The forest was quiet.
Not peaceful quiet.
The kind of quiet that made you feel like the trees were watching.
Kyle sat at the edge of a stream, pants rolled up, feet in the water, a hand-carved fishing rod resting in his grip. He hadn't spoken in hours.
He didn't need to.
The silence said everything.
The bait hung limp in the current, untouched. The fish avoided it like it carried divine taxes.
He wasn't fishing for food. He was fishing for peace.
But even here, the water rippled wrong. Unnaturally slow.
Kyle squinted. "Don't tell me."
The fish blinked.
Literally blinked. With human eyes.
He threw the rod down and stood. "I swear to everything. If you're a villager dressed as a trout again, I will set this stream on fire."
The fish squeaked and dove underwater.
Kyle groaned and stormed off into the woods. "I'm not your god. I'm not your savior. I'm not the Ember-Bringer. I'm a tired guy with a fork and emotional damage."
He found a small clearing and kicked over a log. Started building a campfire.
Not because he needed one.
Because he wanted to burn something.
He snapped his fingers.
Fwoosh.
A small blue flame sparked to life. Still the same as before, no bigger than a candle. But steady. Calm. Too calm.
It didn't flicker. It didn't crackle. It just… burned.
The nearest leaves wilted from the heat.
The trees didn't even bend.
Somewhere behind the trunks: a muffled gasp.
He didn't look.
He didn't need to look.
They were there.
Dozens of them, maybe more. Peeking from behind bushes. Hanging upside down from trees. One man was painted green and crouching like a frog.
Kyle stared into the fire.
"This is stalking. You all know that, right?"
Silence.
He grabbed a stick, skewered a rabbit he'd caught earlier, and started roasting it.
"Go away."
Leaves rustled. A branch creaked. Somewhere up in the canopy, someone made a painfully fake squirrel sound.
Kyle's eye twitched. "I said. Go. Away."
Nothing.
More eyes in the brush. One of them sneezed, then tried to cover it with a cough that somehow ended in the word "miracle."
He exhaled. Took a bite of rabbit. It was dry.
Just like his patience.
Then came a soft voice:
"He has chosen the wilderness… a trial of solitude."
Kyle didn't look. He just threw the stick into the fire and lay flat on the grass.
"If I ignore them," he said to the sky, "maybe they'll vanish."
Instead, a whispering chant rose from the shadows.
"He burns the earth to cleanse his heart…"
"He eats in silence to honor the lost…"
"He tests us with distance…"
Kyle rolled over and screamed into the ground.
From behind the trees, someone sobbed.
"He weeps… for the world."
He stood, face streaked with dirt, hands in the air.
"That's it. I'm burning the forest."
Snap.
Small blue fire surged from his palm, snaking through the underbrush in a perfect ring, clearing a twenty-meter circle of trees. Smoke rose in soft spirals like incense.
He sat down in the scorched clearing.
"Now, no one can hide around me."
Silence.
Then, from above, a brave voice:
"We do not hide. We humble ourselves."
Kyle looked up.
There was a man in a tree.
Wearing leaves.
Holding a chicken like binoculars.
Kyle pointed. "You're not even trying to blend in."
The man nodded solemnly. "Only the bold may witness the Ember-Bringer's rejection."
Kyle rubbed his eyes.
This wasn't peace.
It was performance art, curated by lunatics.
He curled up on the grass and whispered, "I hate this world."
The wind shifted gently.
A soft cluck echoed in the distance.
And behind every tree…
They waited.
Watching.
Hoping.
Kyle shut his eyes and tried to pretend none of it existed.
***
The silence felt unnatural.
No rustling robes behind trees. No soft chants disguised as birdsong. No suspicious splashes in the stream where men once pretended to be fish.
And yet, Kyle still paused before every step.
His ears strained for phantom movement. His eyes darted to the brush, waiting for a glint of cloth or a poorly hidden chicken. Every gust of wind made his spine twitch. It wasn't just quiet.
It was too quiet.
He half-expected someone to burst from a bush mid-hymn. Or worse maybe he find another worshipper holding their breath underwater in the name of sacred observation.
That memory alone made his stomach twist.
For days, he'd wandered the forest, shadowed at every turn.
Watched by villagers who called him god, who followed him like ghosts who never speaking, never vanishing. Always watching. Always pretending not to exist.
Even now, when the forest finally seemed empty, the fear lingered. Not fear of danger.
