Chapter 16
Ren didn't decide to stop because it was smart.
He decided because his legs nearly gave out beneath him.
The moment they reached a stretch of uneven stone half-swallowed by roots, Ren raised a hand instinctively, signaling Lira to halt. His breathing was ragged now, each inhale scraping through his chest. The dull ache in his body had sharpened into something dangerous—an edge that warned him one wrong step could turn exhaustion into collapse.
Lira noticed immediately.
"You're shaking," she said, her voice low.
Ren forced his breathing to steady. "I know."
He hated that she noticed. Hated even more that she was right.
They stood there for several seconds, listening. The forest around them was alive, but not alert. No immediate pursuit. No heavy footsteps. Just the constant, unsettling reminder that they were not alone.
"We can't keep moving like this," Lira said. It wasn't a suggestion.
Ren looked around. Broken stone slabs. Thick roots forming shallow hollows. Poor visibility, but plenty of escape paths.
Not good.
But maybe… good enough.
"Two hours," he said finally. "We stop. Then we move again."
Lira didn't argue. She simply nodded and lowered herself onto a flat stone, shoulders sagging the moment she stopped forcing herself forward.
Ren sat too—carefully, slowly. The moment his back touched stone, he realized how close he'd been to pushing too far.
We're not safe, he reminded himself.
Just… less exposed.
Time passed unevenly. Ren didn't sleep. He couldn't. Instead, he watched shadows shift and counted breaths, keeping his mind anchored so it wouldn't drift toward panic or overconfidence.
After what felt like an eternity, he stood again.
"We need food," he said. "And something that resembles shelter."
They split up without ceremony.
Ren moved carefully through the nearby brush, every step deliberate. He avoided large creatures entirely—he didn't have the mana, strength, or luck for another serious fight. Instead, he hunted small prey: a horned forest rabbit stunned with a Fire-enhanced throw of a stone, a thick-bodied bird caught unaware.
Each kill made his stomach twist.
Not guilt.
Pressure.
Every sound felt louder than it should.
When he returned, Lira was already there, arms full of plants—broad leaves, knobby roots, unfamiliar berries she claimed were edible.
"You sure?" Ren asked.
"No," she admitted. "But I'm more sure than I am about the red ones."
That earned a tired huff of a laugh from him.
They had food.
That created the next problem.
"We can't light a fire," Lira said immediately, voicing the same fear twisting in Ren's chest. "Smoke carries. Smell too."
Ren stared at the raw meat, then at the stones scattered around them.
His former life stirred—not as a clear solution, but as fragments. Images. Half-remembered survival shows. Primitive methods.
"…Maybe," he said slowly. "But we don't need flames. Just heat."
Lira tilted her head. "I don't follow."
Ren didn't fully either.
Still, he tried.
He moved away from their resting spot and used Fire magic in short, controlled bursts to heat several flat stones—small, quick flashes of mana that left no lingering flame. He brought them back with sticks, hands shaking slightly, and placed them in a shallow pit lined with soil.
It wasn't elegant.
It wasn't efficient.
But when they wrapped meat in leaves and laid it on the stones, sealing it under earth and foliage, a faint warmth spread.
No smoke.
No glow.
Lira watched, eyes wide. "That's… actually working."
Ren swallowed. "I think so. Maybe."
While the food cooked, neither of them relaxed.
"This place doesn't feel right," Lira said quietly.
Ren agreed.
They didn't build defenses because they were confident.
They built them because they were scared.
Ren dug shallow pits—not deep enough to kill, just enough to trip or slow. His arms burned with every movement. Lira wove vines instinctively, anchoring them to roots and stone, creating crude trip-lines and tangled growth that would at least make noise.
None of it felt solid.
None of it would stop something strong.
But maybe—just maybe—it would buy them seconds.
They ate quickly once the food was ready. It wasn't good, but it was warm, filling, and real. Ren felt a small measure of strength return to his limbs, enough to dull the sharpest edge of fatigue.
"I hate this," Lira muttered as she wiped her hands.
"Me too," Ren replied honestly.
Darkness crept in.
They didn't talk much after that.
Ren suggested sleeping. Lira hesitated, then agreed.
"We can't stay alert forever," he said. "Four hours. That's all."
They lay down near the center of their messy defenses, backs against cold stone, weapons close enough to grab.
Ren expected his mind to race.
Instead, exhaustion dragged him under.
When he woke, it wasn't because he planned to.
It was because something felt wrong.
A sound.
Wet. Slow.
Chewing.
Ren's eyes snapped open.
He didn't move.
Didn't breathe deeper.
Carefully, painfully slowly, he turned his head.
At the edge of their camp, beyond the pits, past the vines—
Something was crouched.
Eating.
Their leftover meat.
Ren's heart hammered so loudly he was sure it would give them away.
The traps hadn't gone off.
None of them.
Whatever it was… it hadn't cared.
Or it had avoided them entirely.
Ren tightened his grip on his cracked wooden blade.
This shelter was never meant to hold.
And now something knew they were here.