Ren woke up face down in the dirt, his mouth tasting like earth and his cheek pressing into wet leaves. The ground felt cold and uneven beneath him. When he opened his eyes, all he saw were trees. Slowly sitting up, he noticed his body ached; his left hand was scraped and stiff, and his shirt had a tear at the shoulder, with one sleeve nearly hanging off. His jeans were damp from the knees down, and he was barefoot.
Taking a deep breath, he noticed the air was fresh but almost too clean. There were no buildings, no power lines, and no distant sound of cars—just tall trees close together, standing silently. Stumbling a bit, Ren looked around. There were no paths, no people, and no idea how he got here.
Checking his pockets revealed nothing—no phone, no keys, no wallet. He couldn't even call anyone. Rubbing his face with both hands, he suddenly noticed a strange sight in front of him: a clear, blue panel hanging in the air.
Underneath was a line that read:
Skill Acquired: [Moss-Thread Binding]
"You can gather fibers from certain mosses to make rope or thread."
Ren paused for a moment, rereading it. The words didn't disappear or fade; they just hung there. Reaching out, he found his hand passed through the screen, feeling nothing, yet the panel remained unchanged.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, "so that's a thing." Or at least, kind of real.
Crouching near a flat rock where moss grew, he touched it and gently pulled; it came off in soft, damp strips. Pinching the end of one, he was surprised it didn't fall apart. Braiding two strands together, he managed to create a weak, but functional, rope.
Standing up again with no roads in sight and no one to help him, just the trees and this weird screen with a new skill, he decided to pick a direction and start walking. The trees were everywhere. Ren took his time, watching his steps; some parts of the ground were soft and cushioned with moss, while others had tangled roots. He kept glancing down, trying to avoid cutting his feet—he definitely didn't want to bleed out because of a random stick.
Every now and then, he stopped to listen. There were no footsteps behind him or rustling bushes, just the occasional bird call—short and sharp. There were no animals around; the only movement came from leaves swaying in the wind. This forest felt ancient—not magical, just... old.
Trying to stay calm, Ren's thoughts kept drifting back to that screen: pulling rope from moss? It was hard to wrap his head around; sounded kind of ridiculous, but it actually worked. He tugged on the makeshift cord tied around his wrist; it was still there.
Glancing up at the treetops, he noticed the light was fading—not quite sunset, but definitely not morning anymore. Time was passing here, at least. He stopped at a clearing where the trees broke, revealing flat ground with a few big rocks and some short grass—no signs of people anywhere.
Moving to the edge, he crouched near another patch of moss and started peeling off more strips. Braiding them together, he created a longer rope. It wasn't perfect, but it held. He wrapped it around his waist; it might come in handy. With no food, no fire, and no tools, at least he had rope.
Standing up again, he scanned the clearing—still quiet, no danger in sight. He thought about staying here for a bit since it was flat, making it easier to keep an eye out. But then his stomach growled—real hunger, heavy and nagging.
Kneeling by a tree with low branches, he broke off a sturdy one and scraped at it with his fingernail. It wasn't super sharp, but it felt solid in his grip. He had no clue what he'd hunt or if there was anything worth hunting, but it felt better than being empty-handed.
Turning back to the trees, he reminded himself that to survive here, he needed water first, then shelter, and maybe food afterwards, not the other way around. So, he ventured deeper into the woods.
The deeper he went, the darker the forest became. The air shifted. Cooler. Still. Even the birds had gone quiet now. There were no signs of a stream, no obvious slope or dip in the terrain. Just the same dense wall of green stretching in every direction.
Minutes passed. Or hours. He couldn't tell anymore.
Eventually, he came across something that made him pause: a broken tree stump, wider than a dinner table, with old axe marks cut deep into the side.
He stared at it.
Someone had been here.
The bark was moss-covered, the wood darkened with time, but the cuts were too straight to be natural. He touched the marks, running his finger along one groove. They weren't fresh, but they weren't ancient either.
Ren turned his head, scanning the trees.
He wasn't alone.
There were no footsteps. No sounds. Just that heavy silence again. But he no longer felt like the only person walking this forest.
He crouched low behind a patch of ferns and stayed there, holding his breath. Nothing moved. He didn't hear anything, didn't see anything, but the feeling lingered.
He waited a little longer, then carefully rose and backed away from the stump.
Whoever had cut that tree might still be around. Or maybe they left long ago. Either way, it meant something existed in these woods besides him.
That changed everything.
He looked around once more, trying to find any other clues—broken branches, footprints, anything—but the forest was too thick, too wild. Still, the stump had been shaped by hands. That was enough.
Maybe there were others here. Maybe not.
But now he had proof: this place wasn't untouched.
And that meant somewhere—out there—was a way out.
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