Episode 9 (Lucian)

After he left the forest felt colder.

Not only in just it's temperature, but its pressure as well. Like it begun to remember something it also tried to forget.

When I looked down, I noticed A leather-bound journal, the initials J carved on the spine. It was Julius's journal. The cover was cracked, and scorched along the edges, it smelt of ash and sweat. The ink was faded in many places., but the words dug into me like that beast's claws.

"Day 9. Subject 32-A shows no signs of emotional attachment. That's good. They told me empathy ruins their awakening. But I saw Evelyn's hands. I know it was hers. They threw it into the forest on purpose."

My stomach was sick, and my gut twisted.

This wasn't just some scribbled confession, this was a report. It was a confession soaked in Trauma and ink.

Julius left this behind on purpose. He wanted me to read it. That alone made it more dangerous than anything he could have ever said with his mouth.

I sat near the cold remains of my campfire. My breath came out in white clouds. Above, the stars were half soaked by mist; the skies smeared with drifting cloud like bruises.

I kept reading,

" Day 11. The dreams returned, I keep waking up to blood on my fingernails, but there's no wounds. The voices keep telling me 'Look what you made me do.'' Sometimes I can't remember what I ate. Or if I even ate at all. I think they're watching me, to see me break." 

They weren't testing just our strength.

They were testing our limits. Seeing how far they could push the human mind before it shattered. Or turned into something else.

I closed the journal. My fingers trembled. This Wasn't fear. It was something much deeper. A kind of quiet clarity. The kind that settles in After you've been screaming into a void long enough and start to realize:

You're not alone.

You're only surrounded by others pretending to be.

The next morning

The sky was slate gray. No sun. Only an endless ceiling of fog and filtered light. I packed up what little supplies I had, or what was left of it anyways- what was left of my spear, a handful of dried leaves I used as bandages, the journal fucked beneath my armor.

My body was in pain; it ached in many ways I couldn't name. Every bruise, every scar pulsed with memory. But I was alive, And I knew I wasn't going to die out here.

That was someone else's story, 

not mine.

I started walking west. Not towards anything in particular. Just far away enough, away from wherever Julius had stood. Away from the beast's corpse. Away from the memory of claws and that beast's nasty breath and the mix of blood that got on my face.

I remembered the face of the man who once saved me. who planted the seeds of my wraith, Laith. I needed to survive these tests. I needed to prove myself worthy, back at the academy. and back to my general.

I walked for what felt like hours, days even. My boots gave out miles ago, the bottom of my feet blistered and ached with every step I took,

I Kept thinking of Sir Laith, his face haunted me, I thought I buried this memory long ago. But it keeps haunting me.

And the scenery didn't help one bit. 

The trees began to repeat. A split trunk, a rotting log. The forest was looping. or something in it was messing with my sense of direction.

I dropped to my knees, hands in dirt, I needed to grab onto something--anything.

but that's when I saw it.

A carving that ran deep along the bark of a singular tree,

W E K N O W.

But that's all it was, there was no signature or even blood that would've helped determine who or what could've left that message. Nothing but those words were staring back at me, from the skin of its own dying skin.

I stood up slowly, my throat dry.

"Who?" I whispered to myself.

But the forest didn't talk back.

But I could feel it now, like something was walking behind me, and their breath felt as if it was out of sync. 

Later that day.

I came across another camp, or at least what used to be one. Tents were burned to ashes of black stumps; the fire pit was still warm. And there even bones, bones with no blood and no flesh. Just bones, polished and unnaturally smooth.

And in the center of it all, was something that didn't belong.

A mirror. Cracked, and leaning against a tree, covered in vines, though untouched by soot. 

I approached it slowly, scared of what might look back at me.

But what I saw, wasn't me.

Not at first.

And then I saw the boy from before. The one who knelt beside Evelyn and promised to keep her safe. The one who used to flinch when an instructor raised their voice at us. The one who believed in medals and crowns.

he was begging me.

" Please. Don't become what they want."

I blinked. and the mirror cracked straight through the center.

That night

I camped beneath crags of rocks. Julius's journal laid besides me like a loaded weapon, until I flipped to the final page.

"Day 16. I saw the others. But they weren't alive. Not really. their eyes glowed like glass; I think they were trying to mimic me. or even test us. I don't think the instructors are even human anymore."

I stared at the page until my campfire burned out.

My breath grew shallower

Because I knew exactly what he meant.

I remember that one officer, the one who didn't blink. The one who never ate. The one who showed up after the worst punishments. 

I thought he was just cold.

But maybe he wasn't even a man at all.

Maybe nobody was.

that's when the whisper came. It was Low, and garbled. Like water colliding with fire and turning into steam.

"Talion"

I froze up, that wasn't my name. who the hell is that?

I looked into the dark,

Nothing

But somehow, something moved, it wasn't a beast or monster, It had two legs. Slow. Deliberate.

I clutched my broken spear and rose. My heart slamming into my chest with anticipation.

and then another whisper came.

" We see you."

Then there was silence.

I didn't sleep that night, 

I couldn't

The whispers never returned but neither did the peace. The forest was watching me and not hiding it. It was taunting me.

Like I'd passed some sort of invisible test, and now the real games had begun.

I walked until my legs gave out; the sun never rose-just turned the clouds above from black to bone-white. And the journal felt heavier with each step.

At the edge of a cliff, I found a trail of feathers. They were fresh

Someone had passed through here, someone who wasn't Julius. The prints were smaller, it was precise. it wasn't boots. But slippers.

Was it a courier? or a priest? maybe someone has come to save me.

or maybe it was something worse.

I picked up the feathers. It dissolved into my hands like sand.

they're marking their territory...

and this wasn't their last message.

No, that was still coming.

And when it did, I had a feeling it wouldn't come back in whispers.

It would come burning down with fire.