The thing that towered over him wasn't merely huge —
it felt misplaced, like something pulled from a reality that didn't share the same rules as this one. Its form flickered at the edges, not glitching, but lagging, like the world struggled to render it fully. Plates of ossified flesh overlapped with patches of petrified hide, and long cords of sinew fused seamlessly into armor grown from its own ribs.
Runes crawled across its body like parasites, dim lines of molten script that pulsed under its skin. Every pulse leaked faint strands of black vapor, curling upward like dying smoke.
Then the darkness parted.
Two eyes opened within the shadow.
Not glowing —
reflecting
— catching Kaai's faint movements the way a predator's gaze snatches the twitch of a dying animal.
Kaai's breath stopped.
His body locked without permission.
Something ancient in his bones recognized the creature long before his mind could.
It leaned in.
Branches bowed away as if the beast's presence alone bent gravity. Its breath hissed through the clearing — heavy, uneven, thick with heat — making the air feel too dense to inhale. Then, without warning, its advance stopped. Something unseen halted it. A solid wall of air. The barrier surrounding the platform flared to life with the impact, rippling like tension skimming across disturbed water — a soft, shimmering wave marking the thin boundary between them.
The creature froze.
Head tilting.
Studying the barrier.
Feeling it.
Not repelled — thwarted.
The runes on its chest brightened, its claws curling inward, testing the invisible boundary with slow, curious malice. The barrier compressed, hardened, threads of pale light tightening like steel under strain… then relaxed again, unbroken.
Kaai felt the force of it — a heavy pressure on his skin, not painful, but absolute. The barrier didn't hide them at all.
It wasn't meant to.
It was denial solidified.
A wall that said: You cannot enter.
The creature inhaled suddenly.
A deep, dragging intake that rattled Kaai's bones.
Its nostrils flared—
once.
The forest stilled.
Then, with awful precision,
it turned its head.
Back toward him.
Its gaze hooked into his like a blade sinking into soft earth.
Kaai's breath faltered.
The beast lowered itself, folding unnaturally long limbs, bringing its skull down to meet him eye-to-eye through the barrier.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The monster didn't rage.
Didn't thrash.
Didn't roar.
It simply watched him —
like it was memorizing a meal it couldn't yet reach.
The girl stepped between them, her hair burning blue-white, palm brushing the barrier.
The surface hardened instantly, lines of light tightening into geometric patterns Kaai hadn't noticed before — not runes, but locking mechanisms, each one anchoring the barrier deeper into the world.
The creature snarled — a sound like stones grinding in a furnace — and slammed its claw against the shield.
THOOM.
The shock hit Kaai's chest like a hammer, forcing him a step backward.
The barrier didn't crack.
It didn't even dent.
But the patterns across its surface glowed brighter, tightening like iron bands.
The harder the monster attacked,
the stronger the barrier became.
Kaai swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze from the thing below.
It hit the barrier again.
THOOM.
The platform trembled.
Leaves rained around them.
The creature roared — frustrated, furious, hungry.
Then, abruptly, it stopped.
And slowly…
slowly…
…it turned its head back toward Kaai.
Locked eyes with him again.
And smiled.
Not with lips —
with its breath, with its posture, with the low, vibrating growl that meant:
You.
Are.
Mine.
Later.
Kaai felt the message in his bones.
His heartbeat kicked hard enough to hurt.
The beast finally began to withdraw.
Its massive form shifted, dissolving slowly into the deeper forest. Bark groaned beneath its weight, the roots of the colossal trees trembling as it lumbered away step by thunderous step. Its shadow peeled off the barrier like ink sliding off glass.
Kaai remained frozen long after the creature vanished.
His breath came shallow. His hands shook.
His mind raced.
'What was that? Why didn't it kill us? Why didn't it even see us? No — it saw me. It looked right at me. It knew I was here. So why—?'
He pressed his palm against the empty air where the beast had struck.
Nothing.
No warmth.
No shimmer.
No resistance.
Just air.
Plain, ordinary air.
"…There's no way," he whispered, voice cracking. "There's no such thing as— as invisible walls. Forcefields. Magic. That's— no. No."
He stepped back, shaking his hand as though the contact burned.
The girl watched him quietly.
Her hair was white again — calm, gentle, still.
"How—" He swallowed hard. "How did that… thing get thrown backward like that? It didn't just get blocked. It got repelled. Violently. Like a— like the air hardened or something."
No answer.
She only tilted her head.
The faintest flicker of pale blue — curiosity.
