of darkness... every sound sent a fresh wave of fear coursing through their veins.
Erik fought against his heavy eyelids, jerking awake whenever his head began to droop. The sounds of the forest, so different from the familiar noises of village life, kept him on edge. Something large moved through the underbrush not far from their hiding place, causing his heart to race as he tightened his grip on the knife. Only when the sounds faded into the distance did he allow himself to breathe again.
Eventually, exhaustion won out, and he gently woke Bren for the second watch. The boy rubbed his eyes sleepily but took up his position at the entrance to the hollow with solemn determination. Erik tried to stay awake long enough to ensure Bren was alert, but the day's events had drained him completely, and he soon fell into a fitful sleep.
They huddled together, their hearts hammering in their chests even in slumber. Each unfamiliar noise sparked their imagination, conjuring visions of monstrous predators stalking them from the shadows. The unknown was more terrifying than anything they had faced before—at least in the village, they had understood the dangers they faced.
Hours passed in restless vigilance. Their bodies ached with exhaustion, but true rest eluded them. Every time one of them began to drift into deeper sleep, a new sound would jolt them awake. Their minds were trapped in a cycle of fear and fatigue, torn between the need for rest and the primal instinct to remain alert.
During her watch, Betty found herself staring at the three moons, silently praying to whatever gods might be listening to protect them, to guide them to safety. She thought of her mother's stories about the moons—how Thea watched over the brave souls filled with justice, Arley over the courageous warriors and hunters, and Lunark over the young and innocent, especially those who prayed to her for fertile lands. She wondered if the stories were true, if anyone was watching over them at all.
Eventually, however, exhaustion claimed them all. Their heavy eyelids fluttered shut, their trembling bodies growing still as sleep overcame fear. The forest remained alive around them, but their minds had surrendered to slumber, too worn to maintain their vigilance any longer.
As they drifted into unconsciousness, one final thought lingered in their weary minds—a desperate hope that, when they awoke, all of this would have been nothing more than a terrible dream. That they would open their eyes and find themselves safe and warm in their village once more, greeted by the familiar sounds of morning activities and the comforting presence of their families.
But deep down, even in sleep, they knew the truth.
The world they had known was gone.
And now, only the unforgiving wilderness remained.
Would they survive the night?
They could only hope.
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The First Morning
Morning finally arrived, bringing with it the gentle warmth of the rising sun and the chorus of birds heralding the new day. The trio stirred from their uneasy slumber, their bodies aching from a night spent on the cold, unforgiving ground. Every joint felt stiff, and their muscles protested with every small movement. The makeshift bed of dry grass had compressed beneath their weight, providing little cushioning against the hard surface of the hollow log. Sleeping on such rudimentary bedding was far from comfortable, but it was still better than lying exposed in the open, vulnerable to the elements and whatever predators prowled the night.
Erik was the first to rise, his teenage warrior's instincts pulling him from sleep at the first light of dawn. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he carefully crawled out of their makeshift shelter, wincing as his stiff muscles complained at the movement. The crisp morning air greeted him, carrying the fresh scent of dew-dampened earth and pine. It was accompanied by the faint sounds of rustling leaves and distant bird calls—normal forest sounds that seemed far less threatening in the light of day than they had in the darkness.
He took a moment to scan their surroundings, his senses on high alert for anything out of place. His eyes traced the tree line, searching for movement, for shadows that didn't belong. His ears strained to catch any sound that might signal danger approaching. Only when he was convinced that there was no immediate threat did he turn back toward the hollow and motion for the others to come out.
Betty and Bren slowly emerged, stretching their stiff limbs with quiet groans of discomfort. Betty's hair was tangled with bits of grass and leaves, and Bren's face bore the imprint of the rough bedding. Despite the discomfort, all three felt a small sense of triumph—they had survived their first night in the wilderness.
"Did you sleep at all?" Betty asked Erik, noting the dark circles under his eyes.
He shrugged. "Enough," he lied, not wanting to worry them further. In truth, he had managed only brief snatches of sleep between periods of anxious watchfulness.
Their stomachs grumbled in protest, reminding them that it had been hours since their last proper meal. The few berries they had eaten the previous evening had done little to satisfy their hunger. Without much discussion, they made their way back to the wild berry bush they had discovered.
The morning dew clung to the ripe berries, making them appear even more tempting in the soft morning light. They plucked handfuls of the juicy fruit, savoring the refreshing burst of sweetness as they ate. Though it wasn't much, it was enough to momentarily satisfy their hunger and provide some much-needed energy.
"We can't live on just berries," Bren observed practically, wiping purple juice from his chin. "We need to find other food."
"And water," Erik added, suddenly aware of how dry his throat felt. "We can't survive without clean drinking water."
