I don't know how much time had passed after that. The hours dragged on in a slow cycle of sobs, laments, and muffled screams. At some point, my voice gave out, and my body, exhausted, collapsed onto the cold floor of the cave. The same stone that now held the still-fresh blood of the White Wolf became my silent bed—hard and cold like the absence that had taken over the space. I slept there, overcome not by choice, but by the fatigue of grief.
…
"Hn…" A hoarse sound escaped my lips as my eyes opened. My vision was blurry, the world before me wrapped in a fog of despair. The light filtering through cracks in the cave walls was too raw for my dry, burning eyes, punished by tears that no longer knew when to stop. It was the first time since I had arrived in this world that my whole body had collapsed. And not from physical pain—but from something much deeper. Helplessness gnawed at me. The weakness, the slowness... the failure.
If only I had judged faster. If I had found another way. If I had finished earlier, maybe... just maybe... she would still be alive. Crothyna wouldn't have crossed her path. Maybe I wouldn't be here, alone... or almost.
I stayed there, curled up against the wall, clutching my knees tightly as if I could hold my body together that way. My nails dug into my arms without me noticing. There were no more tears—only the muffled sound of breathing and the emptiness.
Hours passed. I didn't count how many. Time had ceased to matter.
It was Axel who pulled me from that limbo.
I felt his rough tongue on my hands, and for a second, I thought I was dreaming. But no. He was there. Awake. His golden eyes stared into mine, and in them was something that pierced through me: steadiness. A light. A silent comfort.
"Ah…" I murmured, surprised, as if the time since I'd fallen asleep had been erased. I reached out and ran my fingers through his fur—now thicker, with white strands gaining strength in his coat. "You really are much stronger than you look…" I said, voice shaky, but genuine. "Much stronger than me."
Axel gave a low growl—not as a threat, but like someone responding. As if to say, "Don't be ridiculous." It made me smile—a timid, hesitant smile, but still a smile.
He moved closer to me, pressing against me, warm and comforting. A calm and steady warmth, as if saying: "I'm here." And in that instant, I felt it. She was still there—not physically, not as before—but within us. In me, and in him. And above all, I felt that my bond with Axel had grown, far more than before. In fact, I'd been sensing it for some time, but now it was stronger and clearer. He felt my emotions, and I felt his.
"Take care of him, and he will take care of you…" The words echoed, soft, in my memory.
I sighed deeply, trying to steady my breath. "And to think that my babysitter is way younger and more innocent than I am…" I commented with bitter humor, petting him between the ears, to which he responded by wagging his tail, almost mockingly. "And way more animalistic…" I added, with an almost silent laugh. A laugh that didn't last.
My hand stopped stroking him for a moment, and with both hands, I began to lightly slap my own face.
TAP. TAP. Once.
TAP TAP. Twice.
TAP. TAP. Three times.
TAP. TAP. Four.
It wasn't just to wake up. It was a desperate attempt to reclaim some control. I knew it wouldn't help to continue like this, but the pain was still here. Throbbing. Alive. Raw. Maybe it was my childish side coming out. Or maybe... it was just human. Because pain hurts, and it has no shame in doing so. But deep down, I knew—if it didn't hurt, then something would be wrong.
I closed my eyes for a moment and remembered... something someone told me a long time ago. A gentle voice, a smiling figure undoing the chaos in my childhood hair as they spoke tenderly:
"No matter who or what it is… if it hurts, it's because it was important. And that alone means a lot—not just to you, but especially to the one who's gone."
The memory tightened my chest, but also warmed it. My smile, though born of pain, came stronger now. My hands returned to stroking Axel, with more firmness, with more life. And he lay down beside me, as if saying, "Then let's keep going."
"Yes, you're right…" I whispered, looking into his eyes. "If it hurts, it's because it's important." I paused, my voice faltering. "And that's exactly why we must move forward... because... because from up there… or from some corner of existence, she's watching over us."
Axel didn't respond with words. He simply rested his head on my lap and closed his eyes, at peace.
And I, too, closed mine—not to forget, but to remember more clearly. Because the pain would still be there the next day. But now, it was accompanied.
✦ ✦ ✦
A few hours passed until we finally stood. We left the cave in silence, as if any word might shatter the sacred connection of that space that had housed such a meaningful moment.
As I crossed the threshold of the entrance, I looked back one last time.
That's when I noticed.
The ground that had once been stained with the blood of the White Wolf was now clean, as if it had never been tainted. The earth, once hardened and dark, had returned to its natural texture—moist, alive. No trace remained. Not a drop of blood.
