The sun is an eye. An uncaring ball of light watching my every move. I hate it. I always have.
Today, I hate it for no simpler reason: it is trying to cook me.
I have been in this downed forest for three days. Three days of forcing down mushrooms and moss infested twigs. No allies. No food. No place to call home.
Nothing to break the silence—except the voice that now lives in my head.
I sink into the shade of a hollowed oak tree.
My legs buckle, pulling me to my knees before I even decide if I want to sit.
The temple tried to have me killed. Slaughtered, no different from a pig. A sanctuary built on platitudes and peaceful sermons for no reason decides to turn to manslaughter?
Unlikely.
I want to know why, but a man does not walk back into the slaughter house to ask the butcher why he raised his blade.
I have questions, but I will have to find the answers myself. I'll find who signed off on my life. What else do I have to do?
"Materdea" I spit internally calling out to the self acclaimed celestial in my head.
"What do you want?" Her voice slides through my mind, like a blade through flesh. Smooth. Annoying
"Why did the temple try to have me killed?"
"I don't know" She replies dripping with mock innocence
"Did you perhaps do something wrong?"
I've come to understand certain things about Materdea; She doesn't know everything— she knows close to nothing actually. Her voice is always sarcastic.
I've come to hate certain things about her too.
I hate her tone,
I hate that I cannot scrub her out of my flesh. And I hate that I only draw breath because of her.
I woke up healed, completely. No wounds from the poison or the fall.
Her voice was the first sound I heard.
While she is an arrogant, good for nothing menace, she is also the reason I am alive.
I begged Korvus, I did. She was the one who answered.
I don't serve a god who abandons his own. Call it damnation if you want—at least she showed up
I sever the connection, shutting her out before she can slide into another insult. Talking to her is a waste of time. And time is a luxury I cannot afford to waste.
I lay back down hunger gnawing at my stomach.
While I am healed—praise be to my new god— I am still hungry. Mushrooms are a joke; I need blood and fat. Real food.
I need to hunt. Not a monster, not a boar with tusks like scythes.I couldn't possibly win.
Something small. Docile. A young herbivore separated from the herd. Something I can kill fast, eat raw if I have to, and survive another day.
High reward. Zero risk. That's how the dead stay breathing.
There are certain problems however. I cannot hunt, I do not have a weapon, and energy is leaving my body with every passing second
I turn my hand over
"How possible is it that this mark can help me?" I ask
"Can you use it" Materdea asked, as if she doesn't already know that I can't.
"No" I humour her
"Then it's a useless black smudge on your brown hands"
I am alone, but I cannot despair. Not when the men that tried to kill me still live. I pull myself up with the tree and snap one of its branches.
I sharpen its tip with a rock. I know it is sharp enough when it pricks my hand and draws blood.
Now, I hunt.
This forest is empty, void of life. I never noticed it before, but aside from me, there is nothing here.
Then—a rustle behind a bush.
A herbivore, grazing just steps away.
I crouch, inching forward as slowly as my trembling muscles allow. Through the brush, I spot brown hide. It's on its side, asleep.
Lucky me. Korvus and his karma can rot.
I tighten my grip on the spear. I arch my back, wind up, and throw with everything I have left.
Crack.
I miss.
The animal bolts up, scanning for its assailant. It turns—a boar—and locks eyes with me. Korvus, you
sick thing.
It charges. I dive. It misses by an inch, slamming headfirst into a tree behind me. I hit the mud, covered in grime. The boar thrashes, tusk caught in the bark.
No time to think.
I scramble toward my spear. No retreating now. I've taunted it, and now I have to kill it.
I snatch the weapon just as the beast rips free. White foam dripping from its jaw. A feral boar, praised be Korvus.
We freeze. Man and beast, daring each other to move.
"Come on then," I yell. "Let's get this over with, you oversized pig."
It charges. I step side.
Mistake.
The beast twists mid-stride, pivoting with terrifying speed. Its massive flank rams into me full-force. A tusk gouges my arm. Air escapes from my lungs as I'm sent tumbling through the dirt, blood painting my hands.
Pain shoots up my spine, but it's nothing compared to the poison arrow, even less compared to the fall.
I slam against a trunk, coming to a dead halt. The boar is already turning, winding up for another run. I grab the spear off the ground, holding my ground, baiting it.
Patience Cassian… patience...
I roll. It thunders past. I thrust upward—sinking the point deep into its side.
The boar squeals, thrashing violently. The wood groans before it snaps
The shaft shatters. A cheap branch. Now I'm left with a blunt stub—barely a staff.
The boar spins back around, rabid with pain. This is it. The final run.
It charges, slower this time, but heavier. I don't run. I stand my ground.
Three paces. Two paces. One.
I duck left and drive the broken shaft straight up into its belly. The beast shrieks, momentum carrying it past me until it plows into a tree.
Its legs give out. It collapses into the dirt.
I stand over it, chest heaving, head throbbing, hands trembling around a broken stick.
I did it.
Korvus has tried to kill me twice, and I've survived both times. Hard to believe he's responsible for the cosmos. He ought to retire. He makes a pathetic god. Both of justice, and of death.