Year 400, Duskrendi Mountains, Northern Edge
Takaya trudged back to the riverbank empty-handed, his stomach gnawing at itself. The underbrush had betrayed him again—no rabbits, no deer, not even a bird too slow to escape. Just sweat, mud, and the faint copper stink of old blood on his clothes.
He sniffed his sleeve and immediately gagged. "Man, to hell with this shit. I need a bath."
The stench of sweat, blood, and the cold mountain air clung to him like a second skin. His stomach growled in protest from the failed hunt, reminding him that survival was a long, unpleasant grind.
"You think smelling like a corpse is going to make the deer come back to you?" the Veyl said, voice dry but edged with amusement.
Takaya scowled. "Yeah, yeah. Very helpful."
"Helpful enough to keep you alive," the Veyl replied. "Now listen carefully. The water you want, the river that won't freeze your bones, it's downstream. Not here. If you stay up there, you'll die before you even consider getting a bath."
Takaya huffed but didn't argue. He knew the Veyl wasn't wrong. Survival first, vanity later.
"Fine. Downstream it is," he muttered, pushing himself up from the muddy ground. The weight of hunger and fatigue pressed on him, but the thought of warm water and a place to wash off the filth gave him the smallest spark of motivation.
"Careful," the Veyl said, tone almost gentle now. "The forest isn't any safer than it was two feet ago. Keep your wits."
Takaya nodded, squaring his shoulders. He had no weapon, no Solthar to summon yet, and every step carried the risk of slipping, falling, or worse. But a bath—and some warmth—was worth the gamble.
He started walking. The river had to be somewhere below.
Takaya descended along the narrow bank, boots slipping in mud and loose rocks. The wind was calmer here, brushing against his neck with a hint of warmth, but it did little to chase away the chill that had seeped into his bones over the past weeks.
"Slow down," the Veyl said, his voice laced with mock concern. "You don't want to tumble into the river and become fish food before you even figure out how to summon Solthar."
Takaya gritted his teeth. "Yeah, yeah. Noted."
Branches snagged his torn clothes, the thin fabric fraying further. Every step was an exercise in patience; the mountain's edge offered no shortcuts, no mercy. He could hear the distant clatter of rocks falling somewhere further down the slope, the occasional snap of a twig underfoot reminding him the forest was still alive—and still dangerous.
He paused at a shallow bend, the water rushing faster here, glinting in the weak sunlight. His stomach growled again. He hadn't eaten since the deer—or whatever that was—had passed him by the previous night. Hunger gnawed at him, but he forced it down, focusing on the goal. Bath first. Survival second.
"You're thinking about food again, aren't you?" the Veyl asked, tone teasing but sharp.
Takaya shot him a glare. "I'm just… aware."
"Call it what you want," the Veyl replied. "But if you don't get clean and warm soon, you'll be too weak to catch anything anyway. Nature doesn't wait for your pride."
Takaya exhaled, shoulders sagging slightly. The river's sound grew louder as he followed the slope, the smell of wet earth and clean water rising faintly in his nose. It was a small relief, but enough to make him push forward, every step a tiny victory against exhaustion and cold.
Takaya's boots sank into the damp earth as he picked his way through thick underbrush, every step cautious. The slope was steeper here, rocks slick with mud, roots clawing at his ankles. His muscles screamed with the effort, his lungs burning with each breath, and the stench of his own body seemed to cling tighter with every step.
"You move like a drunk goat," the Veyl said, voice sharp but tinged with humor. "Careful, or this river becomes your grave instead of your bath."
"Shut up," Takaya muttered, swiping sweat and dirt from his forehead. "I'm fine."
He wasn't fine. His legs trembled, his stomach twisted in protest from days without proper food, and every nerve in his body buzzed with fatigue. Yet he pressed on, forcing himself to focus on the sound of running water far below. That sound alone kept him moving—his only promise of warmth, cleanliness, and a brief respite from this endless grind.
Branches whipped against his face, scraping his skin raw, and his torn clothes rubbed painfully against old wounds. He stumbled once, catching himself on a mossy boulder, mud seeping into his boots.
"You've got two choices," the Veyl said, tone mocking but instructive. "You can either keep shuffling like a corpse and die from frostbite, or you can move smart and actually get somewhere. Pick one."
Takaya exhaled, adjusting his footing. "Smart it is."
The wind carried a faint scent of flowing water, crisp and alive, teasing him with the promise of warmth. He imagined the feel of it, washing away the grime, the blood, the sweat, and even the lingering taste of iron in his mouth. It spurred him on, step by step, each downward inch a tiny victory against the mountain and his own exhaustion.
"Careful with that ledge," the Veyl warned, voice dropping to a low growl. "One slip, and this is the last bath you'll ever take."
Takaya's teeth clenched, and he forced his legs to move despite the ache. He wasn't sure how much further the river lay, but he knew he had to reach it. The forest felt quieter here, the wind less biting, the faint promise of something normal creeping into his senses.
With one final effort, he inched closer to the sound of rushing water, every muscle straining, every joint aching. The river wasn't far now—he could almost taste the warmth it promised, almost feel the filth and cold washing away in its flow.
Takaya's legs trembled as he reached the edge of a steep incline. The sound of rushing water had grown into a roar, echoing against the cliffs around him. Following the river's path had been exhausting, but now he saw why: it plunged over a jagged cliff, tumbling into a lake below, sending up a fine mist that smelled faintly of wet stone and fresh water.
