The forest awoke to a slow, measured breath; dewdrops on leaves glittered like fine shards of glass, and the first rays of dawn slipped through gaps in the canopy, stealing moments of warmth upon the damp earth. But it was a deceptive beauty — a calm before the storm.
Lloyd sat leaning against the trunk of a massive tree, his chest rising and falling with difficulty, dried blood hardening on his shoulder and arm. Every movement sent fire across his skin, yet his eyes were turned inward; he heard a pulse other than his heartbeat, something hidden flowing as though the earth itself whispered his name. He recalled the previous night — the screams, the hot metallic taste of blood, that strange sensation of control.
He closed his eyes and let his breathing calm. He tried to make his chest like a still lake, and as his breath steadied, he focused and whispered inwardly: Concentrate, feel, don't let fear speak. Then, lightly, as though something flowed through his veins, he felt a warm tingling spread from his chest to the tips of his fingers. It was a glimpse of Qi — a small light in the depths of darkness.
He rose unsteadily, testing the ground gently with his feet. The forest by day offered no forgiveness; the sounds of insects the size of fists, the smell of sticky plants, and a silence so thick it was almost suffocating. Every step was a lesson in caution. He took a broad leaf to cover the wound on his shoulder, then moved slowly, searching for better shelter for the day.
Then, a roar pierced the silence — not an ordinary roar, but one that seemed to rise from within the earth. The leaves shuddered, followed by a faint tremor in the air. From within the mist emerged a giant: a black bear, massive as a boulder, its fur glistening with dew as though coated in metal dust, its eyes burning like blood. Claws as long as a man's fingers tore the ground with every step.
Lloyd froze, his throat dry, cold dread seeping into his core. The bear drew one shuddering breath, then charged.
This beast was nothing like the wolves — it was a mountain of flesh and muscle. As it lunged, a sharp scent rose from its wet fur, and spray from its body mixed with crushed grass. Lloyd sidestepped, but the bear's claws struck a nearby tree trunk, snapping it like a brittle twig. Splinters flew through the air; one grazed his cheek, and a new trickle of blood streamed down.
He ran between the tight-packed trees, trying to lead the bear into softer ground rather than facing it head-on. Fear was evident, but it quickly turned into calculation. He remembered the sensation from the night before — how he had felt the wolves' bloodstream, how he had heard their breaths before they did. This wasn't a blind gamble; there were subtle threads he could follow.
He stopped suddenly behind a large leaning tree, gripping the wooden sword until his knuckles turned white. He stared into the gap where the beast would pass. He held his breath and focused: lightness in the chest, pulses, the vibration of the earth… and then he heard it — the bear's steps on the right, a slight stumble, a scrape against bark as it tried to regain balance.
The moment its foot landed near the path he'd chosen, Lloyd leaped — not wildly, but like an axe swinging down. One arm forward, a guttural cry, the sharp sound of the blade cutting air. The sword struck the edge of the beast's shoulder, and a thin spark flew as the blade met thick hide. Blood gushed like a severed artery — the hot, metallic smell filled Lloyd's nostrils. The bear roared, twisting violently, but it did not fall.
Lloyd staggered back from the recoil, his grip stinging his palms, yet a bitter smile touched his lips. It had worked. It wasn't a blow that severed nerves or tendons, but it did something more important: it created an opening, sparked enough pain to make this giant reconsider.
The beast charged again stubbornly, its impact knocking the air from Lloyd's lungs. He slid under a pained swing, his breath coming in gasps, the scent of fur and sweat filling his nose. He felt time compress — every movement slowed, every breath weighed heavily. He chose his moment: a quick strike to the back leg, the sound of groaning bone, and the bear dropped to one knee. Blood erupted from the wound, covering the grass in delicate patterns.
Lloyd felt no triumph — there was no room for joy in that moment. He used the beast's distraction to press forward, pausing only for seconds to breathe before leaping onto its chest, his small hand driving the wooden blade deep into thick, hot flesh. The smell of blood flooded his mouth. The bear let out one long cry, a raw note of agony, and with frantic strength tried to throw him off.
Lloyd twisted as he hit the ground, the earth sliding beneath his hands, but he didn't stop — a cut here, a thrust there, each strike controlled and vicious. At a critical moment, he found a gap between the bear's ribs; he tried to anchor his sword for a final blow — but something enormous shook the air behind him.
A stray rock shot down from above, struck his head, and split his skin. His vision swam for a moment, and cold blood trickled down his forehead like a betraying thread, every movement straining his nerves. The bear was about to sink its claws into his neck when suddenly it slowed, as though something else in the forest had disrupted its rhythm. Lloyd saw it tremble: its movements grew slower… it sensed something else.
With near-final exhaustion, he managed to drive the sword deep into the bear's chest — one precise thrust, a blade piercing the heart. As he pulled back, the air filled with the metallic gasp of the bear collapsing. One final blow to the head, and a minute passed that felt like an hour before everything stilled.
Silence fell, heavy like a wet blanket. The three scattered bodies — blood pooling in small puddles glowing under the moonlight now shyly filtering through the branches. Lloyd knelt, panting, licking his lips, feeling every muscle scream. His wounds throbbed, sweat and blood mingling on his face.
He climbed a nearby tree with effort, settling on a shaded branch. He held a cloth to his forehead, blood coating his fingers — each stitch a new wave of pain. He looked up at the sky; the moon was pale, but his eyes glowed with something else — heavy resolve.
Even as he curled into himself, he heard — this time — a distant vibration, a greater roar rising from the depths of the forest, a resonance deeper than the bear's, as though the earth itself groaned beneath it. A shudder he had never known crept into his chest; this wasn't just another beast — it was a sign that something larger, older, and more savage had begun to stir.
The silence of the tree seemed to listen; even the wind held its breath. Lloyd gathered his strength, tended his remaining wounds, and prepared himself for the day to come. The night ahead was long, and the forest — more than a trial — had now become a stage for a transformation that would either remake him or destroy him forever.
✧ End of Chapter Five ✧