Elior's lungs burned as he sprinted across the open field, the metallic taste of fear sharp on his tongue. Every instinct screamed at him to run faster, to put distance between himself and the flaming lion behind him. Its enormous paws struck the ground like hammers, sparks and embers scattering in all directions, igniting the tall grass in his path. Heat washed over him in waves, but he dared not glance back. One look could freeze him with terror, and one misstep would mean death.
The first thing Elior realized was how alien this world felt. The air was heavier here, humming with unseen energy that pressed against his chest and rattled his bones. Every step he took seemed both impossibly slow and impossibly fast, as if the world itself resisted his presence. The grey sky above stretched endlessly, streaked with clouds that glowed faintly from a light that had no source. Shadows twisted unnaturally, moving with the wind, but not like shadows should. They seemed to reach toward him, hungry and watchful.
The lion's roar tore through the quiet of the mist, a sound so deep it seemed to vibrate through his skull. It was not a roar of mere hunger. It was awareness. It knew he was alive, it knew he was alone, and it wanted him dead. Every instinct in Elior screamed that he would not survive a direct confrontation. His wooden sword, gifted by the Veil for this moment, was nothing more than a toy against such a monster. All he had was speed, wit, and the faint whisper of something inside him — the presence that had awakened the moment he entered the Veilworld.
He swerved to the left, narrowly avoiding a burning tuft of grass that erupted as the lion's paw slammed into the earth. The ground shook beneath him. His legs burned, but he forced them to move faster. Fear sharpened his senses, each sound, each vibration of the soil, a warning. He could hear the lion's breaths, heavy and ragged, smell the ozone of its flames mixed with the scent of scorched grass. The world had never felt so alive, so dangerous, so utterly unforgiving.
Ahead, a cluster of rocks jutted from the ground like broken teeth. Elior dove toward them, rolling as he hit the earth, scraping his palms and knees. He pushed himself up immediately, ignoring the sting. One glance over his shoulder confirmed his nightmare: the lion's massive head broke through the mist, fire cascading down its mane like a living inferno. Its eyes, glowing like molten amber, locked onto him. It had learned his path, adapted to his movement. Every instinct screamed that it would not let him escape.
The mist thickened as he ran, clinging to his skin and clothes, draping him in cold sweat. Elior's mind raced. He had read stories of beginners entering the Veilworld only to die within minutes. He had always thought of them as cautionary tales, distant warnings, things that happened to other people. Now he was one of those stories, running through a world that seemed made to kill him.
Branches whipped against his face as he entered a thin forest. The trees were twisted, their bark blackened and glistening as if wet, though no rain had fallen. The roots broke through the ground in unnatural angles, almost like claws waiting to trap him. Elior stumbled over one, catching himself just in time. His sword banged against another root, the metal ringing sharply.
Behind him, the lion roared again. This time, the sound carried through the trees, shaking leaves from the branches and sending birds screaming into the sky. Its flames reflected off the trunks, illuminating the mist with flickering orange light. Elior's chest heaved with exhaustion. He knew the lion could not easily follow him through the tight gaps between the trees, but it was clever. It could adapt, and it would.
He darted left, then right, barely avoiding colliding with a thick trunk. Pain flared in his side as he brushed against a low branch. He ignored it. Survival left no room for hesitation. His mind was consumed by one thought: live. One step at a time.
A clearing appeared ahead, faintly illuminated by a strange glow. Elior stumbled into it, gasping, sweat dripping into his eyes. He slowed slightly, scanning the open space. It was an unnatural formation of stones, arranged in a circular pattern, each emitting a faint blue light. The air around the stones felt cooler, almost calming compared to the oppressive heat and energy behind him.
He pressed himself against one of the stones, hiding as best he could. His breath came in ragged bursts. The lion had not followed him here yet, or perhaps it had lost his trail in the denser forest. He could hear its low growls faintly in the distance, the sound of fire crackling as it moved between trees.
Elior allowed himself a moment to think. He had survived the first attack. Barely. His wooden sword had done nothing except give him the illusion of readiness. Every strike would have been useless. He realized for the first time how little he truly understood the Veilworld. Every instinct, every reflex had been his only advantage.
And yet, he felt it.
A presence. Something small and unseen, watching him. Familiar, yet alien. It whispered in his mind, faint but deliberate. Not a voice, not yet, but a feeling — awareness. It had followed him since he crossed the Gate. Something was here, waiting.
Elior's eyes narrowed. The sword in his hand felt heavier now, not in weight, but in purpose. He could not rely on raw strength. He had survived by dodging, by speed, by instinct. That was not enough. He would need more.
He scanned the clearing. The stones pulsed faintly in rhythm with the strange heartbeat that seemed to hum through the world. They felt safe. Not because they would protect him physically, but because they offered a place to observe, to think. To breathe.
The growl returned, louder this time, closer. Elior pressed himself lower against the stone. His fingers gripped the sword tightly. He could hear the lion crashing through the trees, flames licking the air, the scent of scorched wood and ozone mixing with the smell of wet earth.
Time seemed to slow. Every sound was sharper. Every movement mattered. He understood that for the first time. The Veilworld was not forgiving. Every second could be the difference between life and death.
Elior allowed himself to close his eyes briefly, feeling the energy of the stones around him. Calm. Focused. The faint pulse in his mind intensified. Something inside him shifted, and he realized: he was not entirely alone here. Something waited. Something would help him.
He opened his eyes. The clearing was empty, the mist curling around the glowing stones. The lion had not yet found him. He had survived. Barely. But he had survived.
For the first time, Elior allowed himself a whisper.
"I will not die here. Not yet. Not today."
The wind picked up in the clearing, carrying a faint sound that could have been a whisper, a laugh, or just the Veil itself. Elior did not know. He only knew that something awaited him, just beyond the mist.
He rose slowly, keeping low, his eyes scanning the surrounding forest. The stones pulsed faintly as if acknowledging him, almost like a signal. And somewhere, deep in the distance, the growl of the lion faded, replaced by a new, subtler sound — a rhythm that hinted at something alive, intelligent, and patient.
Elior gripped his sword. His breath slowed. His mind sharpened. He had survived the first threat. But he knew the Veilworld had only just begun testing him.
And in the depths of the clearing, faint lights began to gather. Something small, delicate, shimmering like threads of light, appeared before him. The presence he had felt all along now took shape.
The next part of his journey was beginning.
Elior did not move. He could not. He had learned to survive so far, but the Veilworld was patient. And he would need patience too.