Lost

Everything was black and cold. Evryn felt like he was drifting in an endless void—no sight, no sound, not even darkness. Just nothing.

Am I dead? The thought barely formed in his disoriented mind.

"Wake up."

A voice, soft and sweet, called out to him.

"Wake up."

Again, it beckoned—gentle yet firm.

Evryn gasped, his eyes snapping open as he violently coughed up water.

Where am I?

Above him, a small crack let water trickle down, while light streamed through, casting an ethereal glow on the spot where he lay—as if the heavens lights were shining on him.

Then he noticed something strange.

The pain—gone.

His body, which had been battered and broken, felt untouched, whole, as if nothing had happened.

I don't like this…

Slowly, he propped himself up on his left elbow, pressing his right hand against his ribs—where the wolf's head had struck him.

Nothing. Not even a dull ache.

The realization unsettled him. He wasn't about to complain, but the complete absence of pain, as if it had never existed, was… unnatural.

He found himself lying on a small, circular patch of land, high up like a plateau. The ground beneath him was solid, and jagged rocks could be seen far below, almost like the base of a steep mountain or cliff. There was no sign of any other land nearby—just an endless drop down into the rocks and water below.

Beyond the edges of the land, only a deep, endless drop awaited—into water or something worse. He couldn't tell from where he sat.

Everything felt surreal, like something beyond the realm of possibility.

He had so many questions. But right now, only one mattered—

How do I get out of here?

Evryn slowly pushed himself up with his hands, groaning as he rose to his feet.

Another cough wracked his body, forcing up more water. He covered his mouth with his right arm, waiting for it to subside.

Steadying himself, he took a step forward and peered over the edge of the platform.

The drop was deep—jagged rocks and shallow water lay far below. If someone were to fall, they'd splatter like a broken egg. The mere thought sent a shiver down Evryn's spine.

Shaking off the unease, he turned his head to the right, where the narrow path stretched ahead.

His boots and clothes were damp, yet somehow partially dry. How long was I lying here?

Annoyed, he yanked off one of his boots and gave it a shake, trying to rid it of any lingering water. The whole process irritated him, but there wasn't much else he could do.

With a deep sigh, he stepped forward.

The path was narrow, but wide enough for someone to walk on without falling—though one misstep or trip would mean certain doom.

This place felt unnatural. Evryn wondered how it had formed or come to exist, though he had to admit—it looked cool.

Slick, wet cave walls surrounded him, glistening under the faint light reflecting off the water.

The steady sound of falling water echoed through the cave, carrying the scent of moisture mixed with something else—something he couldn't quite place. It wasn't unpleasant, just unfamiliar.

He continued forward—until he noticed it.

Ahead of him, an entrance led deeper into the cave. With nowhere else to go, he quickened his pace toward it.

Reaching the entrance, he hesitated. The path sloped downward—steep, unwelcoming. He didn't like it. But his choices were limited.

Either he jumped off the ledge behind him, or he went forward.

He preferred to live.

With a quiet sigh, he stepped inside.

The descent was sharp—one wrong move, and he'd go tumbling down. He placed his right hand against the cave wall, using it for balance as he carefully navigated the uneven ground. Each step had to be precise.

Slowly but surely, he made his way to the bottom.

At the bottom, the floor was dark and sleek, uneven with small holes scattered across its surface—pockets deep enough to hold water.

Evryn stood still for a moment, trying to process everything that had happened to him.

He had gone out to hunt a Behemoth Wolf.

Ran from it.

Got badly injured.

Jumped into a river.

And now… he was here.

What is my luck..? Evryn groaned in his mind.

While fighting to survive in the river, he hadn't fully registered it at the time, but now—those words Eira had spoken to him wouldn't leave his head.

"Until death, all defeat is psychological."

He muttered the words under his breath. Hearing them now, they struck him differently.

Before, if he had ended up in a situation like this, he probably would have given up. Let himself die.

But he hadn't. He was still here.

With that thought lingering in his mind, he stepped forward, deeper into the room.

Ahead of him stood a pair of ancient, weathered doors—gray and cracked, adorned with strange symbols that seemed to carry the weight of forgotten history.

As Evryn approached, his eyes focused on the carvings. A sword was etched down the center, its blade sharp and imposing. Above it, a radiant sun blazed, its rays cutting through the stone with an almost tangible heat.

Around the sword, two figures were locked in a violent clash—divine entities frozen in a moment of struggle, their weapons striking beneath the relentless gaze of the sun. The scene spoke of a long-forgotten conflict, one that had reshaped the very fabric of existence.

Evryn wasn't sure what to make of the scene before him, but it was clear that these doors held significance—whether to someone or something, he couldn't say.

He placed his hands on the cold, weathered surface of the doors, his fingers brushing over the ancient carvings. Closing his eyes for a moment, he drew a steady breath before pushing them open.

The doors groaned, their hinges creaking as they slowly parted, the sound echoing through the stillness of the cave.

***

The river flowed steadily, but Evryn was nowhere to be seen.

Garran let out a deep, frustrated sigh.

"This isn't good. Neither the wolf nor Evryn is in sight."

Blood marked the tree they had passed earlier, and there were faint footsteps—Evryn's and the wolf's—leading into the distance, but they ended abruptly. Garran stood still, his right hand on his chin as he thought.

"We need to recover Thorne's body and bring it back to the village. We're not sure if the kid is alive or not," Ronan said, breaking Garran's train of thought.

This isn't good. What am I going to tell Cyrus? I was responsible for him, and now I've failed. Evryn, wherever you are, you better not die.