Fear of devotion.
It sat behind his eyes like a headache.
He took a slow breath. He wasn't ready to believe it yet.
Were they really gone?
Had they finally stopped?
And… why did he feel guilty for hoping they had?
He sat up slowly. Still nothing. Not even a squirrel trying to hand him a handmade shrine.
He grinned. Wide. The kind of grin that made his face hurt a little.
"Oh my god," he whispered. "They're gone."
A cautious walk to the stream confirmed it.
He knelt beside the water and studied it like it might betray him. After yesterday's traumatic encounter with a trout-man, he wasn't taking chances.
He narrowed his eyes at the surface.
Then, just to be sure, he dunked his head underwater and looked around.
Clear.
No villagers.
Just water, rocks, and normal, non-humanoid fish.
He surfaced with a triumphant gasp. Cold droplets clung to his hair, but for the first time in days… He felt safe.
He cupped his hands, drank deeply, let out a satisfied "ahhh," and splashed his face for good measure.
"I'm free," he half-laughed. "Actually free."
The plan was simple now: go farther. As far away as possible from shrine-building Ember-Bringer fanatics.
If they wanted to worship glowing poultry, fine.
They could do it without him.
He followed the stream south, hugging the water but staying off any obvious paths. Every few minutes, he stopped and listened.
But the forest held only birdsong and wind.
Hours passed.
His feet ached. The sun drifted overhead. Eventually, he found a shaded grove with soft grass and a mossy tree trunk made for leaning.
He sighed. Eyes half-lidded.
"This. This is all I wanted. Just one day of quiet."
A breeze stirred the leaves. Water trickled nearby.
Then came voices.
Female voices.
His eyes snapped open.
No! No no no.
He pressed himself flat to the tree, craning his neck toward the sound.
There they were. Five young women, all wearing the familiar tan cloaks. Laughing. Chatting. Buckets in hand.
Laundry.
Kyle's blood turned to ice.
He turned to the tree behind him, thick trunk, strong branches, plenty of leaves.
No hesitation. He climbed.
The bark scraped his hands, but within seconds he was tucked high in the canopy like a miserable, overheated cat.
Below, the women set down their buckets.
"I'll wash the robes. You go ahead," one said. "Water's warm today."
Kyle's breath hitched.
Of course, they were beautiful. Of course, they laughed like anime side characters before tragedy. Because fate didn't just punish him.
It taunted him.
He pressed his back against the trunk and stared skyward.
This was a test.
And he was failing.
If he climbed down, they'd think he was a pervert and a prophet. Worse, they might drag him back to the village and build a sacred bathhouse in his honor.
But if he stayed up here…
Fabric rustled.
They'd begun disrobing.
Their laughter rang like windchimes. Like bells tolling his doom.
Kyle's face went crimson. Panic surged.
[ System Notification: Would you like to record? ]
[ YES ] [ NO ]
He flinched.
"What? NO."
He slipped.
Crack. Branch. Snap.
THUD.
He hit the ground in a half-kneeling pose, one hand braced, the other slapping the NO button like his dignity depended on it.
"Ahem," he said, coughing dust. "I didn't mean to hide."
Silence.
Five pairs of wide eyes locked onto him.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Kyle stood frozen for one more humiliating heartbeat—
Then bolted.
He ran like a man fleeing shame itself. Crashing through the underbrush. Branches slapping his face. Roots snagging his boots.
He didn't explain. Didn't look back. Just ran.
Behind him, one of the girls tilted her head.
"Was that the Ember-Bringer?"
Another nodded solemnly. "He descended from the trees like a phoenix."
The laundry girl clutched her chest. "Truly, his shame is our blessing."
A pause.
"Should we bathe here every day now?" someone whispered.
They all nodded.
Back in the woods, Kyle collapsed beneath another tree, chest heaving, face burning.
"I swear," he gasped, "the next time I find peace, I'm setting it on fire before someone else ruins it."
But he didn't stop running.
Didn't care where he was going, just away.
Away from shame.
From cultists.
From the insanity of being accidentally divine.
By the time evening fell, his legs gave out. He collapsed behind a bush and lay still, stars blinking overhead, perfectly indifferent.
His breath slowed.
Too tired to keep watch. Too drained to care. He curled into himself beneath the leaves and let exhaustion take him.
Maybe tomorrow he'd wake up, and this would all be a dream.
But deep down, Kyle knew better.