Night pressed against the forest with a weight that felt almost physical, as if the darkness itself wished to swallow everything that dared to breathe beneath its canopy. The moon was smothered behind thick clouds, allowing only thin silver seams of light to slip through and flicker across the moss-covered ground. The wind whispered through the branches, carrying with it distant howls and the heavy scent of creatures lurking where even hunters hesitated to tread.
Sora moved through the underbrush with uneven ripples, each pulse of his form dimming and brightening as he strained to remain quiet. His body wobbled across roots slick with dew, his membrane shivering under the cold air. Every shift of his core echoed back the same faint pull he had felt for days now — distant yet distinct, steady as a heartbeat.
Her.
The Hero.
A presence like a brand of cold iron pressed into the world. A clarity among chaos. An anchor that Sora could sense even with no eyes, no ears, no voice. She was ahead somewhere in this wilderness — moving, cutting, relentless — and even without understanding why, he followed the echo of her mana as though tethered to it.
But tonight, something else stirred.
A tremor hummed through the ground. Small at first. Almost ignorable. But then another came, heavier, shaking the earth beneath him. Sora stopped instantly, shrinking down behind a root as his entire form tightened in alarm.
Not her.
This was something else.
And it was coming closer.
A thick, guttural rumble crawled through the air. It vibrated through bark, through leaves, through Sora's gelatinous body, making his membrane quiver. The air grew foul, thick with the stench of rot and stale blood. Sora pulled himself lower, nearly flattening his form against the earth.
Leaves trembled.
Branches snapped.
The shadows swelled.
Then the beast emerged.
It towered over the clearing — a hulking nightmare of sinew and twisted muscle. Wolf-like in shape yet warped far beyond nature's design. Its fur, soaked in filth and matted with dark fluid, hung in uneven patches. Its claws were long, jagged things, each capable of eviscerating stone. Beneath its skin, glowing black veins pulsed like a sick heartbeat, dripping tendrils of corrupted mana into the air.
It sniffed once.
Its red eyes locked onto Sora.
A low growl rolled from its chest like thunder trapped underground.
Sora didn't move.
Couldn't move.
The beast crouched.
Then lunged.
The ground exploded under its weight as it charged, claws gouging deep trenches where Sora had been a heartbeat earlier. He launched himself backward in raw panic, his membrane wobbling violently as he threw himself across rocks and dirt. Pain shot through his core as he slammed against a tree trunk, dazed and disoriented.
The beast roared, closing the distance with terrifying speed.
Sora flung himself to the side just in time — a clawed strike carving through the space he had occupied an instant before. Dirt sprayed across the clearing. Sora tumbled through ferns and roots, bouncing helplessly as he scrambled to respond.
He had no battle cry.
No spell.
No voice.
Only instinct.
Only motion.
Only fear.
The monster lunged again. Sora darted beneath it, slipping between its legs and launching upward with a desperate spring. He landed on a slanted rock, sliding down its side as the beast crashed into it, cracking stone with the sheer force of its weight.
For a moment — just a moment — Sora gained distance.
Then the beast swiveled, snarling, and charged again.
A swipe caught him.
Agony split through his membrane as a portion of his body sheared away, scattering droplets of himself across the forest floor. His core flickered dangerously, dimming to a near-faint glow. Sora reeled, dragging himself forward as his body fought to reassemble. But it wasn't enough. Not fast enough. Not against something like this.
The monster stalked toward him, breath hot and rancid, eyes gleaming with the cruel confidence of a predator that knew the kill was moments away.
Sora trembled.
He didn't want to die.
Not here.
Not quietly.
Not before—
A line of cold light cut through the dark.
A blade carved into the ground before him — deep, clean, and deliberate — splitting earth and root with effortless precision.
The beast jerked back.
Sora froze.
She stood there.
The Hero.
Her silhouette framed by moonlight as the clouds shifted. Her cloak rippled with the wind. Her stance was unshakable, poised on the edge of violence. Her sword angled low, gleaming with the icy promise of death.
Her gaze swept once — only once — toward the small, wounded slime at her feet.
Then she faced the beast.
The creature roared, hurling itself at her with rabid fury.
She moved first.
A single step.
A twist of her wrist.
A vertical slash that caught moonlight and turned it into a razor-thin arc.
Steel met flesh.
The beast staggered backward, one shoulder split open. Blackened blood poured down its side, sizzling against the ground. It howled, enraged, and lunged again.
She didn't retreat.
She didn't hesitate.
She advanced.
Every motion was precise — cold, exact, merciless. She slipped past the beast's claws by inches, her cloak brushing against its fur. She drove her sword across its flank, slicing deep, then pivoted into another strike before the creature even realized it had been hit.
She was relentless.
Bloody.
Beautiful in her brutality.
Sora watched, unmoving, mesmerized by the sheer contrast between her slender frame and the pure destructive force she wielded with it.
The beast grew desperate.
It swung wildly, catching her shoulder with a glancing strike. She grunted but did not falter, did not slow. Her eyes hardened. She shifted her grip.
Her next attack was final.
She dashed forward, sliding beneath the creature's maw, and rammed her blade upward into its corrupted core. The beast convulsed, a strangled cry ripping from its throat before collapsing into a trembling heap.
Silence fell.
She held her stance for several seconds more, breathing steady, watching the corpse until its final twitch ended.
Only then did she withdraw her blade.
The moonlight caught her profile — cold jawline, sharp eyes, and a lingering exhaustion that clung to her like dust on armor. Sweat glistened at her temple. She wiped her sword clean with a measured swipe before sheathing it, the metallic click slicing through the stillness.
Only then did she turn.
Sora tensed reflexively.
Her eyes — clear, cutting, unreadably calm — settled on him.
Not soft.
Not cruel.
Just assessing.
She stepped closer.
Sora instinctively shrank back, his form twitching in pain and fear. His core dimmed again, fluttering weakly beneath his damaged membrane.
She knelt.
Her movements slow. Controlled. Not threatening, but not inviting either. She watched him with the same quiet intensity she used to study monsters before cutting them down.
Her gloved hand hovered halfway between them.
She didn't touch him.
But she didn't draw her sword, either.
For a long moment, they remained like that — predator and prey, warrior and creature, woman and slime — suspended in a fragile, bizarre stillness.
Finally, she exhaled, a soft and tired breath.
"…Persistent little creature," she murmured.
Her voice was low, steady, almost contemplative.
She reached to her belt and removed a small vial filled with faintly glowing liquid. A minor healing extract. Weak but precious. Not something she would carelessly waste.
She hesitated for a heartbeat.
Then placed it on the ground between them.
No further words. No gesture of kindness. No warmth.
Just the vial.
A choice.
A possibility.
A reason to live.
She rose to her feet. Turned away. Adjusted her cloak.
And without a single glance back—
She walked into the darkness.
Sora remained still until her footsteps faded. His core pulsed faintly, flickering like a dying ember.
Then he inched forward.
The vial glimmered like a drop of captured starlight on the soil.
He touched it.
Mana spread through him in warm, gentle waves. His torn membrane stitched itself together, his core brightening, throbbing with renewed strength. His form grew steadier, more coherent.
He breathed in his own strange way.
She had saved him.
Again.
He didn't understand why.
But the thread between them — invisible, unspoken, inexplicable — tightened further, drawing him onward, urging him forward.
Sora began to move.
Slow.
Quiet.
Determined.
Back into the forest.
Following her.