Chapter 3

Crouching beside the chains, Nick studied the rusted links binding Silas's wrists. "These have been here a while," he muttered, tugging at the locks.

A dry chuckle broke the tension. "Yeah, try a year. Villagers don't mess around," came the reply.

"A year?" His eyes widened. "How did you even survive that long?"

Smirking, Silas tilted his head toward the cave's dark ceiling. "Just get these chains off," he said, dodging the question.

Nick frowned but kept working, eventually cracking the lock with a sharp rock. The chains fell away with a clatter. Silas stretched his arms, the hood of his cloak slipping back to reveal a gaunt, sharp face framed by long, unkempt hair. "They made me wear that hood the whole time," he said bitterly. "Part of their punishment."

Straightening, Nick crossed his arms. "Alright, I freed you, so now you've gotta listen to me."

An arched brow and a short, dismissive laugh met his declaration. "Yeah, sure. Keep dreaming, kid."

Annoyance flared, but he let it slide as the other man turned toward the cave's exit. "Let's get out of here," Silas said.

They moved cautiously toward the mouth of the cave. Each step echoed, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional drip of water. Shadows twisted along the walls, and Nick's pulse quickened. "What if it's still out there?" he whispered.

"What's still out there?" came the low but curious reply.

Hesitating, he recounted his encounter with the dark figure and the strange mushrooms. Silas's expression shifted, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face. "You're dumb," he said bluntly. "Those mushrooms? You got high. Simple as that."

Heat rushed to Nick's face, but he didn't argue. Emerging into the faint light of dawn, the crisp air hit like a slap. Nick hesitated, then asked, "Where's this village you mentioned?"

Silas scanned the horizon and pointed. "That way. About 100 kilometers."

Without another word, Nick set off, heart thudding with a mix of fear and urgency. The rocky terrain stretched out before him, jagged outcrops casting long shadows under the rising sun. As he pressed on, the ground began to soften, patches of moss and slick mud creeping into view.

Hours passed. The rocky ground gave way to dense vegetation, gnarled roots crisscrossing the path. The swamp's air grew heavier, carrying the stench of decay and stagnant water. Nick's sneakers squelched with each step, mud sucking at his soles. His shirt clung to his back, damp from sweat and the humid air.

The murky water pooled around his ankles as he pushed forward. The occasional rustle in the undergrowth kept him on edge, his nerves fraying with each passing moment. When a low, guttural growl rumbled through the swamp, he froze.

From the mist emerged a massive, scaly beast, its elongated limbs glistening with muck. Moss draped over its horns, and its glowing amber eyes locked onto him, burning through the haze.

Instinct took over. Nick turned and bolted, the swamp's tangled undergrowth clawing at his legs. He stumbled and nearly fell, panic driving him forward. His mind raced. What am I even doing out here? Should've stayed in the cave.

The swamp seemed to stretch endlessly, the oppressive humidity pressing in from every angle. Nick's legs ached, the muck pulling at his feet with every step. He barely even noticed when the beast had stopped chasing him—fear had driven him into a desperate sprint, and only when the silence of the swamp enveloped him did he realize the danger had passed.

It was then that he heard the soft crunch of footsteps in the undergrowth, and he froze. His heart hammered in his chest, breath coming in short gasps as his mind raced through the possibilities. Maybe the beast had caught up to him… or worse, maybe there was something else lurking in the mist.

But as he turned slowly, he saw him.

Silas emerged from the fog, the massive beast's carcass draped over his shoulder with casual ease. Nick blinked, his mind unable to fully process the image. The rough, bloodied meat seemed almost absurd against the backdrop of the eerie swamp.

"What… how did you…?" Nick stammered, his voice hoarse from exertion.

Silas grinned, unaffected by Nick's surprise. "Got lucky. Tree fell on the thing. Figured we might as well eat well tonight." He adjusted his grip on the beast's heavy body, shrugging slightly. "Keep moving, kid. The village isn't getting any closer."

Nick stared at him, an odd mixture of frustration and relief bubbling up inside him. He had been angry, annoyed that his solitude had been broken, that his silence had been interrupted. But now, seeing the beast at Silas's back, Nick couldn't help but feel a strange gratitude that he'd been saved.

He let out a breath, shaking his head, feeling the bitter edge of his words before he even said them. "I was better off alone."

The words barely left his mouth before Silas shot him a teasing look. "You would've been dead out here, kid," he said, voice thick with amusement.

Nick scowled, annoyed by the interruption to his solitude, but couldn't deny the truth of the statement. His earlier anger shifted, frustration giving way to the quiet realization that Silas had, in fact, just saved his life.

"Whatever," he muttered, still not entirely ready to admit it. "Thanks, I guess."

