Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul.

Invictus by William Ernest Henley

#-#

I woke up alone.

That, in itself, was unfamiliar.
Not just the silence, but the feeling, cold, vast, and wrong.

For as long as I could remember, I’d been surrounded by people. Chaos. Laughter. Noise. Six younger siblings, all crammed into the same room, half of them always fighting over who got to sleep beside me. I was the glue in our bedtime rituals, the storyteller, the human pillow, the designated monster chaser.

Alone wasn’t a concept I understood. I’d never had a real boyfriend, never had the privacy of my own room, never slept without someone else’s breath softly rising and falling nearby. So waking up in total darkness, real darkness, the kind that presses in on you like it’s alive, was already disorienting. But waking up in a room that was slowly filling with freezing water, with thunder roaring above and metal groaning like the ship itself was in pain?

That was something else entirely.
That was horror.

I gasped, my breath catching like I’d been held underwater for too long. A strange pressure in my chest pulsed sharply, like my heart had been restarted with jumper cables.

Then the cold hit me.

Ice water clung to my skin, soaking through the thin fabric of what I was wearing. I tried to sit up, but my limbs responded like overcooked noodles. No strength. No coordination. I rolled to the side, then tried again, only to collapse face-first into the knee-deep water with a loud, painful splash.

It stole the breath from my lungs. The shock of it, sharp, stinging, violent, snapped something inside me awake. I shot up on my elbows, coughing and choking as the freezing water rushed past my collarbone.

Before I could even catch my breath, a deafening crash exploded behind me. The whole room shook like it had been punched by a giant. Something cracked, or maybe something gave way. I didn’t dare look.

Every survival instinct screamed at me: get out. Now.

I staggered to my feet. My knees buckled, and I crashed against the pod I’d apparently just emerged from. I gripped it to stay upright, my palms slipping across its smooth, wet surface. My legs felt alien, like they weren’t mine at all. They shook beneath me, thin and clumsy, like I hadn’t used them in weeks.

What was wrong with me?

I took in my surroundings, heart still hammering in my ears. The room was dark, save for the occasional flicker of red emergency lights trying, and failing, to pierce through the black. The pod behind me glowed faintly, just enough for me to see its outline. It was cylindrical, metallic, and vaguely futuristic. A panel of buttons blinked dimly on its side, most of them flashing red or dead entirely.

A cryo chamber. That was my first thought. It didn’t make sense, but it was the only image that fit, like something ripped from a movie. One of those sci-fi labs where people slept for decades, frozen and preserved, waiting for some apocalypse to pass.

But this wasn’t fiction. I was awake. Alive. Cold. Soaked.

Dying, maybe.

The water was higher now, rushing past my thighs, swirling faster with every second. I heard a creaking above, the metallic shriek of strain, like the ceiling was about to cave in.

My eyes darted to the far corner of the room, something sat propped up against the door.

A backpack.

It looked old but intact. Familiar, even. For a split second, a stupid thought crossed my mind— Is that mine? Did I pack that?

Of course not. I hadn’t packed anything. I didn’t even remember going on a trip.

Still, I lunged for it.

The second I grabbed the strap, the whole room jolted. The floor tilted, the water sloshed violently, and I slammed shoulder-first into the wall with a cry of pain. The backpack stayed clenched in my hand, but the impact rattled my teeth and left my ears ringing.

I hit the floor again. Water surged into my nose and mouth, and I coughed violently, choking. I forced myself onto my knees and crawled, because standing wasn’t happening anymore. My muscles trembled like they were short-circuiting, firing off at random.

Wherever I was, my body hadn’t moved in a very long time.

The door groaned against its hinges. I reached it and yanked, but it didn’t budge at first. The pressure on the other side was too much. I grit my teeth, leaned my full weight into it, and forced it open a crack, just wide enough for me to squeeze through, dragging the heavy bag with me.

Water poured in from behind me like a living thing trying to pull me back. I pushed harder, slipped through, and fell face-first into the hallway.

It was chaos.

A sickly red glow bathed everything, the emergency lighting flickering on and off in ragged pulses. Alarms screeched, their wails mixing with the deeper, booming roar of the storm above. Water gushed around my ankles, then my shins. It was rising faster here.

The hallway stretched ahead like a tunnel, claustrophobic and shifting slightly with every groan of the ship’s frame. The walls were streaked with grime, rivulets of water snaking down the sides like tears. I could feel the entire structure tilting slowly, ever so slightly, listing to one side.

That meant only one thing.

The ship was going down.

I dragged myself up, planting one foot, then the other, swaying like a baby deer. My lungs burned. My vision pulsed in and out. But I kept going, only because stopping meant dying.

I braced myself against the wall and started moving, one step at a time, fighting the current now rushing around my legs. The cold had become numbness. My skin stung with it, but I couldn’t focus on that. I had one goal: up.

Up meant air.
Up meant out.
Up meant hope.

I passed more rooms, most with closed doors, some cracked open just enough to glimpse dark shapes inside. More pods, maybe. Like mine. For a second, I paused. There were some pods open.

Had someone else made it out before me?

The idea should’ve comforted me. It didn’t.

If anyone had survived, they weren’t here now. The hallway was as silent as a tomb, except for the creaks of the failing ship and the far-off groan of the sea battering its hull. And the sound of my own breathing, fast, uneven, and getting sharper and more painful with every step. 

I stepped closer to one of the unopened pods.

Its glass was frosted over, but behind it, was that movement? I leaned in, pressing a trembling hand against the glass. My breath fogged the surface. I waited.

Nothing.

Just my own warped reflection staring back at me. My soaked hair clinging to my forehead, my freckles looking smudged under all the salt and fear. My green eyes wide and wild. I didn’t even recognize myself.

I backed away.

The hallway tilted again, harder this time, and I barely stayed upright.

I muttered to myself, half to stay sane, half to keep myself moving.

“Come on, Momo. Don’t fall. Not here. Not now.”

My name sounded foreign in my own mouth. Like it belonged to someone else.
Like the girl I’d been was still asleep in that pod, while this half-frozen stranger dragged her way toward some kind of impossible escape.

I pushed forward. The water reached my waist. The hallway ended ahead in a stairwell, narrow, steep, partially flooded. I didn’t hesitate. I clutched the railing with trembling fingers and climbed.

One step.
Then another.
Then another.

Lightning flashed above. Somewhere far overhead, I heard something snap, metal tearing apart like paper. I didn’t look up.

I just kept climbing.

Because whatever nightmare this was, I refused to drown in it.

A sudden metallic shriek echoed down the corridor, like something heavy tearing free from its bolts. I flinched. A ceiling panel dropped with a splash just behind me. I didn’t look back again.

I pushed forward.

The hallway stretched endlessly, curving slightly with the ship’s shape, lined with even more pods and sealed doors. Most of the doors were locked tight, recessed handles, blinking panels, warning lights.

One was open.

Barely, just a few inches. Just enough to let a sliver of dim white light spill into the red-tinged hall.

I froze.

Someone’s been here.

The idea hit me like a second adrenaline shot. Maybe I wasn’t alone. Maybe someone else had made it out. Maybe they were just ahead, trying to find a way off. I hesitated, half wanting to call out, half terrified of who, or what , might answer.

I moved toward the open door slowly, steps splashing. My fingers brushed the edge of the door, and I pushed it wider.

Inside was a room, bare, metallic, some kind of control center maybe. Panels blinked on the walls. A chair lay overturned on the floor, and there were countless blinking lights. No one was inside.

But the room had a window.

I rushed to it, slipping and catching myself on the edge of the console. Outside, lightning split the sky, revealing the endless black sea. The deck was just below, a maze of half-flooded pathways and shattered equipment. A lifeboat dangled off one side, still intact. Waves smashed against the hull, sending spray flying over the edge.

That’s when I realized, I had to get there .

Go into the storm. Onto the deck. Into that boat.

The ship groaned again. Beneath my feet, I could feel it shudder. Not just shaking, but sinking .

I turned, heart pounding harder now. Back into the hallway. Back through the ankle-deep water and flickering shadows and blinking pods. I didn’t dare look inside any more of them.

I’d seen enough.

The red lights were dimmer now, flickering out one by one. Something sizzled in the ceiling. A pipe burst overhead, and more water rained down in a hot, hissing torrent.

I was running now.

Not sprinting, not gracefully, but lurching, breath ragged, soaked to my bones. I clutched the backpack tight to my chest like it was a life vest and rounded the final corner to the deck access.

Another blast of thunder shook the ship as I slammed into the exit door.

Locked.

Of course.

I fumbled at the panel. Nothing. Dead.

Panic clawed at my throat. I slammed my fist against the door. Once. Twice. Useless.

I took a breath, tried to focus. My hand found the emergency lever just to the side. It took both hands to yank it down. Rust screamed as the locking mechanism gave way.

The moment I pushed open the final door and stumbled onto the deck, the world erupted

And suddenly, I was outside and into the teeth of the storm.

It was like being smacked in the face by nature itself.

The sky had split wide open, vomiting rain in sheets that pelted my skin like bullets. Wind howled with a pitch so high it seemed to scream directly into my bones. Lightning ripped across the sky, forked and jagged and blinding, and it was followed by a split second later by deafening thunder that made my ribs rattle.

The deck itself was a nightmare. Metal groaned beneath my feet. Waves the size of small buildings slammed into the side of the ship with explosive force, sending sprays of seawater so high they stung my face. The entire vessel rocked like a toy boat in a bathtub, the floor tipping and twisting under me.

I stared into the storm and felt my stomach turn over.

The ocean didn’t just look dangerous. It looked alive.

Hungry.

One word rose unbidden to my mind, raw and helpless.

“Fuck.”

That wasn’t just a curse. It was a summary. A prayer. A eulogy.

I was alone. On a sinking ship. In the middle of a thunderstorm. Surrounded by nothing but endless black ocean. And, just to really put the cherry on top, I couldn’t swim, not truly.

Not really. Not well.

I knew how to float, kind of. I could doggy paddle for a few seconds before panicking and inhaling half a pool. But the sea didn’t care about that. The sea didn’t care about anything.

Rain poured down my face in freezing torrents, matting my hair to my skin and blocking my view. I swiped it away with a shaky hand just in time to catch sight of something, my salvation, or at least a shot at it.

The small neon yellow raft I had seen earlier. Tied to the railing at the far end of the deck.

It was barely more than a glorified life raft, but I didn’t hesitate.

I bolted toward it, slipping and skidding on the soaked deck. My boots splashed through puddles as I forced my legs to move faster. Every step felt like a gamble, the wind was strong enough to knock me sideways, and the waves crashing against the ship threatened to toss me overboard without a second thought.

Then, without warning, a wave hit.

Not the kind that sprays you a little and makes you gasp.
A real one. A monster.

It surged over the edge of the ship and slammed into me like a freight train. I went flying, spun, flipped, and slammed into the railing so hard it knocked the air out of my lungs. Pain radiated through my side, but I didn’t let go.

Somehow, by sheer panic-fueled instinct, my hand found the rope tied to the paddle boat. I clung to it like my life depended on it, because honestly, it did.

Coughing, eyes stinging, I gritted my teeth and fought to untie the knot. It was soaked, tangled, tight as steel. My fingers were frozen, slippery and weak. I cursed under my breath, long, panicked strings of nonsensical gibberish, and pulled, twisted, yanked.

The wind howled louder. The ship groaned again, and I felt the deck shifting, sinking lower on one side.

“Come on, come on, come on—!”

The rope gave. The boat dropped an inch, swinging on the last loop of the knot, and then it was free.

I barely had a second to think. I shoved it into the churning water and jumped after it without hesitation.

The ocean was…

Unreal.

It punched the air from my lungs the second I hit it, like I’d leapt into liquid ice. My whole body locked up. My skin screamed. The shock of it paralyzed me for a heartbeat, then another. I kicked frantically, trying to stay afloat, doggy paddling with every ounce of desperation I had.

The raft bobbed ahead of me, rising and falling on the monstrous waves like a cork. I lunged, grabbed hold of the side, and with a roar of effort, hauled myself up and over.

I collapsed inside, gasping, water pouring from my clothes and out of my mouth. I curled my hands around the sides of the little vessel like it was a lifeline. Which it was.

Another wave slammed against us. The raft rocked violently. I nearly fell out again.

But I didn’t.
I held on.
I was alive.

I turned back toward the ship, just in time to see it disappearing.

The stern was already underwater. Metal twisted and shrieked as the vessel slid nose-first into the black sea, swallowed whole like it had never existed. Lights flickered once more… then went out.

The rain kept falling.

The storm didn’t care.

But I did. I sat there, soaked and shivering, hands trembling from cold and adrenaline, watching the last trace of the ship (and clues to my being here) vanish into the depths.

I wasn’t safe. Not by a long shot. But I wasn’t dead.

