The trees slowly grew denser.
The light falling onto the ground thinned—becoming lines instead of patches. The air changed as well. More humid. Colder. As if the forest took a deep breath, then held it.
Dio noticed the shift without rushing.
He had walked long enough that his steps felt like a short song looping over and over: right step, left step, breathe, adjust shield, shift sword, repeat.
At certain points, the ground softened like a sponge, absorbing the sound of his steps. He stopped when his thin leather shoe pressed onto soil that was too soft. The tip of his shoe sank slightly into the wet earth.
He stepped back half a pace.
Peat soil.
He shifted to another direction, searching for firmer ground. A large tree root stretched out there—thick enough to use as footing. Dio crossed it slowly.
When he returned to solid ground, another sound appeared.
Not a bird.
Not a twig.
Not the wind.
Water.
At first faint, like a soft rustle. But when he stopped and tilted his head, the sound became clearer: moving water, broken by stones or roots. Not roaring, but steady enough to indicate a stream.
Dio looked toward the sound.
He raised his shield slightly, then stepped toward the source.
The forest formed a narrow natural corridor—not a path, just a gap between two large trees that happened to stand farther apart. Light reflected a little brighter there.
As Dio ducked beneath a low branch, the sound of water filled his ears.
A small river greeted him from behind the foliage.
Not wide—around two meters.
But clear.
Its water flowed slowly from left to right. The riverbed was visible: small stones, a few leaves carried by the current, and the exposed underside of tree roots dipping into the water.
Dio stepped closer.
He knelt by the riverbank, reaching for a long fallen twig nearby. He dipped the tip of the twig into the water and lifted it again.
No slime.
No foam.
The water was clear.
He didn't drink it.
Dio simply watched the surface, noting the flow direction—east to west based on the sun. That meant the city he sought would not lie along this river.
The river was only a brief stop, not a guide.
He stored the information silently.
A few seconds passed before he looked back.
The forest remained the same—trees standing close, shadows shifting slowly as the wind passed. No other sounds. No footsteps.
Dio returned his attention to the water.
He touched it—cold, but not numbing. Just refreshing on the skin.
He cupped his hands slowly, tilted them, and lifted the water to his face. He didn't drink; he simply splashed it onto his cheeks and forehead, washing off the dirt that had gathered since morning.
The water dripped back into the river, breaking into small rings.
For a moment, the faint reflection of his face looked more alive than it had in the hospital. His cheeks less pale, his eyes less heavy.
But that was only a reflection, not an answer.
Dio stood again.
Water slid from his chin, falling onto the river surface like tiny raindrops.
He scanned the area, searching for danger—animal tracks, claw marks, trapped feathers. Nothing. But the quiet around the river felt… thicker. Like a place not often visited by large creatures—but not necessarily safe.
He realized something:
the river, though it offered no drink or food, could act as a landmark.
If he became lost deeper in the forest, the sound of water could help him return here. That was important enough to note.
Dio touched the nearest tree trunk—the bark was hard, a thin film of moss clinging to it. He scratched its surface slightly with the tip of his sword's sheath, leaving a small mark. Not too deep, not too big, but enough for him to recognize later.
After that, he took a deep breath, checked his gear again, and walked away from the river's flow—toward where the sun rose.
The river disappeared behind the trees after a few minutes of walking.
The ground grew firmer.
The air drier.
A broken twig under his shoe snapped loudly.
Dio stopped.
The sound reminded him of something: in the forest, loud noises didn't only come from him.
He waited.
Silence.
Then a small sound—shifting leaves—far to his right.
Not large. Not heavy.
Maybe a bird.
Maybe a small animal.
But his body reacted instinctively: shoulders lifting slightly, shield turning a quarter arc.
Dio didn't run.
He simply walked again, more cautiously.
Every step he weighed.
Every sound he listened to.
Every shadow he watched from the corner of his eye.
As he crossed a fallen tree trunk coated with thick moss, he felt tired for the first time. Not because his body hurt—it didn't—but because his mind had been working nonstop since he woke up.
Constant focus weighed on the body.
He glanced right, then left.
Ensuring no strange shadows.
One sound—soft, like a muffled breath within the undergrowth—came from far behind him.
Dio did not stop.
Did not speed up.
Did not slow down.
He simply moved on.
The river was now far.
The hut even farther.
The city unseen.
But his steps remained straight.
Not perfect.
Not certain.
Yet unwavering.
When the light finally shifted in color—a faint orange tint, a sign of the sun's movement—Dio knew one thing:
The first day would not end without something watching him from behind the trees.
He did not know what.
He did not know how far.
But he knew he was not truly alone among the old trunks of the forest.