"Looks like your bath's waiting," the Veyl said, voice dry but carrying a hint of amusement. "Provided you don't chicken out at the last drop."
Takaya wiped sweat from his brow, staring down at the lake below. The thought of stripping down and plunging into freezing mountain-fed water made his stomach twist in anticipation.
The slope was slick with moss and mud, every careful step a test of balance. Branches tore at his clothes, already tattered and sticking to him from sweat and old blood. He cursed under his breath but forced himself downward, gripping rocks and roots to steady himself.
"Don't get clever," the Veyl warned. "One slip, and the lake isn't going to feel like a bath anymore."
Finally, he reached the flat outcrop at the cliff's edge. The waterfall thundered beside him, mist spraying his face. The lake below shimmered like liquid glass, wide and calm in contrast to the chaotic fall that fed it. He could see fish flicking near the surface, and the water's chill called to him like a promise.
Takaya stripped, grimacing at the cold as he waded into the lake. The icy water bit at his skin, numbing his fingers and toes, but it also felt… alive. Each movement loosened the grime, the sweat, the scent of his own exhaustion. He ducked under the surface, letting the water soak him fully, washing away the stench and leaving only the raw ache of muscles and bruises.
The Veyl's voice floated from above, teasing. "Not so tough, huh? Look at you, squealing like a goat in the rain."
Takaya spat water at the cliffside and muttered, "Shut up. This… this is survival, not fun."
He washed his clothes in the lake as well, wringing them out and noting the deep tears where branches and wolf claws had shredded the fabric. They wouldn't last much longer in the wild, but they'd do for now.
Finally, he leaned back against a smooth rock, letting the lake cradle his body. Mist from the waterfall cooled the air around him, but the lake's depth kept his core warm enough. For the first time in days, Takaya felt a moment of peace—not safety, not victory, just… respite.
The Veyl's voice softened, almost contemplative. "Enjoy it while it lasts, boy. The world won't wait for you to dry off."
Takaya didn't answer, letting the sound of water and wind fill the silence. For now, that was enough.
Takaya tugged his damp clothes back on, the fabric clinging to him like a second skin. The tears and gouges made movement awkward, but at least he didn't smell like death anymore. He ran a hand through his hair, letting the cool wind dry the damp strands.
"Feeling better?" the Veyl asked, amusement in his voice. "Clean, dry, maybe even… respectable."
Takaya scowled. "I said don't mock me."
"Mocking? I'm merely observing. Though, I'll admit, the sight of you trying not to shiver is… entertaining," the Veyl said, dryly.
Takaya ignored him, scanning the lake below the waterfall. The river feeding it twisted through the valley, winding into the distance. The terrain sloped down gently, a path that would eventually take him further downstream—toward warmth, food, and maybe some semblance of civilization.
"Downstream," the Veyl reminded him. "Not just for the bath. You want to survive? Stick to it. Go up, and you'll freeze before you realize you're dead."
Takaya nodded, swallowing the lump of fatigue in his throat. The Veyl's voice was harsh, but it was the only guidance he had.
He stepped carefully onto the moss-covered rocks that led to the river's path, his wet boots slipping occasionally. The wind carried the smell of wet earth and pine, a reminder that he was still very much in Duskrend. Even cleaned, even stronger, the forest remained a predator in its own right.
Every step downstream was a gamble—one wrong slip, one sudden attack, and this small victory of a bath could become the last thing he ever experienced.
But Takaya pushed forward, determined, letting the current of the river guide him toward the next stage of survival.
Takaya crested a low rise and saw it—a narrow, worn road snaking through the trees. His boots sank into the soft earth as he stepped onto it, each footfall sending a small crunch through the quiet of the forest. He didn't know where it led, only that following it might bring him closer to a town, a place where food, warmth, and perhaps even safety awaited.
The sun dipped low, painting the sky in muted oranges and purples. Takaya's stomach growled faintly, reminding him that the day had passed with little sustenance. The wind carried distant rustles through the trees, but for now, the road seemed safe, unbroken, a thin ribbon of promise through Duskrend's wild expanse.
A sudden, piercing scream sliced through the fading light. Takaya froze, heart hammering. Without thinking, he crouched behind a dense bush at the road's edge, shadows concealing him. The voice came again, frantic and terrified—a woman's cry, and beneath it, a higher, smaller scream.
Peering through the foliage, Takaya's eyes widened. A woman and a young girl were struggling against a monstrous creature—its limbs elongated and grotesque, its eyes reflecting the dying light with an unnatural gleam. The woman tried to shield the child, but the beast pressed closer, snarling, relentless.
Takaya's muscles tensed, a battle of instinct and reason raging within him. He wanted to leap forward, to intervene, to do something—anything—but the Veyl's voice lingered in his mind, a sharp reminder that recklessness could be fatal.
He stayed hidden, watching, learning, feeling the weight of his first true test press down on him, and understanding, with a cold clarity, that Duskrend had only just begun to teach him its rules.
This was his first challenge. Not a practice, not a minor scrape or a nightmarish vision, but real, immediate danger, breathing, clawing, alive. Here, in Duskrend, he would learn quickly that survival was not a promise but a question, and every choice—every hesitation—carried consequences far beyond himself.