The jungle had always been dark, but never like this.
Ahayue sat hunched beside the dying embers of his fire, chest still heaving from the nightmare that refused to let go. His body bore no cuts, no bruises, no claw-marks—but the pain lingered in his bones, a memory carved deeper than flesh. He could still hear the beasts whispering, could still feel their claws scraping through him.
He gripped the broken spear tight, as if the splinters might anchor him to the waking world. It was only a dream. Only a dream.
But the jungle said otherwise.
The air was wrong—too still, too heavy. Not even the insects dared to hum. Leaves hung limp, untouched by breeze, as though the entire forest was holding its breath.
Then he saw it.
Just beyond the edge of the firelight, something quivered. A shadow that wasn't his, wasn't cast by tree or stone. It swayed, stretched, then peeled itself from the ground.
Ahayue's stomach knotted.
The beast was smaller than those in the dream, but its form was the same: smoke and sinew, eyes like pale fireflies. It crept forward on all fours, claws whispering across the soil.
"No…" His voice cracked. His heart hammered in his ribs. "You're not real. You're not real!"
But the creature growled, a low wet sound, and the firelight bent around its form. The dream had followed him.
Fear seized him, but beneath it ran something sharper—anger. The jungle can test me. My tribe can mock me. But I won't be hunted forever.
The shadow lunged.
Ahayue rolled, barely avoiding its claws. He scrambled up, broken spear raised. The creature moved like smoke but struck with weight, each swipe carrying bone-snapping force. He ducked and weaved, jabbing desperately. The wood pierced through its body, scattering it like mist, but each time it re-formed, snarling.
His chest burned, his arms trembled. The beast was toying with him.
I can't fight this forever. I'll die here.
Then—memory. His grandmother's voice in the dream: "A name is a root that no storm can rip out."
Gritting his teeth, Ahayue stood firm. The beast coiled to strike, but he shouted into the night, voice raw and furious:
"I am Ahayue!"
The name cut the air like flint sparking stone. The creature flinched, its smoky body rippling. For a heartbeat it seemed smaller, weaker, less whole.
Seizing the moment, Ahayue lunged. He drove the broken spear straight into its chest, roaring his name again, louder this time.
"I am Ahayue!"
The beast shrieked—a sound like tearing metal—and exploded into a cloud of black ash. The fragments scattered across the clearing, dissolving into the soil, vanishing into roots and stone.
Silence fell. The fire crackled weakly.
Ahayue collapsed to his knees, gasping. His body shook, sweat stinging his eyes. He half-expected another to crawl out of the dark, but none came.
Still, he couldn't shake the dread. The trial hadn't ended with sleep. The shadows were real now. Alive.
And worse—they knew his name.
—
He didn't sleep again that night.
Instead, he kept the fire alive, feeding it with every scrap of wood he could gather, as if flame alone could banish the dark. His thoughts churned with every pop and hiss.
If the beasts could cross from dream to waking, then his curse was deeper than weakness of body. The stories the elders whispered—about the Moon God's spite, about children marked at birth—maybe they were true. Maybe he wasn't just cursed. Maybe he was chosen.
The thought chilled him.
Morning broke slow and gray, mist seeping between trees. His limbs felt heavy, his eyes grainy from sleeplessness. But the jungle didn't wait. Hunger gnawed his belly, his tongue clung dry to his mouth.
He walked.
Every shadow felt too thick, every tree seemed to lean closer. He couldn't tell which darkness belonged to nature and which belonged to them. He gripped his ruined spear tighter, knuckles white.
Hours passed.
And then, by a riverbank, he saw it: a mark scorched into the ground. Blackened soil in the shape of claws.
His chest tightened. The beast had left a scar.
He crouched, touching the earth. It was warm, faintly humming, like a drumbeat buried beneath the soil. He snatched his hand back.
The shadow was spreading.
—
That night, he dared not rest. But exhaustion was a tide, and even defiance had limits. His body gave way, and he sank into half-sleep, curled against a tree.
The whisper came again.
"Ahayue…"
His eyes snapped open. Across the clearing, shadows stirred, coiling together like smoke drawn by wind. They thickened, twisting into a new form—not beast, but human-shaped. Taller than any tribesman, shoulders broad, head crowned with horn-like spires.
Its face was smooth, featureless. But when it spoke, the voice was his own.
"You cannot escape us."
Ahayue's blood iced. His spear trembled in his grip.
The figure tilted its head, as if studying him. Then it stepped back into the dark, dissolving into the trees.
Gone.
He stood there shaking, sweat cold on his skin. The shadow wasn't just hunting him anymore. It was watching.
The jungle was no longer just jungle. It was alive with eyes.
And Ahayue knew: the curse was not something he could run from. It had taken root in the world itself.
His journey wasn't only to heal his body anymore.It was to survive the darkness that followed him.