When he awoke nearly nine hours later, the world felt different. His body thrummed with energy, his mind sharper, his muscles light. More alive than he had ever been.
The sky glowed pale green with dawn, the sun just brushing the horizon. Karl stretched, bones popping, and stood. Early morning… he felt more safer than night, since it's not dark anymore.
He roasted a portion of the boar's meat over the embers, chewing slowly, letting the warmth fill his stomach. The rest, he couldn't waste,he worked to preserve. Without salt, smoke, or proper tools, spoilage was inevitable; he could only delay it. With crude racks of branches and strips of hide, he hung the meat near the barrier where the air was cool and steady. A day, maybe two before it rotted—less, if the sun grew harsh. Enough to keep him alive until the next hunt. He grimaced at the thought.
Weapons came next. Yesterday's battle had shattered his spear, and the memory was still raw. This time, he refused to be left with nothing. From sturdy branches, he carved new shafts, binding their tips with bone shards pried from the boar's remains. They weren't elegant, but sharp was sharp. He made three, not one—never again would he gamble everything on a single weapon.
From the boar's hide and sinew, Karl stitched together a larger water pouch. Trips to the river were dangerous; carrying more at once meant fewer chances of running into prowling beasts. Every step beyond the barrier was a gamble.
At last, he sat back, wiping sweat from his brow. Before him lay food for a day or two, new weapons, and a better water pouch. For the first time since arriving, he felt less like prey—and more like a survivor.
Before long, the sun climbed higher, pale light warming the treetops, Karl was ready to test the world again. He shaded his eyes, scanning the perimeter of the barrier. Time to see what's out there.
Circling slowly, spear in hand, he braced at every snapped twig and shifting shadow. But nothing stirred—no paw prints, no glowing eyes, no threat. The tension in his chest loosened. For now, the wolf was gone.
Carefully, Karl slipped beyond the barrier. The air outside felt heavier, sharper, as if the forest itself watched each step. He kept low, quick, and quiet until he reached the stream.
Kneeling, he drank deeply, the crisp water washing dryness from his throat. Then he filled the new pouch, sealing it tight with care. No drop wasted.
On the way back, his vigilance eased slightly as he spotted a patch of golden fruits hanging in clusters. He gathered what he could carry, tucking them into a fold of his cloak. Having extras isn't bad, an extra supply meant one less reason to risk wandering tomorrow.
That was when he heard it—a soft thud muffled by leaves, like something small hitting the ground. Karl froze, his talent flaring—faint, flickering vitality nearby. Weak. Fading.
What was that?
His pulse quickened, spear raised as he crept toward the sound, boots silent on the mossy ground. The air carried a new scent, feathery and musky, mixed with the sharp tang of bruised leaves.
Pushing aside a cluster of vines, he spotted it: a tiny hatchling, no bigger than his fist, sprawled on a bed of fallen leaves. Its feathers were downy and disheveled, a mix of pale green and brown that blended with the forest floor. Small wings fluttered weakly, its beady eyes half-closed, a faint chirp escaping its beak.
Karl's chest tightened as his talent stirred, reading the fragile pulse within. Vitality flickered inside the creature—unsteady and fragile —like a breath that could stop at any moment.
The damage wasn't just on the outside—its tiny bones rattled with hairline fractures, and something deep inside throbbed wrong, as if organs had shifted from the fall. Its heartbeat was faint and irregular, struggling to push blood through its body. Every breath was shallow, catching in its chest.
Too much strain for something so small.
If I don't act now, it won't last long.
Hurry.
He scooped the hatchling gently, cradling it in both palms. Its faint peeps shivered in the air, too weak to resist. Karl summoned the Breath of Spring, warmth rushing through him as a soft green glow enveloped the tiny body. His energy poured into it, knitting bones, soothing ruptures, steadying the flickering spark of life. His stats dipped, but he pressed harder.
The hatchling's breathing steadied. Its eyes fluttered open, small but alive with a curious gleam. Not safe yet, but no longer dying.
Karl exhaled, tension bleeding from his shoulders. His eyes flicked upward. The nest above swayed gently in the branches, but no movement came from it. His gut twisted. Did the others shove it out?
Knowledge surfaced, unbidden: In the wild, the strong push out the weak for more food. Survival of the fittest is rule of wild.
"Poor thing."
Can't leave it here. He tucked the hatchling into his cloth, its warmth pressing against his side, and continued back to the base.
As he crossed the barrier, half-expecting the barrier to repel it. Instead, a faint tingle grazed his skin, but the hatchling passed through without resistance. Huh? He paused, glancing back at the shimmering dome.
Why didn't barrier stop hatchling from entering? Because I brought it in? Or it can't hurt me? Or because I… accepted it?
The barrier gave no answers.
Who knows.
This place has its own rules.
Back in the clearing, he set down the water pouch and fruits near his lean-to, their scents mingling with the earthy moss.
For the hatchling, he fashioned a small nesting spot a meter off the ground, weaving vines and soft leaves into a cradle against the boulder. It was crude but cozy, padded with moss for warmth. He placed the hatchling inside, its feathers ruffling as it settled, chirping softly.
He watched it for a while, but the little creature didn't settle. Its tiny body shifted restlessly, wings twitching weakly, beady eyes darting at every shadow. A faint, high-pitched peep slipped out, followed by the weak scrape of claws against the bark of its nest. Uneasy.
Karl's talent reached for its vitality—no longer flickering, no longer on the edge of collapse. Stable now, but restless. Not pain. Something else. Is it calling for its mother? Or… hungry?
His gaze drifted toward the roasted boar meat, still skewered above the coals, then to the golden fruits stacked near his lean-to. Both looked plentiful, rich… but heavy.
Too much for a creature this small. Its frail body wouldn't last under such weight. It needed something softer, easier to swallow. Something alive, wriggling, packed with the kind of nourishment a wild hatchling could handle.
"Right… worms. Insects. Grubs. That's what you're crying for."
Karl exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. Another problem to solve. Another demand from this wilderness. He reached for his spear, the wood still rough against his palm, and pushed himself to his feet.
"Looks like it's time for worm hunting." His voice was flat, but a faint edge of determination lingered beneath the weariness.
The countdown flickered in his vision.
[4 days, 00 hours, 13 minutes].
[Evolution Countdown: 1 Days, 09 hours, 25 minutes]