Once they had eaten their fill of berries, Erik decided they needed to prioritize finding a source of freshwater. They couldn't survive on berries alone, and dehydration would kill them faster than hunger.
"Let's look for a stream or a pond nearby," he suggested, and the other two nodded in agreement. "Listen for the sound of running water."
The trio set off, carefully navigating through the unfamiliar terrain. The forest, while eerie at night, looked far less menacing in the light of day. Sunlight filtered through the towering canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. The air was fresh, carrying the earthy scent of damp soil and foliage. Colorful birds flitted between branches, and small creatures rustled in the underbrush, going about their morning routines.
As they walked, they kept their eyes open for any signs of human habitation—a trail, a clearing, anything that might indicate they weren't alone in this wilderness. But the forest stretched out endlessly in all directions, giving no hint of civilization.
After some time of wandering and searching, straining their ears for the telltale sound of flowing water, little Bren's voice suddenly rang out with excitement.
"Hey! I found water!" he shouted, his high-pitched voice carrying through the trees.
Erik and Betty immediately turned toward his voice, hope quickening their steps.
"Okay! Don't drink from it yet; we're coming to you!" Erik called back, his tone urgent. The last thing they needed was for Bren to get sick from drinking stagnant or contaminated water. Stories from the village elders about travelers who had fallen ill from tainted water sources echoed in his mind.
The two hurried in Bren's direction, pushing through tall grasses and low-hanging branches that clawed at their clothes and skin. When they finally reached him, they found a small, glistening stream of flowing water. The clear liquid babbled over smooth stones, creating a soothing melody that seemed to promise life and hope. A shallow basin had naturally formed along the edge, making it easy to scoop water without getting too close to the deeper current.
Erik crouched beside the stream, hesitating only briefly before cupping his hands and taking a small sip. The cool liquid slid down his throat, crisp and refreshing.
It was unlike the water from the village well—this tasted pure, almost sweet, without the slight mineral taste they were accustomed to. Perhaps it was just his imagination, considering they hadn't had a proper drink since the day before, but at that moment, it felt like the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.
He waited a minute, ensuring he didn't feel any immediate adverse effects such as stomach cramps or dizziness. When he was sure it was safe, he looked up at the others and nodded.
"It's good. You can drink it."
Betty and Bren wasted no time, mimicking Erik as they scooped water with their hands. The coolness was a shock against their dry throats, but it was a welcome relief after hours without drinking. They drank eagerly, pausing only to breathe before taking another sip.
For the first time in days, they felt truly refreshed, the water washing away some of the exhaustion and fear that had clung to them since their flight from the village.
This small victory gave them a renewed sense of hope. If they could find water, perhaps they could find food as well. Maybe they could survive out here after all, at least until they could find another village or settlement.
"We should explore more," Erik suggested after they had quenched their thirst. "See what else we can find around here."
For the next few days, this became their routine—waking up, eating berries, drinking from the stream, and cautiously exploring their surroundings. They discovered other edible plants that Bren recognized from his grandmother's teachings, found a patch of mushrooms that Betty identified as safe to eat, and even managed to fashion crude snares from flexible branches that occasionally caught small forest creatures that wandered too far.
They learned to move quietly through the forest outskirt, to listen to its rhythms, to recognize the signs of weather changes. Slowly but surely, they were adapting to their new reality.
Though their future remained uncertain, they had, at the very least, found a way to survive. For now, that would have to be enough.
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The First Encounter with the Beast
They had been staying near the hollowed tree for nearly a week now, and in that time, they had encountered no other humans. The wilderness stretched around them, vast and seemingly empty of any civilized presence. The absence of threats, human or otherwise, had given them a fragile sense of security, leading them to believe that perhaps they had chosen the right place to hide.
But today was different.
As they wandered a few meters away from their makeshift shelter, gathering the day's food, an unnatural stillness settled over the forest. The usual rustling of leaves and chirping of birds had vanished, replaced by an eerie silence that sent a chill down their spines. Even the constant buzz of insects had ceased, as if the entire forest was holding its breath in fear.
Betty was the first to notice the change. "It's too quiet," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Something's wrong."
Erik nodded, his hand automatically reaching for his knife. Whatever had silenced the forest was not something they wanted to encounter.
And then, from the depths of the dark forest, a monstrous figure emerged.
A massive, nightmarish creature slithered forward, its grotesque form creeping out of the dense shadows with deliberate, undulating movements. The ground trembled slightly beneath its enormous weight as it moved, crushing vegetation under its bloated body.
