The jungle had begun to feel like a prison.
Ahayue stumbled forward, his limbs dragging like stones. Days had blurred since the shadow-man appeared, each step heavier, each breath thinner. Hunger gnawed his belly, but even more dangerous was the silence—the sense that something vast and unseen watched from the trees.
He had almost convinced himself that no other human lived beyond his tribe. That the world belonged only to shadows and beasts.
Then, on the third dawn, he smelled smoke.
He froze, nostrils flaring. Smoke was fire. Fire meant hands to kindle it. And hands meant people.
His chest thudded with a hope he hadn't dared carry. He pushed through thick brush, following the faint gray thread curling against the morning sky. The air thickened with the scent of herbs and resin, not the bitter burn of wildwood, but something controlled—ritualistic.
The trail led him to a clearing unlike any other he had seen.
Roots of ancient trees twisted together into natural walls, enclosing a circle of earth. Bones hung from branches, carved with symbols, rattling softly in the breeze. Stones painted with ash formed patterns across the ground—spirals, eyes, flames. At the center squatted a hut of woven reeds and bark, its roof sagging under moss.
Ahayue's throat tightened. He should turn back. This was no ordinary dwelling. It was a place of spirits.
Before he could decide, a voice drifted from the hut.
"You walked far to find what you do not understand."
The flap of bark peeled open.
Out stepped a figure bent with age, skin dark as soil, hair a tangled white cloud. Around his neck hung strings of teeth, claws, and shards of obsidian. His eyes were the strangest of all—one black as pitch, the other cloudy white, like milk poured into water.
The hermit studied him for a long, heavy moment. Then, to Ahayue's shock, he smiled.
"Ah. The cursed boy."
Ahayue's breath caught. "You… you know me?"
The hermit chuckled, the sound dry as cracking wood. "Not your face. Not your name. But your scent. The shadows cling to you like vines. I could smell your fear long before your feet crossed my circle."
Fear surged through Ahayue, but so did defiance. He straightened, clutching his broken spear. "If you know what follows me, then tell me what it is."
The hermit tilted his head, amused. "Always demanding. Just like the young always are. Come, then. If you wish answers, sit. If you fear them, leave."
The hut's interior was dim, lit only by a small fire pit that smoked with herbs, filling the air with a bitter, dizzying fragrance. Masks carved from wood and bone lined the walls, their hollow eyes watching. Strange charms dangled from the ceiling, humming softly, as if alive.
Ahayue sat cross-legged across from the hermit, though unease prickled his skin.
The old man tossed herbs into the fire, and green smoke coiled upward. "Tell me, boy. What did the shadows show you?"
Ahayue hesitated, then spoke: of the white plain, the faceless judges, the beasts of smoke and claw, the titan that roared with a hundred eyes. Of waking to find one had followed him into the waking world.
The hermit listened without interruption, eyes half-closed, swaying slightly as if to music only he could hear. When Ahayue finished, the silence was sharp.
Finally, the hermit whispered, "The trial has begun earlier than I expected."
Ahayue leaned forward. "Trial?"
The hermit's one dark eye fixed on him. "The curse you carry is not merely of flesh. It is tether. The Moon God marked you at birth—not to die, but to walk the line between shadow and fire. You are both hunted and hunter. Both wound and blade."
Ahayue's hands trembled. He had longed for truth, but these words filled him with more dread than comfort. "Can it be undone? Can I be healed?"
The hermit barked a laugh, shaking his necklace of teeth. "Healed? Foolish child. Do you think curses vanish like smoke in the wind? No. They change. They bind tighter, or they break open into something new. The question is not if you will be healed, but what you will become."
The firelight danced in the hermit's strange eyes.
"You have a choice, Ahayue. You can flee until the shadows consume you, as they consumed many before you. Or you can face them, bleed with them, shape them into a weapon. But every weapon demands a price."
Ahayue swallowed hard. His chest felt heavy, like a stone pressing into him. "And if I fail?"
The hermit's smile returned, thin and unsettling. "Then the jungle will know a new predator. And your name will be lost."
They sat in silence, the fire crackling softly. Ahayue stared into the green smoke, thoughts twisting like the coils above the flame. Part of him wanted to run, to escape this madman and his riddles. But part of him clung to the words—because they were the first to make sense of his curse.
Finally, the hermit reached into a bundle by his side and tossed something across the fire.
A charm of woven roots, tied with a claw.
"Take this. It will not protect you. Nothing will. But it may remind you who you are when the shadows press close. That, boy, is worth more than any spear."
Ahayue picked it up, rough bark scratching his palm. It was small, almost worthless in appearance, but it hummed faintly against his skin, like a heartbeat.
When he looked up, the hermit was watching him closely.
"Do not mistake my gift for favor. The shadows are not mine to banish. They are yours to master."
Ahayue nodded slowly, clutching the charm. The weight of his journey pressed heavier than ever, but for the first time since leaving the tribe, he did not feel entirely alone.
The hermit leaned back, eyes closing. "Go now. The jungle is waiting. And the shadows will not be patient."
—
Ahayue stepped into the night, the charm clenched tight in his fist. The jungle stretched endless around him, whispering, watching.
He still feared it. He still feared himself. But a thread of resolve wound tighter in his chest.
The trial was not over. It had only begun.