And that counted for something.

My backpack was still strapped to me, miraculously. I unclipped it from my person, tossed it to the side, and did the only thing I could in that moment: I started scooping water out of the raft with my hands. It was useless. The rain refilled everything I tossed out.

But I needed something to do. Something to control.

My teeth chattered as I worked, the howling wind drowning out everything. I couldn’t think about what came next. I couldn’t think about how I got here, or why I’d been in that pod, or what the hell was happening to the world.

I had one thought. One anchor.

I have to survive.

Because I had people waiting.
Six little siblings who believed I could do anything.
A family I was supposed to return to.

And I wasn’t going to let the ocean be the thing that ended me.

Which was easier said than done as the hours passed. Time blurred into something meaningless, just the sound of waves slapping against the crumpled hull and the whisper of wind threading through the twisted remnants of what was once a ship. The storm had screamed itself hoarse and finally begun to retreat, like some monster slinking back into its cave, leaving behind a drenched, broken world.

Eventually, the sky softened.

Where violent black clouds once churned now bloomed streaks of pink and lavender, gentle as the breath of a sleeping giant. The sun peeked shyly over the horizon, spilling golden light across the ocean's endless skin. That light touched the torn edges of the shipwreck and caught in the salt-crusted tips of my curls, casting halos on the rusted metal. It looked…almost beautiful.

But beauty was cruel sometimes.

I sat curled in the corner of the raft, wedged between the plastic walls and a beam that has been digging into my back. My body had gone from shivering violently to just… still. My muscles ached so deeply it felt like the pain had sunk into the marrow of my bones. The waterlogged clothes clung to me like cold, dead weight. I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering, even when I clenched my jaw tight.

Everything hurt. My shoulders, my ribs, my thighs, hell, the bruises were even blooming on my ass like ink beneath pale skin. My left arm throbbed with a deep, angry pulse that suggested something was wrong. Sprained, maybe dislocated. I didn’t want to check. I wasn’t ready to know.

But the sun was rising.

It touched my face with warmth that felt almost human. I closed my eyes and tilted my head toward it like a sunflower, just breathing. The air smelled different now, less metallic, less deathly. Still salty, still sharp, but not suffocating.

It was the first breath that didn’t hurt.

For a long moment, I just stayed like that. Breathing. Existing. Alive.

Then something tugged at me, the weight across my back. It was still there. Still strapped to me like it had been welded onto my shoulders. My backpack. Somehow, it had stayed with me through the flood, the storm, the crawl through twisted metal and half-drowned hallways. Like it had known I’d need it.

Exhausted but curious, I tugged it around to my front and stared at it.

The zipper was stiff with dried salt, but I forced it open. Inside, tucked neatly in waterproof pouches and folds, were pieces of a life that felt impossibly far away.

Home.

The first thing I saw was the photo. It was sealed in a waterproof pouch, someone had planned this. A family photo: all of us crammed into a single frame, most of us laughing, a few of us blinking at the wrong time. Me, front and center. My mom with her tired smile. The quadruplets squirming in mismatched outfits. The twins in her lap, clutching her like koalas. A sea of cousins, aunties, and uncles trailing into the background like some chaotic mosaic of love and noise and fertility. Fifty people. Maybe more.

And me. The only one born alone.

My throat clenched. I didn’t cry, I was too dried out for tears, but the ache behind my eyes swelled. My fingers brushed the edge of the photo. It felt like touching a wound.

Next came Floofy , my childhood plush T-Rex. His once-bright green was now dulled, and one of his button eyes was missing. A thread dangled from his chin like a little beard. But he was still him. Still Floofy. Still the stuffed guardian I used to drag with me into every dark hallway, every thunderstorm, every nightmare.

I pressed him to my chest.

For a second, I let myself be seven years old again. Let myself believe that clutching a frayed dinosaur could keep me safe from the unknown.

Then came the baggie of shiny rocks. Iridescent quartz, smooth black stones, even a glittery pebble that looked like it belonged in a fish tank. Gifts from Hinata and Himawari. “For luck,” they’d say, every time they found something they thought was magic. I used to collect them like treasures, hiding them in drawers and coat pockets, pretending they had powers.

Right now, I hoped they did.

Beneath the rocks lay my volleyball jersey. White and Purple. Number 12 in clean block print. It didn’t smell like home anymore, it smelled like damp fabric and salt, but it still carried the shape of who I was. Who I wanted to be.

Then, tucked at the very bottom, folded with a kind of tenderness that made my chest ache, was the blanket. Green, brown, gray. Crocheted by my mom’s calloused hands. I used to complain about it all the time, too scratchy, too ugly, too old-lady. But now I looked at it like it was a holy relic. The way the yarn curled, the uneven tension in some rows, the smell of faint lavender buried deep in the fibers… it was love.

Buried underneath the sentimental avalanche were the essentials. Practical things. Things meant to keep me breathing.

Clothes. A jacket. Wool socks. Underwear. Sturdy boots, still dry inside. A coil of rope. Flashlight. Lighter. First aid kit. Water bottle with a filter. A little pot. Salt and pepper packets. A notebook and pencil. And a knife, small but sharp, the kind you’d use in the wilderness. There were a couple of other things but they didn’t have my attention with my thoughts focused on something else. 

I stared at it all.

This wasn’t random. This wasn’t luck. This was a kit. My kit. Built for me. Packed with my things, my comforts, my memories. Someone had prepared this. Someone had known.

And I didn’t remember any of it.

Why?

My breath came faster again, panic trying to claw its way back in. My hands trembled as I repacked everything, every motion slow and clumsy. When I zipped the bag shut, it felt heavier somehow. Like it was now holding not just tools, but questions.

I looked over the edge of the boat and caught my reflection in the sloshing water.

My hair, usually bouncy and defiant, hung in salty clumps like seaweed. My freckles looked sunken, like they’d given up trying to stand out. My lips were pale, cracked. My eyes were shadowed, hollow. My face looked like it belonged to someone else.

Someone lost.

A ghost of Mizuki Momo, volleyball star. A version of me that no one would recognize, not the coaches, not my friends, not even my mom.

I let out a breathless laugh. Weak. Croaky. But real.

“I look like a drowned possum,” I muttered.

Then, softly: “Still cute, though.”

It grounded me, that humor. Like muscle memory from a past life. A reminder that I was still me under all the wreckage.

But now came the question that wouldn’t leave me alone:

Why was I even on that ship?

The last memory I could conjure was the family reunion. Mom had hugged me seven times. I’d counted. She’d made all my favorite foods. She looked proud. She looked sad . I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.

But now? Now it felt like a goodbye.

Had she known?

Had she sent me off into this… whatever this was?

And if so, why hadn’t she told me?

My chest tightened. I wrapped my arms around my knees and rocked slightly. The idea that she’d let me go without explaining anything stabbed deeper than any injury on my body.

Then I remembered the pods.

The cryo-pod. The cold, metal sarcophagus I’d crawled out of like a half-born chick. The red lights. The alarms. The water. The sinking.

This wasn’t a cruise. This wasn’t a kidnapping. This was something bigger.

Something intentional.

Something I hadn’t agreed to.

And I might be the only one who’d survived it.

Even more time passed and by midday, the sun was ruthless .

It hung directly overhead like a molten coin in a sky scrubbed too clean, blazing, relentless, merciless. No clouds for shade. No breeze for relief. Just heat. Heavy, smothering heat that wrapped around my shoulders like a punishment from Apollon himself. Every breath felt like swallowing hot metal.

My clothes, once soaked and clinging, had dried stiff and crusted with salt. The fabric chafed against my thighs and arms, turning every shift in position into a scraping reminder of what I’d been through. The seams dug into my armpits. My sports bra might as well have been made of sandpaper.

Even my skin had turned against me, tight and raw, coated in a brittle film of salt. My freckles felt like they were being individually scorched. My nose and cheeks had started to peel, and the backs of my ears stung every time I moved my head.

I scratched at my side and winced. The itchiness was unbearable, but scratching only made it worse.

I glanced at the water, glittering like broken glass under the sun. A siren’s temptation.

I wanted to jump in. Just throw myself overboard and let the cool, dark water swallow me for a while. Just a second. Just enough to stop the itching, to soothe the fire under my skin.

But my muscles tensed before I even leaned forward.

Sharks.
Jellyfish.
Sea monsters.
Dead bodies.
Oh, and the fact I couldn’t swim worth a damn.

“Nope,” I muttered. “Not dying stupid today.”

I let out a groan and flopped onto my back, shielding my eyes with my forearm. My limbs throbbed, my shoulders burned, and my stomach kept reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything since… before. Before the storm. Before the screaming. Before I woke up alone.

I started to mentally rant.

“Why couldn’t I have crashed into a jungle?” I muttered to no one. “At least then I’d have a tree to punch. Maybe a coconut to throw. Something. Anything. Not this floating tin can of suffering.”

My voice cracked from dehydration, but it still felt good to complain. To be angry. To sound like me again, even if there was no one to hear it.

And then—
I saw it.

Just a glint at first. A shimmer. Something different at the edge of the endless blue.

I squinted and sat up too fast, head spinning. My pulse skipped and then pounded as my brain caught up with my eyes.

Land.

Land.

A crooked smear of dark green rising from the horizon like a promise. No clouds, no mirage shimmer. This was real. I was almost sure. Sharp lines. Jagged edges. Maybe trees. Maybe cliffs.

My body surged with something feral and bright. Hope. Wild, stupid, fragile hope.

I scrambled forward with trembling arms, dipping both hands into the ocean and beginning to paddle like a toddler trying to swim for the first time. The effort was pitiful, barely more than a splashing crawl, but it was movement. It was direction . I gritted my teeth and kept going, water slapping my arms, blisters opening on my palms.

“Come on, Momo,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “You got this. Easy win. Just a little paddling. A little pain.”

My arms burned. My shoulders screamed. My vision blurred from heat and sweat and maybe tears.

But I moved.

Inch by inch, the island grew. It came into shape, looking like a cat with its slope, then sheer stone, then the full face of the shoreline.

And my heart sank.

Because it wasn’t a beach waiting for me with soft white sand and palm trees like some castaway fantasy.

It was a wall.

A massive , jagged, vertical slab of black rock that rose straight from the sea like a fortress built to keep everything out. It was as tall as a four-story building. Cracked, uneven, teeth-like in places. Crabs skittered in and out of tide pools along its base. The waves slapped against it with hollow thuds.

There was no path. No stairs. No ladder. Just rock and water and me.

A sick wave of dread churned through my stomach.

I had to climb it.

I’d barely survived the night. My arms were mush, my legs were cramping, and my skin had already started to peel. Every part of me begged for mercy. For one more hour of rest. For a miracle.

But I was Mizuki Momo.

Youth Olympic volleyball champion.

The girl who trained six days a week through bruises and sprains and blisters. Who played five-set matches on a twisted ankle and still smiled through the pain. Who was told over and over that she was too short, too flashy, too loud, and proved them all wrong.

“I can do this,” I whispered, planting my hand on the first stone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.

Dreams by Langston Hughes

#-#

Note to self: if I get back home— when I get back home—I'm signing up for rock climbing lessons. No excuses. It was embarrassingly clear I was in way over my head the second I tilted my neck back and stared up at the cliff face looming above me. It wasn’t just a wall, it was a whole jagged monster of earth, like nature was flipping me off with a middle finger made of granite.

There were footholds, sure. Handholds too. But not the cozy, conveniently color-coded kind you'd find in a gym with AC and those crash mats that make a fall look theatrical instead of fatal. These were rough, uneven edges carved by time and weather, not designed with someone like me in mind, you know, someone with bruised ribs, burning thighs, and shoulders that still hadn’t forgiven me for being slammed against things in the ship.

I clicked my tongue in frustration and adjusted the weight of my pack. It felt like someone had stuffed it full of bricks and then maybe added a wet sponge for emotional flavor. Everything inside it was essential, of course, my photos, my pot, my knife, my jersey, my T-Rex plushie Floofy, but essential didn’t make it lighter. With a grunt, I swung it onto my back and tightened the straps across my chest and hips. My body immediately protested, sending dull, pulsing warnings through the bruises lining my torso.

I took a moment. Just one.

Closed my eyes. Inhaled through my nose. Counted to five. Exhaled.

Mentally, I gave myself the pep talk of a coach before the final set of a championship game. Physically, I rolled my neck and shook out my arms like I was about to serve a killer spike. “Okay, okay,” I muttered under my breath, “no pain, no protein shake. Let’s go.”

If only I had Spotify or something. Anything to take the edge off. A little Kendrick or Nirvana or even some dumb volleyball hype playlist would’ve helped drown out the voice in my head screaming, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU’RE INJURED, YOU DUMB BITCH.

