I followed her for a few more steps.
Just a few.
At first, I thought I could handle it. I told myself I just needed to keep moving, just a little longer. But my legs began to feel strange—heavy, like someone had tied weights to them. Each step felt slower than the last. The ground beneath my feet seemed uneven, as if the world itself had started to tilt.
My vision blurred slightly.
I blinked hard, trying to focus.
The forest around me swayed, trees bending and straightening like they were breathing. My ears rang faintly, a soft hum that drowned out everything else.
"Hey," the girl said, her voice suddenly closer. "You're not—"
I didn't hear the rest.
The world went dark.
When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was warmth.
Not the warmth of sunlight.
Fire.
A steady, gentle heat brushed against my skin, sinking into my bones. I frowned slightly, confused. My body felt heavy, but not in pain. Just tired. Deeply tired.
I opened my eyes slowly.
Above me was a wooden ceiling. Old. Darkened by smoke and time. Thick beams ran across it, rough and uneven. The air smelled strange—but not unpleasant. Cooked food. Bread. Maybe soup.
I turned my head slightly.
I was lying on a bed made of wood and straw. It creaked softly under my movement. A blanket covered me up to my chest, rough but warm. My arm felt stiff.
I looked down.
It was wrapped properly now. Clean cloth, carefully tied. The blood was gone.
"You're awake."
I turned my head again.
The girl sat near a small wooden table, a bowl resting in her hands. Firelight flickered across her face, casting soft shadows along her sharp eyes and tired expression.
"You fainted," she said calmly. "I thought you were dead for a second."
I swallowed.
My throat felt dry.
I tried to sit up, but the moment I moved, my head spun. Before I could do anything stupid, she raised her hand.
"Don't," she said firmly. "Sit slowly."
I listened.
I leaned back again, breathing carefully. My body still felt weak, but not painful. It was like every muscle had been pushed past its limit and was now complaining quietly.
"Where am I?" I asked.
"My village," she replied. "Or what's left of it."
I looked around more carefully this time.
The room was small. Too small to be comfortable. Cracks ran along the stone walls. Old furniture filled the space—a table, a stool, a small shelf with a few metal cups and bowls. Nothing fancy. Nothing new.
The fire crackled softly in the corner.
"Eat," she said, standing and placing the bowl into my hands.
The bowl was warm.
It was soup. Simple. Vegetables floating in clear broth, with pieces of something that looked like meat. The smell alone made my stomach twist painfully.
I hadn't realized how hungry I was until the first spoonful touched my lips.
Warmth spread through my chest.
I ate quietly, slowly at first, then faster as my body remembered what hunger felt like. Each spoonful made my head clearer, my hands steadier.
She watched me the entire time.
Not staring.
Observing.
After a while, she spoke again.
"My name is Arin."
I paused for a moment before replying.
"…Shahawaiz."
She nodded once, as if confirming something she already knew.
"You're not from around here," she said.
"No."
She didn't ask where I was from.
Didn't push.
That alone told me she had seen strange things before.
When I finished eating, I handed the bowl back. My hands shook slightly, but not as badly as before. The fog in my head was mostly gone now.
"So," she said, leaning back against the table. "You killed a grey wolf."
I looked down at my wrapped arm.
"I didn't want to."
"They never care about what you want," she replied calmly. "You did well surviving."
I didn't answer.
She studied me again, her gaze sharper this time. Not hostile. Measuring.
"What level are you?" she asked.
I hesitated.
Something about the question felt heavy. Important.
"…Two."
She blinked.
Once.
"Two?"
"Yes."
Her expression changed slightly. Her brows furrowed.
"That's fast," she said. "You awakened recently?"
"I think so."
She nodded slowly, as if piecing something together.
"And your skill?"
I hesitated again.
This time longer.
Something in her eyes told me this mattered more than the last question. My chest tightened slightly.
"…Creation," I said quietly. "F rank."
The moment the words left my mouth—
She froze.
Completely.
Her body went still, like someone had pressed pause. The color drained from her face. Her breathing stopped for a second, just long enough for me to notice.
"…Say that again," she said softly.
"Creation," I repeated. "F rank."
She stood up suddenly.
Too fast.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor. She walked to the door and pulled it open slightly, peering outside. Her eyes scanned the darkness. Then she shut it firmly and slid the lock into place.
Only then did she turn back to me.
"Did anyone else hear this?" she asked.
"No."
"Did you tell anyone?"
"No."
She exhaled sharply, like she had been holding her breath for too long.
"Good."
She walked back and sat across from me, leaning forward slightly.
"Listen to me carefully," she said. "You do not tell anyone about that skill. Ever."
"…Why?"
Her eyes hardened.
"Because Creation is not a normal skill."
I waited.
She continued slowly, choosing her words carefully.
"Skills are gifts from the world," she said. "They follow rules. Fire burns. Water flows. Strength breaks. Healing restores."
She leaned closer, her voice lowering.
"Creation does not follow rules."
I swallowed.
"In the past," she said, "people with Creation tried to change things. Land. Life. Magic itself."
My heart started beating faster.
"What happened?" I asked.
"The world pushed back."
"…How?"
She looked away for a moment, her jaw tightening.
"Wars," she said quietly. "Disappearances. Entire cities erased."
She looked back at me.
"And every person with Creation—"
Her eyes locked onto mine.
"—was hunted."
The air felt heavier.
"But mine is weak," I said quickly. "It's F rank."
"That doesn't matter," she replied immediately. "Ranks change. Skills grow. Creation always starts weak."
She stood again and walked toward the fire.
"The world allows many things," she said. "But it does not like being rewritten."
I stayed silent.
She turned back toward me, her voice softer now.
"If people learn what you have," she said, "they won't ask questions. They won't test you."
"They'll kill you."
The room felt colder despite the fire.
She crossed her arms.
"So you hide it," she continued. "You lie about your skill. Say it's something useless. Or something common."
I nodded slowly.
"I won't tell anyone."
She studied me for a long moment.
"…Good."
She turned back to the fire.
"You can stay here tonight," she said. "Tomorrow, we talk about what you do next."
I lay back on the bed, staring up at the wooden ceiling.
My body was safe.
But my future suddenly felt very small.
And very dangerous.