Chapter 3: He Doesn't Come Back
He ran deeper into the forest, limbs aching, wounds burning. Every step tore at his side. Every branch whipped against his arms, clawed hands scraping dirt and leaves.
He could feel them following. Or maybe it was just the forest playing tricks on him. Every snapping twig, every rustle of leaves, set his senses on fire. Every shadow could be a threat.
I didn't mean for her to see.
The thought of LyraVale flashed in his mind. Her wide eyed face, panicked and terrified on the screen. Her hands clutching the headset. He had told her to mute the stream. She hadn't listened.
I exposed her to me. My truth. My curse.
He pressed himself against the trunk of a massive oak, panting, trying to slow his heartbeat. He hated himself. Hated the claws, the transformation, the fear in her eyes. And yet, even in his agony, there was a spark of something stubborn inside him: he couldn't leave her. He wouldn't.
---
Back online, the chaos was growing.
> WHAT IS THIS?? REAL?? FAKE??
THE STREAM IS TRENDING
SOMEONE FIND HIM BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE
Screenshots and clips spread like wildfire. Slow-motion loops of his hands twisting, his eyes shifting, the half-growl captured perfectly. One fan had overlaid a red circle on his glowing eyes, another had a sound file of the howl slowed down to impossible pitch.
Forums lit up. "Real or hoax?" threads exploded. Some users debated tirelessly.
> CGI. Stop panicking. It's edited.
No, that's him. Those claws look at the hand!
Someone locate the forest. NOW.
Others tried to warn Lyra, posting in DMs, mentions, and tweets:
> Don't go into the forest!
Someone save him!
Lyra, you have to be careful!
And then there were the trolls. Obsessive fans who created memes, edited clips to make it funnier or darker, making jokes about "Half-Werewolf IRL." Some users started speculating he wasn't just a friend he was a supernatural being, hiding in plain sight for months.
Some went further, digging through old social media posts. Attempting to track him. Attempting to calculate his route. Others, darker-minded, talked about venturing into the forest themselves, filming it all.
Every notification pinged at LyraVale's phone. Her notifications became a storm she couldn't escape. Yet she moved. She had to. Every second she stayed glued to her device, the fear of what could happen to him twisted tighter in her chest.
---
He crouched in the hollow of a fallen tree, listening to the forest. Every sound was amplified: the wind through the branches, the distant call of an owl, even the faint rustle of leaves.
He imagined cameras. Drones. People hiding behind trees with flashlights and lenses, tracking every step he took. Somewhere out there, he could already feel the internet's gaze pinning him down, as if millions of eyes were watching him through the streams, the posts, the clips.
And he hated it. Hated himself. Hated that he had pulled her into this.
But he also couldn't stop thinking about her.
She'll come for me. She always comes.
That thought kept him steady, kept him moving when every muscle in his body screamed to stop, to vanish completely.
---
Back on the web, the situation escalated.
Clips were being re-uploaded with different angles, slow-motion effects, and speculation in the captions.
Some users were tracing locations, using landmarks from the forest stream.
Threads debated whether hunters might already be on the way.
A few people were organizing "search parties," some harmless, some dangerous.
News outlets picked up on the viral trend, framing it as a "VTuber livestream gone wrong" story.
> THIS IS NOT A GAME
SOMEONE HELP HIM BEFORE HE GETS HURT
LYRA, STAY SAFE
Amid the chaos, the hashtags kept trending. Every second brought a flood of new content, new clips, new theories. The world was watching.
Somewhere in the forest, he could feel it.
They're watching.
And she's coming.
He didn't know if he could trust her to find him. He didn't know if he deserved it.
But he had to survive.
Every thought circled back to her.
I have to survive. She won't stop looking for me. I can't fail her.
---
LyraVale's steps were silent among the thick undergrowth. She moved with urgency, but carefully, aware of every rustle. She didn't know what she would find. She didn't know if he wanted help or even if he could be saved.
Her bag dug into her shoulder. Her phone buzzed constantly, but she ignored it. She couldn't stop moving, couldn't stop thinking, couldn't stop hoping that he was still out there.
> Don't let go.
She whispered it again, to herself, to him, to whatever thread still connected them.
Somewhere between the forest and the internet, the search had begun.
The world watched.