A Moment of Hesitation

I am Kiranu, a hunter-in-training of the Keruk tribe. Tomorrow, I will undergo my final hunt to prove myself as a full-fledged hunter. It is an honor, a duty, yet my hands tremble at the thought. I am weak—skilled, perhaps, but weak. Doubt coils around my heart like a serpent, suffocating me.

Seeking solace, I wander into the woods, my feet carrying me toward a familiar place—a secluded cliff at the forest's edge, where the sky meets the sea. The whisper of leaves and the distant cries of birds do little to soothe me. My mind is heavy, burdened by the weight of my own inadequacy.

As I step onto the rocky outcrop, I see him. A man, alone, standing at the precipice. His clothes are foreign, his posture rigid, but his eyes—empty. Hollow. The wind tugs at his tattered sleeves, urging him forward.

Something is wrong.

I take a step closer. My lips part, but no words come out. My instincts scream at me to say something, to reach out, to stop him. Yet, I hesitate.

He takes a step forward. Then, he was gone.

My breath catches in my throat. I rush to the edge, gripping a jagged rock for balance. Below, the waves crash violently against the stone, foaming red. His body is swallowed by the abyss, leaving only the bloodstained sea as proof that he ever existed. I cannot move.

My legs feel like stone, my hands cold and clammy. The scent of salt and iron fills my nose, making me nauseous. This is the first time I have seen death. And I did nothing to stop it.

I return home in a daze. My father's voice is distant as he tells me to rest before the hunt, but his words pass through me like the wind. Sleep does not come. The image of the man's final moments replays in my mind, each time more vivid, more unbearable.

By dawn, my body is weary, but my father does not allow hesitation.

"It is time," he says, his firm hand on my shoulder.

"You will bring home something great today."

I do not answer.

I enter the woods, bow in hand, yet my grip is unsteady. The forest hums with life, but I feel disconnected, as if I do not belong. My surroundings blur as my thoughts spiral back to yesterday. To him. To the moment I failed to act.

Then I hear it. A low, guttural growl. The snap of twigs. The forest is silent—unnaturally so.

I turn my head, my breath shallow. From the shadows, golden eyes glimmer like embers in the dark. One pair. Two. Three. Then more. Wolves. A whole pack.

I stumble back, instinct screaming at me to run, but my body is slow, sluggish. The world tilts, exhaustion clawing at my limbs. They pounce.

Teeth sink into my leg, fire erupting in my nerves as I collapse. My bow is wrenched from my grasp, useless. Another set of fangs tears into my shoulder. A snarl, a flash of white, and my flesh is ripped apart. I scream.

I thrash, clawing at the earth, but they are relentless. Their jaws crush my ribs, their claws tear open my stomach. I feel the warmth of my own blood pooling beneath me, soaking the dirt, mixing with the scent of leaves and death.

Pain. Unbearable, searing pain.

Yet even as my vision fades, I see him again—the man at the cliff's edge. His final step. My hesitation. My failure. Then, everything fades to white.

I woke up in a white room. Enclosed. Unnatural. Silent. I lay still, my breath steady yet uncertain. Was this the place father spoke of? The realm where those who die find themselves? If so, I am unworthy. I failed to save a man, and in the end, I died a pathetic death.

Slowly, I rose to my feet, my gaze sweeping across the empty space—until it wasn't empty. Four men stood before me, clad in white long sleeves. Their faces unreadable, their presence eerily calm. But my eyes locked onto one. A face I knew.

The man from the cliff. The one I let die. I opened my mouth to speak, to say something—anything—but once again, I hesitated.

*Sigh*

The quiet exhale broke the silence. I turned toward the sound.

One of the men, his expression unreadable, looked at me.

"Who are you?" he asked.