Merlin no longer counted the days.
At some point, the passing of time had begun to blur together. Morning followed night, night followed morning, and the forest remained the same silent witness to it all.
The river had become familiar.
He knew where the fish gathered when the sun was high, and where they drifted when the water cooled toward evening. Catching them no longer required patience or luck. The basket slid through the water with practiced ease.
Most days he caught more than he needed.
The hollow had changed too.
What had once been nothing more than a shallow shelter in the earth now looked almost like a small dwelling. The ground inside had been cleared of loose stones and roots. A simple rack of sticks stood near the entrance where strips of meat hung to dry.
Nearby, a small fire pit had been carefully dug into the soil. Merlin had lined it with flat stones so the flames wouldn't spread.
He had learned that lesson early.
Several bundles of preserved meat rested inside the container he had woven earlier. The river continued to serve as his cold storage, though he had grown more careful about how he tied the fish.
The first time he had lost half his work to the current.
He hadn't made that mistake again.
Merlin sat near the entrance of the hollow, sharpening the edge of his dagger against a flat stone.
The steady scraping sound echoed faintly through the quiet forest.
His hands moved calmly.
Too calmly.
Not long ago, killing even a rabbit had made his chest tighten.
Now the memory barely stirred anything at all.
Fish. Rabbits. Blood.
They had slowly become part of his routine.
Merlin paused and examined the blade's edge.
Sharp enough.
He wiped it against a piece of cloth and slid it back into his coat.
Then he looked out toward the trees.
The forest moved quietly with the wind.
And for the first time since arriving here…
Merlin realized something strange.
He was beginning to feel comfortable.
Too comfortable.
His mind drifted to the road he had found.
Each time he went there, it felt like he was stepping away from something he had begun to claim as his own.
I'll come back later.
He had told himself that more than once.
It was true.
But it was also a lie.
Am I meant to stay here?
Is this the end of my journey?
Was this the reason I left?
The answer came easily.
No.
And yet…
He stayed.
The forest gave him everything he needed.
Food.
Shelter.
Silence.
So why leave?
The question lingered longer than it should have.
A rustling sound pulled him from his thoughts.
Merlin turned.
The fox stood there again.
Watching him.
The one part of the forest he still didn't understand.
It didn't run.
Not yet.
It never did.
Merlin got up to his feet.
And chased.
The fox moved ahead, weaving between trees and brush—not panicked, not hurried. Just enough to stay out of reach.
Merlin followed, pushing through branches and stepping over roots with far more control than before.
They had done this before.
Many times.
The fox always escaped.
This time was no different.
It circled back to the starting point.
By the time Merlin realized, he was approaching the hollow again—from the direction of the river.
The fox crossed the water.
It slowed.
Just enough to glance back.
Then—
A sound tore through the air.
Not distant this time.
Close.
Merlin froze.
The sound didn't echo.
It pressed against him.
Like something tearing through the sky itself.
He looked up.
And saw it.
Not a cloud.
Something vast stretched across the sky, dark and shifting. It didn't drift like clouds should. It spread—slowly, endlessly—like it was unfolding over the forest.
It refused to stay still.
Every time his eyes tried to settle on it, the shape changed.
His chest tightened.
It felt—
Alive.
And not just that.
Something else bled from it.
A pressure.
A fear so vast it didn't feel like his own.
It pressed into him, heavy and suffocating, as if the sky itself carried it.
For a brief moment, Merlin thought—
It's afraid.
The thought faded as quickly as it came.
Another sound followed.
This time from the forest ahead.
Merlin's gaze snapped forward.
Trees weren't falling.
They were being taken.
Stripped away in uneven bursts, as if something unseen was tearing pieces out of the world itself.
And it was coming closer.
Merlin didn't think.
He ran.
The fox ran too.
For once—
They moved in the same direction.
Branches snapped beneath his feet as he forced his way uphill. The forest thinned, opening into a clearing near the cliff.
The sky felt heavier here.
Closer.
Too close.
Merlin glanced back.
The destruction hadn't stopped.
It wasn't random.
It was reaching.
His breath caught.
A cave.
Set into the side of the hill.
He turned sharply, sliding down loose earth and forcing himself inside.
Darkness swallowed him.
For a moment, there was nothing but his breathing.
Then—
He looked back.
The fox stood outside.
Not running.
Not moving.
Just watching him.
Still.
Then something moved above.
Not from the ground.
From the sky.
It came down too fast to follow.
A single limb—long, jagged, wrong—pierced through the shifting mass and struck the ground.
It didn't land near the fox.
It struck through it.
Clean.
Effortless.
The fox's body went still instantly.
No struggle.
No sound.
Only its eyes remained.
Locked on Merlin.
Unmoving.
Merlin couldn't breathe.
The limb withdrew just as quickly.
Vanishing back into the shifting sky.
The mass above folded in on itself—
And then it was gone.
The forest fell silent.
As if nothing had happened.
But the fox remained.
Pinned to the ground.
Still.
Merlin stared.
Its eyes hadn't changed.
Still fixed on him—
And yet… it couldn't see him.
There was nothing behind those eyes.
No fear.
No pain.
Nothing.
Just empty stillness.
In that short moment, whatever had been there was gone.
Left behind was only a husk.
Something that would rot like anything else.
Merlin didn't move.
The forest around him was the same.
The hollow was still there.
The river still flowed.
Nothing had changed.
And yet—
Something had.