Chapter 18: The Forest Trial
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The door opened quietly.
For the first time in hours, the light felt natural—not distorted or painful.
Farro stepped out of the narrow compartment, which felt more like an isolation capsule than a mode of transport.
The floor of the aircraft trembled faintly beneath his feet. The scent of fuel mixed with distant mud slipped in through the open hatch. In front of him sat nine other examinees, their ages ranging from sixteen to eighteen, their faces tense, eyes scanning shadows and each other—searching for threats… or opportunities.
A low mechanical voice buzzed from the speaker:
"Welcome to the fourth phase of the exam. You will be dropped into the Eriksa Forest, a high-risk, monitored zone."
"The goal is simple: survive for seven days. Every step, every action, every interaction... will be counted."
"Remember... there are no rules. Points will be awarded based on performance. By the end, only seven will advance."
No one spoke.
The plane's doors suddenly opened.
A blast of wind hit them. Then—Farro was pushed out.
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Day One – 06:00 a.m.
His body crashed through thick roots, slamming his side against a moss-covered rock.
He gasped the hot, moisture-laden air and stood slowly.
He opened the small supplied bag:
A short knife
One water flask
A signal flare
A black cloth band etched with unknown symbols
He examined the ground—footprints. Not human.
The forest was unnaturally quiet. No birds. No insects.
He moved.
Each step was calculated, as if the forest itself was watching.
He covered roughly a kilometer in three hours, analyzing plants, testing light patterns, tasting leaves.
He found a violet fruit on a low shrub—tested it on his skin. No irritation.
He ate half.
By sunset, he had built a crude shelter from thick branches and oversized leaves.
He slept directly on the ground. Eyes open for a long while.
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Day Two – 07:40 a.m.
He woke to dripping sounds.
Rain had begun. Gently.
He left the shelter, followed the soft echo of running water, and found a narrow stream. Clean.
He refilled his flask.
On his way back, he noticed scratch marks on a nearby tree—three deep, irregular lines.
Large animal… or something worse.
Farro's body stayed calm, but his nerves sharpened.
He spent the day mapping the area. No attacks. No sightings.
But something was moving in the shadows.
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Day Three – Near Sunset
The sun had begun to dip, casting a blood-orange glow over the towering trees.
Farro sat on a flat stone, tying his leg with a strip torn from his shirt. The first few days in the forest had made him cautious. Every small sound could mean danger.
Suddenly... everything stopped.
The wind… the insects… even the birds vanished.
"Unnatural silence..." he muttered.
Then he heard it.
A deep, low growl—like it rose from the earth's core.
From the mist, the first creature appeared.
It looked like a wolf, but its skin was bluish-gray, and its eyes glowed green. Nearly two meters tall, with unnaturally taut muscles.
Then the second emerged… from the opposite side. Sleeker, but with longer fangs, and two tails that moved independently in eerie rhythm.
"Magical beasts…" Farro said calmly, standing slowly and pulling his small knife. It wasn't enough—but it was all he had.
The first wolf lunged.
Farro ducked low, slashing its hind leg. The beast barely flinched, circling back with caution.
The second struck from the side!
Farro barely raised his arm—its fangs sank into his shoulder.
A quiet gasp of pain escaped him, but he didn't fall.
Instead… he twisted, stabbed the beast in the side, and pushed it down with his body. The ground trembled with their weight.
But the first wolf didn't wait.
It leapt high—its claw tore through Farro's abdomen.
Everything froze.
The knife dropped.
Blood flowed.
Farro's breath caught—and he began to fall backward, as if time shattered.
...
Then—something strange happened.
The grass around him began to wither.
The air grew heavier.
The color of the shadows deepened.
His fallen body began to shiver… and his half-closed eyes flashed dark violet.
Something had awakened.
---
The beasts stepped back—an instinctive fear.
Suddenly, without warning—a wave of dense black energy burst from his body.
It was as if the earth itself rejected contact with him.
His body hovered slightly above the ground… arms limp, blood pouring—but a terrifying aura surrounded him.
The first wolf charged.
A mistake.
In a blink, Farro's body twisted like a predator. His blood-soaked hand pierced the creature's throat with shocking force.
The beast collapsed, dead.
The second turned to flee—but Farro, or what resembled him now, appeared before it in an instant… and looked into its eyes.
The beast collapsed from sheer terror.
Then… Farro's body fell, motionless.
The creature fled.
Silence returned.
...
Light footsteps approached.
A hand touched his neck gently, checking for a pulse.
"He's still alive…" said a low female voice.
Calm, gray eyes looked down at him.
"He would've died… but he fought to the end. That's interesting."
Ira was there. Standing beside him—for the first time.
Then she knelt, began cleaning his wounds.
"I don't usually help strangers… but you're not like any other examinee."
...
The scene faded slowly, the sun vanishing behind the trees.
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Day Four – 08:30 a.m.
When Farro woke, his body ached—dull, persistent pain pulsing through his side and shoulder. He was lying beneath a crude tarp of leaves, his wounds wrapped tightly in clean cloth.
Ira sat nearby, sharpening a blade against stone. She hadn't spoken since the night before.
"Why did you help me?" he finally asked, his voice rough.
She glanced at him but didn't stop the motion. "Because you didn't scream."
"…That's a reason?"
"It is to me."
Farro said nothing.
That day, they moved together through the forest. She kept ahead—silent, focused, like someone used to surviving alone. Farro followed slowly, his body weak but functional. They didn't speak much, but each observed the other.
That night, they camped in silence, sharing no fire.
---
Day Five – 10:00 a.m.
They encountered another pair of examinees—two boys, older, overconfident. One tried to threaten Ira. The other reached for Farro's bag.
Neither walked away unscathed.
Farro didn't remember the moment clearly—only the flash of something dark crawling beneath his skin, a pulse behind his eyes, the crack of bone.
When it ended, Ira looked at him longer than usual.
"You don't know what's inside you," she said.
"I don't care."
"Then it'll eat you."
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Day Six – 12:20 p.m.
They split paths that morning.
No goodbyes.
Farro preferred it that way.
Alone again, he returned to silence—though the forest no longer felt still. He had begun to notice things others wouldn't: the tremble of the soil before beasts passed, the curling of leaves near strange energy, how the trees leaned away when he stared too long.
He didn't feel human anymore.
He wasn't sure if he ever had.
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Day Seven – 05:47 p.m.
Rain fell.
The light was grey and wet, and Farro sat beneath a wide tree, dripping and cold, staring into the void.
No beasts came.
No voices.
Just wind and breath.
His bandages were soaked. His body had begun to heal, but his eyes held a deeper weight.
He whispered something to no one.
A name. Or a thought. Maybe a memory.
Then he stood.
Walked forward.
And vanished into the shadows of the forest—
As the seventh and final sunset bathed the trees in blood-colored light.