Darkness clung tightly to Ren as he lay with his cheek pressed against cold earth, the dampness seeping through his skin. The ground beneath him was uneven, littered with pine needles and the rich scent of loam, filling his nose with the forest's ancient breath. Slowly, his eyes cracked open, adjusting to the dim silver light cast by two immense moons that hung low in the sky. Their pale glow illuminated gnarled branches that stretched overhead like skeletal fingers, swaying softly in a night breeze.
Disoriented, Ren's dry mouth twisted into a grimace. His fingers dug into the soil instinctively, seeking something solid to anchor him as memories flickered painfully in his mind—laughter echoing inside a car, two young voices singing, the glare of headlights—and then a violent, shattering impact. His hand flew to his skull, where a sharp ache bloomed and pulsed.
He forced himself upright with a groan, muscles screaming their protest. No signs of life—no paths, no flickering lights—only the vast expanse of forest under the twin moons. His breath caught, then steadied. He had to stay calm. He had to think.
Kneeling, Ren brushed away leaves and twigs until his hands closed around two solid stones. Testing their weight, he began striking one against the other with deliberate, practiced motions. Crack, crack, snap—a shard broke free, jagged but keen. He turned it in his hand, feeling the edge bite slightly into his palm.
"Good enough," he muttered.
Finding a fallen branch thick enough to serve, he shaved it roughly with the stone shard, sweat dripping down his brow despite the cool air. The tip took shape—crude, sharp, but deadly enough to defend himself. A makeshift spear, born of necessity.
The forest creaked and sighed around him, distant rustling and strange animal calls echoing. Ren crouched beside a cluster of tall grass, twisting and pulling strands until he had braided a rough but serviceable rope. Wrapping it around the stone and the stick, he secured his crude knife and slung it at his side. Spear in hand, he moved cautiously, every step measured, every shadow a potential threat beneath the watchful moons.
Suddenly, low growls sliced through the night.
Ren froze behind a tree, heart hammering in his chest. Three hulking shapes emerged, dark and muscular, their yellow eyes gleaming with primal hunger—dire wolves, massive and menacing. He tried to keep downwind, but a fickle breeze betrayed him. Their heads snapped toward him, nostrils flaring.
In an instant, they charged.
Ren spun, spear ready, breath deep and steady as instincts sharpened his focus. The first wolf lunged. Sidestepping just enough, he drove the spear deep into its throat. The beast gurgled and collapsed as he yanked the weapon free. No time to hesitate.
The second wolf was upon him. He raised his spear just in time, wood cracking under fierce jaws. With his free hand, he plunged the stone knife into the wolf's eye. It shrieked and twisted away, blood spraying as Ren stumbled back.
Only one remained.
The last wolf growled low, watching him carefully, muscles tensed in a battle stance. Ren's pulse slowed, mind racing. Slowly, he began to retreat, the wolf matching every step.
At the edge of a ridge, Ren steadied his grip. The wolf lunged. He raised the spear high, aiming true.
The wolf soared through the air, jaws wide open. The spear pierced through the roof of its mouth and into its skull. It jerked once, then collapsed, still and silent.
Panting, Ren's eyes darted across the clearing. The other wolves lay motionless, dark blood soaking the earth. The raw scent of iron and wet fur mingled in the cold night air.
Then, as if from nowhere, a gentle chime echoed in his mind. A translucent panel flickered into existence, glowing softly in the corner of his vision.
[You have defeated: Dire Wolf x3]
+150 EXP
[Skill Unlocked: Primal Instinct (Passive)]
Activates automatically during high-threat combat. Heightens perception and reflexes.
Ren stared, stunned. Was this some kind of game? The blood on his hands was warm. His muscles ached. The danger was real. Yet here, hovering on the edge of his vision, was proof of something else entirely.
"What... is this?" he whispered.
The glowing panel faded, leaving only the quiet forest and three still bodies.
He crouched beside a wolf, fingers brushing damp fur. It was no dream. This was real. But the interface—the experience points—the skill—this was beyond anything he understood.
Shaken but alive, Ren pushed the spear free from the wolf's skull, its wooden shaft slick with warm blood. His arms trembled with fatigue, but his resolve hardened.
He looked up, eyes reflecting the twin moons' pale light, and whispered to himself, "I'm not dead. Not yet."