Koby walked a long while into the woods, each step crunching softly on the carpet of pine needles and fallen leaves. The dense canopy gave way gradually, thinning until he stepped into a wide, open clearing at the crest of a hill. The view spread before him was breathtaking—a rolling green valley, dotted with clusters of trees and threaded with silvery streams, all bathed in the muted light of a cloudy afternoon.
He was still in a little bit of pain—a dull, lingering ache deep in his chest and limbs—but it had subsided enough to be bearable. Finding a smooth, moss-covered rock at the edge of the rise, he sat down and let his gaze drift across the landscape. The breeze that swept up the hillside was fresh and chilly, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant blossoms. It was cold enough to raise goosebumps on his arms, but not so sharp it bit—just the right kind of cool for a long, quiet walk in the woods.
Above, thick clouds drifted lazily, veiling the sun but allowing scattered rays to slip through in shimmering pillars that rained down over the valley. Where the light touched, the greenery seemed to glow—emerald grass, leaves glittering with dew, patches of wildflowers in soft purples and whites. Below, a small herd of moonvale stags grazed peacefully in a clearing, their antlers glowing faintly even in the muted daylight. Other wildlife moved at the edges of his vision—a flash of winged creatures in the sky, the distant rustle of small animals in the brush. The scene looked like it had been lifted straight from the pages of a fantasy novel: serene, untouched, almost too perfect to be real.
Koby breathed in deeply, letting the clean, crisp air fill his lungs. He held it there for a moment, feeling the last lingering pangs of pain loosen and fade before exhaling in a slow, steady sigh.
Good clean oxygen.
It was almost unbelievable that a world so beautiful could hold so many dangers. Here, in this stillness, it was easy to forget about players, awakening scenarios, brutal training, and monsters that stalked the night. He wished he could stay in this moment forever—suspended between the sky and the earth, with no past to regret and no future to fear.
But he knew better.
He couldn't afford to live in delusions. Not now. Not when every day in Nyxoria was a test of survival.
Just then, he heard a sharp snap behind him—the sound of a twig breaking underfoot.
He turned sharply, muscles tensing, eyes scanning the treeline. There was nothing. Only swaying ferns and the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind. He relaxed slightly, dismissing it as a small animal—a squirrel, perhaps, or a forest hare.
But then he heard it again: a rustle from beyond a thicket of bushes, low and consistent. This wasn't the light, skittering movement of a small creature. It was heavier, deliberate.
That wasn't a small animal.
Slowly, Koby rose from the rock and approached the source of the noise. He summoned his hatchets from his inventory, their familiar weight settling into his palms. With careful, measured swings, he hacked aside the overgrown brush, parting the greenery bit by bit.
There, caught in a rusted metal trap, was a moonvale stag.
The trap was old and crude—a sleazy, rusty thing with jagged teeth, similar to a bear trap. It had clamped around the stag's foreleg, biting deep into the flesh. The animal was struggling desperately to free itself, its efforts only driving the metal deeper. Each thrash brought a soft, pained sound from its throat, and its eyes were wide with terror.
Koby hesitated. This was someone's trap. Someone's meal. Interfering felt wrong—like stealing. He should turn and walk away.
But the stag's struggle tugged at something deep inside him. The sight of its pain, its wild, helpless fear, was too much to ignore.
He stepped closer.
"You know struggling will only make it hurt more," he said softly, as if the animal could understand.
At the sound of his voice, the stag only panicked more, jerking violently against the trap.
Koby chuckled under his breath. "And I'm talking to an animal."
Letting out a sigh, he moved cautiously forward, concealing his hatchets back into his inventory. He stretched out a hand, palm open and low, trying to ease the creature's nerves. Squatting down beside it, he gently touched its flank—the fur was impossibly soft, glowing faintly under his fingers. The stag stilled slightly, breathing hard but watching him.
Carefully, Koby began to work at the trap's mechanism, his fingers probing for the release latch.
Just then, a voice cut through the quiet from behind him.
"What are you doing?"
Koby jolted upright in surprise, his movement accidentally triggering the trap's release. The jaws sprang open, and the stag—suddenly free—bolted into the undergrowth without a backward glance, vanishing into the trees.
"That was my dinner!"
For a moment, Koby just stared. Standing before him was a girl—a human girl.
She stood with her hands on her hips, looking from the empty trap back to him. There was no fear in her expression, only confusion and a flicker of sharp annoyance.
Mud streaked her cheeks and clothes. She wore leathers, travel-worn and practical, clinging to her frame like a second skin—torn in places, probably by thorns and rough terrain. Her hair was a wild cascade of dark auburn, tied back in a messy knot with stray strands framing a face tanned by the sun. Dirt clung to her hands and scuffed leather boots, but it did little to dull the quiet, unpolished beauty she carried—a beauty that seemed as natural and untamed as the woods around them.
She looked directly at Koby, her gaze steady and assessing, waiting.
He found his voice first. "Who are you?"
"No," she shot back, slinging a wooden bow from her shoulder and adjusting its position. "Who are you? That was my dinner you just released."
"Oh. I'm sorry," Koby stammered. "I heard a rustle and saw the animal…"
"And so you released it without thinking?" she cut him off, her tone flat.
"It looked sad," Koby blurted out without thinking.
An awkward silence settled between them, stretching like a held breath. It felt like hours. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed—a bright, clear sound that broke the tension like shattered glass.
"It looked sad?" she repeated, her laughter softening into a smirk.
Koby felt heat rise to his cheeks. "Trust me, I regretted that sentence immediately after it came out of my mouth."
She laughed a little more, though it was gentler now, less mocking.
"I don't see how that's really funny," Koby muttered.
"It's very funny," she said, wiping a strand of hair from her face. "You let my food go because it looked sad?"
"Okay then, I'm sorry," Koby said, turning to leave. "So I'm going now."
Before he could take a step, she reached out and caught the back of his shirt, tugging him gently but firmly back.
"Hold on there, mister," she said, her expression turning serious. Her eyes—a striking shade of green—glistened with intent.
"What?" Koby said, carefully removing her hand from his shirt.
"Like I said, that was my dinner. And you let it go."
"I said I was sorry," Koby replied, giving her a confused look.
"And I'm supposed to what, eat that 'sorry' for dinner?" she said, her annoyance resurfacing.
Koby sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Okay then, I apologize. How about I help you hunt it back?"
Her expression shifted—still stern, but a flicker of approval passed through her eyes. "Now that wasn't a bad idea, was it?" she said, still a bit cross but clearly accepting his offer.
"I don't know much about hunting, so I don't even know how useful I'll be," Koby admitted.
"Just do what I tell you to do. After all, it's your fault I lost it."
"I got it, okay?" Koby said, feeling a spike of irritation. It was his fault, but her constant blaming wasn't helping.
She studied him for another moment, then nodded. "Come with me, uhm…" She paused, waiting.
"Koby," he supplied.
"That's a nice name," she said, almost as an afterthought. Then she turned and started down the slope into the valley, motioning for him to follow.
Koby fell into step beside her, the quiet of the woods wrapping around them once more, now shared with a stranger whose dinner he'd just set free—and whose path, for better or worse, he was now following.