Too bad this post-apocalyptic world didn’t come with WiFi.

I placed one sneakered foot on a slanted outcrop, feeling it shift slightly under my weight, and reached up to grab a jutting chunk of stone. My fingers wrapped around it, raw skin scraping against the rough texture. My biceps tensed. I could feel every fiber of muscle from my shoulders to my forearms tighten and flex under the strain. They were used to working hard, but not like this, not while pretending my ribs didn’t exist.

“Up,” I growled through clenched teeth, dragging myself up inch by inch. “And up. And—ow—up.”

I settled into a rhythm. Reach, pull, step. Breathe. Ignore the burning in my arms. Ignore the sting as sweat snaked down my forehead, into my eyes, and down my cheeks like salty tears. Ignore the way my lower back screamed every time I shifted the weight of my pack. Just keep going.

The heat beat down on my back, hot and unrelenting, cooking me alive in my own stink. My shirt clung to me like wet paper. My mouth was dry, throat chalky. Each time I paused to find my footing, sweat would drip from my chin, down my neck, between my shoulder blades, pooling under my breasts and clinging  to the waistband of my pants. It felt disgusting, it was disgusting, but there was no point complaining. It wasn’t like the mountain cared.

I didn’t know how long I’d been climbing. Time became elastic, stretchy, and meaningless. My mind floated somewhere between focus and delirium, bouncing between motivational volleyball quotes and the thought of crispy karaage chicken.

But eventually, finally , my hand found a flat ledge, and I dragged my exhausted body up over the edge with a gasp that sounded part animal, part human. My knees hit the dirt. Then my hands. I stayed like that, on all fours, panting like a dog that had run a marathon through hell.

The climb was over.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. My limbs twitched involuntarily, like my body wasn’t sure if it had survived or not. My arms and legs trembled. My breathing was uneven, rough. My entire shirt was soaked, my hair stuck to my scalp like a mop, and I was fairly certain I smelled like someone had lit an athlete on fire and put her out with salt water.

I forced myself to my knees, then slowly, very slowly, stood. Every joint cracked. My vision swam. I wobbled a bit, had to shift my weight to compensate for the uneven terrain.

Then I turned around to see how far I’d come.

And froze.

Before me stretched the sky, endless and ablaze, as if the entire horizon had been lit by fire. The sun was melting into the sea, painting the clouds with colors I didn’t know existed, with fiery golds, blood oranges, soft lavenders that blended into midnight blue. It was like the whole world had stopped to catch its breath with me.

For the first time in what felt like days, I smiled. Not because something was funny, or sarcastic, or ironic. Just...because it was beautiful. So stupidly beautiful it almost hurt to look at.

I tilted my head back, letting the light touch my face, my arms, the salt-crusted fabric of my clothes. For a minute, I let go. I didn’t think about the injuries, or the hunger, or how utterly alone I was. I just was . A girl on a cliff, alive, breathing, and very sweaty.

If I could pretend the last few days hadn’t happened, if I could wipe the blood and fear and exhaustion away, this might’ve been the best sunset of my life.

As the sun kissed the horizon, I saw it, a flash of green. A single, vivid blink of color right as the sun dipped beneath the waves. My eyes widened in awe. I’d heard of it before. The green flash. People said it was rare. Magical. Some called it an omen. I didn’t know what it meant, but it made something tight in my chest ease.

Then reality kicked in again like a soccer ball to the face.

I had maybe an hour of light left. No shelter. No fire. No food. And no plan.

My stomach let out a loud, pitiful gurgle, like it was scolding me. My head throbbed, a dull ache from dehydration and starvation settling in behind my eyes.

Sighing, I rolled my shoulders back and muttered, “Great. Romantic sunset or not, I better get moving before I pass out and wake up kidnapped in another ship.”

With a final glance at the last golden rays fading from the sky, I turned my back to the view and started trudging forward. Survival didn’t care about beautiful moments. But I did.

And that sunset?

I was going to remember it.

Turning around, I was greeted by a wall of darkness. A jungle loomed ahead, thick and tangled, like some wild thing waiting for me to step closer so it could swallow me whole. My breath hitched in my throat, and before I could stop it, a half-hysterical, half-maniacal laugh burst out of me. The kind of laugh that doesn’t really sound human. The kind that comes from pure, exhausted disbelief. My own voice echoed off the cliffs behind me, making it feel like I was being mocked by the universe itself.

"Well," I muttered bitterly, "this is what I get for saying the jungle would be better than the ocean. Good one, Momo."

The grin on my face didn’t reach my eyes.

In front of me were trees I couldn't name, with leaves the size of umbrellas and vines that coiled around everything like snakes. The air was heavy, like it was pressing in on me from all sides, and the jungle reeked of moss, wet bark, and something floral and strange, something that tickled my nose in a way that wasn’t exactly pleasant. Some of the plant life looked like it had no right existing in this world. Glossy black leaves that shimmered like oil slicks. Roots that pulsed faintly, like they had a heartbeat. One tree had blossoms that looked like open mouths with red petals shaped like tongues. I tried not to stare too long.

My gut twisted, a deep, instinctual warning clanging in the back of my head: Don’t go in there. Wait until morning. Let the sun rise before stepping into the unknown. But I couldn’t afford to listen. Not tonight.

I was exhausted, and I knew tomorrow would be worse. My body was already aching from the rock climb, and the adrenaline from earlier was fading fast, leaving only soreness and the leaden weight of fatigue settling deep in my bones. My stomach was gnawing on itself, a slow, acidic burn that made my head throb. I hadn’t eaten in too long. Hadn’t really rested. If I didn’t find food and fresh water soon, I wasn’t going to last long enough to see the sunrise.

So I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, trying to fake confidence I didn’t feel, and walked into the jungle like I wasn’t scared. Like I wasn’t silently begging whatever god might be listening to not let me die here.

The deeper I went, the louder the jungle became. The canopy blocked out most of the moonlight, making the world around me a maze of shadows. Insects clicked and hummed and droned in surround sound, while unseen things rustled in the undergrowth, too large to be bugs, too quiet to be human. Branches tugged at my clothes, twigs cracked underfoot, and sometimes I thought I saw glowing eyes in the distance, but every time I blinked, they were gone.

After what must’ve been forty minutes, though it felt like an hour or more, I stumbled into a clearing and saw salvation: a lake or pond, smooth and still, like a slab of dark glass. The moon finally broke through the clouds and lit up the surface, casting silver ripples as I ran to the edge and dropped to my knees.

I unscrewed my bottle and dunked it in, filling it to the brim before chugging half of it like I hadn’t had water in days. Honestly, I might not have. The cold liquid sloshed down my throat and hit my stomach like a punch. But the headache that had been pounding behind my eyes started to ease up, if only a little.

Then I used my cupped hands to splash water on my face, washing off the layers of dried sweat and grime that coated my skin. My arms, sticky and dusty, felt human again for a brief second. I kept splashing water over myself until my whole upper body dripped, and I could finally breathe a little better.

But when I reached up to touch my hair, my chaotic, curly, strawberry-blonde mess, I stopped. I winced.

The back of my head felt like it had grown a solid, tangled mass, a knotted monster of its own. It wasn’t just the usual curl tangles. This was something worse. Like a rat’s nest made of anxiety and seawater. It felt like someone had twisted it into a bun. Not just a messy bun either, a tight one, like I’d been prepped for surgery or something. Which was weird, because I had no idea how to tie a bun like that. And I always slept with it braided in a bonnet.

So... someone must’ve tied it. When I was unconscious.

That thought sent a chill down my spine. I didn’t dwell on it.

Instead, I focused on untangling it, groaning under my breath the whole time. It took ten minutes just to get the bun undone, another five to carefully finger-comb out the knots. My arms ached from lifting them so long, but it felt amazing to pull it into a ponytail. A small victory. One I desperately needed.

Of course, that victory lasted about two seconds.

Because then I heard it.

The sound.

Not just a sound, a thunder.

Something, many somethings, were stomping through the forest. A deep, reverberating crash of weight hitting the ground over and over again. My eyes snapped toward the noise, and my blood turned to ice.

I dropped flat to the ground and scrambled into the nearest bush without a second thought. Sharp branches scraped at my skin, but I didn’t care. I tucked myself into the foliage like my life depended on it, because it did.

Within seconds, they emerged.

Hundreds of them.

Giant, pale-white praying mantises. Each one as tall as a house and easily three times my size, with long sickle-like forearms that gleamed in the moonlight. Their blank, soulless eyes reflected no emotion, just cold precision. Their movements were eerily silent for something so massive, until they weren't.

A huge pig-like creature burst out of the trees, panting and squealing in panic. It didn’t get far.

One mantis lunged, slicing the thing’s head clean off in a spray of dark blood. Another tore through its torso like it was peeling fruit. The others surged forward like a tide, dismembering it piece by piece.

I watched, rooted in place, my mouth open in silent horror. The noises the pig made before it died were wet and brutal and would probably haunt me for the rest of my life.

My heart jackhammered in my chest.

My breath came in shallow, panicked gasps. I couldn't move. Couldn't even blink.

They were carnivores.

Of course they were.

My hands clenched into fists in the dirt. I wanted a weapon. A gun. A spear. A grenade. Hell, even a decent-sized stick. But my backpack had nothing. Nothing but that stupid little knife that wouldn’t do anything against a swarm of monsters.

And it was a swarm. Easily over a hundred of them, crawling over the clearing, heads swiveling like radar dishes.

Then one of them stopped. Right. Next. To. Me.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. I became a statue molded from terror. Its leg brushed against the bush I was hiding in, and I squeezed my eyes shut, mouthing silent prayers. Praying it couldn’t smell me. That it didn’t decide to investigate.

A beat of silence.

Then it jerked to the side and attacked a tree, slicing straight through the trunk like it was paper. The whole thing came crashing down with a thunderous crack.

I let out a tiny, involuntary whimper. Too quiet to hear?

Maybe. Maybe not.

I was shaking so hard I thought the leaves around me might rattle from the force of it.

I am going to die here.

That was the thought playing on loop in my mind.

Unless they leave. Unless I survive.

Unless a miracle happens.

But I had no control anymore. Only fear, and sweat, and the faint hope that I could disappear into the dirt.

I heard a shuffle above my head and didn’t hesitate, my cover was blown. I didn’t even have time to curse before the mantises lunged into the bush I was hiding in. The second they pounced, I threw myself sideways, rolling through dry leaves and broken twigs, adrenaline overriding my instinct to curl up and cry. My body hit the ground hard, but I was already scrambling to my feet before the impact registered.

Then the chase began.

I heard them the moment they realized I was gone, hundreds of feet clicking, scraping, stomping against the forest floor in a horrifying symphony. Their mandibles clacked, shrill and high-pitched, like knives snapping together. The sound of my own panicked breaths competed with the thunder of the monstrous stampede behind me. Every heartbeat in my chest felt like a countdown to death.

The pain in my legs and the bruises on my ribs faded into the background as raw, animal panic surged through me, making my limbs pump with a speed I didn’t think I was capable of. Greenery blurred past me, oversized ferns, twisting vines with glowing blue pods, impossibly bright red mushrooms. My vision tunneled as I ran, the only focus in my mind: Move. Faster.

Then— snap .

I tripped, my foot catching on a gnarled root buried beneath the foliage. My body lurched forward and I hit the ground hard, gasping as all the wind was knocked out of me. I barely had time to roll as a bladed limb stabbed the air right where my back had been. If I’d been even a second slower, I’d have been skewered.

Before I could scream, one mantis slammed into another in its frenzy to get to me, and they tangled together in a flurry of limbs and shrieking cries. The impact sent them both tumbling sideways. That brief chaos bought me a heartbeat, and I used it to stagger to my feet and keep running.

Branches clawed at my face and arms. The forest floor grew uneven and sloped, and I skidded several times, the soles of my shoes barely finding grip on the moist earth. I could hear them behind me, crashing into each other, clicking in frustration. My legs burned, my throat was raw, and the only thing keeping me upright was sheer, unrelenting terror.

Trees. Bushes. Trees. Nothing to hide in. No hollow logs or ditches. Just endless jungle and the monstrous army chasing me.

Then—salvation.

A narrow cave entrance, half-covered by foliage, caught my eye. It looked shallow, dark, and just big enough for me to squeeze into. It could have had a bear in it or some venomous mutant snake for all I knew, but anything was better than the mantises.

The distance between us had widened a little. They were massive, made for power, not speed or stamina, and they couldn’t keep up forever. But I couldn’t waste that advantage.

With a ragged sob, I sprinted for the cave, flinging myself forward and crashing into the mouth of it, only to be stopped short.

I didn’t fit.

