The ruined Citadel faded behind him.
At first, Caspian walked quickly, urged on by fear that the Tyrant might awaken at any moment and realize one of his servants had slipped away. Only when the broken spires of the Citadel of the Stars were reduced to jagged silhouettes against the horizon did he slow his pace.
For the first time since regaining his consciousness, Caspian felt truly alone.
He walked.
The first landmark he reached was the river.
It was immense, far wider than any river he had seen before, of course, he haven't seen much rivers before back in NQSC. Its waters were dark and slow-moving, reflecting the ashen sky like a sheet of tarnished steel. The smell of blood still lingered faintly in the air—residue carried downstream from the Citadel's slaughter.
Caspian crouched at the riverbank, dipping a claw into the water.
It was cold.
It was clean.
Alive.
For a moment, hunger stirred again, confused and dissatisfied. Water did nothing to sate it. Still, Caspian drank, more out of habit than need, then followed the river eastward until he found a shallow crossing formed by fallen stone and ancient debris of a long destroyed stone bridge.
The current tugged at his legs as he crossed, but his body—this unnatural, altered body—was strong. Too strong. When he emerged on the other side, not even winded, unease crept into his chest.
I'm not supposed to be like this.
Beyond the river stretched endless grasslands.
Golden and pale, swaying gently under the breeze, the plains looked almost peaceful—if not for the occasional carcass half-buried in the grass, picked clean by scavengers with too many eyes or too many teeth.
Caspian moved mostly at night, instinctively avoiding the sun even though it did not truly harm him, his instinct telling him to dig down to escape the light. The daylight made him feel exposed. Seen. But he had to move, he could not risk the Tyrant to recover from whatever battle he had before.
During the long stretches of walking, his thoughts returned again and again to the Tyrant's words.
The city in the east.
The luminous chicken.
Ridiculous phrasing… yet spoken with hatred deep enough to curdle blood.
"If you're strong enough to be hated by a monster like that," Caspian muttered to himself, "then you're strong enough to be my way out."
Days passed.
The wineskins at his belt grew lighter.
At first, Caspian rationed carefully, taking only what he needed to keep the hunger dull rather than screaming. But the hunger was patient. It learned. It adapted.
By the time he reached the edge of a great forest, his blood reserves were gone.
The forest was ancient.
Massive trees towered overhead, their canopies knitting together to block out most of the light. Shadows pooled thickly between the roots, and strange sounds echoed constantly—rustling, clicking, distant howls, a variety of sounds he couldn't find in the grasslands.
Caspian slowed his pace, not because he wanted, but because he needed.
Every sense screamed at him now. His hearing sharpened painfully, picking up the frantic pulse of small animals hidden in burrows and branches. His vision painted the world in heat and movement.
Heartbeats.
So many heartbeats.
The hunger surged violently.
He staggered, gripping the trunk of a tree as his claws dug deep into the bark.
"No" he hissed. "Not like this."
The forest offered no dying humans. No mercy.
Only beasts.
The first kill was accidental.
A deer burst from the undergrowth, startled by his presence. Instinct took over. Caspian moved faster than thought, claws piercing flesh, fangs sinking deep before his mind could catch up.
Warm blood flooded his mouth.
Power followed.
He froze mid-feed, horror flooding him—but his body did not stop until the animal lay lifeless in his grasp.
Caspian pulled back, breathing heavily, blood staining his lips.
"…I'm sorry."
He buried the remains.
The second kill was deliberate.
The third was easier.
With each hunt, the line he had drawn inside himself blurred. Animals were not people, he told himself. They did not beg. They did not fear him the way humans did.
Still, something eroded inside him.
He stayed in the forest longer than he intended, moving from shadow to shadow, sleeping in hollow trunks and rocky alcoves. The hunger never vanished—but it became manageable again, dulled by necessity rather than choice.
Then, one night, everything changed.
Caspian was moving fast, then he stopped, every muscle tensing.
His hearing—no, his senses—picked up something new.
Heartbeats.
Not scattered.
Not faint.
Together.
Hundreds. Thousands.
Human.
He climbed a tree in silence, rising above the forest canopy, and what he saw made his breath catch.
Beyond the trees, bathed in early morning light, stood a vast city of white marble. Towering walls gleamed softly, unblemished by blood or ruin. Sunlight reflected off domes and spires, casting warm brilliance across the land.
Life pulsed there—bright, strong, defiant.
Caspian stared at it, chest tight.
For the first time since the Nightmare began… he felt something dangerously close to hope.
And fear.
Because now that he had found them—
He would have to face humans again.