The sun was at its peak, spilling golden light through the thick canopies of the trees, cutting through leaves with dancing rays. The humidity was stronger than usual, carrying the dense scent of vegetation, and the wind blew with a refreshing coolness, spreading subtle sounds—the rustling of leaves, the distant singing of birds, life continuing its course.
I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with all I could. And then exhaled, as if I wanted to release the pain that still stubbornly echoed.
I looked around, and with new conviction in my steps, I began to walk.
The direction? It didn't matter.
At some point, sooner or later, I knew I would find the tree with the crest. That had been the goal from the beginning. The reason I had come here.
According to the words of the White Wolf, that cave was part of the forest's central zone. More specifically, it was located on the border between the central region and the northern sector. A place that, according to the direction I was given during the trial, I shouldn't even have been able to reach.
It was only while walking among thick roots and dense bushes that I realized—I was very, very far from where I was originally supposed to be.
But strangely enough, I wasn't discouraged. On the contrary.
"Those boundaries…" I remembered them well. Subtle barriers, almost invisible, but perceptible as a slight pressure in the air, as if the forest folded in on itself, imposing limits. Before, when trying to cross certain routes, I had felt that resistance. A soft but impassable force. It was as if the forest were saying: "Not this way."
Only now, with a clearer mind, did I understand why.
"They exist to keep participants separated," I murmured to myself, as if my voice sealed that conclusion. "To ensure that each one faces their own path… alone."
I looked at Axel, trotting beside me with firm steps, alert.
If the barriers were lifted because of the anomaly… I thought. That same anomaly that had altered the rhythm of the forest, brought Crothyna and so many other aberrations into a space that was supposed to be controlled. And made me meet Glória, Oswin, and Nikolas.
Then, if this isolation system had broken down… "…I can move freely now." My words weren't euphoric. They were serene. Clear. Determined.
The forest, once a maze of imposed routes, now opened before me like a living, boundless map. There were no more borders guiding or restricting me, no hidden rules deciding where I could or couldn't go. For the first time since entering this trial, everything felt... free. Uncontainable. And that freedom changed everything.
Now, I could explore all regions — south, north, west, east, central... every part of that pulsating ecosystem was within my reach. The chances of finding the tree with my family's crest, once distant, now felt real. Tangible. But there was something deeper behind this change.
It wasn't just the world around me that had been set free.
Something within me had also been released.
My body, which once felt confined by limitations I couldn't explain, now moved with lightness. My muscles responded with more precision, my skin absorbed the environment as if breathing with the forest. Scents, sounds, subtle movements — everything was sharper. More alive.
As the weeks passed, I realized it wasn't temporary. What should've been a passing effect, born from the intensity of the trial, not only remained... it continued to grow. Slowly, steadily, as if mirroring my physical maturation. My senses were undergoing a full metamorphosis.
My vision had adapted to darkness like that of a feline. Walking at night was no longer a challenge. I could see shapes in the shadows, distinguish textures under the weak light of the moon, follow trails nearly invisible to the eye.
"If it keeps going like this... connecting with nature will get even easier," I murmured, my voice low so as not to disturb the peace of the night.
I was sitting on the thick branch of a colossal tree — one of those trunks so wide and ancient they seemed to hold up the sky itself. The branch was sturdy enough for me to lie there without fear. Above me, the starry sky stretched like a living tapestry, dotted with silent lights. There was something sacred in that scene. A quiet intimacy between me and the universe.
The forest, once a hostile territory, now felt almost... maternal. As if it had recognized me. As if it had accepted me after all I'd endured. It was a hard feeling to describe — like I was walking under the blessing of something greater, invisible, yet present.
Since that day, no magical beasts had crossed my path, as if they had vanished from the forest. But thinking back, even when I was with the pack, no magical beasts had come our way — not until the anomaly. Even that incident when I first found Axel might have been a rare occurrence.
Only smaller animals appeared now, and even they, over time, seemed to avoid me. Maybe I was exuding something that repelled them. Or maybe… Axel scared them off.
"After all, he has changed." I looked down at him, curled up on a branch below mine. He slept peacefully, covered by a makeshift blanket I had crafted from the hides of stone-wool rabbits — creatures native to the denser regions of the forest, known for their stealthy behavior and deep burrows dug between roots and stones.
They earned that curious name due to the peculiar texture of their fur: thick, uneven, with a dense appearance like sheep's wool, but with the roughness and resilience of plant fibers weathered by time. To the touch, it resembled a blend between coarse felt and sisal rope.
