The morning was quiet when Escanor opened his eyes. The fire from the night before had burned down to gray ash. Smoke still rose in thin lines, curling toward the roof of the cave. He sat up, stretched his arms, and touched his leg where the wolf had bitten him. The wound was gone, only a scar left behind. His body healed faster than it should. Faster than what he thought was possible. He stood and stepped outside. The forest greeted him with cold air and birdsong. The trees stretched high, blocking most of the sky, but beams of sunlight slipped through, painting the ground with gold. Escanor breathed in deeply. The air was fresh, almost too clean. It made him feel alive. "This is my life now," he whispered. The cave gave him a place to sleep, but it wasn't enough. He needed more. He needed a home. He spent his days cutting branches and dragging logs from the forest. At first, it was hard. His hands blistered, his back hurt, and sweat poured down his face. But each day, the work became easier. His muscles grew stronger, his grip harder. Soon, carrying heavy logs felt natural, as if his body wanted more weight, more challenge. He built walls from stakes, hammered into the ground with stones. He wove vines between them, filling the gaps with leaves and moss. He made a roof with branches layered thick, so the rain would slide off instead of falling inside. He shaped a door from the broken barrel he had found and tied it with rope made from bark. It creaked loudly, but it worked. Inside, he raised a bed off the ground. He covered it with moss and furs from the deer he caught. It wasn't soft, but it was warm. He made racks above the fire to dry food. He shaped bowls from clay he dug by the river. Some cracked, some broke, but a few survived, and those were enough. After weeks of work, the cave wasn't just a shelter. It was his home. Survival was only the beginning. Escanor knew the forest was dangerous. Wolves, maybe worse. He needed to grow stronger. Every morning he ran. At first, he ran small circles around the clearing. Then he ran to the river and back. Soon he was running longer paths, weaving through trees, leaping over roots, his breath steady. His legs carried him faster each day. At noon, he lifted stones and logs. He pressed them above his head, carried them across the clearing, stacked them in piles. His arms and shoulders thickened, his chest grew broad, and his body felt solid like oak. At dusk, he trained with the sword. The blade was rusted, but it was steel. He cut marks into a tree and struck them again and again. Step forward. Slash. Step back. Parry. His movements were clumsy at first, but his muscles remembered. Escanor's old life in Spain returned in flashes—training yards, wooden swords, the voice of a captain shouting orders. His hands moved with a rhythm he didn't fully understand, but he trusted it. The more he trained, the more his body responded. He healed fast, stronger each day. It was like the forest was forging him into something new. At night, when he lay on his bed of moss, memories came. Some from his old life in 2025. Some from Escanor's life in Spain. 2025 came in flashes—headlights on the highway, the bitter taste of cheap coffee, the glow of a phone in the dark. Small things. Ordinary things. Spain came louder. The clatter of swords. Streets of stone. The smell of fish and tar at the docks. A woman washing clothes in cold water. The chant of priests in dim chapels. And above all, the sea—the ship that had carried Escanor west, the sails snapping in the wind, the captain's deep voice: "We sail where no map dares. Bring back proof. Bring back glory." Escanor realized his mind held both lives perfectly. He never forgot. Every detail stayed sharp, like carvings in stone. A panorama of memory, both past and future. Days became weeks. Weeks became months. The forest changed, and Escanor changed with it. In spring, flowers bloomed high in the branches. Bees hummed, and fruit swelled, sweet and plentiful. Escanor hunted deer, skinned them, and smoked the meat. At first, it was messy work, but each attempt improved. Soon he had hides for warmth and meat that lasted weeks. Summer brought heavy heat. The air buzzed with insects. Escanor dug a pit by the river, lined it with stones, and filled it with cold water. He kept fish alive there, fresh until he needed them. He trained harder under the sun, running longer, lifting more, his sweat dripping into the dirt. Autumn painted the forest in red and gold. Leaves fell like fire, crunching under his boots. He gathered berries and roots, storing what he could. He sharpened spears and reinforced his walls. Wolves howled in the distance, but they never came close. Not anymore. Winter was the true test. Snow fell thick, covering the clearing in white silence. The cold bit into his bones, but his fire burned strong, his walls held, and the hides wrapped around him like armor. The forest grew quiet. Every track in the snow told a story—rabbits, foxes, wolves testing the fence but never daring to cross. Escanor studied them all, learning to read the forest like a book. And then, as the snow melted, green shoots pushed through the black earth. Birds sang louder. The same flowers bloomed again. The same star shone above the trees. Escanor touched the pole where he had carved a notch for each sunrise. The line was long now, hundreds of cuts. He traced it with his finger and smiled. A year had passed. He walked to the river and looked at his reflection. The man staring back was not the same one who had woken on the beach. His shoulders were broad, his chest strong, his arms scarred but steady. His jaw was sharp, his eyes hard. He looked like a warrior. He looked like someone who belonged in this world. The boy from 2025 was gone. The soldier from Spain had grown stronger. Together they had become something new. Escanor tightened his grip on the sword. He could feel the fire in his chest, steady and alive. "This is just the beginning," he whispered. The forest stretched wide around him, untamed and waiting. He had survived a year alone. He had built, he had fought, he had grown. And now, he was ready for more.