My hips and thighs wedged against the narrow rock walls, stuck. My hands scrambled against the ground, shoving leaves and dirt behind me as I tried to force myself through. Panic surged so fiercely it felt like my skin was peeling from the inside. I had to get in. I refuse to die because my ass was too fat. I had to—

A shriek split the air behind me, and I twisted my head just in time to see one of them lunging. Its claws glinted in the moonlight, aimed straight at my legs.

With every ounce of strength I had left, I screamed and wriggled forward, legs kicking, back arched, face pressed to cold stone. A claw swiped at me, too close, too fast. It caught the hem of my pants and sliced fabric like it was tissue.

Then, miraculously, I was through.

I collapsed into the small cave with a cry, dirt in my mouth, blood pounding in my ears. My legs scraped raw from the rock walls. I twisted around, barely able to breathe as I saw the monster crouched outside, its white face twisted into something far too intelligent for a bug. Its claw jabbed toward me but couldn’t reach. Another mantis joined it, then another, and another, until I was surrounded.

They clawed at the cave, tried digging, but the stone held. They scratched and shrieked in rage. Dust and loose dirt fell from the ceiling as they slammed their limbs into the rock, the sound echoing through the tight tunnel like thunder. I braced my arms over my head, shaking as I watched them assault my refuge again and again.

And then… silence.

Eventually, the scratching dulled. The clicking receded. The earth above me grew still.

My muscles trembled from the strain of staying alert. My clothes were soaked in sweat, my limbs scratched and bruised, and my heart was barely slowing down. When I peeked out, I saw nothing but the faintest cracks of morning light filtering through the jungle canopy. I had survived.

For now.

With a shaky exhale, I grabbed my backpack and wedged it in the mouth of the cave like a flimsy shield, knowing full well it wouldn’t stop anything serious. But it made me feel just a little less exposed. Curling my body around it, I let my eyes finally close.

I hadn’t slept in what felt like forever. Maybe thirty-six hours? Maybe more.

As I drifted off, the events of the night echoed in my head. The monsters. The chase. The cave. It was real. All of it.

I’d survived monsters by the skin of my teeth. But the jungle wasn’t done with me.

Not even close.

Small cracks of daylight filtered through the rocky mouth of the cave, casting pale beams over the uneven dirt floor. One soft ray brushed against the side of my face, warm and gentle like a whisper. At first, I didn’t even register it. I was floating somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, my body locked in a strange stillness brought on by utter exhaustion. Everything hurt, my back, my legs, even my fingers felt sore from clawing through the forest last night. I was bruised from head to toe, and I knew I’d be walking funny for at least a week. Maybe more.

But it wasn’t the sunlight that pulled me out of sleep, it was something wet and warm dragging across my cheek. I twitched but didn’t open my eyes. Maybe if I ignored it, it would stop. I didn’t have the energy to deal with another nightmare. But the licking didn’t stop. In fact, it got bolder. The next swipe landed right on my neck, which jolted me wide awake.

“Yeah, no,” I croaked, my voice rough and dry like gravel. With a groan, I forced my arm up, muscles protesting every inch, and swatted feebly at the intruder. But instead of meeting another slimy insect limb or clawed appendage, my hand touched something soft. Fur.

My eyes cracked open immediately, vision blurry and unfocused. Panic flared in my chest, but it died just as fast when I saw what it was. Not a monster. Not even close.

A puppy.

A little wolf-dog puppy was staring at me with the warmest, softest brown eyes I had ever seen. They were wide and glassy and full of something like concern, if puppies could feel that. My brain short-circuited for a second, trying to process how something so soft and small had made it to me alive. How I was still alive. But mostly, I didn’t care. In that moment, I didn’t care where he came from or how he got here. I just needed to feel something that wasn’t terror or pain or hopelessness.

So I did the only logical thing.

“Come here, you little miracle,” I whispered, voice barely audible. With the most careful movements I could manage, I gathered the puppy into my arms and pressed him to my chest like he was a hot water bottle. His body was surprisingly warm, and his fur smelled like earth and wet leaves. He let out a soft noise of protest but then settled with a small huff, nestling into me.

Everything inside me loosened, shoulders, jaw, even the pain that’d been gnawing at me like a dull blade.

But then he whimpered.

I stiffened and gently pulled him back to check on him. That’s when I saw it, his whole right side was matted with blood. It wasn’t fresh, but it hadn’t clotted completely either. The fur there was darker, clumping in places where the wound had leaked down his ribs. My stomach turned, the brief comfort giving way to a pulse of fear.

“No, no, no,” I murmured. “Not you, too.”

I shifted to sit up, wincing as I moved my sore body, and inspected the injury. It was a slash, shallow but long, definitely from one of those massive mantis claws. The bugs must’ve nearly gotten him too. The thought made my blood boil, but I swallowed it down. He was alive. He was here.

He was mine now, at least for a little while.

His coat, under all that grime and blood, was a soft light brown. The kind of color that shimmered differently in every lighting, like ash blonde turned gold in the sun. It reminded me of that cute setter from Aoba Johsai, the one with the pretty hair. I think his name was Oikawa. He had that same sort of energy, too. All fluff and pretty eyes that made you second-guess yourself.

I carefully checked him over and confirmed what I suspected, he was a boy. A little too skinny for a puppy, but alive. For now, at least..

But now came the hard part.

“What the heck am I gonna do with you?” I muttered, rubbing a hand over my face.

I could barely walk, hadn’t eaten in two days, and I was hiding in a cave with no guarantee that I wouldn’t be eaten in my sleep. Taking care of a puppy was not on my list of priorities. He needed food, water, medical attention. Things I couldn’t even give myself.

And what if his mom was still out there? Wolves were fast, smart, and protective. If she thought I’d taken her pup, I wouldn’t stand a chance. The bugs I could outrun. A mother wolf? Not a chance.

But then, he looked up at me again. Those brown eyes like melted chocolate. Hopeful. Trusting.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I whispered.

His tiny pink tongue flicked out and licked my wrist.

“Seriously,” I warned.

But it was already over. My fate was sealed.

I sighed and ran my hand through the frizzy halo of curls that had exploded from my head. “Fine,” I grumbled. “You can stay. But only until we find your mom.”

He probably wouldn’t stick around, anyway. Puppies had short attention spans. He’d wander off the second he got bored or smelled something better. But until then… I’d keep him safe.

I reached for my backpack and slowly unzipped it, wincing as the movement stretched the sore muscles in my side. I pulled out the ugly crocheted blanket my mom made for me, brown, green, and grey. It used to make me gag, but now I was grateful for every square inch. I unrolled it and laid back down, draping it over both of us. The thick yarn trapped our body heat fast, warming my chilled skin.

The puppy let out a soft whine, circled once, and then lay down against my side. He started licking one specific spot on my arm, and I let him.

“Thanks, nurse,” I mumbled with a faint smile.

It wasn’t the first time I’d ended up taking care of a random animal. It was like I had some invisible sign stamped on my forehead that screamed sucker . Every few weeks back home, I found something, stray kittens, injured birds, once even a snake tangled in fishing line. One time I pulled a baby deer out of a ditch by the ear and dislocated my shoulder. I couldn’t serve for a week after that. Coach almost strangled me.

I used to call it a curse. But right now, I didn’t mind the company.

Even in a monster-infested world, some things never change. Maybe that was comforting in its own weird way.

I looked down at the pup and whispered, “Guess we’re in this together now, huh?”

He let out a tiny yip in response, and I let my eyes close, holding him just a little tighter.

Better than being alone.

#-#

Who can resist puppy love? Please let me know what you think through reviews. Thank you for kudos!

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 is here! Don't let my Pokemon fic know that though, I've been skimping on updating it. I know, it was a weak attempt at self-promotion but still, gotta do what you gotta do.

Chapter 3

"All we can do is live until the day we die. Control what we can…and fly free."

– Deneil Uchuu Kyoudai or Space Brothers)

#-#

I craved dark chocolate.

Well, at this point I was craving anything to eat. I got desperate enough earlier to start eating grass but I would not be able to survive on that. I was desperate for everything my once comfortable life gave me. The comfortable lifestyle I had only hours ago.

My body, which was sore as fuck, was covered in stiff dried mud and other substances I didn't want to find out. My hair had no conditioner or helpful products and was frizzing uncontrollably at the top while being a knotted and matted mess at the back of my head. Once again, it was proving that curly hair was horrible to deal with, although that may not be fair since I'm sure any type of hair would look just as terrible as mine.

I've been stuck on this island for a couple of days now, and it was clear Mother Nature wanted to throw hands since all I have been doing was be chased by giant bugs, get stuck with a puppy, and starve a slow miserable death.

Had it not been for my athleticism, I would have died the first few hours stuck at sea. Or maybe it wasn't even my athleticism but my skewed sense of luck. Some luck it was since I doubt I would be alive if I continued as I was in the upcoming days.

If I stayed in this hole any longer I would die of dehydration and the puppy would probably have the honor of eating my carcass before he also ended up getting eaten by other predators. Speaking of eating, I’m pretty sure my stomach is starting to cannibalize itself and has long passed the autophagy stage.

I haven't been this hungry since about two years ago when I had thought dieting meant eating only a salad without any dressing as my only meal for the day. I was living off of maybe four hundred calories a day. As anyone can guess, I had to go to the hospital because I fainted mid-game because of malnutrition. What a humiliating fiasco that had been, but at least it was in America during a foreign exchange program, so my classmates didn’t find out about it.

That fiasco would repeat itself if I continued to stay in this hole. Except, this time it would be deadly. I would slowly grow weaker and weaker, where even standing on my feet and walking would take up too much energy and I eventually lose all chances of survival.

Letting out a hopeless puff of air in a mockery at attempting to laugh at my circumstances, I considered my choices. Leave my dirty hovel in search of food and possibly die from the predators or stay in my hole and have my body become my worst enemy.

I was in a lose-lose position with only one of the choices being slightly better. Glancing at the puppy lying beside me, I eyed its skinny injured form before shaking my head. I wanted to refrain from eating any type of meat "pet" category. But if worst case scenario happened…

I packed up all of my stuff just in case, so I don't get separated from it and lose helpful supplies. I picked up the puppy and debated bringing him with me. I had nothing to feed him and I knew if the worst came to worst I would kill him should we both find ourselves starving to death.

Grimacing in an unattractive way (sue me, I can make ugly faces when I’m isolated), I picked him up by his armpits, the spot where his front legs met his chest, and peered at him, meeting his eyes.

Warm brown eyes held my gaze and I decided that the unbearable grumbling hunger I felt was manageable, for now.

"You're lucky, you know," I said when he held my gaze, "If I were a bit meaner I would have eaten you on the first day. Don't get your hopes up though, Mr. Food Reserve, because if I get hungry enough you might find yourself becoming soup." All the puppy did was whine and lick the tip of my nose coating it in puppy breath saliva.

Despite my threat, I knew I'd probably eat bugs off the ground before eating something so cute.

Opening the zipper of my bag, I put the puppy in it being mindful of his injuries, and zipped the top slightly where his head could poke out but also so he couldn't slip or fall out.

The puppy tried to escape the bag for a few moments, whining and tumbling in it but settled down when I picked up the backpack and put my arms through its straps. Smiling at the cute picture, I was reminded of the rich women who would walk around with tiny dogs in their purses. Now I had a purse puppy of my own.

All good feelings evaporated when I heard a roar from a distance.

Right, my imminent demise. I needed to start focusing on that.

Pausing, I listened for it again to see if it was close to me before deciding that I needed to put some distance between it and me. Walking started to get easier after the more steps I took, but the tightness of my legs would take another day or two to tone down and have the pain of my torn muscles disappear.

I walked aimlessly straight for a while, having no idea where to go but knowing I did not want to go back to bug territory again. There were plants all around me that I hadn't seen before as well as claw marks across trees similar to what a bear would do. Obviously the signs of danger, but at this point, I would take any mammal over an enormous mantis.
Even the air was different from what I was used to, it was hot, humid, sticky, and frankly just disgusting. Not to mention, the oppressing weight of the fog all around. I rubbed the back of my neck when I felt sweat sweltering and beading up there, the puppy breath hitting my skin and the hot fog made it incredibly sweaty and uncomfortable. Shifting the backpack, I glanced around at my surroundings in case I got lost.

There were a fuck ton of big ass trees and a significant lack of any animals, including tiny bugs and birds. Looking around, there were no defining landmarks unless you counted the trees and grass. Neither of them had anything I could eat to sustain myself with. There were some bushes around, but none contained any type of berries.

After around a kilometer or two of walking a foul smell invaded my nostrils. The puppy became restless after smelling it and started whining, obviously wanting to leave the area.

He had more sense than me at this point.

I knew I shouldn't have continued forward but I pushed through and followed the smell. I knew it was something dead, but I needed to know what kind of monsters were on this island to avoid them.

