The night had come, and with it, unease.
Its silence wasn't peaceful anymore — it was loaded, heavy, like every tree around him had opened eyes and was holding its breath. The wind no longer whispered; it waited. The shadows no longer swayed; they stalked.
Veigar stood at the edge of his camp, kicking dirt over the last glowing embers of the fire he had conjured with such pride only hours before. The scent of roasted boar still clung to the air, thick and greasy. Bones lay scattered, cracked and bloodied, catching moonlight like broken mirrors.
That had been a mistake.
Not the hunting.
Not the fire.
Not even the feast.
But staying.
He should've known better.
"Let's see…" he muttered to himself while slinging his gear over one shoulder. "Five dead animals, open flames, laughter, a literal explosion of fire magic… Yeah. Why wouldn't something come investigate?"
A rustle echoed behind him.
Not a breeze.
Not chance.
Movement.
Intentional.
He didn't turn right away. His body tensed, his hand drifted toward the dagger at his hip, and his gaze narrowed.
Stillness.
But the forest no longer felt neutral.
It felt... aware.
[Maybe it's better for you to leave.]
"Maybe?" Veigar whispered through clenched teeth.
[You could stay and fight… if you really want to.]
He clicked his tongue and tightened his grip on the dagger, but his instincts — the ones he'd finally stopped ignoring — told him to run. Not out of panic. Not out of fear. But because this time, it wasn't about survival.
It was about choosing the right battle.
He took a single step backward.
"What are my odds?"
[…]
"So you didn't give me a quest because you didn't want me to fight. Why? Would I die?"
[You wouldn't… if you fought well. So yes. There's a real chance you'll die tonight if you stay.]
He stayed quiet for a moment, the sounds of the forest pressing in on his skin.
"…Then there's no reason to fight, but something inside me keeps saying I should."
He looked up at the canopy, then down at the fire's ashes.
"What is that, System? Madness?"
[A mission has been created.]
[Mission: Run.]
[Objective: Escape the danger approaching.]
[Reward: ???]
[I'll explain everything. Just start running.]
He didn't hesitate anymore. His body was already turning to the northwest, his legs shifting into motion. The forest tilted upward in that direction — toward mana, toward life, toward something else.
He smirked.
"I don't know what kind of path you're guiding me to, but you better start explaining soon."
He moved fast — faster than ever before — weaving between gnarled roots, ducking low-hanging branches, never pausing, never stumbling. His feet found grip even in the damp soil, his breathing remained steady, and the instincts he once mocked now danced in harmony with each decision.
Behind him, the rustling returned.
No — it grew.
Closer.
Sharper.
They were tracking him. Not by sight. By scent. By the scent of blood, of magic, of fire.
He pressed harder.
The terrain changed with him. The forest narrowed, then opened. The ground sloped gradually, then sharply. He welcomed it all. Climbing meant escape. Elevation meant advantage.
But the sounds kept up — heavy paws against dirt, shallow breaths, low growls rising like a chorus of hunger.
"I really hope this world doesn't have dire wolves," he muttered, leaping over a fallen branch. "Or giant demon-bears. Or nightmare hyenas. Hell, at this point I wouldn't be surprised if it were carnivorous squirrels."
The incline led him to a ridge, where for a fleeting second he could see beyond the forest — the curve of plains ahead, mist rising gently in the distance, and a sky ready to surrender to dawn.
Then it happened.
A growl.
Guttural. Wet. Close.
Too close.
He threw himself forward just as something lunged from the shadows behind. He didn't see it — just heard the snap of jaws, felt the rush of rancid breath across the back of his neck.
He crashed hard into the dirt, rolled, and came up with his dagger drawn.
A shape stalked from the brush.
Low to the ground. Muscular. Fast.
Its eyes glowed a sickly green, its skin stretched tight over its ribs. Fangs protruded even as it hissed.
Another flanked it. Then a third. Then two more.
[Five in total]
"Of course it's five. Why wouldn't it be five again?"
He backed slowly toward a fallen log, placing it between himself and the creatures.
"Can I outrun them?"
[Not for long]
He clenched his jaw and inhaled deeply, reaching inward.
The mana was there.
Waiting.
Not calm, but listening.
Steady.
Strong.
"No fighting, right?" he whispered.
But as he stared at the largest of the pack — its lips curled back, its eyes locked on his — something stirred inside him. Not defiance. Not recklessness.
Purpose.
Veigar stood tall.
He brought both hands together, palms open, and aimed toward the forest floor beside him.
"Burn," he whispered.
FWOOOOOSH.
A torrent of fire exploded outward, not directly at the beasts, but into the earth to his right. The flames surged upward, curling into a wall between him and the predators. The night lit up in hues of orange and red, and the scent of scorched bark filled the air.
The pack yelped, startled. Some scattered. One hissed, pacing.
Veigar didn't wait.
He turned and ran again — faster, freer.
And this time, they didn't follow.
He kept running.
Not out of fear — but because it was time.
Because he had made his stand.
And now he would move forward.
He ran until the forest began to thin. The dense walls of ancient trees fell away behind him, replaced by open fields bathed in moonlight. Mist crawled along the ground, and the horizon stretched far and wide, untouched.
Then he noticed the light.
Faint at first, then undeniable — a glow rising in the east.
Sunrise.
Only then did it strike him.
He had run all night.
Without rest. Without breaking. Without losing himself.
He slowed to a stop at the edge of the woods. His boots sank slightly into soft grass as the last of the trees loomed behind him, silent witnesses to everything he had endured — and everything he had become.
Veigar took one step forward.
Then another.
The forest released him.
And he released it.
"I'm ready," he said softly, watching the light stretch across the land.
For whatever came next.