"Pain was my best teacher and my worst enemy."
-From the Records of Ashenborne, 21.
The boy stirred, consciousness returning slowly returning to him. At first, he couldn't place himself nor could he even recognize the weight of his own body. But as the fog of grogginess lifted, the sharp, biting sensation of pain surged through him. Tentatively, he tried to move his arm, but the smallest shift sent an agonizing wave through his body. He winced, tears springing to his eyes, tracing lines down his cheeks.
His thoughts were fragmented, sluggish. Why am I crying?
The tears felt foreign, unwarranted yet they continued. He tried again, carefully this time, rotating his arm in slow, deliberate arcs. Each motion was a struggle, but he pushed through it, desperate to understand. After several repetitions, it struck him: his arms weren't the source of this... thing, this feeling of relentless agony.
Groaning softly, the boy opened his eyes, though the effort cost him. His vision swam at first, shapes blending into indistinct smears of light and shadow. Gradually, the world around him came into focus.
To his right, a river flowed with serene determination, its surface shimmering under the glowing sunlight. Crystal-clear water cascaded over smooth, submerged rocks, the sound of its passage both soothing and unyielding.
The rocks went in and out of the stream, some worn into interesting shapes by time while having their surfaces gleam dully in polish. The current was gentle but constant, tugging faintly at his legs where they were partially submerged.
In the distance, he could just make out the outline of a hill or was it a mountain? The haze of pain clouded his judgment, making it difficult to see. Beyond that, to the north, there was land, a sliver of safety, though it seemed impossibly far to him. The boy turned his attention back to his immediate surroundings, noting with faint surprise the sensation of water trickling into his ear, cool and somewhat invasive.
Above him, the sky was alive with color. The sun hovered low on the horizon, painting the heavens in hues of gold and orange. The edges of the his view were tinged with deepening shades of indigo, a herald of the approaching night. The sight might have been beautiful under different circumstances, but for the boy, it felt unusual.
Not good.
A small worry began to claw its way through him. Night would fall soon, and with it came dangers he couldn't face. He imagined predators, canines, drawn to the river for a drink, only to find him, helpless and exposed. His thoughts spiraled into urgency. He had to move.
Summoning every ounce of willpower, the boy tried to rise. His muscles screamed in response, the pain tearing through his senses. Tears welled up again, and his breath came in ragged gasps. It was too much, too overwhelming. He collapsed back, his body trembling.
More time passed. The sun inched closer to the horizon, its light softening into a tender glow.
The boy gritted his teeth, pushing himself to test his limbs once more. His legs responded better now, though the weight of the water around him made them feel heavy. His upper body, too, began to move with greater ease, though each attempt sent fresh pain radiating from his head.
He tried rolling to his side, only to have agony rip through his throbbing head. A sharp burst of pain overwhelmed him, and he nearly blacked out.
His breaths came in shallow, rapid bursts, and for a moment, he lay utterly still, fear gripping him.
Then, like a flash, the realization hit him.
My head. It's the source of the pain. He thought back to when he first stirred, vaguely recalling the pool of blood near his temple. His hands twitched at his sides, useless and weak. He felt trapped in his own body, a prisoner of his injuries.
*
The sky deepened into colors of amber and ruby, casting long shadows over the river's surface. The boy lay still for a moment, staring at the vibrant colors as a sense of agency slowly crept over him.
He knew he had no time left. The world was growing colder with the loss of the sun's warmth, and the thought of predators emerging in the dark made him uncomfortable. Every instinct screamed at him to move, but his body felt like a broken and in extreme pain.
I have to get up. I have to move, or it's over.
His first attempt was a failure. He arched his back slightly, testing the limits of his pain. A sharp, electric jolt shot from his head down his spine, it was so sudden and intense that it forced a cry from him. His breath became uneven, and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. His hands dug into the wet earth beneath him, nails clawing at the soil as he tried to steady himself.
Forcing his neck to tilt, he felt like shards of glass were grinding against his skull. Every nerve screamed in retaliation. A fresh wave of tears blurred his vision, and he growled in frustration, hating his weakness, hating the pain.
"No," he whispered, the word trembling on his lips. His voice was raw, barely more than a croak. "Screw that."
He tried again, this time lifting his upper body. Agony exploded like a wildfire across his nerves, blinding and all-consuming. His vision blacked out for a moment, stars bursting in his peripheral vision as his body screamed for him to stop. He collapsed back down with a gasp, his chest heaving as he fought for air.
Time passed in agonizing stillness. He wanted to give up. The pain was too much and his body felt too exhausted, and the thought of slipping back into unconsciousness seemed sweet to him.
But then he remembered the shadows creeping closer, the predators that would come with them, and a spark of defiance flared in his chest.
I can't die like this. I don't even know where I am, or what happened to me...
Summoning every ounce of willpower, he tried again. This time, he roared through the pain, a guttural, animalistic sound that echoed through the surroundings.
His torso rose inch by agonizing inch, muscles trembling and seizing with the effort. Every movement felt like tearing something apart within him. The wound on his head pulsed with a rhythm all its own, a drumbeat of suffering that amplified with every beat of his heart.
Tears poured freely now, mixing with the sweat and grime on his face. His teeth ground together, the pressure so intense he thought they might crack. His arms shook violently as they bore the weight of his broken body, and his knees scraped against the rocky riverbed, sending sharp pain up his legs.
When he finally managed to sit upright, the world tilted dangerously. His stomach churned, and for a moment, he thought he might vomit. But he swallowed the nausea, forcing it down with sheer stubbornness. The throbbing in his skull was relentless.
The boy took a moment to gather himself, though the pain never lessened. He couldn't afford to rest long. Gritting his teeth, he pressed his palms into the ground, using it as leverage to push himself further upright. His legs screamed in protest, their muscles cramping and trembling under the strain.
The moment he tried to stand, his knees buckled, and he collapsed back down, water splashing around him. Frustration flared hot and angry, but he refused to let it consume him. Instead, he gritted his teeth harder, forcing his legs to bear his weight as he tried again.
"Get up," he growled in his childish voice through clenched teeth. "Move. MOVE!"
Every inch he rose was a battle, his body rebelling at every step. The pain was excruciating, radiating from his head down to his toes. It was as though his very existence had been reduced to suffering, every moment defined by the searing heat of his injuries.
When he finally stood, his legs felt like they might give out at any moment. His balance wavered, and he swayed dangerously, but he managed to stay upright. His vision was dark at the edges, the world around him swimming and shifting like a mirage.
He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he took his first step. It was a halting, shaky movement, but it was a step. Then another. Each one sent fresh jolts of pain up his legs, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through it.
Minutes passed. The boy moved slowly, his head throbbing with every step, his body screaming for him to stop. But he kept going, driven by the knowledge that stopping meant death.
By the time he reached the edge of the riverbank, his body was trembling violently. His muscles felt like they were on fire, and his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. He collapsed to his knees on the dry ground, his vision swimming as exhaustion threatened to overtake him.
Keep going. Just keep going.
And so he did, walking further inland.