The sound of running water grew clearer. It was no longer a distant echo, but a steady flow that struck softly against the stones. The very air seemed fresher, more humid.
Erian quickened his pace, dragging his feet clumsily, until his knees gave out and he fell forward.
His palms struck colder ground, and at once he felt the liquid sliding between his fingers. His heart leapt. On hands and knees, he searched. There it was: a flowing stream.
Without hesitation, Erian plunged his hands into the water and brought them to his mouth in desperation. The icy liquid rushed down his throat. He drank until his stomach was full.
For a moment, he stayed still, breathing heavily. The water had moistened his cracked lips and rough tongue. Erian felt such overwhelming relief that his eyes filled with tears.
He trembled, not from cold, but because he could finally breathe without fear. He was certain he would not die there.
The water still ran cool between his fingers when Erian drew his hands back. The relief of having drunk his fill was so great it almost made him feel guilty for the momentary calm that washed over him.
His chest no longer burned with every breath, and his throat had regained its moisture.
Yet the quenching his thirst only made another absence clearer: hunger.
His stomach rumbled with a deep, stabbing pain. It was different from thirst. The lack of water had dried him out. But hunger was an emptiness that clenched and uncurled inside him.
The pain made him curl up, pressing his arms against his abdomen. He took a deep breath, as if that could trick his body. It didn't work.
He didn't want to leave the stream to search for food. The sound of flowing water was his only point of reference. To stray meant losing the water, risking another uncertain, exhausting march that could end in death. So he decided to stay close, within reach of that murmur.
With effort, Erian pushed himself up. Dizziness hit him at once. A buzzing filled his ears, and the ground seemed to tilt beneath his feet. He steadied himself on one knee, breathing slowly until the vertigo eased.
Then he stretched his hands forward and moved toward the nearby trees, always keeping the sound of the stream in mind so as not to lose his way.
The trunks were dry. Feeling them, he noticed they had no living bark, only cracked layers that crumbled beneath his touch like dust.
He slid his hands up the trunks, searching for low branches, for leaves or anything he could tear offf. He found nothing. Only dead wood.
He kept trying with other trees, one after another, until his fingers were full of splinters. There were no fresh leaves, no fruit hanging from the branches.
The very smell in the air confirmed it: nothing green, nothing alive. Everything was dry.
Hunger grew worse. The stabbing pain in his stomach spread toward his chest and lower back. It was a pain that turned into dizziness, making him feel nauseous even though there was nothing to expel.
Erian forced himself to lean against a trunk as he caught his breath, his forehead pressed to the rough wood. His breathing was slow.
When he had recovered a little, he knelt on the ground. Maybe there, he thought, he might find something: roots or stalks hidden beneath the earth.
Erian dug his fingers into the hard surface, but the earth was dry, almost like stone. He clawed at it with his nails, scraping until his skin tore. He managed only to loosen some dust and brittle dirt.
He found nothing.
He moved to another spot and tried again. Again nothing. Not even a dry sprout, not a trace of moisture that might signal a fungus.
A stronger wave of dizziness forced him to sit down, back against a trunk. Erian closed his eyes and waited for the world to stop spinning around him.
Then he decided to follow the stream's edge, always staying close to the sound of water. If there was anything edible, perhaps it would be there, where moisture might sustain some form of life.
Erian rose unsteadily, arms outstretched to keep his balance. He walked slowly, dragging his feet across the ground to avoid tripping on loose stones.
The sound of the water guided him as he occasionally felt along the soil with his hands, hoping to find stalks, grasses, or even moss clinging to the rocks along the bank. He found nothing.
The water ran, but there was no vegetation around it. No floating leaves, no grasses sprouting by the current.
The riverbank was barren, as if the presence of the stream were a recent phenomenon. As if that water had sprung from nothing, too new for anything to have yet grown around it.
After a stretch that felt endless, he stopped. He couldn't keep going, hoping to find fruits or roots that didn't exist.
The stream was still there, its sound constant, but all around there were no signs of life.
Erian fell to his knees. He drew a deep breath, trying to stay calm, but the pain in his gut forced him to curl up. He couldn't keep waiting. If he didn't find something soon, his body would not endure.