With my stomach churning, and my legs turning weak and heavy, I resumed my journey. It became more difficult with the puppy struggling to get away, but to be prepared for threats, we had to know what they were. Volleyball taught me that when it started getting serious in the upper school levels.

Pushing through the thicket of plants, bushes, and thorns, I came across a small clearing that had trees chopped to pieces and dismembered limbs. At this point, the puppy was howling and struggling enough that it opened the zipper enough to jump out of the bag.

The smell of rotting corpses was strong and all-consuming. Around me were dead wolves. Well, more like direwolf-dog hybrids. They were all dismembered, decapitated, or simply crushed, they were everywhere. There were about eighteen of them, give or take a couple of body parts.

While I did feel pity for the puppy who was sniffing and whining at the corpses of its dead pack, desperately looking for one who might miraculously be alive, my attention was drawn more to the fear that was engulfing my heart.

There were maybe a dozen and a half wolves here, all of them three or four times my size and strength, but there was no corpse of what took them down. They were easily massacred and if they lost a battle like this then I stood no chance at combating what took them down.

Steeling my heart, I walked to the puppy who was sniffing a female corpse that had obvious signs of giving birth previously, most likely his mother from the light brown coloring, and let him have his moment. There were hundreds of small thumbnail-sized bugs going in and out of the body and I gagged in disgust when I realized that they were translucent and you could see the flesh they ate inside them.

I gently picked up the puppy and held him in my arms before continuing our journey. I wished I could have buried or cremated them but I had no means or strength to do so. The most I could do was make sure that their puppy survived in their memory. I had no delusions of being able to survive on my own at this point if that entire pack died. I would need to look after the puppy so he could grow big enough to protect the both of us until my family sent someone to search after me.

I had to have been kidnapped by human traffickers. There was no other reason why I would have been on a ship. Still, why were my sentimental objects packed into my bag? Why was there survival gear packed in as well? No kidnapper would take the time to pack my shit for me.

When the smell of rot and death evaded my sense of smell, I found myself walking deeper into what had to have been the wolves' territory. Hopefully, they had a spot that would be safe for me and the puppy, as well as a food source, otherwise, we would both be fucked.

I had probably walked four more kilometers before I saw a cave that had paw tracks coming in and out of it. It looked like the pack's den and while I would have liked to stay in it, the opening was too large and invited trouble.

I gently put the puppy down before deciding to search around. There might be something for us to eat around here and I couldn't miss that opportunity. I needed to make or find myself something that could be made into a weapon. I had no way to defend myself besides a puny knife and the little puppy couldn't even take down a bunny, let's not even talk about the praying mantis on this island who were like the mini-bosses in a game.

The puppy followed me while I searched the area. Sometimes he would stop at some trees and pee on them but he made sure to keep me in his sights.

I had to give him some credit for that, the conniving little thing knew I'd take care of it for some reason and made sure that I was next to him at all times. Hopefully, when I'm rescued, I can take him with me. I didn’t know the exact laws when it came to apex predators and housing them in the city but maybe I could lie and say he was a husky mix?
When my steps started to feel like lead and the sky darkened, I finally came across a few trees that bore orange fruit. I'd be an idiot if I ate them without testing them but the little puppy just trotted up to the ones on the ground and started to eat them.

Since when do canines eat fruit?

Trusting his judgment, I grabbed a long branch that had fallen and started to whack the fruit off of the trees. I only stopped when an armful of them fell and I could take a closer look at them.

The little fruits were maybe the size of a child's fist and looked like an apple and peach decided to have a love baby. Poking it, there was some fuzz on the top but felt like the insides would be soft.

I was hungry enough that I would risk hallucinations and diarrhea for something to eat. While I was hesitant, there wasn't any source of food for me to eat. I was just gonna have to hope that the puppy knew what the fuck he was eating.

Gathering the fruits into my bag, I kept one in my hand before taking a cautious bite. While the fruit had some firmness on the outside, it had a mushy inside that had a large ass seed in it. The taste, while tart on my tongue was better than the grass that fed me in the past few days, but was deceptively average. There was more bitterness than sugar but it was bearable. It tasted like a kiwi if it was dipped in lemon juice and had some tingly aftereffects, like a pineapple.

Glancing at the puppy who was stuffing his face, I decided to do the same. We could stay here a few days until the fruits ran out before making our way to the coast where we could hopefully fish for a more substantial meal.
If there were trees around here, then there had to be a clean water source that the wolves ate and I would be able to stock up on some while taking a much-needed bath. Grabbing a few more fruits, I clicked my tongue for the puppy to follow and made my way to his empty den.

Hopefully, we won't be eaten in our sleep.

#-#

And that's the third chapter! We have a temporary food source and an idea of what to do in the future. I have no idea what to name the puppy and I was considering naming him something to do with volleyball. Does anyone have any ideas? I'm thinking Spike but I'm open to hearing suggestions.
A special thank you to those who left reviews if I had your usernames I would have mentioned them.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

#-#

It’s been about a week since I became stranded and so far I’ve been highly miserable and moderately miserable, every day brought something new, uncomfortable, and almost alien.

When I fell asleep in the den that first night, I woke up a couple of hours later to relieve myself and was shocked by what I had seen.

The sky which I had checked so often for airplanes, for help, looked magical. It looked like a dream, the galaxy and stars were all so bright and each star shined and twinkled. It looked celestial and the only time I have ever seen anything like it was through my phone when I was researching the Milky Way and constellations.

I was looking at stars that have been above me for millions of years and was finally seeing them in their entirety for the first time in my life.

It was amazing and terrifying and unbelievable all at once because while it felt magical, the sky was telling me anything, it was that there was no light pollution anywhere near me for at least a couple hundred miles.

Those kidnappers outdid themselves on this one. It was like I was on Epstein Island 2.0. Except, I hadn’t seen any signs of human life near me and there were terrifying man-sized decapitation bugs.

It’s a shitty place but I wonder if I’ll be able to own the island once I escape from it? Bring my kidnappers to justice, sue them, and claim the island as my property for all the damages they have done to me?

Nah, the exterminator pricing would cause bankruptcy and might cost more than the land itself. But land and housing prices are expensive, so maybe it’ll even itself out and I would get a sweet crib to myself. Just a thought.

After that first night, I was able to find a pond that had fresh water but it had no fish or animals in or near it and had been sticking to a couple more types of fruit like bananas and this tangy green citrus. It was a good start, but the only fruit diet I’m on has caused some issues when it came to doing the number two.

I hated eating only fruit but at least I wasn’t starving anymore. Instead, I just had to deal with diarrhea and losing some hair from the unbalanced diet. As well as losing critical and important body fat. I guess the best way to lose weight is near starvation, running for your life, climbing mountains, and sleeping all day to heal from injuries.

I have been thinking of heading back to the ocean and grabbing the raft I had used to escape the ship and use it for fishing and other things, but I was worried about encountering the horde and didn’t want to lose my guaranteed food and water source.

The weird dire-wolf dog puppy I had encountered that week ago has kept me company, but I think it was slowly losing energy from its vegetarian diet. I was worried for him of course, but the same thing was happening to me too.

I had named him Spike, but since he was a puppy, and didn’t care about my commands or coming to that name since you know, he didn’t speak Japanese or English.

Shocker.

Still, I liked to talk to him like he was a human since he was the only company I had and accompanied me everywhere.

Right now we were heading to the pond to fill up on water so I could bathe and brush my teeth. There were bound to be people who would take photographs of me once I escaped this place and I wanted to look strong and capable, not on death’s doorstep. Vain I know, and maybe I should focus on other priorities but pretty privilege only works when you remain pretty. Besides, I might get stuck on the News and I didn’t want my mom to worry when she sees me again.

When we reached the pond, I wasted no time on stripping and hopping into the water. I made sure to keep my backpack and belongings close to the edge in case I needed to grab something.

Spike lapped up the pond water at the edge but refused to get his fur wet. He looked alert but not alarmed so I figured I would trust his senses.

I started to dive under the water and rubbed at my body to get any odor off of me. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t inherit the ABCC11 gene that my mother and some of my siblings have. It made me so self-conscious just a week ago every time I practiced with my teammates, but now I just wanted the scent to be off of me so no animal could smell and track me.

Where’s deodorant when you need it?

I combed through my hair, weaving my fingers through the wet curls, and scraped the dirt off my scalp with my fingernails. My nails came back with dirt underneath them but I continued under all the dirt and filth was mostly gone.

There were some mosquitoes flitting around me but I mostly ignored them.

Grabbing my dirty clothes, I put them in the water and started washing them and stopped when I heard a rustle in the bushes. I quickly grabbed the small knife I had in case it was something dangerous.

Spike laid down completely still trying to hide by not bringing attention to himself, and I submerged myself until I was hidden away with only my nose and eyes above water.

Grey fur had poked out and I relaxed when I saw it was just an extremely large rabbit. It looked to be the size of a medium-large dog, weighing about thirty kilograms. When it got closer to the water and me, I froze when I saw it had actual fangs. It looked like that Vampire Rabbit book I read when I was a little kid. Red eyes and fangs that jutted out of its mouth.

When it got even closer to me I decided that the best option for me now was to catch it off guard and stab it before it tries to attack me. I was not going to take any chances, if this damn island taught me anything, it was to attack while I had the chance.

The second it lowered its head to drink water, I snapped up and stabbed it in its jugular. It had let out a dying shriek and tried to move and run but I held it in place by grabbing its ear before plunging my knife into its throat again and again until it stopped moving completely and blood started to splatter on my face.

Its death lasted only a few seconds, and I was still naked and covered in blood. I had never killed an animal before and I was shocked by how easily it came to me. I didn’t whether to laugh or cry and it took me a while to compose myself before I started washing the blood off the knife and myself.

Spike crept closer to me and tried to eat at the downed rabbit but I stopped him. I wanted the meat to be cleaned and gutted so we could cook it later and while I was craving the protein, I didn’t want dog saliva and the shit from its intestines to contaminate my food.

He whined when I stopped him but obeyed and kept away. He was salivating and never took his eyes off of the food.

I fished out my dirty laundry and put it on, stinking of watered-down body odor and sopping wet. I was planning to do my laundry today but that was going to have to wait till tomorrow since I had a feeling that they were going to be even more filthy when I gutted the rabbit and started the cooking process.

I gathered all of my belongings and put my backpack back on before I grabbed the corpse and whistled for Spike to follow. We started to walk back to the den and I made sure to keep my eye out for any animals that may have been attracted to the scent of freshly spilled blood.

The walk back took about twenty minutes and I hung the corpse on top of a branch and fished out my rope so it could hang while I gutted it. I had only ever seen YouTube videos on this and I knew it was going to be fucked up a little bit. I thought about butchering it a little further away from the den but I resolved to fortify the entrance a little more so Spike and I could be safe while sleeping.

Grabbing my knife, I felt my conviction wavering when I poked it at the top of its chest. I resolved myself, and with shaky hands, I stabbed through the skin and started ripping through its body. When the stench of its guts and feces reached me, I gagged and threw up some of the half-dissolved bananas I had eaten earlier.

Taking a small break, I walked away from the carcass before resuming.

It took about an hour, slowly peeling the skin from the meat and fishing out all of its guts and organs. There was blood dripping down from the kill, and it drenched the dirt underneath. I cut away at the shoulder where the seam was and detached its front legs from its body.

Spike was already feasting on the rabbit’s heart and lungs, and when I finally finished cutting out all of the meat available to me, he had finished his portion and went back into the den well-sated.
I put all of the meat on top of the plastic covering I had in my backpack and went into the trees to collect dried branches that had fallen near the den. Dragging the meat and branches into the den with the tarp, I dug out a hole in the middle and put the loose dirt near the entrance to make it smaller, where only myself and Spike could fit through. It was going to take the entire day for me to do this, but at least I would have dinner ready to be started tonight.

Looking at the sun's position, I reckoned it would probably be around ten in the morning and I had tons of daylight. I didn’t want to make camp here but I wanted to be safe for the time I stayed here before heading back to the beach.

It took me about six hours of collecting rocks and wood to block off and fortify the entrance to the den before I called it a day and went to the tarp that was wrapped around the meat.

Thankfully, Spike didn’t get into it and I started a fire so I could cook and smoke the meat. I wanted it to last me and Spike a couple of days until I got to the beach and was able to fish. When the smell of cooked food hit my face, I grabbed one of the skewers and finally ate the efforts of my hard work.

It tasted like chicken.

After only eating fruit and grass for the past week, I felt tears stream down my face when I ate something substantial for the first time since I washed ashore. I regretted not eating all of the food my mom cooked for me last week, I should have been more grateful instead of worrying about about my calorie intake. I was so worried about carefully tracking my nutrients and training, that I neglected all of the food my mother made for me.
I took another bite of the tender flesh and finished off three skewers before I felt full. I didn’t even season my food with the available seasoning I had in my bag. I felt almost uncivilized with how I tore into the food, but I figured table manners could take a back seat for today.

