The terrain had shifted again.
After three days of moving north, Rey reached a rocky plateau bordered by twisted black trees and dry, cracked soil. The air was thin here, but not quiet. Distant growls and occasional screeches rode the wind. He had learned not to flinch anymore—only listen, observe, and move forward with purpose.
His cloak, stitched from beast hide, flapped faintly in the wind. Wet soil still coated parts of his arms and legs, dulling his scent. Every movement was calculated, every breath measured. Two years of surviving the Abyss had honed him into a ghost.
The path grew steep, and Rey began to climb. Hands gripping jagged rocks, feet steady on uneven ledges, he pulled himself up the cliffside.
Then he froze.
Above, across a distant ridge, shadows moved.
Rey quickly ducked behind a protruding rock, peering through a slit between stone and moss.
A group of humanoid figures stood near the cliff's edge. Tall, thin, and muscular. Their skin was dark green, almost black, like decayed forest leaves. They wore scraps of armor and bone, some holding spears made from metal fused with organic material—shimmering blades with jagged edges.
At first glance, Rey's mind screamed "elves." His world had myths and stories—elegant beings of the forests, wielding nature's magic. But these… were not them.
Their eyes glowed faintly amber. Their movements were precise. They did not speak, but they communicated—through hand gestures, head nods, and eerie, clicking sounds. One of them sniffed the air, suddenly alert. Another pointed west.
Rey backed away slowly, crawling down the slope, heart thumping against his ribs.
They're not elves. And they're definitely hunting something…
Just as he reached safer ground, the wind shifted.
Rey sensed it before he heard it—a change in the silence. A distortion.
A shadow.
It appeared behind him—without sound, without warning.
Goosebumps flared down Rey's spine.
He spun around, drawing his blade in one swift motion, but nothing was there.
Or rather, it moved before his eyes could register it. A blur of black mist, drifting like smoke yet somehow alive. The only thing he caught—a faint glimmer of two golden pupils watching him from the darkness.
Then it was gone.
Rey's breath caught in his throat. He remained perfectly still, eyes wide, blade ready.
The forest around him returned to normal. No rustling. No wind. Just the weight of that presence still lingering in the air.
He clenched his jaw. "Something's following me…"
He didn't wait to confirm it.
Rey turned and ran—not blindly, but carefully, zigzagging through terrain, leaving false tracks, brushing away footprints as he went. It was a trick he'd perfected. Let them follow a shadow while he vanished into the earth.
By nightfall, he had found a cave under a dead tree's roots, camouflaged it with branches, and slipped inside. The warmth of the soil embraced him like an old companion, but he didn't sleep.
His thoughts kept circling the cliff.
Those humanoid beings.
And that shadow.
None of this felt like coincidence anymore.
The Abyss was changing.
And now, it knew his name.
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