Every rustle of leaves, every whisper of wind through the branches, made him tense and alert. He had spent countless hours yesterday, blending with the trees, understanding his Tree Camouflage, feeling the essence of the forest pulse beneath his skin—but the forest had remained calm. Perhaps too calm.
He moved cautiously, keeping to the outer rim. Every instinct screamed at him to remain vigilant; yet, the forest seemed almost empty, almost… serene. "Is this it?" he muttered under his breath. "This… nothing?" His shoulders relaxed, and for a moment, the tension that had bound him all morning loosened. Perhaps the warnings he'd heard were exaggerations. Perhaps survival wasn't so desperate.
He walked deeper casually. The trees thickened, their trunks stretching high, casting long, slanted shadows that flickered across the forest floor. Sunlight broke through in fractured beams, illuminating patches of moss, glinting on dewdrops like tiny stars caught among the roots. The serenity was intoxicating. Caelum's mind wandered briefly to Raven Academy. The thought of the Academy, of surpassing those who had once humiliated him, lent him a strange confidence, almost a reckless bravery.
He didn't notice the faint, irregular sound behind him at first—a delicate scratching, almost imperceptible, like a spider tiptoeing across dry leaves. But instinct pricked at the edge of his awareness. A subtle pulse, a shift in the air. He froze, his senses sharpening. The sound had weight, presence, purpose. Something moved.
His eyes darted back. There it was. A spider—but not one he had ever seen in the books, not one of the meek forest species he could identify. This one was massive, its body coiling with sinewy power, legs thick and bristling with jagged hairs that caught the sunlight. The sheer size of it made his stomach clench. It was easy to see how prey could vanish in a heartbeat.
Caelum barely had time to react. The spider's foremost leg shot forward in a blur, slashing at him with uncanny speed. His heart nearly stopped. With no time for deliberation, he dove to the side, rolling across the leaf-strewn ground. Dirt and small stones sprayed around him as he hit the forest floor hard. Pain blossomed along his ribs, but survival burned brighter. He forced himself up, breathing hard, adrenaline sharpening his mind.
"Shit… shit, shit, I've messed up. I shouldn't have been so confident," he muttered, chest heaving. The skill he had gained, his passive Tree Camouflage and the essence he'd absorbed, was helpful—but only just. He was still weak, still far from capable of fighting such a beast. His abilities allowed him a second, maybe two, of advantage—enough to survive—but not enough to attack.
The spider recoiled, then struck again, faster this time, its massive, hairy leg slicing through the air where he had just been. Caelum's eyes caught a glint—thin, nearly invisible silk trailing from its fangs. He recognized it from his studies: the spider's web, fused with sunlight, would slice through flesh like a razor if touched. His stomach lurched. One wrong move, and this forest—so peaceful only moments ago—would become his tomb.
Instinct screamed at him. He dove forward, narrowly evading the silken thread as it whipped past. The spider's movements were precise, deliberate, unnatural in their speed. It was a hunter, and he—the unprepared boy—was prey. Panic clawed at him, but the instincts from the animal essence he had absorbed rose to the surface. Heart pounding, senses sharpened, he began to move with calculated rhythm.
Roll. Duck. Shift left. Roll. Every motion was a fraction of a second late—or early—tested against the spider's relentless assault. The forest became a blur of green and brown, shadows stretching, twisting, and folding over each other. Leaves lashed at his skin, branches clawed at his arms, and every step threatened to stumble him into another strike.
At one point, the spider lunged again, leg arcing in a terrifying parabola. Caelum barely somersaulted out of the way. Dirt exploded in his face; he tasted it, gritted his teeth, and scrambled to his feet. His body was screaming, muscles trembling from exertion, but his mind was alive with every sensation. He could feel the spider's intent, the weight of its movement, the tension in its legs. He realized, with a jolt, that if he misread even slightly…
Death.
The spider struck again. This time, it fired a stream of silky threads from its spinnerets, each nearly invisible in the sunlit forest. Caelum saw them too late—his eyes widened, heart freezing. He ducked at the last possible moment, a thread grazing his shoulder, slicing through the fabric of his shirt but surprisingly leaving his skin intact. He rolled to the side, gasping for breath, mind screaming, I can't fight this thing! I'm still too weak!
For a heartbeat, time seemed to stretch. The forest held its breath. The spider paused, almost sensing his fear, before it advanced again. Caelum's hands shook. He whispered a prayer to no one in particular, his mind racing. I have to survive. I can't let this be the end. Not now. Not like this.
He took a deep breath, centering himself. Using his Tree Camouflage as a last-ditch defense, he pressed himself against the thick trunk of a nearby oak. His body melded with the bark, the essence he had absorbed from the tree flowing subtly through him. The spider paused, legs twitching as it searched, but its keen eyes failed to detect him.
"Stay calm… stay calm… just a little longer," he muttered, muscles tensed. Every second felt like an eternity. The spider struck the tree beside him, splintering bark, flinging shards into the air. Caelum's chest rose and fell violently, but he remained perfectly still. He could feel the spider's heartbeat, the coiled spring of its body, the pulse of its venom-laden fangs.
Finally, with a low hiss, the spider retreated slightly, circling the clearing, confused. Caelum waited, counting silently in his head, not daring to breathe too deeply. After what felt like hours—but was only moments—it moved away, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.
Caelum slumped against the tree, chest heaving, body trembling uncontrollably. "Shit… I've messed up so bad. I shouldn't have been this confident," he muttered, voice hoarse. The reality of his weakness, the razor-thin margin between life and death, sank into him like a weight pressing against his chest.
The forest was quiet again, though the tension lingered. Caelum lowered himself to sit cross-legged at the base of the oak. Sunlight glimmered through the canopy, painting the forest floor in fragmented gold. He realized how much he still had to learn, how raw and untested he truly was. Yet, amidst the fear and exhaustion, a spark of exhilaration burned within him. Survival wasn't just about brute strength—it was about observation, instinct, and using the skills he had wisely.
And for the first time, Caelum truly understood the cost of overconfidence. One misstep could end everything. Expecially in this godforsaken place. One slip, one misjudged movement, and the forest would take him, body and soul.
But he also understood something else: he had survived. Not because he was the strongest, not because he had a fully honed skill, but because he had adapted, learned, and trusted his instincts. That spark—that primal clarity—was his own. And if he could survive this, he could survive more.
Slowly, he stood, brushing dirt from his clothes, and scanned the forest. Yes, he needed to move deeper, needed to grow stronger, but he would do it carefully. The adrenaline still coursing through him made his pulse thunder, but he knows he's not read yet, he has to cultivate more and awaken more skills and probably have a discussion with the guide in hope of a cultivation method.
The sun rose higher, glinting through the canopy, illuminating the forest like a battlefield. Caelum adjusted his posture, feeling the flow of tree essence within him, and whispered softly, almost to himself:
"Next time… next time, I won't be this close to death."