The air felt heavier today. Steve could tell the moment he stepped out of the cave — that strange stillness before the world reminded him he wasn't welcome here. The trees stood like ancient sentinels, their twisted roots forming a jagged pattern across the ground. Every step he took echoed faintly, swallowed by the endless forest that stretched ahead.
He couldn't go back to his home anyway now that he is supposed to be dead. That's what they think...
" Why didn't you die ?"
Steve's grip got tightened on his sword . But he kept his thoughts at back of his mind for the time , it wasn't important anyways....survival was. He knew that there is another nation - The Empire of Eldoria . Its a country where human population is not much...whereas the other species are in majority. He didn't knew if he was welcome there or not , but it was the only option available for him. Once he crosses this forest , he can consider things about his life which he is not able to right now as survival is his first priority . That , and he wants to gain strength. And what better way for that purpose could be for people like him who don't have any golden finger.
He had healed enough to move, though his body still ached under the rough bandages he'd made from torn pieces of his shirt. The stab wound had stopped bleeding, but each breath carried a dull sting that reminded him of her — Lealaine. He tightened his grip on the crude sword he'd made from a piece of metal he scavenged near the cave's entrance. The blade was rough, uneven, but it was something. Something to fight with. Something to live with.
"I'm not dying here," he muttered to himself. "Not until I get strong enough… to never be helpless again."
The words felt heavy, but steady.He didn't know where to go, but he knew what he had to do — move deeper. The outer forest was too quiet, too empty. No strong prey. No challenge. No growth.
Steve took a few deep breaths, calming his nerves as he walked forward. Every rustle in the bushes, every crunch beneath his boots made him twitch. His senses were sharp — sharper than ever before. Maybe it was fear, maybe instinct — but his body seemed to know that this was no ordinary place.
And then, he heard it.
A low, guttural growl behind him.
Steve froze. Slowly, he turned — and saw it.A wolf — but not an ordinary one. Its fur was jet-black, streaked with crimson veins that pulsed faintly under the skin. Its eyes glowed a faint red, hungry and focused entirely on him. The beast was twice his size, muscles rippling beneath its coat as it bared its fangs.
Steve's throat went dry. He'd read about such monsters — Crimson Wolves, creatures known to hunt in packs and capable of tearing a man in half in seconds. But this one seemed alone. Maybe he was lucky. Or maybe… unlucky.
"Alright," he whispered, raising his blade. "First hunt… let's do this."
The wolf lunged first.
Steve barely rolled aside, feeling the rush of wind and claws graze his shoulder. He winced, clutching his wound, then swung his blade in a desperate counter. The metal met fur — but it barely cut. The wolf howled, leaping back before circling him.
Too fast!
Steve forced himself to breathe, to focus. His father's training echoed faintly in his mind — "Don't swing blindly. Read your opponent. Find an opening."
The wolf darted again. This time, Steve didn't dodge completely. He stepped in — close — and thrust the sword toward its neck. A solid hit. The creature yelped in pain, thrashing as blood spattered across the leaves.
But it wasn't dead .Far from it.
The beast slammed into him with its full weight, sending him crashing against a tree. His back screamed in pain. His vision blurred. The sword fell from his hand, clattering to the ground.
The wolf snarled and leaped again, jaws wide.
Steve's hand shot up — pure reflex — grabbing a nearby branch and jamming it into the creature's mouth. The impact sent him tumbling sideways, but it bought him a second. One precious second. He scrambled for his sword, fingers brushing cold metal, and as the wolf turned again—
He struck.
This time, clean and deep into the throat.
The wolf choked, gurgling, then fell to the ground with a heavy thud.Steve stood there, panting, covered in sweat and blood — not knowing which was his. The forest around him went silent again, except for his ragged breaths and the faint dripping of crimson onto the dirt.
For a moment, he just stared at the fallen creature.
He'd killed before — hunted small animals for food these past days — but this was different. This was survival. A battle between who would live… and who wouldn't.
"I… did it," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I actually killed it…"
But instead of joy, he felt only exhaustion. His legs gave way and he sank to his knees. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, his body shaking uncontrollably.
He was alive. Barely. And yet… something inside him changed.
He looked at his trembling hands — hands that were now stained with blood. His breath steadied, and a faint, bitter smile tugged at his lips.
"If this… is what it takes," he murmured, "then I'll do it again. And again. Until nothing scares me anymore."
The words weren't a declaration — they were a promise. To himself.
He cut off the wolf's fang — a trophy, a reminder — and tied it around his wrist with a piece of cloth. Then, dragging the carcass near a flat rock, he used his small knife to skin it, muttering under his breath. His father's training — the one he'd once hated — now felt like a blessing.
By the time he finished, the sun was dipping behind the tree line. The forest grew darker, colder. The smell of iron and soil filled the air. He set up a small fire using flint and dry wood, cooking the wolf's meat carefully.
The taste was bitter, but it was warm. And for the first time in days… he didn't feel completely powerless.
As he looked at the fading firelight, his mind went back to the cliff — to her.
Lealaine's face flashed in his memory. Her smile, her laughter, the way she used to call his name softly. And then the look in her eyes when she stabbed him. Cold. Detached.
His grip tightened around the sword hilt.
"You wanted me dead, didn't you…?" he whispered to the flames. "You and whoever helped you. But not yet. I'll die when I decide to. Not before."
The fire flickered, reflecting in his determined eyes. The Forest of Death wasn't just a prison anymore — it was his forge. And from its darkness, Steve Aldehrt would rise again.