Since that day, I've done nothing but travel.
Not to seek fortune, not for purpose, not even for redemption. Just to keep moving. Just to stay alive.
I taught myself how to survive in an age where humans are fading like smoke. In these lands, people vanish in the blink of an eye—swallowed by the dark woods, dragged into the shadows by monsters that have no name, no mercy, no reason. Or they're trodden on by the power of creatures that walk and talk like us but are not like us. Elves, dwarves, orcs, and all the rest beyond: human-shaped beings of unimaginable power, magic running in their veins, and no love left for man.
There are some who remember a time of peace. I don't.
There's only ever been fear for me.
But I survived. Not because I was destined to. Not because I was a hero. But because I had no other choice. When everything you have is left to ashes behind you, there is only one way to go: forward.
I've wandered through ancient forests where even the trees whisper threats in languages long dead. I've crossed plains littered with the bones of forgotten battles, where spirits still weep beneath the soil. I've slept in ruins, hidden in hollowed logs, crawled through tunnels where the wind itself feels like it's watching you.
Others would have labeled that an adventure. They'd imagine me as a lone hero, charting treacherous landscapes, overcoming odds. But running isn't heroic. That's all I've done—run. From place to place. From shadow to shadow. From one barely-won breath to the next.
When I saw monsters, I ran. Always. No doubt.
Fight was never an option—not for one such as I, not without arms, friends, or anything to cling to.
If I couldn't run, I tried. Even if it was jumping off a cliff, diving into rivers, crawling through thorns. I've left pieces of myself behind in those escapes—wounds I no longer bother to count. Limbs I've learned to hide.
But when it wasn't beasts I found—when it was the humanoids—I played a different game.
Because they think. They judge. They compute.
That makes them threatening, but also. predictable.
If I could not escape them, I negotiated. I lied, I pleaded, I negotiated. I practiced reading their eyes, their posture, the tone of their voice. I read what they valued—pride, power, money—and used it when I needed to. I've sold falsified names and falsified assurances. I've traded secrets in exchange for a safe route through. I've knelt when I wished to spit. I've smiled when I wished to yell.
Sometimes it was effective. Sometimes not.
I have been beaten. Chained. Hunted.
But I survived.
That is the only thing that keeps a person going in a place like this. No rewards for honor. No honor in heroism. Just the sound of your own feet carrying you away from the things you left behind. The things you gave up.
Every transaction cost. Every path I took closed others to me for good. And now, I don't remember the last time I looked at another human face and saw a friend, not an enemy.
I don't remember the last time I slept with one eye open.
The last time I dreamed of anything except fire.
Sometimes, as I look up at the starry night sky, I wonder how many there are left. Still running. Still hiding. Still hoping that something better awaits on the other side of the next hill.
I used to believe in that.
Now, I just believe in surviving until tomorrow.
But even that is becoming hard.