The sword grew heavier with every step.
Not because its weight had changed, but because his body no longer had the strength to carry it as easily as before. His grip tightened unconsciously around the worn handle, fingers stiff and trembling as he forced himself forward across the endless stretch of black sand.
The desert had not changed.
It still stretched without end, silent and lifeless beneath the dim, unnatural sky, offering nothing to guide him, nothing to promise survival—only the quiet certainty that whatever walked here did so alone.
And he was no exception.
It had been too long.
Too long since he had eaten anything.
Whatever he had taken from that creature inside the cave—whatever strange energy had entered his body—it had only delayed the inevitable. Now, the hunger had returned in full, heavier, sharper, more relentless than before.
His stomach twisted violently, muscles tightening as if trying to consume themselves, sending waves of pain through his abdomen that made his steps falter more than once.
His breathing had grown shallow.
Uneven.
Each inhale burned.
Each exhale felt incomplete.
His body was weakening.
He knew it.
Even without understanding this world, without knowing its rules, he understood one thing clearly:
If this continued— He would not last.
His steps slowed.
Not by choice.
His legs no longer responded the way they should, each movement delayed, as though his body had begun to disconnect from his will. The sand beneath his feet shifted more than before, or perhaps it only felt that way now that he lacked the strength to resist it.
His vision blurred slightly.
The horizon wavered.
Still, he kept moving.
Because stopping meant something worse.
Time passed.
Or something like it.
And then— Something changed.
At first, it was only a difference in the ground.
The sand beneath his feet felt… firmer.
Not stable, not safe, but less loose than before, as if something beneath it held it together. His steps became slightly more grounded, though his body barely had the strength to take advantage of it.
Then— He saw it.
A shape.
Not distant like before.
Not buried.
Alive.
A tree.
It stood alone in the middle of the black expanse, its form twisted and unnatural, its bark darkened almost to the same shade as the sand beneath it. Its branches were bare, devoid of leaves, stretching upward like something reaching for a sky that refused to answer.
Beneath it— A small patch of ground.
Different.
Darker.
Moist.
His eyes widened slightly.
Water.
The thought didn't come clearly, but his body reacted before his mind could process it fully.
He moved.
Faster than he had in a long time.
His steps were uneven, unstable, his balance faltering more than once as he closed the distance, but it didn't matter. His focus had narrowed to a single point—the ground beneath that tree.
When he reached it, he dropped immediately to his knees.
His hand pressed against the surface.
Wet.
Not much.
Barely anything.
But enough.
He leaned forward, bringing his face close to the ground, his movements rough, uncoordinated, as he tried to gather what little moisture he could. The taste was bitter, mixed with sand and something metallic, but he didn't stop.
He couldn't.
His throat burned less.
Not gone.
But eased.
His breathing steadied slightly.
For a moment.
Just a moment— It was enough.
But the hunger remained.
Stronger.
Worse.
His gaze lifted slowly toward the tree.
There was nothing on it.
No fruit.
No leaves.
Nothing that resembled food.
Only bark.
Rough.
Dark.
His body hesitated.
His mind resisted.
But the hunger— Did not.
Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the surface of the tree, feeling its texture—dry, cracked, rigid beneath his touch.
"This…"
The word didn't fully form.
It didn't need to.
He knew.
It wasn't food.
But it was something.
And right now— Something was enough.
His grip tightened.
He tore at the bark.
It didn't come off easily.
His fingers slipped at first, lacking strength, but desperation drove him forward, forcing him to try again, and again, until finally a small piece broke free in his hand.
He stared at it for a moment.
Then.
Without thinking— He brought it to his mouth.
And bit down.
The taste was unbearable.
Bitter.
Dry.
It scraped against his tongue, his throat, refusing to break apart properly, but he forced it down anyway, swallowing with effort as his body reacted immediately.
It didn't help.
Not really.
But it was something.
And that was enough to keep going.
He tore off another piece.
Then another.
His movements grew faster.
Less controlled.
There was no hesitation anymore.
No thought.
Only hunger.
He ate like something that had not eaten in weeks, tearing into the bark with trembling hands, forcing it down despite the pain, despite the taste, despite the knowledge that this was not what his body needed.
It didn't matter.
Nothing else was there.
Nothing else would come.
For a moment— He wasn't thinking.
He wasn't observing.
He wasn't even fully aware.
He was just— Surviving.
A dry wind passed through the area, brushing against the tree, causing its branches to shift slightly, producing a faint, hollow sound that echoed briefly into the empty desert.
He didn't notice.
But something else did.
Beneath the sand— Something moved.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Drawn— Not by the tree.
But by him.