Chapter 21 ( Primal )

  A campfire flickers in front of me, its flames happily dancing beneath the strange creature I caught. Its skin is brown and scaly like a reptile’s. It crawls on four legs but jumps with its powerful back legs—something between a frog and a kangaroo.

  The most interesting part about my still-cooking meal is its ribs—small ridges that grow from the top of its head down its back, almost like spikes, except they have a soft, silicone texture. After absorbing the creature's core, I learned it uses these as a sixth sense of sorts. They constantly send out a pulse of energy that eventually returns to it, giving it an idea of what's around its surroundings. It always uses this technique before making a jump, which helps it land perfectly every time.

  Because of everything I learned about these little guys, I settled on the name “Acromander.” Get it? Because it's like acrobat—and salamander.

  Anyway, my point is the fire is warm, I have food, and for once, I feel like I’m on a good track. I returned to my retreat camp in the high-density zone, which took way longer than it should’ve because I got a little lost. But I’ve been hanging out here for the past week, just testing my barrier. So far, there've been zero issues—it’s more protective than what I used before and takes little energy to maintain.

  The smell of sizzling meat fills the air. I remove it from the fire.

  “Bon Appétit.”

  I sink my teeth into the hot, fleshy breast meat. It’s aromatic—a mix of campfire smoke and Acromander flavor. The texture is satisfying, not gummy but flaky like fish, though without that fishy taste. The flavor’s deeper—something that would go perfectly with a beer, a luxury I hadn’t thought about in a while.

  Acromander isn't the only thing on the menu. Since getting a better hang of my understanding, I’ve learned how to distinguish what’s edible from what’s not. I've found seeds, nuts, berries, fruits, and leaves that I can safely eat. I collect them throughout the day, adding variety to my meals. I’ve only eaten two things that weren’t edible—honestly, not bad out of seven new additions to my diet.

  My favorite discovery is a small fig-like fruit I learned about from a beaver-like creature. I came across it once—an interesting animal. Rather than building dams, it builds nests in trees. They find tall trees and bite notches in the branches, then work together to lift more branches and fit them into the notches like planks. Strong enough to hold their weight.

  Sorry—off topic. They’re just such fascinating creatures, and cute too. Anyway, they eat these fig-like fruits, and after absorbing one of their cores—Trievers, I guess—I learned how good those fruits are. Now I eat about five a day; they’re easy to find.

  When I lay down on my bedroll after dinner, exhaustion catches up with me. Despite having some kind of routine, sleep is always the hardest part. It’s when the dark thoughts come. My circumstances are absurd. My life is absurd. Every waking second, I’m living on edge. The valley's silence surrounds me, and only the warmth of the fire gives me comfort.

  I hate sleeping. I put it off as long as I can because sleep brings the nightmares. I’m always back in the same cell—and with the nightmare comes the sense that it’s where I belong. That I am some kind of animal meant for a cage. “Kitty” echoes in my head like a taunt. I feel the cold cell again, the drain of the collar. It’s usually the splash of freezing water or the snap of my arm that wakes me—covered in sweat, gasping, reminding myself that I’m okay.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  Fortunately, the night passes without a nightmare. I wake rested—a rare gift—as it’s time to pack up camp and move deeper into the high-density zone.

  This time, I don’t rush. Every hour, I stop to check that my barrier still holds and that I’m not feeling any ill effects. What I find instead is fascinating—the higher the density, the easier it becomes to keep the barrier charged. It’s as if, mixed in with the raw Arc, there are bits of free-floating refined Arc. I can’t see it, but I can feel it.

  As the sun dips behind the distant valley walls, I stop again to set up camp. I place traps along the game trails, eat a mix of foraged goods and dried meat, and settle down for the night.

  I wake to find myself hanging upside down from a high branch. It’s comfortable—warm in the fold of my own wings. As I stretch, blood rushes from them through my body, like starting an engine.

  The world is blurry, but that doesn’t matter. I kick off from my branch and hear the high-pitched chirps of my family waking too. Their voices shape the world around me. I chirp back, flapping my wings in steady intervals but gliding more than anything else. I'm hungry—hunting.

  The forest is wide, full of options, but something catches my attention. A large, juicy bug hovers in place. I dive at it with great speed, mouth open—only to slam into a sticky, stretchy wall. Panic floods me. I thrash but can’t break free. The web clings tighter. I start to feel trapped… small… my life flashing in fragments. I’m in a cell again. Giant silhouettes loom over me—men who morph into spiders. One sinks its fangs into me—

  I wake up screaming. My breath comes in ragged gasps. Even knowing it was a dream, I can’t stop brushing at my arms, trying to rid myself of phantom webs still clinging to my skin.

  “In”

  "One, two, three, four…”

  “One, two, three, four…”

  “Out"

  “One, two, three, four, five, six…”

  I repeat the rhythm over and over—maybe twenty times—until I start to calm down.

  “Ugh!” I growl, voice raw. I’m furious. These nightmares won’t leave me alone, and they’re only getting stranger.

  The morning passes without luck. My traps are empty, so I move on. No point in staying. I’ve got crystals to find. The thought excites me—the Arc crystals I saw through the Shadow Jag’s memories. Somehow, I know I’ll find them in two days at this pace.

  For the Shadow Jag, it would’ve taken only hours, but I’m not built like that. Take this brook, for instance—it’s exactly as I remember it, though I've never been here before. It’s not wide, but too far to jump. Yet in my memories, I see myself doing just that, over and over—playing, splashing, leaping across with ease. But those aren't my memories. They belong to the Shadow Jag I killed.

  Standing there, staring at the brook, I feel a deep nostalgia for something I never lived.

  I sigh and step forward to cross when something catches my eye—an insect, much bigger than it should be, more like an armadillo than a bug. The size of the fauna here never fails to amaze me, but that’s not even the strangest part. It has a membrane on its back, and as it lowers its head to the water, the membrane expands, filling with it.

  “Well, that’s interesting.” I wonder why it stores water there—or if that membrane is just its stomach, like a translucent pouch. Then I realize I’m creeping closer. Not out of curiosity—but hunger. My hands press into the damp, misty ground as I crawl toward it. I want it. I need it.

  The bug must finally hear me—my steps too heavy, my bag shifting. It lowers its head defensively, membrane raised high. I snarl, dashing forward, fingers digging into the earth. Dirt grinds beneath my nails. The membrane glows yellow—and suddenly a jet of water bursts from its mouth. A sharp, high-pressure stream.

  I drop my left shoulder, rolling to the ground just in time. The jet slams into a nearby tree, splintering it. I stare, wide-eyed, as the trunk cracks and groans before toppling.

  “Holy—!”

  I scramble to my feet, running from the falling tree. The bug hobbles away—slow but safe—as the tree crashes down, bridging both sides of the brook. Dust settles. My hands are caked with mud.

  “What just came over me?” For a moment, I wanted to tear that bug apart. To eat it raw. I could almost taste it. That excitement—it wasn’t hunger. It was primal. Wild.

  I stare at my hands too long, as if the answer’s written there. Finally, I give up and wash them in the brook.

  As I cross the fallen tree, my mind lingers on that creature. The sheer power of its water jet—it was like a living cannon. I could feel it using its energy to expel that water.

  Based on everything I’ve seen, I can’t help wondering—how much of an effect does Arc truly have on the world around me? The Hydraphid… I’ll have to find another and study it properly. But for now, I need to set up camp—and figure out what’s happening to me.