It didn't take long for the silence to turn hostile.
At first, it had been peaceful—serene even—when he woke up alone under a violet sky, in a world that didn't know his name. But now, with the stars overhead beginning to shimmer brighter and the air sinking like ice into his lungs, that same silence began to feel like a trap.
There was no shelter. No fire. No food. No weapons.
Just the cold.
And it wasn't normal cold.
This cold had weight. It settled like a corpse on his shoulders, pressed into his bones, crawled across his skin with the patience of a predator. The kind of cold that didn't come to kill you fast—it came to ask you to give up.
"Wouldn't it be easier to just lie down?"
He ignored the question, even as his knees gave out and he collapsed beside a tree thick with moss and old roots. The bark scratched his cheek as he leaned against it. It didn't hurt. Nothing did, not anymore. Pain was a luxury now. He was too tired for pain.
---
Earlier, he had walked.
For hours, maybe. Through trees too twisted to be natural, across ground that crackled like bone underfoot, beneath stars that didn't match anything he remembered.
He didn't know where he was. He didn't know how far from the battlefield—his battlefield—he had landed. There'd been no light. No signs of people. Not even a birdcall.
Just forest.
And silence.
And the weight of betrayal still fresh in his memory, burned into his mind like a final curse.
He didn't want revenge.
Not anymore.
There was no point seeking vengeance in a world where no one knew his name or the names of those who stabbed him in the back.
He didn't even know what he wanted.
Only that he didn't want to die.
Not yet.
---
The cold grew worse after nightfall. His breath fogged in front of him. His fingers turned stiff. His bare feet felt like wood—numb, slow, breaking with each step.
That was when he found the tree. Old. Hollowed at the base. Its roots formed a natural shelter, barely large enough for him to crawl into.
So he did.
He didn't even remember deciding to.
His body just moved, driven by instinct.
He curled into a tight ball, teeth chattering uncontrollably. His stomach ached with hunger. His lips were cracked. He hugged his knees, squeezed his eyes shut, and waited for morning.
If morning even came in this world.
---
At some point, sleep must have taken him.
But it wasn't sleep like he remembered.
It was a cold drift into nothingness. No dreams. No warmth. Just floating.
He woke with a start.
Not from sound.
From presence.
There was something outside.
Watching.
Breathing.
His pulse quickened. He didn't dare move. His fingers dug into the dirt beside him.
And then he saw them.
Eyes.
Six of them. No—eight. Gold and gleaming, moving just beyond the line of trees.
The shapes came next. Tall, lean creatures. Fur black as night. Limbs too long. Tails that dragged behind them like shadows.
Not wolves.
Not anything natural.
Predators.
He didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
The creatures circled the tree slowly, pacing, sniffing. Their heads tilted as they examined the hollow.
He reached beside him for a broken branch he'd dragged in earlier. Rough. Splintered. Just long enough to stab with.
He clutched it like a lifeline.
---
One of them stepped forward.
It sniffed the air. Low growl. Saliva dripped from sharp teeth.
It crouched, ready to pounce.
His muscles tensed. The moment it lunged, he did too.
The stick jabbed upward—clumsy, weak, but desperate.
It caught the creature under the jaw.
A shallow wound. Not deep enough to kill, but enough to surprise it.
It snarled, flinched back, blood dripping.
The others growled louder now. Two of them paced to the side.
A third charged.
This one he didn't see coming.
Claws raked across his shoulder. The force threw him sideways, out of the hollow and into the cold dirt. He hit the ground hard. The breath flew from his lungs.
He rolled, got to his knees, barely keeping hold of the branch.
Another came. He swung. Missed.
It lunged. He raised his arm to block and took the bite full on.
The pain was real. It lit up his senses like fire.
He jammed the stick into its side and screamed.
The creature yelped and fell back.
He staggered to his feet, blood dripping down his arm.
---
Then, without warning…
They stopped.
All of them.
Just stood there.
Watching.
Breathing heavy.
The leader—if that's what it was—huffed once and turned.
The others followed.
Silent. Calm.
They vanished into the woods like smoke.
He stood alone, wounded, breathless, heart racing.
What just happened?
Why didn't they finish him?
What stopped them?
---
He fell to his knees again and vomited into the dirt.
Then he crawled back to the hollow, collapsed inside, and curled into himself.
His arm throbbed. Blood oozed from a dozen scratches. His ribs ached. He couldn't stop shaking.
But he was alive.
Somehow.
And that was something.
---
> [Progress Evaluation Engaged…]
Vital Status: Wounded (Stable)
Magic Capacity: Dormant
Mana Core: Unrefined
Combat Instincts: Primitive / Residual
"You survived. Not by chance. But by refusal."
---
He didn't know what that meant.
The system didn't speak again.
No tips. No tutorials. No blessings.
Just that evaluation.
Then silence.
---
He stayed there the rest of the night.
Not sleeping. Just… existing.
The pain became background noise.
So did the hunger.
Even the cold faded after a while. Not because it got warmer—because he couldn't feel his toes anymore.
---
At dawn, he stood.
It took everything he had.
His legs wobbled. His knees buckled.
But he stood.
And then he walked.
One step.
Then another.
Blood from his wounds dripped down his side. Every breath was a knife.
But he walked.
He didn't know where.
Didn't care.
There was no revenge to seek. No friends to call on. No gods to curse.
Only this new world. Empty. Harsh. Unforgiving.
And somehow… freer than the last.
---
He stopped beside a rock as the sun broke through the trees.
A shaft of light caught his face. Warm for the first time since he arrived.
He looked up. Squinted.
And smiled.
Not because anything was good.
But because he was still alive.
And that meant there was still more to be done.