The air grew thick with an oppressive aura, so suffocating that it felt as if the very atmosphere was pressing down on them with physical force. A primal, bone-chilling fear gripped their bodies, rooting them in place like the trees around them. Their instincts screamed at them to run, to flee as fast and as far as they could, yet their legs refused to obey, frozen by a terror more profound than anything they had ever experienced.
The 'Glistening Dread.'
The creature's infamous name echoed in Erik's mind like a death sentence. He had heard tales of this monster from village elders during night gatherings around the communal fire—stories meant to frighten children into obedience, to warn them against wandering too far into the wilderness. He had always assumed they were just that—stories, exaggerations, myths invented to keep curious children close to home.
Yet here it was before them, terrifyingly real.
It was just as the old tales had described, yet seeing it in person was far more terrifying than words could ever convey. No story could capture the nauseating stench that emanated from its body—a putrid mixture of decay and something alien, something wrong.
Its long, slimy body glistened under the daylight, coated in a sickly, mucus-like secretion that dripped onto the forest floor, sizzling slightly where it touched plant life. Despite the bright sun, its dull-red eyes struggled to see, darting about aimlessly like blood-filled orbs seeking prey they couldn't quite locate. Instead, its elongated feelers flailed erratically in all directions, compensating for its temporary blindness by feeling the air currents, tasting the environment for heat signatures and scents.
But even blinded by the daylight, it was still a predator—ancient, cunning, and utterly lethal.
A towering monstrosity, measuring nearly 30 feet in length, 5 feet wide, and standing an intimidating 10 feet tall when fully raised. Hundreds of slimy, clawed crawlers lined its grotesque form, twitching and grasping as it moved with an unnatural, undulating motion that defied the normal physics of living creatures. These appendages, somewhere between legs and tentacles, propelled it forward with surprising speed for something so massive.
Its massive mandibles, jagged and glistening with some unknown fluid, twitched menacingly, opening and closing with an audible snap that made the children's blood run cold. Between these terrible jaws, they could see rows upon rows of needle-like teeth, designed for rending flesh and crushing bone.
It was hunting.
And it had found them.
---
A Deviation
Erik bit his lips forcefully, desperate to feel something in his body that had grown cold, stiff, and drenched in sweat. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as a bead escaped and trickled down his chin, the sharp pain providing a focal point that cut through the paralyzing fear. Gradually, through sheer force of will, he managed to regain control over his trembling fingertips, then his arms, and finally his unsteady legs that threatened to collapse beneath him.
His mind raced, searching desperately for something—anything—from the elders' tales that might help them now. There had been warnings, descriptions, but had anyone ever mentioned how to escape the Glistening Dread? He couldn't remember, his thoughts scattered by terror.
With courage slowly returning, he roused the other two from their shock. They were sweating profusely, shivering in terror, their eyes fixed on the monstrous creature before them as if trapped in a nightmare they couldn't wake from. When they finally felt a gentle shake on their shoulders, they turned their heads with mechanical slowness, and there was Erik—his face contorted with disbelief, and his lips stained with blood from his own desperate bite.
"Don't move," he mouthed silently, not daring to make even the slightest sound. "Not yet."
The creature, a colossal Centislug as the old stories named it, had not yet taken notice of them. Its massive body continued to sway as it moved, but its trajectory didn't seem aimed directly at their position. Seizing the opportunity, Erik silently urged Betty and Bren to edge closer to him, so they might slip away from its line of sight. His fingers dug into their shoulders, both to steady them and to control the timing of their retreat.
Unbeknownst to them, the Centislug was disoriented by the bright sunlight that filtered through the canopy. Its species was primarily nocturnal, preferring the darkness of night or the deepest, shadowed parts of the forest where sunlight never penetrated. Although its numerous feelers still functioned, detecting vibrations and scents in the air, they flailed erratically as the beast was bombarded by conflicting sensory stimuli. The light confused its primitive brain, making its movements less purposeful, less directed.
For the first time in its ancient existence, it had deviated from its predetermined hunting path—a rare moment of vulnerability for a creature that had been the apex predator of these forests for countless generations. This deviation, this moment of confusion, was perhaps the only thing that stood between the children and certain death.
Erik's heart pounded so loudly in his chest that he was certain the creature would hear it. Each beat seemed to echo in the unnatural silence of the forest. With excruciating slowness, he guided his friends backward, one tiny step at a time, keeping his eyes fixed on the swaying monster before them. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to flee at top speed, but he knew that sudden movement would draw the creature's attention immediately.
"Slow," he breathed, the word barely audible even to Betty and Bren who stood inches from him. "Very slow."
As they retreated, Erik noticed something peculiar about the ground where the Centislug's secretions had dripped. The vegetation there was withering, turning black and brittle within moments of contact. The implications chilled him—even a splash of that substance on their skin could prove fatal.
