Chapter 4: Trial of the Wilds
Shiro's eyes fluttered open, his vision blurred by pain and fatigue. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and moss. Somewhere overhead, leaves whispered with the gentle sway of the wind. His body ached as if he'd been dragged through a storm and left to rot.
He groaned, throat dry and voice hoarse. "What time is it?"
Hamiel hovered nearby, golden wings shimmering faintly in the patchy sunlight that filtered through the towering trees. The angel's face was calm, but there was a coldness behind his eyes.
"Time?" Hamiel echoed with a soft smile. "Here, time has no meaning. But today marks the beginning of your first trial."
Shiro sat up slowly, rubbing the stiffness from his limbs. "Trial?"
"The Trial of the Wilds," Hamiel said, voice steady. "For one whole month, you will survive alone in this forest. No aid. No reprieve. I will watch, but I will not intervene."
Shiro's chest tightened. "A month? Alone?"
Hamiel nodded once, then his figure began to dissolve into the dappled light of the forest.
"Good luck, Shiro."
And just like that, he was gone.
Alone.
The forest around him was vast and alien. Towering trees with twisted, bark-covered faces reached high into a sky veiled by swirling clouds of violet and gold. Strange birds, neither quite bird nor insect, flitted past, their wings leaving trails of faint luminescence.
Shiro pushed himself to his feet, muscles trembling under the weight of exhaustion. He scanned the forest floor, searching for anything useful.
A sudden glint caught his eye near a crumbled stone that looked like part of an ancient grave marker. Kneeling, he brushed away leaves and dirt to reveal the hilt of a sword, heavily rusted but still intact.
He gripped the handle and pulled. The blade came free with a dull scrape against the stone. The sword was heavy and awkward in his hands, far from the elegant weapons he'd once wielded, but it was something.
Holding the sword, Shiro's mind drifted to distant memories of fighting—clashing blades, hurried breaths, desperation—but those images felt blurry and incomplete.
Suddenly, a low growl echoed through the underbrush.
Shiro froze, heart pounding. Ahead, the bushes parted, revealing a pair of glowing eyes.
More eyes appeared.
A pack of wolves.
Their black fur bristled, teeth bared in silent snarls.
Shiro's breath hitched. He dropped the sword silently and scrambled up a nearby tree, branches scraping his arms as he climbed.
Settled among the leaves, he watched the wolves circle below, waiting and watching.
Hours passed.
The wolves eventually lost interest and slinked away.
Shiro lowered himself from the tree, hands shaking.
The trial had begun…
The forest felt endless.
Days passed—or maybe nights; Shiro had long stopped keeping track. Time was a meaningless tide that pushed him forward but offered no comfort. His clothes hung loose, skin dry and cracked. Hunger gnawed deep, but thirst was a sharper torment.
He stumbled through the undergrowth, mouth raw and desperate for even a drop of water.
Branches tore at his face; roots threatened to trip him.
His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he reached a small creek, its water murky but flowing clear enough to promise life.
He knelt, cupping his hands to drink, hesitating just a moment—his instincts screamed danger—but his thirst was stronger. The water tasted cold and bitter, but it was salvation.
He drank until his vision blurred.
The forest sounds seemed to warp around him, a sudden rustle nearby pulling him upright.
A growl—deep, guttural—rumbled through the trees.
Shiro turned to see a massive bear stepping into the clearing, eyes fixed on him like he was prey.
Shiro stumbled backward as the bear emerged from the trees like a walking nightmare. Its fur was mottled with black and brown, matted in patches like dried mud and blood had long since fused together. Its breath steamed in the warm air, hot and foul.
The ground shook beneath its steps.
Shiro's instincts screamed, Run.
He turned on shaky legs and bolted.
The trees whipped past him in a blur of green and shadow, but the thunder of paws behind him never faded.
Crash!
The bear plowed through brush and bark as if it were nothing. A branch tore across Shiro's cheek, drawing blood, but he didn't stop.
His foot caught on an exposed root.
He fell.
The ground slammed into him hard. The wind left his lungs in a single, strangled gasp. He rolled over just in time to see the beast looming — jaws wide, fangs yellow, dripping saliva.
Shiro reached for his sword.
Too far.
The bear roared and swiped.
Wham!
