CHAPTER 8: WHEN THE WORLD BEGAN TO LISTEN
The morning mist had not fully lifted when Zio opened his eyes.
The same wooden roof. The same old beams. The familiar scent of damp earth lingered inside the small house. There were no strange dreams that night, or at least none he could remember. Yet his chest felt slightly heavy, as if something inside him was slowly turning in rhythm with his breathing.
Zio rose from his bedding and sat for a moment, waiting for the sensation to fade.
It did not.
He closed his eyes and tried what Trod had taught him over the past few days. A deep breath in. A brief hold. A slow release. The sensation did not resist. It simply rotated, like a small current that had not yet found its course.
Zio opened his eyes.
"Strange," he murmured.
It was not pain. It was not warmth. It felt closer to awareness, as if something inside him knew he was awake.
Trod was already outside when Zio stepped out of the house.
The old, broad shouldered man sat on a low wooden bench, sharpening a small axe with a rough stone. His movements were slow, measured, consistent. Each stroke produced the same low rasp, as though the world adjusted to his rhythm rather than the other way around.
"You're up early," Trod said without looking.
Zio nodded, then realized Trod could not see it.
"Yes."
"Your stomach?"
"Doesn't hurt."
Trod stopped sharpening and tested the axe edge with his thick thumb.
"That's not what I asked."
Zio hesitated. "It feels strange."
Trod snorted softly and stood.
"Strange doesn't kill people," he said. "Hunger, carelessness, and stupidity do."
He looked at Zio, his gaze sharp but not cold.
"You're hunting today."
Zio nodded. He had expected it.
"Don't go far," Trod said. "And don't look for trouble."
"And if trouble comes?"
"Run."
The answer was simple. Not heroic.
But Zio knew it was not empty advice.
The forest in the morning was always different.
Sunlight had not fully broken through, leaving thin golden streaks between the leaves. The ground was damp with dew, and every step had to be chosen carefully to avoid leaving clear tracks.
Zio moved slowly.
A small dagger hung at his waist beneath dull cloth. He had left the bow and arrows behind. Trod said hunting with a dagger trained patience, not bravery.
A branch snapped in the distance.
Not heavy. Not light.
Zio crouched behind a bush, scanning the area. Seconds passed.
A young deer emerged between the trees.
Not large. Not fast. But alert.
Zio held his breath and waited.
His heartbeat was slow and steady. Within that stillness, the sensation in his chest returned, turning more clearly than it had earlier.
Not a push.
Not a command.
Only awareness. The sense that this moment existed.
The deer stepped closer.
Zio moved.
He did not run. He did not leap. He shifted a single step, using shadow and wind. When the distance closed, the dagger flashed. Short. Fast. Precise.
The deer fell.
Zio remained still until the body stopped moving.
He felt no pride.
He felt no guilt.
Only calm.
As he bound the carcass, another sound reached him.
Footsteps.
Not an animal.
His body tensed instantly. The sound came from the west, unhurried and unconcerned with being heard. Someone walking without fear of discovery.
A man emerged from the trees.
Worn clothes. A sack over his shoulder. A short sword at his waist, not held ready.
A merchant.
Zio relaxed slightly, but not completely.
"Morning," the man said.
Zio did not answer immediately.
The merchant glanced at the deer. "You brought it down?"
Zio nodded.
The merchant looked surprised, then masked it with a thin smile. "How old are you?"
"Old enough."
That earned a short laugh.
"Good answer."
He stepped closer, then stopped a few paces away. "You a guild adventurer?"
Zio shook his head. "Just hunting."
"That's a shame," the man said. "You've got steady hands."
He sighed. "If you ever go to the city, consider registering. The world isn't kind to a kid who hunts alone."
Zio did not reply.
The merchant turned to leave, then paused. "Be careful in the forest. Lately, not everything that moves in the shadows is an animal."
Zio nodded.
The man walked away, his footprints quickly swallowed by damp earth.
On the way back, Zio felt something different.
Not threat.
Not danger.
Attention.
He stopped.
The forest was quiet. Too quiet.
Zio scanned his surroundings. Nothing moved. No sound. No presence.
Then the sensation in his chest pulsed once, light and brief.
A warning.
Zio stepped back.
The ground ahead collapsed. A shallow pit trap opened where he had been about to step, deep enough to cripple a leg.
Zio stared at it.
If he had moved half a second faster.
He exhaled slowly.
"If I die in the forest," he murmured, recalling Trod's voice, "then I wasn't fit to live in this world."
He took a longer route home.
Far beyond the trees, hidden above unmoving shadows, something watched. Then it withdrew, as if confirming a single truth.
The boy was still alive.
And he had begun to hear the world.
End of Chapter 8