The first thing he felt was pain.
Not the kind that faded — but the kind that burned through nerve and bone, refusing to die.
Every inch of him screamed. He tried to move, but his limbs weren't his own — half gone, half growing back, threads of flesh knitting themselves from nothing.
Something was eating him alive.
The wet sound of tearing echoed through the vast stillness. Each crunch of bone came with a flash of white agony, and then, seconds later, the flesh returned — only for the beast to bite again.
The forest loomed above him — a world of green shadows and monstrous scale. The trees were colossal, trunks wider than mountains, their canopies swallowing the sky. Each leaf was the size of a ship's sail, blotting out the sun. Their roots twisted like stone serpents across the ground, ancient and indifferent.
Somewhere high above, light filtered through in trembling ribbons — faint, unreachable.
Beneath that dim light, a black bear the size of a house tore into him again.
He screamed — not once, but endlessly, his voice breaking and reforming like his body. The echo carried through the forest like something cursed. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
He clawed at the earth, tried to crawl away, but his legs were mangled stumps, regrowing slower than the bear could eat. His mind begged for death, but death refused him. Every second he regenerated, every second he returned.
He didn't know how long it lasted — seconds, minutes, eternities. Time dissolved in pain.
Then, somewhere in that nightmare, another sound broke through — a roar, deep and distant. Not from him. From another bear.
A wounded one.
The beast eating him froze, blood dripping from its jaws. It turned its head, nostrils flaring, listening. The next moment, it lumbered away toward the noise, leaving him half-devoured and trembling in the dirt.
Eren didn't think. He just moved.
He dragged what was left of his body across the ground, every nerve shrieking as torn flesh sealed itself in flashes of light. When his legs finally returned, he forced himself upright and ran.
The forest blurred — roots, shadows, the whisper of colossal branches far above. His lungs burned, but he didn't stop. His body wasn't whole, but it was healing — skin stretching, veins reforming mid-run. Every step was agony and rebirth at once.
He didn't know where he was running. Only that he had to.
Run until his body gave out. Until the pain became distant.
Until the world stopped feeling real.
When his legs finally failed, he collapsed into the dirt, gasping. The air here was heavy — thick with the scent of moss and iron.
He lay there for a long time, trembling. Then, slowly, his breath steadied.
He sat up. Looked at himself. No clothes, only blood and dirt. His skin was new — unscarred, pale as ash.
The memory came crashing back.
His father. The sound of blood hitting the floor.
His own trembling hands gripping the knife.
"Did all this happen because I killed him?" he whispered. "Is this… my punishment?"
The thought twisted inside him like a blade.
He stood and staggered forward, his steps uneven. The forest was endless, the air humming with strange life. He picked up a massive leaf from the ground — large enough to cover him — and tied it around his waist.
After some time, the trees began to thin. The ground sloped upward. He climbed, slowly, painfully, until he reached the edge of a mountain ridge.
There, he sat — overlooking an ocean of trees stretching beyond the horizon. The wind carried a low, mournful sound, almost like a whisper. Above him, the sky burned a strange shade of blue, far too vivid to be Earth's.
Eren stared at it and thought:
This isn't my world.
He touched his chest. His heart beat strong — too strong for a dead man.
"What is this?" he murmured. "Why am I still alive? Why am I in this body? Is this… someone else's body?"
His voice broke. "Why did I become immortal just because I wanted to die?"
He looked down the mountain's edge — a long, sheer drop into mist.
"If a bear comes," he muttered, "I'll jump. I'm done running."
He leaned back, exhausted, eyes half-closed. The forest below looked peaceful from up here, though he could still hear faint roars echoing in the distance.
Then —
a voice behind him.
"Don't end your life like this."
He flinched, twisting around.
A girl stood there.
She wasn't from this forest. She didn't belong to this nightmare.
Her presence almost hurt to look at — clean, composed, human.
Eren blinked, confused. "I'm not dying," he thought, but didn't say it aloud.
Instead, he muttered, "I'm tired of living."
"Don't say that," the girl said softly. "Please. Don't throw your life away."
Her tone wasn't pitying. It was gentle — desperate, even.
Eren studied her warily. "Why?" he asked. "Why are you saving me? What do you get from it?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. I just don't think anyone deserves to vanish like that. You don't have to tell me what happened. Just… give me one year. Let me show you there's still something left to live for."
He stared at her.
She looked about twenty-two, a noblewoman by her bearing — her dress was a pale cream silk, flowing and spotless despite the forest. A blue ribbon cinched her waist, and her hair was neatly curled under a small hat. She looked like she'd walked out of another century — or another world.
He wanted to laugh. But something in her eyes stopped him — an unshaken resolve he couldn't understand.
He looked down, voice low. "People always say they care. Then they leave. Why should I trust you?"
"Because I won't," she said simply. "And because you shouldn't waste a life that's still breathing."
Her words hung in the air, fragile but steady.
He sighed — not out of trust, but exhaustion. "Fine. One year. Whatever you think that'll do."
She smiled faintly. "My name is Sherry. What's yours?"
"Eren," he said.
"I'm glad you didn't jump, Eren."
She turned, gesturing for him to follow. "Come. There's a city nearby. Havenbrook. You'll be safe there."
He hesitated — then stood.
They began walking through the forest together, her steps graceful, his uneven and weary. Eren's thoughts were a storm: I have to be careful. I don't know this world. I don't know its rules.
The deeper they went, the stranger the forest became. The trees still towered above like gods. Birds larger than ships flew overhead, their wings stirring storms of dust. Once, they passed a rabbit — enormous, its eyes glowing faintly. It watched them in silence before vanishing into the shadows.
After what felt like hours, the trees began to thin. The light returned, pale and unfamiliar. Ahead, the forest ended — and beyond it, Eren saw walls. Massive stone walls, circling a distant city like a crown.
Sherry turned to him, her face soft in the fading light.
"Have you ever been to Havenbrook before?"
Eren looked at the walls. "No," he said quietly. "This is my first time."
She studied him, then frowned slightly. "Are you going in like that?"
He looked down — the leaf was still tied at his waist. He almost smiled.
"Wait here," she said quickly. "I'll bring you something."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're really coming back, right?"
"Of course," she said, and ran toward the city.
He leaned against a tree, watching her disappear through the gates. For some reason, he believed her.
---