With a decisive motion, he plunged his hands into the soft earth of the bank. He no longer searched for roots or herbs, he searched for insects, any trace of small life that might offer nutrients.
He dug with his fingers, scraping through layers of damp earth, feeling the mud stick to his nails and skin. At first he found nothing. He kept at it, moving the soil faster, even as his fingers ached and pebbles cut into his hands.
At last, he felt a faint movement. Something stirred among the loosened dirt. Erian clumsily caught it, bringing it to his mouth before he could think twice. The taste was bitter, earthy, but he chewed and swallowed.
Erian repeated the process. He dug further, pulling out small insects that barely moved in the damp soil, and ate them one by one. Each swallow was rough, hard to get down, but his body welcomed even that tiny amount of sustenance.
When he found no more, he stayed still, hands covered in mud, breathing heavily. The hunger hadn't disappeared, but the pain in his gut eased just enough to stop being unbearable.
Erian pressed his forehead against the damp earth. The water had saved him from thirst, and now the insects gave him a small reprieve from hunger.
It was no feast, nor what he would have wished for, but it was enough to keep him alive a little longer.
Then, a sound made him lift his head at once. A sound like something soft dropping onto the earth.
His heart leapt. Erian crawled toward the sound, fumbling frantically across the ground. He touched something different. It was not hard or rough, but soft, cold to the touch, with an uneven, yielding texture. He held it in both hands, gauging its shape.
It was round and small. It smelled sweet.
Erian didn't think long. Hunger was stronger than any caution, more powerful than the voice reminding him he didn't know where the fruit had come from or if it was safe to eat.
He brought it to his lips, feeling the dampness cling to them. He bit carefully at first, almost afraid to waste the treasure.
Juice slid across his tongue. It was sweet, but not cloying. The taste had something wild about it, as if it had absorbed the strength of the earth and the sun. He chewed slowly, letting each piece linger in his mouth as long as possible before swallowing.
As he ate, the cramps in his legs eased slightly, and the dizziness receded a little. His stomach, once a painful knot, began to relax.
With each bite, a strange warmth spread through his body, as if the food were lighting embers inside him.
Erian felt no nausea, no discomfort. Only a growing relief, as if his muscles and mind were beginning to remember what it was to have energy. Between bites, almost without noticing, he began to breathe more deeply.
Were there more fruits like that nearby? Erian didn't know from what tree it had fallen, or even if there were more.
He sat again, leaning his back against the trunk, and let the feeling of partial satiety settle in.
The hunger had not vanished completely, but it had retreated enough to give him space for other thoughts.
He couldn't help but wonder why he was still alive. The day before, the cold had pierced his bones; the night, with its heavy silence and lurking danger, had left him exhausted; and now, somehow, hunger had not defeated him.
Each time he thought he was at the edge of the end, something intervened. A fallen fruit. An improbable sip of water. The smallest opportunity.
Perhaps it was luck. Perhaps not. Perhaps something, or someone, was watching him from afar.
Could it be the God of Ruin?, he wondered.
The thought unsettled him. He rubbed his hands, wiping the sticky remains of juice against the coarse fabric of his clothes.
Erian closed his eyes for a moment, just to rest, but the faint rustle of leaves to his left forced him to open them at once. He held his breath. He heard nothing more. Perhaps only the wind, or some insect hidden in the brush.
He stayed still, muscles tense, until calm returned to the place. Then, he exhaled slowly.
Erian could not afford the luxury of distraction. His body's fragility made him easy prey, and any carelessness could cost him more than he was willing to lose.
He decided not to move for a while. Saving energy became as important a priority as finding food or water.
The sun climbed higher, and the heat began to build. The fruit had been a gift, but a fleeting one. He needed more, and he knew it. His body would not last long on such scarce finds.
Still, in that moment, leaning against the trunk and with the sweet taste still on his tongue, he allowed himself a moment of silent gratitude.
He didn't know whether he was giving thanks to luck, to the earth, or to something he could not name, like the God of Ruin. But he did.
Because in the middle of a place that seemed designed to strip him of everything, he had received a reminder that, at least for now, he was alive.