The woods trembled with silence when the voice of Thirty-Five tore through the night.
"Next player…" His tone was low and merciless like steel dragged against stone, echoing through the trees as if the forest itself recoiled.
"Ninety degrees, one point two kilometers north."
The air froze. Even the insects dared not sing. Leaves shifted only because the wind pushed them, yet it felt as though every shadow was listening. The hush was not natural, it was the pause before a blade found its mark.
Then the voice returned, smooth now, almost playful, dripping with cruelty:
"Chubby, messy dark hair. Faded blue jacket. Bare hands…" A chuckle rolled like thunder muffled behind the clouds. "Seems you dropped your weapon during the first game. One wristband missing. Looks like someone had a rough start."
A pause, heavy enough to grind against the bones of anyone who heard it.
"You are… in the game."
Somewhere beyond the thickets, the air shifted as if a life had just been bound by invisible strings. A boy, nameless to all but himself, would have felt his heart stop when his portrait was painted in words. Thirty-Five hadn't spoken his name, yet the description cut through the woods sharper than any blade.
It was him.
And every creature in the forest now knew it.
Beneath the tangled roots of a fallen tree, the boy crouched low, every muscle in his body trembling with the weight of invisible eyes. His chest heaved in uneven bursts, breath dragging like knives through his throat. Sweat trickled down his temples, blurring into the dirt smeared on his face.
He didn't move, not even a twitch or a blink.
The forest had gone too quiet, unnaturally so. No rustle of leaves, no hum of insects, no flap of wings. It was silence heavy enough to crush him, silence that screamed of predators waiting for him to break.
He pressed his back tighter against the bark, the rough wood biting into his skin as if to remind him he was still alive. His arms curled inward, a weak shield against a world he couldn't fight. His lips moved, the words barely sounding, whispers meant only for himself, frantic, trembling.
"They can't see me… They can't. He's bluffing… he's bluffing…"
But even he didn't believe it. His voice cracked, thin as a thread ready to snap. The weight of Thirty-Five's call still clung to him like chains fastened directly onto his soul.
But the caller knew. His voice threaded through the woods, striking the ears of every student. "Oh? Hiding under a tree root?" The tone slid through the darkness, cruel and amused. "I see you."
The boy's head snapped upward, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat. His body froze for a heartbeat as his eyes caught a frightening sight.
A figure stood grinning on the slope above him. No footsteps echoed, no sound of approach. But it was there, as if it had always been there, waiting for him to realize.
Panic shattered the boy as he shuffled and bolted from beneath the roots, scrambling through the brush. Thorns clawed at his ankles, tearing fabric and skin, leaving streaks of blood across his legs as he sprinted. His cries cracked the silence, raw and desperate.
He kept telling himself in his mind. *Run. Just run.*
Branches whipped his face, low shrubs shredded his clothes. His footfalls crashed against the earth, twigs snapping like brittle bones beneath him, but he didn't dare look back, not once. He knew if he did, he'd see that smile again.
But the woods weren't the woods anymore.
The forest twisted behind him, trees shifting as though alive, closing their trunks like silent jaws. Paths he had taken before bent out of place, roots coiled like serpents, and the shadows stretched too long as if the darkness itself was reaching for him.
He broke into a clearing only to stumble to a halt.
It wasn't empty.
There, in the dead center, stood a figure cloaked in faint mist. Its form wavered like smoke, as though the forest refused to define it. No eyes, no shadow, no true body. Just the slash of a grin, impossibly wide, gleaming white in the dark.
And the voice.
That same voice, smooth and taunting, filled the clearing, though the figure's mouth didn't move.
"Found you."
The grin didn't move, but the sound slithered from it anyway. "You were fast," the figure tilted its head, mist curling around its neck like smoke rising from a fire. "But not fast enough."
The boy's scream ripped through the clearing. Short and croaked, cut off too suddenly, like someone had crushed it in their fist. The sound lingered only as an echo, bouncing off the trees before fading into a silence that felt heavier than the scream itself.
And in that silence, everywhere, across the woods we understood it was all real: It wasn't a test or a trial, but death, dressed in the mocking mask of a game.
Scattered students froze where they were hiding in burrows of roots, crouched in streams, clinging to branches above, eyes wide, hearts hammering. A chill ran through every vein, as if the forest itself had whispered the truth into their ears.
—-
Outside, within the glowing chamber of the academy, another red blip winked out on the monitor. A single dot was gone, erased without explanation. Instructors shifted uneasily, their voices caught in their throats. The screen didn't lie.
—--
And somewhere, deep within the endless woods, the voice returned. Quiet but close enough that it felt whispered into every ear.
"Hello… howling cubs…"
The words stretched, almost fond, almost amused, but edged with a promise.
"That's three down."
A pause. The mist shivered, the forest seemed to lean closer.
"Are you ready… for the next player?"
I tried to gather the pieces again, forcing my breath to steady even as my lungs burned.
The pattern… yes, the same pattern Drazel had whispered earlier. Each angle, each distance, a curse disguised as coordinates.
If I was right, then the next player… Forty-five degrees. Four kilometers southeast.
My chest tightened. I could almost see her face: the injured girl.
I didn't wait, overthinking wasn't my style. My instincts screamed louder than reason. Before the voice could brand her, before the forest itself could turn against her, I pushed off the earth. My feet slammed the ground, heartbeat hammering in rhythm with each step. The breath tore sharp and ragged through my chest as I bolted backward, every stride fueled by dread.
And then… he spoke.
The voice rose again, smooth and merciless, filling the woods like it had no source, no origin.
"Next player."
The forest stilled, every sound pulled into silence.
"Forty-five degrees. Four kilometers… Southeast."
The words struck like the toll of a bell, final and unforgiving.