When all of the meat was cooked and skewered, I had it tightly wrapped and packaged into the tarp. It would hopefully last me an entire week, but I was going to balance it with all the fruits I had found. I was hoping that I would find some starchy food like potatoes or yams but I doubted I would be able to get that lucky.

When the night finally encroached and the stars came out from the cover of the night, I didn’t feel like the bedraggled and bruised girl I was a couple of days ago, I felt alive for the first time this week.

Chapter Text

“And here it is, our final night alive
And as the Earth runs to the ground
Oh girl, it's you that I lie with
As the atom bomb locks in
Oh, it's you I watch TV with
As the world, as the world caves in”
Matt Maltese

Chapter 5

#-#

I have come to terms with my situation and I believe that it’s about time that I die.

Seriously.

Death would be preferable to what’s happening to me right now.

I was so stupid for butchering the rabbit beast so close to where I claimed temporary refuge because right outside, almost nine meters from me, was a mantis. The ugly and grotesque beast was picking and combing through the remains that I refused to put through my palate and into my body.

I had not wanted to eat the head of the rabbit, not interested in its tongue or brains and eyes, so I had left it there and now that the praying mantis was chewing through the head to eat at the brains, the crunch of the skull and its bones became more and more apparently with every crack and wet pop.

Ew.

I think I was starting to become numb due to my constant exposure to the fear and isolation on this cursed island. I was starting to get used to the stress of it, it just blurred together in a mix of feeling and unfeeling.

Instead of fear, I was feeling anger. Delicious and new, I embraced it like one would a long-lost lover, and I welcomed it like a drought welcomed rain. The bugs had terrorized me every night, in my dreams, and in reality, they made me wake up in a panic, made my blood freeze with ice, made me jump up at every noise that happened hidden from my view, and made me completely paralyzed when I heard any kind of clacking.

I hated them with a passion I didn’t even think could exist. I especially hated the way the mantis used its claws to slurp the bloody intestines like they were delicious restaurant noodles was disgusting, the way it moved was disgusting, its raptorial legs pushed together bringing the feces-filled guts closer to its mandibles to consume, everything about it was just disturbing.

I wonder if it’ll be possible for me to kill and exterminate this island of them?

I gripped tighter at the small knife that was left in my bag, (why would my kidnappers arm me?) and took in one deep breath, letting it out, before I reached down with my other hand and scooped up a handful of dirt. It spills from between my fingers, getting in my nails and sticking under them and when I lift my hand back up, the dirt starts falling almost inaudibly. I watch placidly, my face unmoved, unlike the dirt and stones I had just picked up.

I desperately craved to be confident in myself and my abilities again. I have never felt so little, so mortal, so insecure. I have always trusted myself and always believed in my capabilities, but that self-assuredness had washed away in the waves of that sinking ship and left a shaken timid lonely girl to fill its place.

When the mantis finally moved on from its free meal and walked away on all six of its legs, I learned and committed to memory a couple of new things about them. The first being was that it could rotate its neck a full 180 degrees, (why, just why), and the second was that it could barely hear but it had an amazing vision, lastly, the wings it had were for show, I think that the way it evolved turned the wings useless and was meant for intimidation rather than flight. All of this matched what I knew about their infinitely smaller counterparts, however, I wasn’t an entomologist so everything I observed was iffy.

I had waited for about two hours, maybe for the mantis to get further away, or maybe for a savior, before I started to deconstruct the entrance and make it wide enough for my shoulders and hips to squeeze through, an undignified crawl for sure, something I had only experienced when I went for a dig through an exciting game and pulled myself through the dirt, it made my shirt rise just a bit, showing my freckled toned flesh, but I was being accustomed to the filth that was accumulating on my clothes and skin.

When I’m able to get onto my feet, I sway unevenly, my muscles sore from the cramped space I fit myself in. I started to half-heatedly pat away at my clothes and body, more out of habit than out of necessity and care of my appearance before I resolved myself to start my no doubt laborious day.

Free time has become a scarce commodity, but it's not like I have ever allowed myself to waste time, to waste progress. Even before my kidnapping, my daily schedule was always filled with training, both at home and with my team, and it always left room for me to become better. Even the train rides back home after school and team training never offered free time, because after training I would spend time studying or taking care of household chores and responsibilities.

A faint cool breeze greeted me and ruffled my hair, it broke me out of my reminiscing as well as caused the leaves to shake from their overhanging brown limbs, it came with a gentle swishing sound. Normally the quiet psithurism would cause me to relax, the gentle whisper of music and nature combined used to always promise it, but now the music felt mocking and haunting.

It sounded more like the hissing of beasts now, like the calm before the storm, like a threat.

It made the hairs on my arms bristle and my stomach curdle.

Craning my head far back, I gaze up at the sky that stretches above me and all the other worldly beings trapped on the surface, a soft orange washed out by a deep blue, it started to creep closer to the horizon with the approaching morning, it may have been around eight or nine in the morning but I couldn’t tell for sure without a clock or sundial.

I walked through the forest, the crackling undergrowth and snapping twigs greeted my every step as I focused on my goal. I could feel the overgrown weeds brushing against my pants legs and the wet grass felt like cold slime trails snaking across the bare skin of my calves. There were tree roots crisscrossed all over my path and I had to look out for them so I didn’t trip and possibly injure myself.

The previous small and frequent rains left muddy puddles scattered all over the forest floor and the dew beads that dropped from the overhead branches shimmered with the rising glow of the sun. The humid air around me gave off a sweet scent of petrichor and it caressed my senses with a calming ambiance.

If I had forgotten about everything that had happened to me in the past couple of days, the experience might have felt nice. I could have pretended that I was just going on a hike through nature and all the sights it had to offer for the first time in months, but I ended up getting distracted when I saw Spike come into my view.

He looked so focused and serious, not in a bad way though thankfully, having him alongside me helped teach me what was safe to consume and his senses were much more powerful than mine. If Spike didn’t eat or touch it, I figured that neither should I.

It's still weird to think that he’s omnivorous, I know that some species like pigs evolved from being carnivorous to being able to be omnivores, but that took many years of evolution. Direwolves were supposed to be extinct, so I wonder just how far off I must be from humanity if they were alive and evolved after all this time.

Spike had stopped for a moment to relieve himself and I slowed down my movements so he could catch up easily. When he came trotting back to my side, I resumed my speedy pace.

I was looking for the downed tree I had noticed yesterday, I wanted to take advantage of the branches it had so I could use them to create a few weapons. I would be able to give them a pointed edge with my knife and wouldn’t have to rely on putting myself in danger when attacking from the limited reach a knife offered.

I was hoping for at least a couple of spears so I could have a fighting chance at an attack from a distance instead of having to prison-shiv any of the dangers that I would face or be attacked by. It could also help with hunting, and fishing, and give me a further reach when it came to getting the fruits out of the trees.

Who would have thought that the summer survivalist camp Mom forced me to go would come in handy?

A tingling at the back of my skull whispered to me that maybe she was planning for me to end up in a situation like this, that maybe all these things happening to me were planned and that's why I had my backpack and all those supplies. Another, more loud and rational part of me batted away that thought and insecurity, I know full-heartedly that my mother loves me and would never endanger or betray me like this.

Right?

—
It took me some time snapping the branches off of the tree, but when I was finally done, I had a sizeable amount to carry back to the den. The bumpy skin of the bark was rough and had repeatedly scratched at my hands until they were irritated and had formed new callouses to join the ones I’d been getting almost daily. My palms looked gnarly and I hoped that when they healed up some, the scars and callouses would look cool, not like I rubbed them against a cheese grater.

It’s not like I wasn’t used to effort, almost all of my days were filled with doing straining and tiring tasks, (Spotify being a huge cheat and help), but I wasn’t used to these kinds of conditions. Even when I was at the wilderness camp I wasn’t worried about hunger or danger, I even had people around me whom I was able to talk to and get help from, I was never challenged in this way before. Was it wrong that some little part of me enjoyed the challenge? The small part that hyper-focused on the glory, applause, and action that Volleyball gave me? I would easily give up this experience for some dark chocolate and warm hugs from my family, but there was something new and satisfying about this, maybe it’s just the adrenaline junkie in me.

Carrying the branches in the humid sunny weather was a nasty sensation, it caused sweat to slide down from my face, getting it in my eyes and mouth. Ugh, humid weather has always felt uncomfortable, but this place took it to the next level.

Wiping the sweat from my brow, I hissed from the burn the sweat caused to my raw hands. The stinging subsided after a few moments, but it made me pay more attention to my surroundings.

Spike, who was proving to be the cutest goodest boy ever, was carrying a branch in his mouth, it was more like a twig but it made me stop and bend down to pet him.
“Who’s a good wittle puppy?” I started, scratching his ears and the side of his jaw, “It’s you, yes it is, who’s a cutie patootie?” His tail started wagging uncontrollably, spreading little dirt angels on the damp ground, he was so happy and excited from all the attention he was getting and it lightened my heart and made me grin.

I fucking love dogs.

When we finally got back to the den, I bunked down and pulled out my knife so I could get started on the weapon-making. Spike had plopped down alongside me and started chewing on his twig, he was twisting it around with his paws to chew at the best angles and he would probably demolish it in a couple of minutes.

I took the longest branch and started peeling the bark off of it. This was going to be my spear, and I was going to sharpen it on both ends so I could stab animals and bugs better. Yikes, that sounded a bit psychotic and crazy, but it’s a good thing I’m not (only for cute guys and Volleyball).

Once I finish this, I can start on the others and if I finish early today, I’ll just collect some bananas and other fruits for my trip.

Who knows, if it goes by fast enough, Spike and I could be at the beach by tomorrow and signal for any aircraft to come and save us. Maybe our raft would still be on the end of the cliff?

I hope so, I’ll need it to go fishing and if help never arrived, I would have to go out and find my family myself.

Be my own hero and all that other inspirational crap.

Chapter Text

“I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom, for me and you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed days, dark sacred nights
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world”
Louis Armstrong

Chapter 6

#-#

Today is the day.

Spike and I will make the trek back to the beach and hopefully signal for help.

I know that there have to be people out there looking for Momo Mizuki and that my kidnappers didn’t erase my existence and identity. I have my entire family, (even Dad’s side), all of my school friends and teammates as well as my teachers and coaches, there were even teams from other schools and even a few potential colleges who know and have associated with me. I even had a huge social media following, mostly just advice and tips regarding volleyball, working out, or what I eat, with me updating my story almost daily for my followers. I’m not saying that I’m the most important person in the world, but I have always gone out of my way to speak to people and put myself in the spotlight.

It’s an asshole thing to say but you can’t be world-classed if you're a nobody with nothing notable to your name.

That means that there has to be people out there, looking for me and a sign that I’m alive and I was going to do my best to make sure they could see it.

Even if I needed to burn half this island down to create a smoke signal.

The trees would grow back…Probably.

Didn’t forests grow back even better after a forest fire? I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere. So, theoretically, the island should thank me for helping it grow.

Just a thought, it’s not like I would let the bad karma accumulate, I’d make up for it by volunteering and planting trees and picking up trash off the roads. I’m not an evil monster.

If I was being true to myself, completely one hundred percent honest, then I’d admit that some little part of me, who daydreamed during math class loved this. Loved being completely independent and reliant on my skills and ability, loved being on my own with only nature and monsters as my company, it was stupid but this used to be almost a dreamlike escape for me.

Every single time Hirose-Sensei droned on and on about calculus and its wonders, my mind would end up creating a little fantasy of fighting for my life. Usually, I fantasized more about a zombie apocalypse but this island made that childish wish for action and adventure come true.

Turns out, the fantasy wasn’t as fantastical and action-packed as I had dreamed of. There was no one to show off my bravery to and it was mostly just boredom, soreness, and the occasional bouts of cravings for things I couldn’t have. There wasn’t even Spotify or dark chocolate, and everything I needed needs to be handcrafted. In all of my little scenarios I would always win and come out unscathed, usually shirtless so I could show off my abs, not worn down with dirt stuck under my nails and in my scalp with eyebags and exhaustion lines on my face.

Despite all of that, I was almost beginning to enjoy this. I even had a little wolf puppy to keep me company. Not everyone got one of those.

I could have been dumped in a desert, stuck drinking my urine to keep myself alive along with horrendous sunburns with poisonous snakes, instead, I only got shipwrecked onto an island with giant bugs, dire wolves, and bananas. It actually could have been worse.

This is a shitty vacation spot for sure, definitely gonna have to leave a review of zero stars, but I guess my kidnappers found it to be more comfortable for themselves. That or this is a government experiment. It might even be both.

“Hey Spike, do you think I got kidnapped for my organs or my looks?” I asked, glancing at his little judgemental brown eyes.

