The chill of morning seeped into the air, brushing against Oliver's skin as he sat cross-legged on the floor.
He hadn't slept much.
Every time he closed his eyes, fragments the painful memories clawed their way to the surface of his dreams—his failures, his loss, Kaitlin's death, and the roaring flames that had driven him into this forsaken forest.
Now, that same fire was his fuel. His drive for getting stronger. One step at a time.
The door creaked open, and Augustus entered, leaning on his staff with that same infuriating grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. "Good. You're awake. Thought I'd have to pour water on you."
Oliver exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I couldn't sleep."
"Ah," Augustus said, "then you've already learned the first lesson of power—sleep is a luxury, not a habit."
Oliver frowned but didn't respond. The old man chuckled. "Come. Today you will learn how to feel the world. But first... breakfast."
They headed off into the lounging area, and Augustus showed Oliver how to make simple herbal soup.
The kitchen setup was quite convenient, because, to Oliver's surprise, he didn't need to make a fire.
Instead of fire, there was some sort of device that Augustus said he had crafted himself, that produced heat with no flame.
Augustus looked at Oliver's shocked expression and commented with a smug smile, "I may not be the best rune engraver or crafter out there, but I know enough to play around with simple runes to do this much at least. All I did was make a rune to produce heat, and crafted this platform where you place the pot with nothing but simple stone. Very efficient."
"Uh, yeah." Of course Oliver knew about secondary professions, but he had never thought about taking up one himself.
Sure the topics interested him enough that he liked to read books related to them, but not enough for him to delve into realm of secondary professions. Besides, one needed Mana to be able to even engrave the most basic of runes, or craft decent magical weapons.
Augustus showed Oliver how to use the heated cooker, and Oliver made a simple herbal broth.
Once they were done with breakfast, Augustus wasted no time, he led the way out of the cabin.
They stepped outside the cabin, where the forest loomed like a living organism. The air was thick. To Oliver, it was oppressive—silent yet, seemingly watchful, like there were eyes everywhere. He could almost swear the large trees were breathing.
Augustus led him into a small clearing bordered by roots that twisted like serpents. There, the morning mist clung low to the ground, illuminated by shafts of sunlight piercing through the thick canopy.
"Sit," Augustus ordered, tapping the ground with his staff.
Oliver did as told, settling into a cross-legged position again.
"Now," Augustus said, "close your eyes and listen. You've already tried to sense essence yesterday, yes?"
Oliver nodded.
"Good. You failed, yes?"
"…Yes."
"Good," Augustus repeated, smiling. "Failure means your eyes are still blind. So now, we make them see."
He lowered himself onto a nearby stump, setting his staff across his knees. "Essence is everywhere—the wind that moves, the water that flows, even the stillness of rock. The problem isn't that you can't sense it. It's that you refuse to slow down long enough to notice."
Oliver furrowed his brow, trying to keep his breathing steady.
"Quiet your mind," Augustus continued, his tone turning calm, almost distant. "Let the noise of your thoughts die down. Stop trying to feel it. Just exist."
The forest seemed to hush at his words. The buzz of insects faded. The world slowed. Oliver's heartbeat filled his ears—steady, rhythmic. For a moment, there was nothing else.
Then—something faint.
A pulse.
Like the whisper of air beneath the surface of still water. He almost turned his head toward it, but Augustus's voice cut through the silence.
"Don't move."
Oliver froze.
"That faint pressure you feel," Augustus said quietly, "that's it. That's essence. The breath of the world."
The pulse faded. Gone as quickly as it had appeared. Oliver's eyes opened, frustration flashing across his face. "I lost it."
"Of course you did," Augustus said, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. "You're not supposed to grab hold of it yet. For now, it's enough to notice that it's there."
Oliver exhaled heavily. "So that's all I'm learning today? To notice it?"
"That's more than most do in their first year," Augustus replied. "But if you want more, I can always throw you into the river and see if drowning helps you connect faster."
Oliver shot him a glare. "You're insane."
The old man laughed, the sound echoing through the clearing. "And yet, you're still here, listening to me. That makes you worse."
Hours passed.
The sun rose high, then began its descent.
Oliver remained in the clearing, his legs numb and his body stiff, but he persisted. Each time he closed his eyes, the world sharpened a little more—the rustle of grass, the murmur of the wind, the faint warmth beneath his palms.
He still couldn't hold onto that pulse of energy, but he could feel its outline now, like something just out of reach.
When the day began to dim, Augustus finally stood. "Enough for today."
Oliver opened his eyes, blinking against the golden light. Sweat clung to his skin. His throat was dry.
Augustus nodded, satisfied. "You're doing better than I expected. The reason why most people cannot sense the presence of essence, apart from not being aware of its existence, is because they never stop to look at the world around them. But of course, there are few who do notice its existence, live long enough, and eventually, you will see the signs of its presence. But, once they realise what a tall mountain it is, trying to wield essence, they give up quickly."
Oliver smirked faintly. "I don't give up."
The old man's grin softened for the first time that day. "Good. Hold on to that. You'll need it."
...
