Chapter 27: (guilt and progress)
Back to the present — one month and seven days later.
I woke up. My eyes half-opened, the air heavy with the smell of dried blood and damp wet dirt. The ground beneath me felt cold, rough against my sole. Somewhere in the quiet corner of the cave, a voice broke the silence a faint, low, almost familiar voice. "Morning."
My eyes widened. I sat up fast, my body stiffened and became alert. The cave shadows didn't move. I turned my head — up, down, behind — no one. The air grew colder, pressing against my skin. I let out a slow breath, telling myself it was only my imagination, just another illusion sound from my dreams. I lay back down, eyes half-open, trying to fall asleep again.
Then the voice came once more.
"Wake up."
This time it wasn't illusion or imagination. It was real, and it's very close, like someone whispering right beside me. My throat tightened. "Who are you?" I asked, my voice unsteady.
A low chuckle followed.
"That's cold of you. Didn't you make a deal with me?"
I froze. The dream. The man in my dream SOMEONE/SOMETHING. It wasn't a dream.
"You... you're the man from my dream?"
"Yes," he said. "I'm the Dealer."
My breath hitched. "So what now? How will you help me — like you promised?"
His tone shifted, calm but commanding.
"Go outside. I'll teach you everything — hunting, finding food, crafting weapons. Just like the contract said. If you remember the terms, then you also remember your part of the deal."
I swallowed hard. "Yeah... I said I'd give you permission to take over my body, in exchange for protection and survival."
A pause. Then his voice came softer.
"How's your body? Still shaking from what happened yesterday?"
I looked down at my hands trembling. The image returned — the goblin, writhing under me, the sword piercing through its skull deeper until it stopped moving.
"Yes," I said quietly. "Yes, I am."
His reply came like a sigh through my mind.
"No. You're not ready yet."
I bit my lip. "Yeah... I'm still scared."
"Of course you are," he said. "In the face of death, there are no exceptions. Every being fears it."
He paused, and his tone turned steady again — instructive, patient.
"But now, I'll teach you. First step: go outside the cave. I'll guide you — step by step — how to face fear, how to survive. One step at a time."
His voice deepened, "When humans encounter the unknown, they lose perspective. Right now, you're in state of trauma— your body and mind trapped between fear and guilt. It's normal. Don't force yourself. If you need to stop, stop. If you can move, move. If you can't yet, then wait. It's fine to walk, to run, or to stay still — as long as you find your own pace."
The cave was quite again. Only the sound of my breathing remained, and the words lingering deep inside my mind.
I gulped hard, my breath shaky, my hand trembling as I forced myself to lift the wooden door. The wood creaked under my grip, heavy and rough against my palm. When it finally opened, the sunlight broke through, hitting my face and eyes. I squinted, blinking several times as the warm ray of the morning sun brushed across my skin.
As I was about to step outside, I suddenly froze. My foot stopped midair, and I stepped back slightly, my chest tightening. I stood still for a few seconds, breathing in and out, then gathered my courage and took a slow step forward. My foot pressed into the cool, damp grass.
When I looked down, the image in my mind of the dead goblin came rushing back — lying on the grass, its blood soaking deep into the ground. The memory twisted my stomach and made me gag.
"Blurgh!!! Ha... ha... ha... I can't do it!" I fell to my knees as my legs shook violently. My arms trembled as I held myself up, eyes unfocused and spinning. My throat burned as I kept vomiting until I could barely breathe.
"Good work," he said calmly. "Now, look up to the trees and stay there for a minute. Exhale... take a deep breath."
I did as he said, my eyes locked on the tall trees outside. The air felt too bright, too open. I lasted only one minute and thirty-four seconds before I ran back to the cave, gasping.
It helped, but not much. Still, he kept saying, step by step. Every hour, he told me to go out again — from thirty seconds to one minute, then two. But trauma doesn't leave easily.
From breakfast to lunch to dinner, I didn't eat anything — only drank water.
That night, I lay on my back, staring blankly at the rough stone ceiling. My stomach made loud, aching noises that echoed in the quiet cave.
"I'm hungry," I muttered weakly.
"Starvation drives people to do things out of desperation," he replied, his voice calm. "To fill that aching, empty stomach."
Ten days passed — only water to keep me alive, collected from my pot and a few healing potions. On the twelfth day, even the water was gone. My lips were dry, my body weak, my hunger biting harder with every hour. Water wasn't enough. It never was.
I clenched my fists and decided — I had to move. I had to eat.
On the fifteenth day, I finally stepped out of the cave, my sword gripped tightly in both hands. My arms felt heavy, but I forced myself forward, eyes scanning the ground and the trees. The wind brushed against my face, carrying the smell of dirt and wet leaves. Every sound — a rustle, a wind, a shadow — made me flinch.
"Food gives people the reason to learn — to plant, to hunt, to cook, and to eat," he said as I walked carefully through the uneven ground, my feet brushing against the tall grass. "Everyone gathers food to have energy for their daily tasks and work. From food, we gain strength. But it also becomes a cause of desperation — driving some to do anything just to fill their belly... even to the point of stealing, or killing others for it."
"I know," I murmured, eyes down. "I've experienced it before. Sometimes I eat once a day... sometimes not at all."
"Go around the cave and find anything you can eat," he said. "If you feel scared, run back. Start small — bugs, snails, anything. Do you think you can do it?"
I hesitated. My throat tightened. I wanted to say no, but my stomach growled so loud it hurt. I nodded instead.
I walked about five to ten feet away from the cave, my steps careful, my breathing shallow. Then, I saw it — a snail *stonecap mosscrawler* is crawling slowly across a rock. I crouched down, reached out with shaking fingers, and grabbed it. Its shell was cool and smooth in my hand. I went back quickly, heart beating fast.
In front of the cave, I gathered the remaining dry sticks I gathered 15 days ago and made a small flame with the help of the rune stone. The fire flickered weakly, the smoke stinging my eyes. I dropped the snail into the flames and crushed a few salt berries, sprinkling them at the shell's entrance. The smell rose — faint, salty, warm. My empty stomach growled again.
When it finished cooking, I took it from the fire using the tip of my sword. I hesitated — the scene of the goblin's pierced head flashed before me. My hands shook, but I forced myself to continue. I pierced the snail shell and pulled the meat out slowly.
I wanted to gag, but I clenched my jaw and kept pulling the meat free. I placed it into my small bowl and cut the stomach where its food was still inside. Then, I took a bite.
The texture was chewy, the taste bitter — but it was food. Real food not water or potion. I chewed and swallowed, bite after bite, until it was all gone.
For a moment, I forgot everything — the goblin, the smell of blood, even the fear.
"Good job," he said softly. "How's your first meal in twelve days?"
I wiped my mouth, breathing slowly, and said, "It's good."