Then silence.
But this time, the silence was worse. It was expectant, as if the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for the hunt to begin.
—-
Back at the academy, the silence in the control hall was suffocating.
Ms. Zerra stood rigid, eyes locked on the glowing radar before her. The room was awash in the pale light of the screen, shadows stretching long across the floor. Behind her loomed the headmaster, arms folded tightly, and beside him, Haldris, silent but sharp-eyed, then Drosh seated at the far end and Ms. Seraphyne.
This time the screen wasn't just a console, it was nearly half the wall, a massive digital map of the forest rendered in shifting greens and reds. Each blip pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. Every instructor present stood frozen, their gazes glued to it. No one dared speak, but the tension was alive, a current that snapped against the air like static.
Then Ms. Zerra stiffened. Her eyes flicked, and before she could stop herself, she stepped forward.
"Sir," she called, her voice clipped and urgent. "A blip is moving."
The headmaster's head turned to her instantly, his expression sharpening. "Where?"
"Here," she pointed, squinting to track it. "It's moving backward." The pulse streaked across the grid like a comet. "And at high speed."
The headmaster leaned closer, his voice low but edged with steel. "Who is it?"
Her fingers tapped the console. The data tag blinked in sharp white text. "Two-sixty-three."
A ripple went through the instructors. Eyes met, murmurs threatened to rise, but the weight of the moment pressed them down.
Ms. Zerra's voice cut back in. "And the direction he's heading…" Her breath caught. Another blip flickered on the map, steady and unmoving. She looked down. "One-oh-three."
The headmaster's brows furrowed. Haldris stepped closer, his presence heavy, his voice calm but questioning.
"Why at that speed?" Ms. Zerra tilted her head, her words quick, almost to herself. "His movements don't look random, or panicked, but purposeful. Do you think…" She hesitated, then said it aloud, "he's being chased?"
"By who?" the headmaster pressed, his tone colder now.
That was the question that swallowed the room. No one had an answer, all they knew was that Blip 263 wasn't running aimlessly. He was moving with intent. Like he knew.
And the faster he ran, the heavier the air in the monitor room became, as if even the instructors could feel the hunt closing in.
---
The voice flowed like smoke, slipping between the trees, cold and calculated.
"Injured girl limping; short black hair, wrapped shoulder, brown boots, gray cloak. A dagger strapped to her thigh…" Then a pause lingered like a blade pressing against skin.
"You are… in the game."
Somewhere beyond the thicker part of the forest, where the canopy broke just enough for frail beams of light to trickle through, a girl exhaled shaky and uneven, each breath sharp with pain. Her shirt was soaked in crimson; the dark stain spread down her side where a knife had buried itself deep into her thigh. Blood pulsed sluggishly beneath her fingers as she clutched her stomach, trying to hold herself together.
She crouched low beside a moss-clad stone, its damp surface chilling her palm. Her eyes darted across every shadow, wide and feverish, refusing to blink. Every rustle in the leaves became footsteps. Every flicker of light looked like teeth in the dark.
A heavy backpack clung loosely to one shoulder, dragging her down with its weight. It wasn't filled with salvation, only reminders of how unprepared she was. There was no weapon in her hands. Just pain and silence.
The voice had found her; named her, and branded her. And now the forest itself felt like it leaned closer to watch.
Her breath shivered, chest rising and falling too fast. Panic threatened to collapse her lungs. The words slipped from her lips, broken, raw:
"He's coming…"
Her leg refused to obey, twisted earlier when she'd tripped a hidden snare. The memory of the snap and the searing agony returned, stronger now. She bit down hard on her lip until iron filled her mouth, forcing herself to rise. One trembling hand dug into the bark of a nearby tree. The wood cut into her palm, grounding her against the storm of pain.
"I'm not…" she hissed through clenched teeth, shoulders shaking, "…going out like this."
Her body screamed, but her will dragged her forward. One step. Then another. A limp that looked more like dragging a corpse than walking, but it was motion. She forced her broken body into the dense woods ahead, shadows swallowing her figure, determination burning faintly against despair.
When I reached closer, my pace slowed.
Through the shifting trees ahead, I caught sight of someone. A figure limping, dragging herself forward as if the forest itself had tied chains to her ankles. Blood streaked her legs and soaked her whole body, staining the earth where she stepped.
I narrowed my eyes, my breath catching. The injured girl… But something felt wrong.
Her appearance didn't match what had been spoken. The details clashed in small, unnerving ways. The cloak was missing. Her shoulder wasn't wrapped either, even the hair close, but not exact.
I froze mid-stride, suspicion clawing at my chest. My gaze tightened, trying to read her movements, her outline, the truth beneath the blood.
And then – a scream tore through the air.
High pitched, sharp, and sudden. It ripped the silence like a blade slashing through fabric, echoing across the woods, raw enough to make the hairs on my neck rise.
I whipped my head toward the sound, scanning desperately, eyes darting left and right. But the forest betrayed me. Shadows twisted, echoes bounced between trunks. I couldn't pin the source.
Then the voice returned, dripping with mockery, smooth and cruel as a hand tightening a noose:
"Ah… seems I gave the wrong location. But the right description."
The mist thickened, as if his laughter carried shape, drifting through the branches around me.
He was mocking me.
"Sorry," the voice drawled, amusement curling in every syllable, "she wasn't ready for the game. But yeah… she's out."
My stomach dropped, the truth slamming into me harder than the scream had.
He fooled me. And I looked like the total fool he made me.
That last coordinate; it wasn't real. It was bait. A lie thrown like meat to a hound. He'd played me, turning my urgency into his entertainment.
That bastard. Whoever he was, wherever he hid, he was toying with us all.
And I had fallen for it.