The cold was worse than I expected.
I thought death would have dulled my nerves, but every step through these mountains clawed at my bones like winter had grown teeth.
The Bloodroot Mountains were nothing like the forests of Earth. The trees were tall and ancient, twisted like skeletal fingers reaching into the sky. Their bark was blackened and blistered, as if burned from the inside out. Crimson moss veined through the trunks, pulsing faintly in the dark like a heartbeat. The air was thick, wet, and smelled faintly of iron and decay — like rot had seeped into the soil long ago and never left.
No birds sang.
No insects buzzed.
Just silence.
Oppressive. Watching.
And me — a child in a stranger's skin, ribs bruised, throat dry, stomach gnawing at itself.
Every breath scraped like broken glass through my chest. The pain was constant, but dull now — a steady reminder that I was alive.
For now.
The world here wasn't just dangerous. It was cruel. Indifferent. I was just another piece of meat trying not to die.
I kept walking, dragging my feet over root-knotted trails and uneven rock. Above, a blood-orange moon had begun to rise, hanging low behind clouds like a lidless eye. Even the sky felt wrong.
Eventually, I found a narrow hollow at the base of a hill, partly hidden behind a crumbling stone outcrop. Vines draped the entrance like old bandages. The overhang was just deep enough to shelter me from the wind.
It wasn't safe.
But nothing was.
I collapsed inside, pulling my knees to my chest and curling against the cold. My fingers shook as I pressed them to my ribs. Something was cracked — maybe broken — but I couldn't afford to stop moving earlier. Here, I could barely afford to breathe.
That's when I heard it.
Crunch.
A branch snapped — heavy, deliberate. Not the wind.
I held my breath, eyes darting toward the trees beyond the hollow. The forest had gone still in a new, unnatural way. Like everything had paused.
Another crunch.
Closer now.
Then a low snort, followed by a wet, rasping inhale.
Something was breathing.
Something big.
I slid forward, slow and silent, and peered past the vines.
A massive shape moved between the trees. It was hunched, almost crawling, its limbs too long and thin for its body. Its pale skin stretched taut over bones like leather wrapped around a dying flame. Each step dragged claws through the soil, leaving deep scars in the earth. I could see its ribs pushing through its skin, like it hadn't eaten in weeks.
Its head was twisted and malformed — too wide at the jaw, too narrow at the crown, like it had been shattered and reformed by something that didn't understand anatomy. Its breath rattled, labored, dripping with thick black saliva that sizzled when it hit the moss.
Its eyes glowed.
Faintly. White. Starved. Wrong.
It wasn't just hungry.
It was hunting.
And it had found me.
My pulse hammered. My mouth went dry.
I slid back, heart thundering in my ears, and ran.
I didn't think.
Didn't plan.
Just ran.
My legs were weak, every step a scream of protest from my battered body. Trees blurred past me, shadows lunging with every flicker of moonlight. I didn't dare look back — the sound of branches snapping, the crash of weight through the underbrush, told me all I needed to know.
It was gaining.
I veered left, stumbled over a rock, slammed into a tree, and kept going. The terrain pitched downward into a slope of dead leaves and twisted roots. I half-ran, half-fell, the world spinning as I tumbled through the brush.
I crashed at the bottom, slamming into a moss-covered boulder. Pain exploded through my chest. I choked on blood and dirt, scrambling to my feet just as the beast burst through the treeline.
It landed in front of me with a bone-jarring thud.
Its body quivered, spasming like a marionette held up by invisible threads. Its eyes locked onto mine — not with hunger now.
With certainty.
It knew I couldn't run anymore.
I backed up until my shoulders hit cold stone. Nowhere left.
I grabbed a broken branch from the ground — jagged, splintered — and raised it with shaking hands. It wasn't a weapon. It was defiance.
The beast growled low, shoulders bunching like a bowstring drawn to the breaking point.
I screamed.
It lunged.
And then—
Everything slowed.
Time didn't stop. It stretched.
The colors around me faded — greens dulled to gray, reds bled into shadow. The forest blurred. Even the air thickened, syrupy and cold.
My skin prickled. The hair on my arms stood up.
And something stirred inside my mind.
Not a voice.
Not words.
Just… presence.
Awareness.
Like something deep within me had opened a single, waiting eye.
The beast struck.
I rolled — barely — and its claws tore stone instead of flesh. Sparks flared from the impact. The force knocked me back, and I screamed as I slammed into the rock wall again.
I stabbed with the branch, but it snapped like twigs against its hide.
The beast turned — paw raised.
It struck.
My body twisted.
A white-hot burst of pain. My vision shattered into fragments. Bones cracked. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.
But I didn't let go of the branch.
I thrust it forward again — not to kill. Just to push back.
And something changed.
Not outside.
Inside me.
The beast howled.
Not from pain I caused — from something else.
It jerked violently, as if something unseen had seized it. Its body spasmed, its limbs twitching like it was being shocked. It screamed again — high, keening, feral.
Then turned.
And fled.
Vanished into the trees like a ghost dissolving into mist.
I collapsed.
Blood in my mouth.
Fire in my chest.
Mud beneath my cheek.
Above me, the stars shimmered. The red one pulsed — faint, deliberate.
And then, from deep inside me, a single thought emerged — clear, cold, ancient.
"That was your first step."