It has been five long years since Hilda left. The day she was gone, the first wife of the patriarch wasted no time, ordering me to be cast out into the forest at the farthest edge of the household. It wasn't surprising—she never hid her hatred for me.
Since then, I have been forgotten, abandoned like a broken tool no one needed. No one has come to check on me, not even once. The only exception is Baldwin, a squire who, out of some unknown kindness, brings me a sack of rice every few months.
"Aah, rice—the nectar of gods," I mutter to myself, holding onto that small comfort in a life that has become nothing but a fight to survive.
At least now, I knew how to survive. In my last life, I had gone to her, pleading for her to allow me to live in the household.
But instead of mercy, she forced me into a corner. She made me sign a soul contract, binding me forever to her son, cursed to be his squire for as long as I lived. My fate was sealed, trapped in a life of servitude with no way out.
Every morning, Alden woke up to the damp scent of moss and earth, his body curled up on his bed of dried ferns and leaves. The cold air nipped at his skin as he pushed off the rough woolen cloth he used as a blanket. He let out a deep breath, watching it curl into the morning air like mist.
He stretched his aching limbs, feeling every sore muscle protest, then stepped outside his little wooden shelter, blinking against the pale morning light. His hut, built against the sturdy trunk of an old oak, had just enough space for him to sleep and store his few belongings. The roof, made of layered bark and woven branches, kept the rain out—most of the time.
First things first—checking the traps.
Alden moved carefully through the underbrush, stepping lightly to avoid snapping twigs that might alert unwanted predators. His traps were set along narrow, well-worn animal trails, paths beaten into the ground by countless tiny feet. The first one was empty. So was the second. But as he reached the third, he grinned—caught in the woven snare was a rabbit, its small body still and lifeless.
"Good catch," he murmured, freeing it from the trap. He slung it over his shoulder before moving on to check the rest. Some days, he was lucky. Some days, he wasn't. But today, he had food.
Back at his shelter, he set to work. Skinning the rabbit was always a messy task, but he was used to it now. He carefully removed the fur, sliced the meat into strips, and set them over a small rack to dry near the fire. Wasting food wasn't an option.
Once the meat was handled, he moved on to the fire. He gathered dry twigs and fallen branches, stacking them in the small pit he had dug. He struck flint against stone, watching as tiny sparks danced before catching on the dry kindling. Slowly, the flames grew, crackling warmly.
Breakfast was simple—a stew made from foraged wild herbs, a few berries, and whatever scraps of meat he had left from the day before. He took slow bites, letting the warmth spread through his chest, replacing the cold that had settled in his bones overnight.
With his stomach full, it was time to explore.
The forest was both a home and a challenge, its towering trees and winding paths ever-changing. He knew the safest places, where mushrooms grew in soft clusters, which berries were sweet and which were deadly. He had learned by trial and error, and by watching the creatures around him. If a bird wouldn't eat a berry, neither would he.
Water was never a problem. A small stream ran nearby, its crystal-clear surface reflecting the golden streaks of sunlight that managed to break through the thick canopy above. He cupped his hands, taking in the cool liquid, washing away the dirt from his face.
By midday, he let himself rest. He sat beneath the wide leaves of a cedar tree, listening to the rustling wind, the distant calls of birds, and the occasional snap of twigs from unseen creatures moving through the underbrush. This was his quiet time, where he let his mind wander, sometimes sketching little notes in his worn notebook—his only possession from his mother.
Just as he finished adjusting one of his traps, a low, guttural grunt echoed through the trees. A chill ran down Alden's spine. He turned his head slowly, his pulse hammering in his ears.
A massive creature stood just beyond the underbrush, half-hidden in the shadows. Its glowing yellow eyes locked onto him, unblinking. The beast stepped forward, its dark fur bristling, muscles rippling beneath its hide. Its snout curled into a snarl, revealing long, razor-sharp fangs dripping with saliva.
Alden barely had time to react before it lunged.
He threw himself to the side, rolling across the damp forest floor as the beast's claws slashed through the air where he had just been standing. Scrambling to his feet, he gripped his homemade knife tightly, but one glance at the creature told him it was useless. His blade, dull and worn, wouldn't even scratch its thick hide.
He ran.
Branches tore at his skin as he crashed through the undergrowth. The beast snarled behind him, the sound deep and guttural, vibrating through the air. Heavy footfalls pounded against the earth, growing louder with every second.
Alden zigzagged between the trees, hoping to shake it off, but the beast was too fast. It leaped, its claws slicing through his shirt and grazing his back. A sharp, burning pain shot through him. He bit back a cry and forced himself to keep running.
Then, more growls echoed from the darkness.
The first beast wasn't alone.
From the shadows, monstrous figures emerged—each one more horrifying than the last. Some had elongated limbs and jagged teeth, their eyes glowing like embers. Others were covered in thick scales, their forked tongues flicking out hungrily. They stalked toward him, muscles tensed, ready to pounce.
Panic clawed at his chest. He wasn't just being chased—he was being hunted.
A creature lunged, its jaws snapping inches from his arm. Before it could sink its fangs into him, another monster rammed into it, sending it crashing against a tree. Snarls and roars filled the air as they fought each other, tearing into flesh and bone, desperate to claim him as their prize.
Alden didn't stop. He couldn't.
His legs burned, his lungs screamed for air, but he kept running. His feet pounded against the forest floor, his vision blurring from the sheer speed. The wind howled past his ears, but the beasts were still behind him, relentless, merciless.
Then, the ground disappeared.
Alden barely had time to register the cliff's edge before his body pitched forward. He flailed, trying to stop, to turn, but his momentum carried him over.
For a split second, he hung in the air, weightless.
Then, gravity took hold.
The last thing he saw was the beasts snarling above, their glowing eyes watching as he plummeted into the abyss below.