Only the faint creak of the cabin door broke the silence as Augustus stepped outside, his staff tapping lightly against the wooden steps.
Oliver followed, still groggy, his white hair a dishevelled mess and his eyes heavy from another sleepless night.
"Stop dragging your feet, boy," Augustus said, his tone half stern, half amused. "If you want to survive here, you'll need to learn to move as if you were never born."
Oliver frowned. "Move as if I was never born? What's that even supposed to mean?"
The old man chuckled. "It means disappearing—erasing your presence until not even the beasts of the forest can sense you. Because if they do, you're already dead."
He gestured toward the treeline, where the shadows between trunks seemed to shift. The forest was alive in ways most couldn't comprehend; every movement, every sound could attract death.
"Since you've managed to sense the faintest hint of essence," Augustus continued, "it's time to put it to use. Every living thing breathes essence—every heartbeat, every thought, every step. The trick is to make yours stop echoing."
Oliver crossed his arms. "You want me to stop breathing now?"
A crooked grin spread across the old man's face. "If you can, that'd make my job easier."
Oliver sighed, already regretting asking. "So… how do I 'erase myself' exactly?"
Augustus leaned on his staff, his eyes glinting faintly under the morning sun. "You don't erase yourself. You become one with everything around you. The wind doesn't see itself, the ground doesn't notice its own weight, and the trees don't question their silence. To hide from the world, you must become the world."
He motioned toward the woods. "Come. Let's begin."
They entered the forest. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became. The trees towered overhead
Somewhere distant, a shriek echoed
Oliver's steps grew cautious.
"This place feels wrong," he muttered.
"Good," Augustus replied. "That means you're paying attention."
They stopped in a small clearing surrounded by vines and moss-draped trees. Augustus turned to him. "Now. Close your eyes. Feel the world again like you did before—but this time, instead of reaching out to sense it, let it consume you."
Oliver obeyed, closing his eyes, his breathing slow. The world around him unfolded—tiny sounds magnified: the rustle of leaves, the distant croak of a toad, the shift of soil beneath his boots.
"Now imagine," Augustus whispered, "that the world is an ocean. And you… are a drop within it. Lose your boundaries, your edges. Let the world flow through you."
For a moment, Oliver could feel it—a connection, faint but real. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing evened, and a strange calm washed over him.
Then Augustus spoke again, breaking the stillness. "Open your eyes."
Oliver obeyed—only to find the old man gone.
His eyes darted around the clearing. "Augustus?"
No answer.
The air was utterly still. Even the forest's hum seemed muted. He spun slowly, scanning every tree, every shadow—nothing.
Then—
A hand tapped his shoulder.
Oliver jumped back with a startled yelp, nearly losing his balance. Augustus was standing behind him, grinning ear to ear.
"How—how did you do that?!"
The old man laughed so hard he nearly doubled over. "You should've seen your face!"
"I didn't sense you at all!" Oliver snapped, clutching his chest. "You vanished completely!"
"Exactly," Augustus said, his grin turning sly. "That's what I'm teaching you. The art of erasure. You must make the world forget that you exist, even for a heartbeat."
Oliver exhaled, calming his racing heart. "And you expect me to learn that in a day?"
Augustus raised a brow. "You're welcome to die trying. Either way, I'll be entertained."
....
For hours, Augustus drilled him relentlessly. Every time Oliver thought he had managed to silence his steps, the old man would appear behind him and whack his head lightly with the staff.
"Too loud."
Whack!
"Your breathing's uneven."
Whack!
"Your thoughts are screaming."
Whack!
After what felt like an eternity, Oliver collapsed against a tree, panting heavily. "This is impossible."
Augustus tilted his head. "No, boy. It's discipline. Beasts live by instinct, but men live by noise. The key to surviving this forest is learning when to be neither."
Oliver stared up at him, sweat dripping down his face. "So… I just have to be quiet?"
The old man smirked. "No. You have to cease to exist! There's a difference. I thought you would have gotten that by now!"
He leaned down, meeting Oliver's eyes. "Once you master that, you'll walk through this forest unseen. The beasts won't sense you. The forest itself will turn a blind eye. That's how you survive here."
Oliver clenched his fists. "And after that?"
"After that," Augustus said, turning away, "you learn how to hunt the things that think they can't be seen."
....
As dusk fell and they returned to the cabin, Oliver's thoughts still churned with Old man Augustus' nonsensical words.
Cease to exist!? He almost scoffed. The very notion sounded ridiculous. How does one cease to exist.
But still. His body was exhausted, but his mind— felt sharper than ever. He had failed, yes, but each failure had taught him something.
The forest wasn't the enemy—it was a living thing, vast and ancient. And if he could learn to move like it, breathe like it… maybe he could truly disappear.
He looked out through the window before bed, the moonlight dripping through the canopy like silver threads.
"Erase myself, huh?" he murmured. "Let's see if I can make the world forget I exist."
Outside, Augustus smiled faintly, his voice barely audible through the dark.
"That's it, boy. The first step to survival… is becoming the silence." Oliver had surprised him today, and even though he wouldn't say it out loud, he was mind-blown by the boy's ability to absorb knowledge.