He whined softly and rolled over onto his back, the universal dog language for tummy rubs.

“I see,” I answered, without really seeing anything at all.

Still, I knelt over, the damp soil wetting my knees, and gave Spike the tummy rubs he demanded.

He really did look like that Aoba Johsei setter, all that soft fluffy light brown hair, the difference was that Spike was pleasant to be around and didn’t inspire feelings of violence.

What was his little catchphrase? The one that got put in the magazine? If you're going to hit it, hit it till it breaks? A good motto to live by and I would remember it for the uglies I’ll encounter, I honestly do hope it is only just giant bugs and wolves I have to look out for here. I don’t think I can handle anything else. What if there are giant cockroaches that can fly?

I shuddered at the thought.

Humming, I stood back up after petting Spike and started to gather all of my shit and the tons of food I had collected. I had pots for boiling my water from the ocean and a knife so I could mark my way to the ocean and in case this mission ended up being a bust and I would have to (please no, I’d rather just die) go back to this cave.

It was heavy, super fucking heavy, and was going to slow me down by a shit ton, I may even need to spend the night out in the forest if Spike and I didn’t set a fast enough pace. Speaking of Spike, even he wasn’t free to relax, I made him carry the the branch he helped me grab when I went collecting wood to make into weapons. The branch he held in his mouth was simple, simply sharpened with a knife at the ends just in case I needed to stab something.

He had to earn his keep somehow.

Besides, how else was I going to train him? Mom won’t let me keep him if he can’t even do basic commands. She especially wouldn’t let me keep him if he wasn’t potty trained and she might even faint if he went into the kitchen or even got a single strand of fur on her couch.

Yeah, I’m going to have to get started on commands and recall, you weren’t going to catch me being an irresponsible dog owner. They're the worst.

I started patting the dirt that collected on my knees off, whistled for Spike to follow me, and started the long journey he and I would have to make.

I wonder how many near-death experiences we’ll have from this hike.

#-#

It’s only been a couple of hours, and already my feet and back hurt. I was lugging around all the weight of my supplies and new weapons and since my journey was going to take over a day of walking, I drank tons of water which made me feel super heavy and called for lots of potty breaks. It’s a bad habit of mine to over-hydrate and drink lots in one sitting.

Every little noise or rustle had made me nervous and skittish, and I was sure Spike felt the same way. His fluffy little ears were pointed up and he spent a lot of the time we were walking on constant guard.

I was praying that we didn’t encounter anything, but I knew that my luck was the horrid sort.

Which is why, when these slimy white little leeches fell on us from overhead, I wasn’t even surprised. It was just starting to feel like an average day on this horrible island. It only makes sense that some gigantic bugs and leeches fall from the trees like some kind of wrathly rain.

That didn’t stop me from being disgusted when I slapped them dead on my skin though.

I shouted out a curse when one of the landed on the back of my neck and immediately bit into me, and I was frantically trying to reach the little fucker to rip him off of me. Fuck my flexibility and fuck leeches.

There were dozens of them falling onto me and feeling all the little slime trails and bites left me panicking and feeling oversimulated.

I ended up abandoning getting that leech off of me and instead went for Spike, reaching down to scoop him up into my arms and get him under a jacket of mine. I could feel sharp little stings from where the leeches were biting into me, but I was more focused on trying to escape from the assault.

It took me a couple of minutes of sprinting, with Spike and my supplies shaking and bouncing, but after a while, we finally managed to escape from the leeches and ended up in a somewhat open clearing.

Immediately once we were in the clear, I put Spike down, running my hands down his body and pulling leeches off of him.

Then I began stripping, (not in the fun sexy way unfortunately), and while I didn’t feel any leeches attached to me, the lingering sensation of their slimy little bodies crawling on my skin and biting me was enough to give me hives.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” I groaned before collapsing on the ground. There was a loud plop when my back hit the mud but I didn’t have it in me to care about being dirty or unpresentable anymore.

“I thought islands were supposed to be a popular hangout spot. Who would willingly come to places like this?” I complained, mostly out loud, but Spike only stretched out his body and rolled onto his side.

It had taken Spike and me a moment to catch our breaths and let the adrenaline die down. When it was finally time for us to get up from our curled positions and start walking again, I almost cried out because the soreness in my muscles made me collapse again and I wanted to stay down and just stay curled up and relaxed.

I had to almost drag myself out of the mud, and with some struggle and a lot of cursing, I was able to put my clothes back on. It felt wrong, putting relatively clean clothes on a filthy body but I had nowhere to soak and bathe myself.
For once. I’m happy that there’s no one around to see me so disgusting and sloppy looking. When rescue arrived, I wanted to look like a survivor, not a victim. I just wanted to resume my life as soon as I got back and go back to competing and counting my macros.

A harsh growl from Spike distracted me from my thoughts and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Looking in the direction he was staring at, I felt fear when I saw two giant green eyes staring right back at me.

“Fuck”

This was all that needed to be said before the clearing erupted into chaos.

Muscle memory made me do a dolphin dive toward the spear I had made and I narrowly missed the mantis’s strike towards my head. There was no fucking way I was going to have the reach needed to kill this fucker without getting hurt myself.

He was too close to run away from and I didn’t want to show this fucker my back at all.

The mantis standing where I previously was and was leaning back and forth on his lower legs. The movement reminded me a bit of a boxer's momentum. His pupils never looked away from me and I felt a slow deep sense of despair knowing that I had no real chance of defeating him.

The smartest thing I could do would be to toss Spike at it and hope that it provided me enough time to make my escape. But an annoying little part of me refused to betray the trust of a pet and teammate.

So, in the end, my only choice was to outsmart him and pray for the best when it came to Spike and I’s life. Here’s to hoping we don’t get eaten alive and that the mantis doesn’t call all of his little friends over.

Standing up straight, I tightly clutched the spear and gave it a good spin, the knuckles of my hand shining white from the desperate grip on my lifeline.

Now, I knew that even if I cut off his head, the nerves in the rest of his body could still allow him to move and fight if I was unlucky. He wouldn’t be able to eat me, but I could still get injured from his claw like forelegs. I could try and dismember his limbs, but that was an insane risk and would only allow him to grab me.

The back of the mantis’s body kept lifting itself up and down, preparing for another attack and rushing me to make my gameplan.

Trying not to make any sudden movements, I surveyed my surroundings and saw a couple of rocks and branches.

Here’s to dying, I guess.

I dropped into a sprint, Spike desperately barking in fear and following me, and grabbed at a couple of rocks I could find.

The mantis was right onto my ass, I could feel the wind of its legs reaching to grab me and I was barely able to swivel my body around and use my spear to stab it upwards into its mouth. Hearing the sickening crunch of its exoskeleton, I felt a small thrill of cruel satisfaction before my world ended up getting a whole lot of hurt.

Being practically under the mantis gave me very little chance to escape and when its forelegs swung out and hit my back I could only scream.

My body was flung a couple of feet away and when the back of my head hit the ground, I could only see bursts of light. Groaning, I rolled over and blurrily blinked at the downed figure. My spear was embedded from its mouth to the roof of its head, and while there was no way for it to eat me, I was afraid it was still alive.

As if I would give it that chance.

Using the rocks I had found, I chucked them at the ugly fucker and watch as they hit his head, he didn’t do anything, just was curling its legs up, dying or dead.

Holy fuck, there was no way in hell that I won that fight. I started maniacally laughing, my face split into a grin before I screamed in victory.

“WOOOOOOO, LIGHT WEIGHT BABY!”

Spike was barking rapidly wanting to join in on the victory, reaching down, I picked him up and spun him into the air smiling. I ended up stumbling from dizziness and fell onto my ass.

When I reached back to pat some of the dirt off, my hand came back wet, and when I pulled it from my back, I saw blood.

Chapter Text

One thing about me is that I fucking hate bleeding, don’t care if it’s a papercut or my period, I hate the smell of the iron and feeling the blood dry and crust on my body. And with the adrenaline slowly dying down, I became very suddenly and acutely aware of my back and beautifully toned upper ass cheeks hurting something awful.

My hand was shaking, but I couldn’t focus on anything but the agony I felt when I twisted or turned my back. Every breath I took felt like sharp needles being stabbed through my chest and my throat burned, like sprinting a marathon without water.

There was some blood but it felt more like a large scrape when me and the floor became best friends after I was hurled against it. Like a carpet burn, but worse and more torturous and raw. The last time I was shaking this badly was when I used the squat rack to practice my barbells last month and crushed my personal record. The memory was so fresh and vivid, with Coach Washijo who was so proud, I thought he was going to cry and just being surrounded by my supportive teammates made me want them more than ever.

It seems that lately all I ever do is want.

I was lost so much time to that goddamn mantis and if I continued to loiter, Spike and I would never make it to the beach. We still had a few kilometers to trek and even after that, we would need to create a safe place to sleep.

It wasn’t in my nature, normally I despise laziness and wasting my day away. But at this point, I was just so tired, tired of suffering physically, emotionally, and mentally. Was it too much to ask to have a day off where I could just lay down and not worry about fighting for my life or starving or being dehydrated or cold or in agonizing pain?

It feels like I’m in a video game and I constantly need to find my next objective, there wasn’t a single moment to rest, nowhere safe to recover. I could only complain about my situation when I’m fighting for my life. It was starting to get pathetically repetitive. Where was the joy in living?

Running a hand across Spike’s back, I forced myself to stand up on two shaky legs. It took a lot of groaning, as well as some cursing, but when I was finally back on my feet, I was able to take unsteady steps toward all my scattered shit.

It took a few moments to collect everything, but I was yet again ready to face the wilderness. And, the giant white leeches. And maybe even more giant mantis bugs. And maybe the carnivorous plants. Hopefully, those are the only things I have to face.

“Here’s to hoping we don’t die in agony,” I told to Spike, before having him hold a weapon for me.

Maybe I could teach him to fight? He could be like a Pokemon. He already kind of looked like one anyway.

When we were about to leave the clearing, we were more prepared, I had my blanket held above our heads, and we were able to leave the leech infested territory in somewhat peace. If one ignored the bugs that fell from the trees to suck our blood.

Our pace was slower than when we originally started out this morning, but I was somewhat confident we could get to the beach before night fell. We just needed to do a quick hot girl walk is all.

However, after Spike and I walked maybe five kilometers from the little clearing, he started whinging and taking breaks. His poor little puppy feet couldn’t handle the distance, so I had to create a little sling from my blanket to hold him in, his weight added to the weight of all of my other belongings was becoming the first workout that I didn’t enjoy.

After almost two more hours of walking, I could finally smell water in the air, and hear the sound of water moving. My deadened pace regained some of its original hustle when we were closing in on our goal. I even set Spike back on the ground so we could hurry there faster.

Breaking through the view of the trees, we finally found the ocean.

Except, it didn’t smell like the ocean. There was no salty seawater smell, it smelled more like a lake and the largest lake in Japan was Lake Biwa, and you could see the other side in the distance. Was she even on an island?

“I know I’ve been asking this a lot Spike, but I got to ask one more time. Where the fuck are we?” I yelled out the last part, my head in my hands in frustration.

Spike of course said nothing, too busy peeing on some poor plant that had the misfortune of being a urinal. At least he wasn’t peeing on me.

I was a bit dejected, but I guess this means that Spike and I have a huge water source that we can drink. Plus, we can go fishing and get some much needed protein. There were even coconut trees near us, we could drink coconut water and get some kickass nutrients.

At least I know we’re not on Epstein’s island. Small mercies I suppose.

Well, it's not what I was expecting but it’s better than making trips to get fresh drinkable water.

Huffing, I went towards the weather and looked for my raft. It should be near the cliff that I climbed my first night. I could use it as a starter base and keep it separated from any land animals. After all, it had the tent built in, and I could maximize the heat of the inside so Spike and I don’t get too cold.

It took close to an hour to find the neon yellow raft, but the second I did, I dragged it to a better anchor point. Keep it close to food, and land in case of being found by pilots or sailers.

Once everything was put into place, I started organizing my belongings inside the tent. Keeping a small corner for Spike and me to sleep in, with my blanket and the backpack filled with clothes as a pillow, the rest of the raft was being used to store food, weapons, and tools.

With the sun finally going down, Spike and I were inside the tent. I decided it was time for us to eat some dinner. Grabbing some of the rations, the most we’ve had in a while, I let us both eat until we were full. Trekking that distance with all the extra weight, as well as fighting an insanely large praying mantis, burned a huge amount of much needed calories.

While Spike was able to comfortably sleep in the safety of our temporary base, I still had problems I needed to solve. Life could never be simple when it involved me.

I still haven’t treated my wounds, the scape had been burning all day today and I was too busy getting us here to treat it. I could feel the blood crusting, but I needed to clean the wound before it got infected if it hadn’t already.