Silas smirked and moved forward, ignoring Nick's reluctance. The swamp's oppressive air seemed to lighten as they stepped away from the thick, marshy ground, the terrain shifting to firmer ground. The path began to clear, trees growing sparse as the swamp gave way to a wider valley. The thick smell of decay lifted, replaced by the scent of fresh air and earth.

As the hours passed, Nick's legs began to feel like lead, his pace slowing as the distance wore him down. His mind drifted in and out of focus, the exhaustion from the journey starting to weigh on him. With the sky growing darker and the cold creeping in, Silas called for a break.

"We're not far now," he muttered, glancing over at Nick, "but it's getting dark. Let's set up camp for the night."

Nick didn't argue, even though the thought of sitting in the quiet dark, away from the crowds and voices he had left behind, seemed to tug at him with a heavy, bittersweet pull. The solitude, as much as it had often been a source of comfort, felt deeper now, somehow more profound. Yet, in a place this alien and hostile, where survival was uncertain and everything was unfamiliar, he knew it was better than continuing to trudge through the dark, not knowing what awaited him.

They found a flat spot near the edge of the valley, far enough from the swamp to escape the stench and its lurking dangers. Nick wandered off to gather firewood, the sound of his own footsteps and the rustling of the trees amplifying in the stillness. Without Silas near him, there was only the emptiness of the valley around him—only the echo of his breath and the rhythm of his movements.

But as much as he reveled in the solitude, something gnawed at him. It wasn't the deep loneliness he had long embraced, but a new, unwelcome feeling. It was the reminder that out here, alone, he was vulnerable. He couldn't outrun that truth, no matter how much he longed for the peaceful isolation he'd once preferred.

Nick returned with a pile of sticks, surprised to find the fire already crackling. Silas was sitting cross-legged by the flames, his back to the valley's vast darkness. Nick eyed the fire, the warmth spilling over his cold skin, but his irritation flared. How did he manage to start it so easily? The quiet frustration mixed with a strange sense of longing. He liked being alone—liked the peace and the space to think—but it felt like he was being forced out of it, a slow burn he couldn't put out.

Silas looked up at him, catching his glare. "What? You didn't want me to help? You're lucky I didn't go hunting something else for you."

Nick shrugged, keeping his annoyance locked tight. The irritation simmered beneath the surface but didn't break. The fire crackled, flames licking the air as he tossed a few more logs onto it, settling down on the opposite side. His thoughts churned, but he kept his eyes on the flames. There was no point in letting Silas know how much his presence had started to rattle him.

The meat cooked quickly, the strong, smoky aroma filling the air. Nick watched as Silas tore into his portion with a casual ease, chewing with a kind of comfort Nick could never quite muster. The sight turned his stomach slightly. There was something primal about it. He had eaten raw food before, but the idea of it out here felt different, more desperate.

Still, his stomach growled. Hunger gnawed at him louder than his hesitation. He grabbed a piece, tearing into it with a little more force than necessary, trying not to think too much about the strange taste, the unfamiliar texture. It was filling, at least. That was something.

The night wore on in silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire. But Nick's mind remained occupied with his thoughts, his doubts, and the knot in his gut. He didn't trust Silas—not completely. There was too much about him that felt off, too many things Nick didn't understand. But despite the unease that simmered, the man had saved him. And he couldn't deny that he wasn't alone because of Silas. He was alive.

Once the fire burned low, and their bellies were full, they settled down for the night. Nick picked a spot a little further from Silas—just enough to keep some distance between them. Not because he hated his company, but because he needed the solitude, even in this vast, foreign world. Silence still had a hold on him, and he cherished it—he could almost pretend everything was as it should be. Almost.

He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, feeling the cold night settle in. But the quiet wasn't quite the same as before. It was heavier, more isolating, and it stretched in a way that made him feel more alien to himself than he had ever felt before.

His thoughts drifted back to his home, to the life he had left behind. It felt distant now, like a dream. He didn't belong here—not in this strange world, not among these unfamiliar dangers. This place—this world—wasn't his. The loneliness that had once been his comfort now felt more like a weight. He loved it, but there was something more important, a way out, a way back.

I can't survive here alone, he thought. No food. No way to make a life. I can't stay here in this loneliness.

He had no choice. The village was his only option. He didn't want to, but if he was going to survive, if he was going to get back home, he had to go.

His fingers curled into fists in the dark, the quiet feeling heavier than it had ever been. He liked the loneliness—he had always liked it—but he had to admit it to himself: this place wasn't made for solitude. And he wasn't made for staying in a place like this, not forever.

He would go to the village. He would find a way home. It was the only thing left to do.