Lumian woke with a jolt, as if something invisible had shaken him. The faint light slipping between the treetops burned his eyes. His body ached: the arrow wounds, the scratches, the blows. All of it was still there, reminding him that the nightmare was as real as the pain.
He pushed himself upright with difficulty and began walking aimlessly. He didn't know how much time had passed; in this place, time felt nonexistent. The only thing that did exist was hunger.
He eventually found small, sweet-smelling fruits and devoured them urgently, almost desperately. The juice soaked his fingers; for a moment, the simple, human sensation of eating something fresh made him tremble, as if his body wanted to remember that it was still alive.
While he chewed, the image of the dead hunter resurfaced in his mind.
The blood.
The final look in the man's eyes.
Lumian closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply despite the pain.
He couldn't speak, but in his head, the same thought repeated like a mantra: It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Just part of the illusion. Just another actor in the spell's stage.
A crack of a branch snapped him out of his thoughts.
Lumian turned quickly, his entire body tensing. His instincts screamed danger.
But it wasn't a hunter.
A few meters away, standing between two trees, was a child. Thin, with clothes in tatters, skin pale from hunger. His wide eyes reflected pure, animal fear… but also hunger. A lot of hunger.
Lumian froze.
The child did too.
The silence between them was almost unbearable.
Until the boy stepped back, breathing unevenly, ready to flee.
Lumian raised a hand slowly, trying to look less threatening. The movement hurt, but he didn't lower his arm. He glanced to the side, picked up one of the bigger fruits from the pile he had gathered, and held it out to the child.
He couldn't say I won't hurt you, but he tried to express it with his posture. With his stillness. With his eyes.
The child hesitated.
He looked at the fruit.
Then at Lumian.
He took another step back, his small fingers trembling.
Lumian forced his body to relax, lowering his shoulders slightly. He didn't move forward. Not even a centimeter.
He simply waited.
And after a long, silent moment, the child stepped forward.
Then another step.
With a trembling hand, he took the fruit, as if afraid Lumian might change his mind. As soon as his fingers wrapped around it, he backed away immediately, never turning his back on Lumian.
When he was at a safe enough distance, he turned and bolted into the bushes.
Lumian watched him until he disappeared.
Then he lowered his hand, feeling the exhaustion settle on him again.
He rubbed his face with his four hands, unable to shake the knot in his chest.
Even if he couldn't speak, even if he wasn't truly part of this world… in that moment, he felt more human than he had in his entire life.
Lumian finished filling his stomach with the sweet fruits he'd found. The wounds still stung faintly, but the food gave him enough energy to move more freely. He inhaled deeply, stretched his tense muscles, and ventured deeper into the forest.
It didn't take long to notice something.
Every time he walked a few meters, he heard clumsy footsteps stepping on dry branches in the distance. Footsteps too light to be those of an adult hunter. Lumian frowned and suddenly spun around.
Nothing.
Just still trees and silent bushes.
But Lumian wasn't naïve.
He walked a bit farther and again, the footsteps returned. This time closer.
He stopped.
Turned sharply.
The child—the same one who had taken the fruit—peeked from behind a tree trunk, his eyes wide… and the instant he realized Lumian had spotted him, he stumbled backward trying to hide, as if he hadn't already been caught ten times before.
Lumian blinked, surprised.
The kid was terrible at hiding.
Very terrible.
Lumian's shoulders relaxed a little and, though he couldn't produce a laugh, he exhaled through his nose—a silent chuckle of sorts.
Did the boy really think he couldn't see him?
He resumed walking.
The footsteps reappeared behind him.
Every so often, Lumian turned around.
And each time, the child vanished behind a tree, a rock, or a bush far too small to hide him. His tiny fingers, his hair, or a bit of ragged fabric always stuck out.
Still, he kept trying.
And Lumian… simply allowed it.
He didn't chase him off.
He didn't ignore him.
He accepted him, as if a small, clumsy shadow had decided to adopt him.
This continued for hours, until daylight started to fade. The forest turned a deep blue, cold and quiet, and the first stars appeared above the canopy.
Exhausted, Lumian returned to the area where he had slept. Before settling down, he gathered more fruits—enough to avoid starving through the night.
The child, half-hidden behind a bush, watched him with a mixture of fear and expectation.
Lumian picked up one of the largest fruits, turned toward him, and raised it slowly.
The child stepped out cautiously. His bare feet barely made a sound on the damp earth. He approached just enough to take the fruit, not daring to get any closer to Lumian's enormous form.
As soon as he had it, he began eating quickly, as if afraid someone would snatch it from him.
Lumian watched him silently.
The child ate as if he hadn't tasted food in days… perhaps he hadn't.
Lumian leaned against a thick trunk, letting exhaustion drag him down little by little.
The first rays of sunlight filtered through the leaves, painting the forest in gold. Lumian opened his eyes slowly, feeling the light touch his stone-like skin. He blinked, adjusting his vision… and saw the child.
He was asleep a few steps away, curled up, thin arms wrapped around his chest. He breathed softly, deeply, as if for the first time in days he could do so without fear.
Lumian watched him without moving.
No sane person would sleep beside a monster, he thought.
But he wasn't a monster. Not exactly.
Just a human soul trapped in a foreign body.
With a snort that lifted dust off the ground, Lumian rose and walked to a massive tree, its roots thick and its branches stretching toward the sky. He gripped the trunk with all four hands and began to climb.
His claws sank easily into the bark; it felt like climbing soft clay. In seconds, he reached one of the upper branches, thick as a stone bridge. From there, he could see the horizon.
And he saw them.
The walls of the human city.
Still incomplete, still uneven… but enormous, rising like a challenge against the forest that surrounded them. Lumian frowned. He had the feeling, an almost instinctive suspicion, that the exit of this nightmare was connected to that city.
But he didn't know how.
Nor what he needed to achieve.
Nor who might need to die… or survive.
He leaped down from the tree. The impact shook the ground with a dull thud that made the leaves tremble. The child woke with a start and, seeing Lumian's huge figure, let out a silent yelp before diving into the nearest bushes.
Lumian exhaled in amusement.
The kid truly was awful at hiding.
Without wasting more time, Lumian began to walk. He had heard water flowing the previous night; there had to be a river nearby. And a river meant three important things: drinkable water, potential food… and a place to orient himself.
The clumsy footsteps returned behind him.
Lumian didn't even bother turning anymore.
More than two hours passed before he finally stopped. He had climbed hills, crossed giant roots, and avoided marshy patches. When he did turn around, he found the child panting, hair messy, feet covered in mud.
He looked like a lost pup following the only being who had fed him.
Lumian tilted his head.
The child flinched when Lumian's massive hand descended toward him.
The boy stepped back, trembling, as if accepting the end.
But Lumian only picked him up gently—almost with paternal care—and placed him on one of his broad, muscular shoulders. The child froze for a moment… then opened his eyes wide.
From up there, the forest was another world.
He clung carefully to Lumian's neck, afraid to fall, but his eyes glimmered with wonder and pure excitement. He could see far, farther than he probably ever had in his life.
Lumian kept walking, feeling the boy gradually relax on his shoulder.
At last, they reached the river.
The water flowed clear and bright, running over smooth stones with a soft echo. Lumian set the child down gently, then leaned in to drink. The water was fresh and pure, sending a pleasant chill down his throat.
The boy mimicked him, drinking eagerly, as if he'd never tasted water so clean.
Lumian watched him silently, realizing that this small, unexpected presence was… tolerable. Even comforting.
And for reasons he couldn't explain, the boy seemed to see something in him that was more than a monster.