The ground beneath Ethan's feet shook with every step the armored warrior took. Its shadow swallowed the trees behind it, as if the forest itself bowed to its presence. Black armor clung to its massive body, gleaming faintly under the twin moons above. From the cracks along its metal plates, a sinister red glow pulsed—like the heartbeat of a beast impatient to strike.
The creature's sword rose high, then slammed into the earth. The impact shattered the ground, sent dirt flying, and threw Ethan off balance. Dust filled the air, stinging his lungs as he coughed and struggled to breathe.
He scrambled backward, his trembling hand clutching the glowing stylus. "What the hell… I just… I just drew…"
His eyes darted to where his first creation—the wolf of light—had been moments ago. Gone. Shattered apart, scattered into nothing but faint sparks that fizzled out in the air.
But the knight remained. Towering. Real. No longer a sketch, no longer imagination. Solid, tangible. Worse than that—it seemed aware.
Its blazing eyes turned, locking on him. The stare wasn't hollow. It wasn't empty. It was filled with hatred. Murderous intent.
Ethan's throat tightened. Blood felt like it froze in his veins. "Did… did I really make that?"
His legs stumbled backward on their own, while his right hand rose shakily. He tried to draw something—anything. A line of light appeared in the air but fizzled almost immediately, vanishing as if the world had rejected it. His strength drained away in the process. His knees buckled.
So every stroke eats away at me… he thought in panic. The bigger it is, the more real… the more it takes.
The knight growled, the sound metallic, like grinding steel. Its sword shifted with a screech, heavy footsteps pounding closer, the earth trembling under its weight.
"No, no, no, no—" Ethan muttered, voice cracking. His instincts screamed. Stay here, and he would die.
He turned and ran.
The forest swallowed him in an endless maze. Branches whipped his face, roots clawed at his ankles, damp soil made him slip more than once. His breath rasped, throat raw, heart hammering like it wanted out of his chest.
But the footsteps followed.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The ground seemed to move with the armored giant.
Ethan risked a glance over his shoulder. The knight was there, closing the distance, sword raised, red eyes burning brighter.
"Why… why the hell did I draw something like that?!" His voice cracked into a near sob. "Why not a shield, or a horse, or—anything useful?!"
His foot caught on a root, and he crashed to the ground, knees slamming hard. Pain shot up his legs, but fear drowned it out. Desperately, he spun around, stylus raised.
He dragged a line in the air. A circle. His hand shook, the light wavered, faltered—and broke apart like water dissolving into air.
"No! Damn it!" He slammed his fist against the ground, breath ragged, tears blurring his vision. "Why can't I do it?!"
The knight's footsteps grew louder. Closer. Trees shivered, leaves rained down, the air itself felt heavy. Out of the night fog, the silhouette loomed—giant, unstoppable.
The sword lifted high.
Ethan froze, eyes wide, pale as death. Every part of him screamed that this was it. This world, this strange nightmare, would end his life before he even understood it.
And then—everything stopped.
The knight halted mid-step. Its sword still raised, but unmoving, as though an invisible hand restrained it. The crimson glow in its armor pulsed faster, brighter, then dimmed.
Slowly, stiffly, its head turned—not toward Ethan, but away. Without lowering its blade, the knight turned its back and walked into the shadows of the forest. Each step echoed less and less, until the sound faded into the night.
Ethan sat there, sprawled in the dirt, lungs burning as he gasped. His wide eyes stayed fixed on the direction the monster had vanished.
"What… the hell… just happened…?" His voice cracked, barely audible.
The stylus in his grip had gone dim, no different from an ordinary pen. Yet Ethan knew—this wasn't ordinary. This was the thing that had birthed that nightmare.
With shaking fingers, he tightened his hold on it. "If it can bring something like that to life… then there must be rules. Something that makes it possible."
He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, but every time he blinked, he saw those burning red eyes again. That look wasn't random—it carried a promise. I am your shadow. I will return.
The night thickened. Strange insects buzzed, the wind carried damp, earthy scents. Ethan leaned against a massive tree trunk, his body trembling. Cold sweat trickled down his temple, mingling with the tears he hadn't realized were there.
For the first time, the full weight of his situation hit him. He was truly alone, trapped in an unfamiliar world, with no map, no guidance, no answers. The only thing he had was this stylus—and the horrifying truth that it could just as easily kill him as save him.
"If I can create monsters… then I should be able to make something else. A shield. Food. Anything to help me survive," he whispered, more to convince himself than to state fact.
But beneath that thin veil of hope, another fear gnawed at him: that every line he drew didn't just give life—it invited disaster.
He slid down the tree, covering his face with both hands. His body ached, his mind swirled. Yet somewhere deep inside the chaos, a spark flickered. Small, fragile, but there:
"If I want to survive… I have to learn. I have to figure out how this works."
He didn't know how long he sat there, waiting for his heart to calm, for his breath to steady. But one truth remained unshakable—the knight wasn't finished with him.
And Ethan knew… sooner or later, they would meet again.