After drinking my fill of the white water—perhaps far more than I should have—I finally allowed myself to rest.
I leaned my back against one of the lifeless trees and let out a long, shaky breath.
For the first time in months, my mind wasn't consumed by thirst. Thoughts began to return, slow at first, then clearer, as if the water had washed away the fog inside me. With a bit of strength and clarity restored, I began to understand the Abyss in a new way.
When I turned back toward the direction I had come from, the sight chilled me.
The world behind me was split into two forces—light and darkness—locked in a struggle against one another.
The darkness attempted to push forward like a living thing, trying to reclaim the desert, while the pale star's cold glow fought it back, holding the Abyss at bay.
What disturbed me most was the star's stillness.
It didn't move like the sun of my world. Its position hadn't shifted at all, even after hours of resting.
If it had moved even a little, I might have been dragged back into the darkness—forced to relive the horror that nearly broke me. I never wanted to return to that place again.
Either this world is tidally locked with its star, or the very concept of motion here simply doesn't exist.
Hunger was manageable for now. Thirst had been the real torment—the real pain—and at least that had dulled.
But eventually, instinct won over caution, and I began to eat tree bark—even knowing it could be poisonous.
After all, survival leaves little room for hesitation. In this state, I don't even fear death.
To make things easier, I sharpened two sturdy sticks into crude wooden knives.
For that, I had Bear Grylls to thank; the survival tips I learned through the Discovery Channel echoed in my mind, keeping me alive even in this impossible world.
I scraped at the inner bark of a fragile tree, knowing full well that a dead tree was likely toxic.
Yet, despite that knowledge, I hesitated only briefly before eating it.
And once I started, I continued until I felt satisfied.
The bitterness was overwhelming. My mouth burned, my throat tightened, and the hunger inside me twisted in protest.
Still, I kept eating—driven by desperation more than sense.
Soon after, I collapsed from nausea.
My breath grew short.
My limbs refused to move.
Even trying to lift a finger felt like being stabbed by a thousand needles.
In that pain, a strange, peaceful thought settled over me:
Maybe this was it. Maybe I could finally die.
The dark void never allowed death.
Even when I forced myself to bash my own head, I always recovered and walked again.
But now, poisoned and fading, I felt a sick comfort.
Perhaps this time, the Abyss would let me go.
Yet even as my body failed, I woke again—drooling, covered in my own vomit.
I had survived yet again.
But survival came at a cost; my body felt weaker than ever.
I cleaned myself at the water source, regaining what little strength I could.
The hunger and thirst remained, but they no longer stabbed into my mind.
They were simply… there.
With my weakened body, I pressed forward—leaning heavily on my walking stick, gripping my crude knife, and dragging myself deeper into the endless white desert.