At the back camp—Lady Gloria stood at the center of it, her long black hat tilted slightly forward, shadows hiding most of her face… but not her expression. Pure fury radiated from her. The soldiers stood before her in a crooked line, most of them battered, some still limping from the crash.
"You mean to tell me," she began slowly, her tone dangerously calm, "that one injured boy—with a bullet in his arm, no less—managed to escape five trained men, two jeeps, and a containment setup worth more than all your salaries combined?"
The men stayed silent, eyes darting nervously toward each other.
Her eyes flared with dark amusement. "Oh, and let's not forget… he took my hostage jeep."
One soldier, young and nervous, stepped forward, trying to explain. "Ma'am, with all due respect, he—uh—he shouted something weird, like 'avalanche' or—"
"And what?" Gloria interrupted sharply, her voice cutting through him like glass. "Did snow fall from the heavens and wipe your precious brains clean?"
The man swallowed hard, shaking his head. "No, ma'am! It's just—uh—he moved really fast! Like, impossibly fast!"
From the side, another soldier, older and clearly not helping, muttered, "Fast or not, Johnson still managed to shoot the tire instead of the target."
Everyone's eyes turned to Johnson, who immediately stiffened and blurted out, "I tripped! The ground was uneven!"
Gloria's voice turned sweet—sickeningly sweet. "You tripped," she repeated. "How lovely. Perhaps next time I should hire acrobats instead of hunters."
There was a long, painful silence. The wind carried the faint hiss of a dying engine somewhere behind them.
Then, from the wrecked jeep, came a faint noise—something squirming inside one of the overturned crates.
Everyone froze.
One of the soldiers cautiously opened it. A snake—a small, white snake—popped its head out and hissed.
"AAAAH!" the man screamed, flinging the crate backward. The snake landed in the mud and slithered off calmly, completely unbothered.
Gloria just… stared. Her eyes twitched.
"Was that—?"
"Yes, ma'am," one of them stammered. "That was… uh… the boy's snake."
She blinked once. Then twice. And then, to everyone's horror, she started laughing—softly at first, then louder, and louder still until it echoed across the whole camp.
"Oh, this is rich," she said between fits of laughter, wiping the corner of her mouth. "You let both my pretties slip away! The boy and his pet."
Her tone suddenly dropped to a cold whisper. "You'll find him. Every last one of you. Or I'll feed the lot of you to the next beast I brand."
The soldiers stiffened, saluting in unison.
"Yes, Lady Gloria!"
As they hurried off in a panic, Gloria tilted her head back and smiled faintly, her voice soft but dripping with obsession.
"Run as much as you want," she murmured, eyes gleaming like black fire. "Even the wild can't hide you forever."
Behind her, a soldier tripped over a supply crate and fell face-first into mud, earning another round of laughter from the rest—until Gloria's cold gaze snapped toward them.
Instant silence.
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Ichiro POV
I dragged myself out toward the light, each pull scraping my palms raw against the dirt. The air outside hit me—a mix of morning dew and soil. I blinked as the brightness burned my eyes, but it felt… real. Warm.
Reaching out, I grabbed the trunk of a nearby tree, rough bark biting into my hands. I used it to haul myself up, my whole body trembling. My legs screamed in protest, but I didn't stop until I was standing, half-leaning against the trunk. My breathing was uneven, but it was steady.
I looked around—dense forest, birds faintly calling somewhere in the distance, the wind moving through the leaves. For the first time since that nightmare began, there was no shouting, no gunfire, no smoke. Just… silence.
I spotted a long stick near the roots and picked it up, testing its weight. It wasn't much, but it would do. I leaned on it, adjusting my stance until I felt somewhat balanced, then exhaled a shaky sigh.
The sun was climbing slowly, painting the world in orange. I looked toward it, narrowing my eyes. I didn't need a map to know—if the sun was rising there, that was east. Civilization had to be somewhere in that direction.
Still… this place. It was too quiet. Too easy. And easy meant danger. I wasn't going to stay still long enough to find out what kind.
But for now, I couldn't move far—not like this. I turned back toward the cave and limped inside, stopping near the entrance where the light still reached. Sitting down carefully, I rested my back against the rock wall and kept the stick by my side.
I closed my eyes, but only halfway. My body begged for rest, yet my mind refused to trust the silence.
So I stayed like that—half-awake, half-asleep, the faint glow of sunlight spilling over me. One eye open, watching. Always watching.
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A week had passed since the chaos on the cliff road.
The forest had changed in tone — quieter, almost reverent, as if it knew something dangerous had walked its paths for too long. A lone man now moved through the dense undergrowth, each step light yet deliberate, his figure half-covered in dirt and fading bloodstains. His shirt was torn near the sleeves, and his right arm bore a faint scar where the bullet had grazed him.
A long stick served as both weapon and walking support, though from the steady rhythm of his gait, it was clear he no longer needed it.
Ichiro's expression was calm — too calm. His eyes, once golden and bright, had dimmed into a lighter hue, sharp and quiet like molten metal cooled over time. He walked like someone who had learned the forest's language — no wasted motion, no sound. Birds that would normally scatter stayed perched, watching silently as he passed.
When he broke through the last thick line of trees, his gaze lifted.
There, in the near distance, rose the walls — towering, smooth, and impossibly wide. They stretched so far in both directions that they vanished into the horizon, their surface catching the faint shimmer of the afternoon sun. The civilization's edge.
For a long while, Ichiro just stood there, stick planted in the ground, staring at it. The faint wind carried a metallic scent from the direction of the walls — civilization's breath.
He finally moved again, but not toward the massive gate that surely stood somewhere along those walls. Instead, he turned slightly, following the tree line, keeping himself hidden within the shadow of the forest.
His steps were careful, measured. He didn't trust this place — not yet.
Somewhere inside those walls might be safety, but it could just as easily be another cage.
"Not yet," he muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the walls for a better way in.
A faint hiss answered from beneath his collar. Albi — now nearly the length of Ichiro's torso — raised his head, tongue flickering as if sensing his master's tension.
Ichiro exhaled slowly. "Yeah… I know."
The forest rustled softly as they continued their quiet movement along the perimeter — predator and serpent slipping between the edge of wilderness and the looming presence of civilization.
Each step was a decision — forward toward an uncertain world, or back into the only hell he had learned to survive.
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Gonna finish this boring arc soon, Just bare with me for a while.
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