Its paw slammed into his side, sending him tumbling. The world spun. He heard the crack of bone. Pain bloomed white-hot.
Still, he grabbed a nearby stick — a branch, sharp enough on one end.
"Not here… not like this!"
The bear lunged.
Shiro screamed and drove the stick forward with both hands. It scraped against fur, skidded off muscle.
Too shallow.
The bear snapped at his shoulder, tearing cloth and skin alike. Blood soaked his sleeve. He punched it in the snout. It barely flinched.
He was going to die.
No techniques. No style. Just raw, blind desperation.
Shiro grabbed a rock and slammed it into the side of the bear's head once—twice—again. The beast staggered slightly.
Then roared.
Its massive paw rose for the killing blow.
Shiro lifted his arms to shield himself.
Then—
A shout ripped through the air.
A spear flashed.
Thud.
The blade buried deep in the bear's ribs.
The creature reeled back, wheezing. Another shout — this one stronger, sharper.
The man appeared from the trees like a ghost. Weathered, old, with eyes that burned like smoldering coal.
He wrenched the spear free and jabbed again — the bear roared in pain and fury, but its movements dulled.
One last strike to the neck, and the beast collapsed to the forest floor with a final, gurgling growl.
Silence returned.
Shiro coughed, blood dribbling from his lips.
The man knelt beside him, already pressing a hand to his side.
"You're lucky I was hunting."
The man looked down at him with steady, unreadable eyes.
"You're also reckless. But you've got teeth."
Shiro groaned. "Who… are you?"
The man tightened the cloth around his wound.
"Names Khan" he said with a deep raspy voice
"Cant let ya die today"
You got it — let's rewind just a bit and continue the fight scene, showing the bear refusing to die easily, Shiro barely holding on, and Khan fully stepping in to finish the job. This will highlight Shiro's struggle, the brutality of wild Elserune, and Khan's quiet strength.
The bear staggered, blood gushing from the spear lodged in its ribs — but it didn't fall.
Instead, it snapped its head toward Khan, eyes burning with primal fury.
It lunged.
"Move—!" Shiro rasped, but Khan was already shifting.
With the calm of someone who had danced with death a hundred times before, Khan spun aside. The bear's claw caught his shoulder, tearing through layers of leather and flesh — but he didn't flinch.
He planted his feet, pivoted, and drove the spear upward into the beast's gut with a brutal roar.
The bear reared, howling in agony.
Blood sprayed the grass.
Still, it fought.
It twisted violently, slamming its massive paw into Khan's chest — knocking the old man backward and onto one knee.
Shiro, panting and barely conscious, grabbed the rusty sword he'd dropped.
His vision doubled, but he forced himself to stand.
"Get off him!" he shouted, voice raw and broken.
The bear turned toward him, breathing ragged. It charged one last time — slow now, but relentless.
Shiro gripped the hilt with both hands.
His stance was weak. His footwork wrong. But he didn't run.
He screamed—
And brought the sword down as the bear lunged.
The rusted edge bit into flesh — not deep, not clean, but enough to draw blood.
Enough to stop it.
The bear shuddered… then Khan surged up behind it, covered in blood.
With a final war cry, he rammed the spear into the back of its skull.
Crack.
The beast collapsed — limp and heavy, eyes fading to glass.
Shiro fell to his knees.
The sword dropped from his hands.
He couldn't move.
His breath came in short, ragged gasps.
His hands were shaking. His side burned. His vision blurred.
Khan stood over the corpse, bloodied but calm.
He turned toward Shiro, eyes sharp beneath thick gray brows.
"You've got guts," he muttered. "But you swing like a drunk farmer."
He offered a hand.
Shiro blinked up at him.
"Come on, boy. Let's get you patched up before the crows come take ya."
Khan helps Shiro stand as Shiro wraps his arm around Khans shoulder he walks with a limp, Put some pep in yer step kiddo Khan says, Im moving as fast as I can—I just got mauled by a bear Shiro says with an annoyed look on his face. Khan pats Shiro on his back a little too hard and Shiro falls and is knocked unconscious, Oh… Khan stares at Shrio's body with a funny look on his face and bursts out laughing, Well oops, he picked up Shiro by the leg and dragged his body and began walking off to his destination.