The distance between them and the creature gradually increased, each step taking them slightly further from danger, slightly closer to their temporary sanctuary. The hollow log might not stop the beast if it decided to pursue them, but it was the only shelter they had.
---
A Familiar Scent
They slowly made their way back to the campsite, each step measured and silent, so as not to betray their presence with even the slightest sound. Every breath was held, every movement carefully controlled. The forest around them seemed to hold its own breath, as if nature itself sensed the danger that lurked nearby.
As they neared the site, the Centislug remained motionless for a long while, its segmented body glistening with an oily sheen under the pale moonlight. It seemed preoccupied, processing the confusing sensory data around it through whatever alien mechanisms served as its consciousness. The children watched, frozen in place, afraid that even the beating of their hearts might alert the creature to their presence.
Then, suddenly, a new scent infiltrated the air—a delicious aroma that the beast had not detected before. Its many antennae twitched, quivering with anticipation and hunger.
It was the faint, familiar odor of human flesh—a meal it had savored long ago. The revelation sent a shiver down the children's spines as they exchanged horrified glances, for they realized that the creature's attention might now be divided by its disturbing hunger. They could see the moment awareness dawned in the creature's behavior, its massive body tensing slightly, preparing to hunt.
"Run!" Erik mouthed silently to Betty and Bren, gesturing frantically with his hand.
The three children crawled silently into the hollow of the massive fallen log, its interior worn smooth by years of weathering and countless small creatures seeking shelter before them. Their fingers dug into the soft, damp wood as they pressed themselves as far back as possible into the darkness. For a brief moment, they clung to the desperate hope that their stealth would be enough to keep them safe. But fate was unkind that night, merciless in its indifference to their plight.
Their luck had finally run out. The Centislug had detected their lingering scent, particles of their presence carried on the gentle night breeze. Slowly, methodically, it began moving again in their direction, its hundred legs working in undulating waves that propelled its enormous bulk forward with surprising speed. Though it could not pinpoint their exact location, the creature was tracking the invisible trail of their scent carried on the night air, growing more excited with each passing moment.
With each heavy, yet slow deliberate movement, the ground trembled beneath its massive weight, sending vibrations through the earth that the children could feel in their bones. Erik's heart pounded so violently he feared the creature might hear it. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he realized that the beast was drawing closer, its hunger guiding it unerringly toward them. In a trembling whisper, barely audible even in the silence, he murmured to Betty and Bren, "Oh no, I think it found us."
Betty's eyes widened with terror, and Bren's small hand sought hers in the darkness, clutching it so tightly his knuckles turned white. The familiar gesture of seeking comfort seemed futile now, a small human connection in the face of inhuman danger.
The minutes stretched out like an eternity, each second marked by the thundering of their hearts and the increasingly loud sounds of the Centislug's approach. When the creature finally reached the edge of their hiding spot, its massive shadow blotting out what little moonlight filtered through the forest canopy, Erik could no longer contain his terror. The sight of its glistening mandibles and the nauseating stench of its breath broke his resolve.
He shouted urgently, his voice cracking with fear, "RUN... RUN... NOW!" The sound of his desperate cry shattered the silence like glass, echoing through the forest.
Without hesitation, the children bolted from their hiding place, abandoning nearly all of their meager belongings to the darkness. They ran with all their might, their feet pounding against the forest floor in perfect synchrony, their hearts beating in unison as they fled into the unknown darkness. Every direction away from the log was welcome, as long as it led them farther from the relentless predator that had already begun to give chase, its high-pitched screech of hunger piercing the night.
Their destination was uncertain; they cared little for where they were heading, as long as it wasn't here, in the shadow of death. Deep in his heart, Erik hoped they might be drawn towards a safe place, a Village—a faint memory of refuge from a long-forgotten past. The image of walls, of safety, of other humans, drove him forward even as his lungs burned and his legs threatened to give way beneath him.
Betty stumbled over an exposed root, nearly falling, but Bren caught her arm, pulling her forward without breaking stride. They were beyond exhaustion now, running on pure adrenaline and the primal fear that kept their legs moving when all else would have failed them.
Whether by fate or divine intervention, only the gods could know their true destination. Yet, if one were to ask the gods, peering down from their celestial realm with eyes that saw all things, they might hint that the children were generally heading in the direction of Maya Village, where perhaps salvation awaited—if they could survive the many nights and days they would be running away from the beast.
Thus, with terror driving their every step and the echo of the Centislug's heavy crawl still haunting them, the trio ran into the night, their future as uncertain as the shadows that swallowed their fleeing forms. The forest closed behind them like a book, keeping its secrets and giving no promises of sanctuary or survival in the darkness that lay ahead.