The next morning came with fog.
A thin white mist clung to the river's surface and crept between the trees like a living thing, wrapping the forest in silence. Sound felt muted, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
Luo Yanxue woke inside the narrow space between the rocks, his body stiff, his mind still heavy with the image of that dark seam in the soil inside the ring.
He did not rush out.
He listened first.
Water flowing.
Leaves shifting.
Birds… none.
The forest was awake, but it was not lively.
That alone made his skin prickle.
Slowly, he pushed aside the branches and peered out.
Nothing.
No movement. No shadows charging through the undergrowth. The fog made everything blurry beyond a few dozen steps.
He crawled out and stood, stretching his sore muscles. The cold air bit into his skin, but it also cleared his head.
Food.
He needed food again.
The ring could grow things, but it would take time. Until then, he still had to rely on the river.
He walked carefully, following the same path as before, making sure to step where the ground was firm. The memory of the creature that had chased him was still fresh. He could almost feel its breath on the back of his neck.
When he reached the riverbank, he froze.
There were footprints in the mud.
Large.
Deep.
Not human.
Each print was wider than his chest, the toes ending in blunt, claw-like impressions. They led from the forest to the water… and then back again.
Fresh.
The edges were still wet.
It had come to drink.
And it had left.
Recently.
Luo Yanxue crouched and touched the ground beside one print. The soil was cold, but not yet hardened.
His throat went dry.
"It's still here…"
The fog thickened slightly, rolling low across the ground.
For a moment, he had the irrational feeling that the mist itself was watching him.
He forced himself to breathe slowly.
Running blindly would only get him killed.
He needed to understand his surroundings.
He followed the footprints with his eyes. They disappeared into the trees on the opposite bank, heading toward a part of the forest he had not yet explored—a darker, denser area where sunlight barely reached the ground.
A lair?
A territory?
He did not know.
What he did know was that he was living inside the hunting ground of something far stronger than himself.
The realization settled heavily on his chest.
If he stayed near the river, he would eventually meet it again.
And next time, he might not be lucky enough to escape.
His fingers curled around the ring.
The ring-world.
A place where that creature could not reach him.
At least, he hoped so.
But hiding forever was not a solution. He needed food, shelter, and eventually… strength.
He straightened slowly and turned away from the river.
For now, fishing was too dangerous.
Instead, he headed toward the ruined village.
Not to live there.
To search it more carefully.
If people had once lived here, they might have left something behind—tools, weapons, old shelters, anything that could help him survive.
The fog followed him like a silent shadow.
The village appeared as a cluster of dark shapes ahead, its crooked houses half-swallowed by mist. In daylight, it had looked merely abandoned. Now, it felt… wrong.
Too quiet.
He approached the first house and pushed the door open.
It creaked softly.
Inside, dust floated in the pale light. The air smelled of decay and old wood.
He searched thoroughly this time.
Under the bed.
Behind the broken table.
Inside clay jars.
In the corner, beneath a torn mat, he found something that made his heart jump.
A knife.
Not a kitchen knife.
A short, single-edged blade, its surface dark with rust, its handle wrapped in worn leather. It was not pretty, but it was solid.
A weapon.
He picked it up carefully, testing its weight.
Heavy enough.
Sharp enough—if cleaned.
A small, fierce sense of relief washed over him.
At least now, he was not completely defenseless.
He continued searching.
In the second house, he found dried rope.
In the third, a cracked water gourd.
In the fourth, nothing but bones.
Animal bones.
And something else.
A human skull.
It lay in the corner, half-hidden beneath collapsed wood, its empty eye sockets staring at nothing.
Luo Yanxue stood very still.
This was not the peaceful death of someone who had gone to sleep and never woken.
The bones were scattered.
Some were broken.
As if… something had dragged and gnawed at them.
Cold spread through his chest.
The creature in the forest.
Had it hunted here before?
Was this village abandoned because of it?
Or was it abandoned long before, and something worse had moved in afterward?
He did not know which possibility was more frightening.
He left the house quietly, his steps light despite the pounding of his heart.
Outside, the fog was beginning to thin.
Sunlight filtered through, revealing the path leading deeper into the forest—the same direction the footprints had gone.
And then he saw something that made his blood run cold.
At the edge of the village, in the soft earth between two houses, there was a new set of footprints.
Not large.
Not clawed.
Human.
Barefoot.
Small.
Like those of a child or a thin teenager.
They were not there yesterday.
They led from the forest… into the village.
And they did not lead out.
Luo Yanxue stared at them, a strange unease tightening in his chest.
"Someone else is here…?"
A survivor?
Or something pretending to be one?
The footprints stopped in front of the largest house at the center of the village.
The one with its door half-open.
Dark inside.
Silent.
Waiting.
Luo Yanxue's hand tightened around the rusty knife.
He did not know who—or what—had walked into that house.
But every instinct he had was screaming at him not to ignore it.
Slowly, cautiously, he took a step toward the open door.
The wooden floor inside creaked faintly.
And from the darkness within, something shifted.
Just once.
As if someone—or something—had realized it was no longer alone.