Their wool wasn't just tough — it was tricky to work with. It absorbed little moisture but took ages to dry. It trapped dirt easily, and its irregular structure made spinning or sewing a nightmare. Plus, these rabbits rarely emerged during the day and moved with eerie silence, even for small animals, making them incredibly difficult to find — and even harder to hunt.
To make matters worse, their meat was bitter, low in nutrients, and barely clung to the bone, making them useless as food. Because of all this, few hunters bothered chasing them. Stone-wool, for all its durability, was seen as a low-quality material — not because it was common, but because few were willing to go through the trouble of collecting and working it.
Still, for me, it worked.
With patience and improvisation, I treated the hides of these animals and stitched, by hand, the blanket that now covered Axel. Its surface was a little coarse, sure, but insulating enough for cold nights, and the natural weight of the fur helped soothe the little dragon during sleep.
Alongside the blanket for Axel, I managed, with much effort and dedication, to craft a new outfit for myself. Last time, the wolf had helped me — guiding my hands, correcting my mistakes with that patient gaze — but this time, alone, I achieved something similar. Or perhaps... something mine.
It wasn't exactly a "skirt." That word felt too distant from the reality I lived in. I gave it another name: journey sash. A rustic tribal garment, made of layers of roughly worked leather — still imperfect, but functional. The leather was thick, irregular, and smelled of damp earth and smoke. The plant fibers that held it together — intertwined like roots in fertile soil — ensured its sturdiness. I called it that because it represented exactly what I felt: a piece that wasn't just clothing, but a symbol of a path, a journey. Something that grew with me. Not that my pride, of course, simply forbade me from calling it a skirt… no, far from it.
The sash was short, tight at the waist with crossed straps and loose fringes along the edges. They swayed gently with the wind, dissipating heat and subtly concealing small tools and improvised weapons. It was light enough not to hinder me on long walks, yet tough enough to withstand thorns, mud, rain, and the treacherous branches of the forest. I felt more agile, more part of the environment with it — almost as if, by wearing it, I was wearing the forest itself.
I also dedicated time to my old pelerine — the one that had been with me since the early days, and which now began to show its wear. The thick leather, taken from the magical beast I once fought, was still sturdy. Even frayed at the edges, even stained with dried blood and old dust, it held firm against the wind, the rain, and the biting cold of dawn. It was like an old companion: worn, but reliable.
There was something deeply symbolic about it. Wearing it was more than protection — it was remembrance. Remembering what I faced, I adjusted the seams with dried ivy fibers, tightening them with calloused fingers. It wasn't elegant. It wasn't pretty. But it was mine. Made by my own hands, shaped with effort, patience... and pain. The kind of pain that transforms. That teaches.
I sighed, running my hand through the disheveled strands of my hair and murmured, more to myself than the world, while the glow of the night sky lit the treetops:
"My habits really have changed over time…"
I'd begun to hunt more efficiently, moving like a shadow among the trees. I could hide my tracks with skill, mask my scent, blend into the environment. I became invisible when I wanted to.
Inspired by Nikolas' stories, I started crafting my own tools. With knowledge I'd absorbed both from the Dracknum family library and the ruins of Erebus, I started from scratch — as if returning to humanity's origins. That's how I made my first leather pouch: stitched with braided vines, forming a strong strap. I wrapped the strap in thick, soft leaves to avoid injuring my hands on long hikes.
It became my inseparable companion, holding fruits picked along the way, medicinal herbs, small improvised tools.
Motivated by the success, I decided to make more.
A rudimentary canteen, molded from hardened tree bark and natural resin, came next. It served its purpose well, even if it had a woody aftertaste. Then, a dagger. Small, rustic — but functional.
"Honestly, sharpening this damn point was hell," I muttered quietly, twirling the blade between my fingers, admiring the lightness I'd earned after so much effort.
I smiled, tired, but satisfied.
"Who'd have thought... seven whole days to make a single decent tip..." I sighed. I remembered the stones I'd broken, the ones I cracked wrong, the growing frustration with each failed attempt. Hundreds of strikes, scratches, millimetric adjustments. It was like sculpting patience.
But now it was there, firm in my hand, with a blade made of polished stone, sharp enough to cut tough bark and small branches with precision. Maybe not a weapon of war, but enough — the basic necessity.
The branch creaked lightly under my weight as I settled in more comfortably, staring at the sky again. Axel, curled on the trunk below, slept peacefully, breathing softly.
I closed my eyes.
The trial wasn't over yet.
But something inside me said I had already crossed one of the hardest borders of all: the one that separates who you were from who you're beginning to become.