Fayne is living in a world with magic.
He lives alone in a forest.
He hunts animals.
He occasionally kills monsters that disturb him.
One day he sat in a chair and watched animals playing and thought it would be fun to be with someone. He sighed, then took his equipment to hunt.
He moved quietly through the forest, his footsteps light on the moss-covered ground. He spotted a rabbit near a bush, nibbling on leaves. Holding his breath, he whispered a small spell that muffled sound around him. Then, with precise aim, he threw his hunting knife—swift and clean. The rabbit fell instantly.
He walked over, whispered a small prayer of thanks, and carried it back home.
He skinned and cleaned the rabbit carefully, then hung a pot over his small fireplace. He added herbs he had gathered earlier—rosemary, forest mint, and a pinch of salt. As the aroma filled the cabin, he smiled faintly. He said to himself, "It isn't a feast, but it is warm, and it is mine".
He enjoyed his meal and lay down in his bed.
Out of nowhere, a wolf appeared. It smelled the food he had eaten and tried to enter the house.
He woke to the sound of claws scraping against the wooden door. His eyes snapped open. He grabbed his staff from beside the bed and whispered a short incantation—his palm glowing faintly red. The door burst open, and the wolf leapt in with a snarl.
He dodged aside and struck the floor with his staff, summoning vines from the ground that wrapped around the beast's legs. The wolf thrashed and bit, breaking one vine, but he raised his hand and unleashed a spark of lightning. It struck true—the wolf yelped and fell silent.
Breathing heavily, he knelt beside it and muttered, "I didn't want this either." Shunk!! He dragged the body outside, buried it under the old oak, and sat under the moonlight—alone again.