The night in the Abyss was always cold, but this night felt different—colder, sharper, and strangely alert. The kind of silence that made even monsters hesitate.
Rey sat deep in his underground shelter, sharpening his tooth-blade by the dim flicker of an oil-soaked rag. His heart hadn't stopped pounding since he returned from the stone spiral ridge. He kept replaying the moment—the heartbeat in the stone, the faint whisper from the darkness.
But what disturbed him most wasn't what he saw.
It was the feeling that something saw him.
He sealed the shelter's entrance with care, layering soil, branches, and woven threads of beast silk. Then he pressed his ear to the stone wall.
Nothing.
Only his own shallow breath.
He leaned back and closed his eyes for rest, but it didn't come. His thoughts were too loud.
Suddenly—
A distant howl.
Long. Deep. Not like the usual wild beasts.
This was measured.
Rey's eyes shot open. That wasn't random. It was a signal.
Moments later, a second howl answered it. Then a third.
From three different directions.
He jumped to his feet and put out the flame. In the dark, he quietly packed his essentials—dried monster meat, his carved spear, and the rope he'd made from spider silk.
As he slung the pack onto his back, the soil above trembled.
Something was approaching.
Not one, but many.
Rey's mind raced.
"They're tracking me," he whispered. "No… they're tracking the ruins."
That was the only explanation. His disturbance of the ancient seal must have triggered something. Maybe it had always been protected—or guarded.
He could stay and fight, or try to run.
But fighting unknown creatures in unfamiliar terrain?
Suicide.
He grabbed a sealed flask filled with a beast's digestive fluid—his last resort weapon. It could corrode even stone. Hopefully, it would buy him time if cornered.
Then he unsealed the hidden exit—a tight crawlspace he had prepared months ago. Rey squirmed through, heart pounding against his ribs.
Above, the howls grew closer. He could now hear movement. Clawed feet over stone. Low growls. The creatures weren't talking—they were communicating.
And they were converging.
As Rey emerged from the crawlspace into the forest, a soft wind brushed his face. It carried a faint scent—rot and iron.
He didn't turn back. He sprinted north, weaving between trees, leaping over dead roots and broken ground.
But even as he ran, something gnawed at his thoughts.
They weren't after him randomly.
They knew something.
Maybe even about him.
"Human blood…" he muttered.
That shadowy figure from before—what had he said?
'Human blood is rare. It can change status.'
Was he being hunted?
Not for food—but for glory?
Rey's lungs burned. He stopped at a ridge and ducked into a crevice, covering himself with leaves and dirt.
From his hiding spot, he saw them.
Dozens of dark shapes moving across the forest.
They weren't beast-like.
They were disciplined.
And in the center of the formation was a tall figure in bone armor, walking upright, its head crowned with horns twisted like roots.
It paused.
Sniffed the air.
Then… looked straight toward the ridge where Rey was hiding.
Even though Rey was certain he couldn't be seen… their eyes met.
For a heartbeat.
Then the creature turned away, as if to say: "Not yet."
---
Rey didn't move.
He didn't breathe.
The hunt had begun.
But the game was far from over.
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