Kaai ran both hands through his hair, pacing the platform.
"I don't get it. I don't understand anything." His voice rose. "You don't talk, I don't know where I am, there's monsters the size of skyscrapers, the sky is broken, and now you're telling me the air can fight back?"
He spun toward the barrier again.
"It's impossible. That's not— it can't be real. That's not how anything works."
He took another step toward it.
The girl moved first.
She reached out and gently touched his sleeve — a soft, deliberate gesture — and looked at him then the barrier then back to him.
His breath stilled.
Her hair dimmed to gray — neutrality, caution, a quiet warning.
"…I'm not supposed to touch it," he muttered. "Got it."
Her hand retreated. She turned away.
And without another glance at the retreating beast, she walked toward the inner platform, leaving him there — shaking, breath uneven, thoughts spiraling like a storm with too many winds.
Kaai forced himself to follow.
Up close, the structure looked even more impossible.
Roots thicker than bridges curled through rusted metal beams. Old walls of some ancient outpost had been fused together by time or heat or force Kaai couldn't name. The whole place looked like it had been built by someone with too much strength and not enough tools — an improvised creation that somehow still stood steady against the world.
The girl paced ahead, light on her feet, hair reflecting faint traces of dawn.
Kaai stepped inside.
The chamber was wide, circular, alive with a faint pulse from the glowing moss that clung to the walls. A forge smoldered in one corner, tools arranged neatly around it. A spiral of woven roots led to a loft. A wide hearth sat in the center, glowing softly though no flames burned.
He blinked, overwhelmed.
"You… you built this?" he asked. "Alone?"
She didn't nod.
Didn't shake her head.
She simply walked into the storage room.
Kaai followed.
Shelves of alien plants and preserved fruits lined the walls. Strange tools hung from ropes made of vine-fiber. Jars filled with glowing, viscous liquid pulsed softly in the dim light.
And in the middle of the room stood the pile of supplies they'd taken from the mall.
Bags of bread.
Vegetables.
Dried meat.
A few tools.
And Kaai's backpack.
He dropped the pack onto the floor and knelt, unzipping it with a shaky exhale.
"Alright. Fine. One thing at a time."
His hands moved automatically.
Knife to the side
Emergency rope coiled neatly
Flint set with the tools
Canned food aligned by expiration
Uncle Jo had drilled this into him since childhood.
Discipline over emotion.
Order over panic,
But then.
Kaai opened the last pouch in his pack — the one he'd been avoiding — and felt his stomach drop. Two magazines. That was it. Twenty-four rounds between him and whatever else lurked in this nightmare of a forest. He stared at the half-empty ammo box in his hands, disbelief twisting into frustration. "Great," he muttered, voice low, trembling.
He slid them back with practiced neatness, but his fingers wouldn't stop shaking. He tried to shift his focus to organizing but he couldn't. The reality hit him hard and his mind was still racing.
"What was that barrier? Why did it repel the beast? How did she activate it? Was it always there? Is the entire forest like this? Can she do other things like that? What else am I missing? Who is she? What is she?"
He looked at his rifle and muttered "can this piece of metal even save in the fucked up world?"
He swallowed his questions — but they kept coming.
The girl worked quietly beside him, organizing her own supplies: fruits, roots, herbs, strange crystalline shards. Her movements were soft, deliberate, almost gentle.
When Kaai brushed a box aside, one of her jars tipped slightly — and she caught it instantly with a precise, fluid motion that didn't belong to any normal person.
Kaai stared.
"…Right. You're not just strong."
He looked away.
"You're something else entirely."
She didn't react.
Her hair flickered soft green for a brief second — something he hadn't seen before — then quickly returned to white.
Kaai frowned, filing that away.
But his thoughts kept spiraling.
He kept glancing toward the doorway, half-expecting the beast to return. His skin prickled at the memory of its eyes. His mind whispered fears he didn't want to face.
'If she hadn't been here… I'd be dead.'
'If she hadn't jumped… I'd be dead.'
'If that barrier hadn't—'
He shook his head hard.
As he was shaking his head
For the first time since the mall, the girl paused, Possibly confused.
When Kaai stoped shaking his head
Both mad eye contact.
No expression.
No hair-color flare.
Just a long, steady look.
Then she turned back to her work and continued.
Kaai exhaled shakily and sat back.
He didn't understand her.
He didn't understand this world.
He didn't understand the monsters, the sky, the impossible barrier—
But the one thing he did understand was this:
He needed her.
And — for reasons he couldn't fathom —
She had chosen not to leave him behind