Digging through my bag, I grabbed the small medical kit and looked for something to clean the wound with and some antibiotics that I could rub on the area. Without any ceremony, I took off my shirt and pants, as well as my bra, hissing when the cloth accidentally rubbed against my irritated skin.

I really hope this doesn’t scar.

It was a test of flexibility and discipline, cleaning the wound, (as well as praying that I wasn’t just making matters worse), but when my wound was finally clean, I grabbed a few rolls of bandages and tried to wrap them around my back, looping over my shoulder for some extra support.

Even with the major wound covered, I still had to disinfect all of the leech bites that littered my body. It was a long process, filled with grimaces and disgust, but when I was done, I felt like one big ball of bandages, band-aids, bruises, and self-pity.
At least I knew Spike was going to be able to sleep somewhat comfortably tonight. It’d be like one huge water bed. At least, I hope so. I was going to be stuck sleeping on my stomach, with my bare nipples rubbing against the plastic of the raft, so the makeshift bed better feel like heaven on Earth right now.

Settling down next to my precious little puppy, I got into an uncomfortable position, trying to make it somewhat decent, before closing my eyes and hoping for a better tomorrow.

Chapter Text

‘A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell along the path, and the birds came and devoured them. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and immediately they sprang up since they had no depth of soil. Others fell among the thorns, and the thorns came up and choked them out. And others fell on the good soil and yielded a crop, some a hundredfold, some sixty, and some thirty.’ - Matthew -

I woke up feeling every muscle in my body protest as I shifted on the inflatable raft. The soreness was unbearable, understandable considering everything I put my body through. My lower back ached, and the cramps in my abdomen were relentless, reminding me that my period had come with a heinous vengeance.

I groaned and slowly sat up, wincing as the movement sent another flash of white-hot pain through my body. DOMS was hitting me with a sledgehammer but all I could do was hopefully walk off the pain.

The morning sun was already peeking through the horizon, casting a soft glow on the water around me. I knew I had to get up, feed Spike, eat breakfast, put some clothes on, and attend to my hygiene, but the thought of moving was almost too much to bear. I reached for my backpack, rummaging through it to find something to eat. There was little to choose from. Grabbing some of the fruit and meat, I set up Spike and I’s breakfast. I nibbled on my portion slowly, trying to find some energy to face the day.

After finishing my makeshift breakfast, I forced myself to stand up. The raft wobbled beneath me, and I had to steady myself to avoid falling back down. I grabbed my toiletries and made my way to the edge of the water, where I could at least freshen up a bit. Splashing my face with the cold water helped wake me up, but it did little to alleviate the discomfort. I brushed my teeth and did my best to clean up, all the while cursing the timing of my period.

After managing to freshen up, I went back to the raft, Spike trotting faithfully by my side. The little wolf puppy had been my constant companion, and his playful energy was a welcome distraction from my loneliness, cramps, and soreness. I picked up the makeshift spear I had fashioned from a sturdy branch and a sharpened stone, hopefully, today would be a good day for fishing.

I walked back towards a good open area for the beach where I had spotted fish earlier and took off my pants and top. No point in getting my warm clothes wet. Wading into the water, I was perhaps ankle-deep and I waited for the fish to calm down to my presence.

I watched the fish darting around, their silvery bodies reflecting the sunlight. It took all of my concentration to aim correctly, and with each throw, my muscles screamed in protest. Spike watched curiously from the shore, occasionally barking at the splashes.

After several attempts, I finally managed to spear a decent-sized fish. The sense of accomplishment was a small victory against the discomfort that plagued me. With the fish secured, I turned my attention to gathering firewood. Spike bounded ahead, sniffing around and occasionally digging things up from the sand. I followed him, picking up dry branches and twigs along the way. The process was slow and painful, each bend and lift sending sharp reminders about my wounds. But I knew I needed a fire to cook the fish, and the thought of a warm meal kept me going.

Limping back to our makeshift camp, I arranged the firewood and set to work building a fire. I knelt and created a small pile of dry leaves and the firewood I collected as tinder. I carefully added more wood and watched the flames grow. The warmth from the fire was a welcome relief that warmed my soul.

Descaling and deboning the fish required patience and precision. Using the small knife, I held the fish firmly by the tail and began scraping the scales off from tail to head. The scales flew off in small bursts, glinting in the sunlight. Spike watched with interest, sniffing at the fish every once and a while.

Once the fish was descaled, I made a careful if slightly sloppy incision along its belly, from the tail to the head, and used a knife to remove the entrails. I cut along the backbone with gentle but firm strokes to separate the fillets from the bones. I made sure to remove all the tiny pin bones, running my fingers over the flesh to feel for any that I might have missed.

The entire process was meticulous, but it was necessary to ensure that the fish would be easy to eat. With the fish now clean and ready, I placed it in the small pot I mysteriously had in my bag.

Spike settled down beside me, his eyes following my every move. As the flames began to crackle and the fish started to cook, I allowed myself a moment of respite. Despite the pain and challenges, there was a certain peace in this routine, a rhythm that made the discomfort bearable. It was almost satisfying, being this independent and taking care of myself.

The fish tasted amazing-flaky, tender, and slightly smokey from the fire. Each bite was a burst of natural flavor, enhanced by the satisfaction of having caught and prepared it myself. Spike seemed to agree, devouring his portion eagerly.

After we finished eating, It was still before noon and there was still plenty of daylight left. Daylight that I couldn’t afford to waste. I decided to spend the remaining time working on expanding the raft. Spike and I could use a larger, more stable platform if we were going to live on and near the water. At least until we’re found by rescuers. I dragged the raft closer to a sturdy tree, thinking it would be easier to work on it from the shore.

First I scouted the area for fallen logs that were long and sturdy enough to extend the raft. I found several good candidates and used the small knife to trim off any branches and leaves. Spike followed me, sniffing around and peeing on anything that slightly stood upright.

Once I had a decent pile of logs, I began the process of attaching them to the existing raft. Using some vines I had found, I tied the logs securely to the sides of the raft, making sure they were evenly spaced and tightly bound. Sweat was beading on my forehead, and every inch of my body hurt. I still pushed on, ensuring each log was firmly in place before moving on to the next.

With the logs attached, the raft was significantly larger and more stable. I then added a layer of smaller branches and large leaves on the top to create a more comfortable and even surface. Spike, bored, decided to hop onto the expanded raft, circling before deciding to curl up.

With the raft now securely on top of the logs, the next step is to get it back into the water. Since I only had about an hour of light left, I decided to stop building the raft anymore. I can work on the rest tomorrow.

Slowly, I had to drag the raft back into the water, being careful to avoid any kind of damage. I felt relief from it being in the water. All I needed to do was tie it down just so it didn’t float away. One of my troubles was solved and I decided that a dinner break was necessary right now. The dinner? The exact same thing I ate earlier, only colder. I had burned so many calories and I didn’t want to lose any of my muscle mass or much-needed fat.

Walking onto the raft felt better, I was able to stably stand on it if you discounted the gentle waves. I didn’t feel like showering, but I was coated in sweat and mustier than a teenage boy's locker room. So, I simply grabbed my discarded clothes from earlier and took a sniff under my arm. Recoiling from the stench, I went back to the water for the third time today.

It was a little bit weird, doing so much manual labor in nothing but a sports bra and panties, but in the end, I was grateful that I didn’t need to add laundry on top of my chores list. Besides, I didn’t want to stain any clothes with my period blood and ruin them any further. I frowned when I noticed that the skin around my stomach was getting even tighter, my ribs and my abs more visible, the excess of hard labor and low-calorie food was changing my body far too fast, and I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with my high metabolism and lose all the muscle I worked hard to grow.

Sighing. I stripped completely starkers, and waded into the water only about to my waist, it was actually kind of nice.

My muscles felt a bit more looser, there was more relief in this than I had gotten in a while. Taking a deep breath, I dunked my head in the water, scratching at my scalp before coming back up for air. There wasn’t any soap for me to use, so I had to make do with using sand as an exfoliator. I spent a bit more time than was needed just enjoying the coolness of the water on my muscles before going back to the fire to dry off.

I was barefoot but the sand on my wet feet didn’t bother me, even my own nudity left me feeling free and unrestrained, I can’t believe I was actually enjoying this. When I woke up on that ship, being alone for more than a day left me feeling anxious and jittery. Now, I was able to thrive and find confidence in myself, not that I needed any more confidence honestly.

Still, it was night and cold so I put my clothes back on, the last thing I needed was to get sick on top of being sore and covered in wounds. I kicked sand over my fire when I was done with it, killing it before hopping onto the raft.

The second my head hit my backpack, I fell asleep, chest warm with Spike's body weight on top of it. What a day.

Chapter Text

I woke up to the sensation of something warm and damp pressing against my cheek. My eyes fluttered open to find Spike’s wet nose nudging me insistently, his tail wagging as he whined softly. Morning had come again, and with it, a new set of challenges.

Stretching out on the raft, I grimaced as the soreness from yesterday's work made itself known. My body felt like one giant bruise, but at least I had a bigger and more stable raft now. That was progress. Spike huffed impatiently, pawing at my arm, clearly eager to start the day.

“Alright, alright,” I murmured, scratching behind his ears before pushing myself up. My stomach grumbled, and I knew I needed to find more food soon. The remaining rations in my bag wouldn’t last forever, and my body was already feeling the effects of my limited diet. I’d need to do better today, fish more, gather more, do something to keep myself from wasting away.

I grabbed a handful of dried meat from my pack and tossed a piece to Spike before chewing on one myself. It was tough and flavorless, but it was fuel. Spike devoured his in seconds, licking his chops expectantly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I grumbled, taking a swig of water from my flask. “You ate your portion.”

Spike merely huffed and lay down, watching as I rummaged through my things. My spear leaned against the raft’s edge, and I knew fishing was first on the agenda. I needed something fresher than the sad dried meat if I was going to keep my strength up.

The sun was already creeping higher as I waded into the shallows, the cool water lapping at my legs. My body protested every movement, but I forced myself to focus. I gripped the spear tightly, scanning the water for any sign of movement. The fish were fast, darting between the rocks and swaying plants, but patience was key.

After a few failed attempts, I finally managed to spear a decent-sized fish, the sharp tip of my makeshift weapon piercing through its silvery body. Pulling it from the water, I let out a small breath of relief. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for breakfast.

Back at the shore, I cleaned the fish with practiced efficiency, discarding the guts far away from my camp to avoid attracting any unwanted guests. The fire took longer to start today, my body wasn’t as quick or strong as before with how sore it was. But eventually, the flames flickered to life, and soon the scent of cooking fish filled the air. Spike sat patiently, his ears twitching with every crackle of the fire.

As we ate, I let my mind wander. The raft was better now, but it still wasn’t enough. I needed real shelter, a better food source, maybe even a signal fire in case a plane or boat passed by. The thought of being rescued felt foreign now, almost like a dream. I had spent so much time surviving that I hadn’t let myself think about what came next.

Will I ever see my family again?

With breakfast finished, I turned my attention to the surrounding area. I needed to explore beyond my little stretch of beach, see if there were resources I hadn’t tapped into yet.

Maybe there were fruit trees, or better wood for building. I just had to avoid all the deadly obstacles.

Spike and I set off, moving along the coastline, the waves crashing gently beside us. The sand grew hotter as the sun climbed higher, and I could feel the sweat trickling down my back. Even worse, my thighs were chafing and starting to get raw. Every now and then, Spike would stop to sniff at something, his tail wagging as he unearthed small rocks or debris from the water.

As we walked, I spotted something in the distance, something dark and jagged sticking out of the sand. My heart quickened. Wreckage.

I hurried forward, ignoring the protests of my aching legs. The closer I got, the clearer it became. It was a piece of a ship, maybe my ship. The wood was weathered, partially buried in the sand, but it was real, solid, proof that I hadn’t just imagined the wreck that had stranded me here.

There might be clues on where I’ve been trafficked to.

Rummaging through the debris, I found a few things worth salvaging, a coil of rope, some metal scraps, and, miraculously, a beautiful hand hatchet. I nearly cried at the sight of it. Real weapons was always my biggest concern, and though I’d been managing to survive on Lady Luck’s good graces, having real steel made a huge difference on my self esteem. There wasn't anything that hinted to why I was even on the ship to begin with, not that there was much ship left.

I looped the rope around my shoulder and turned back toward my camp, my mind already racing with possibilities. The metal could be useful for tools, the rope could reinforce my raft or help me build something sturdier. I was exhausted, sore, and still very much stranded, but I had a plan.

Survival wasn’t just about getting by anymore. No, it was about adapting, growing stronger. If I was going to make it, I had to do more than just wait for rescue.

I had to save myself.

Which was a lot easier said then done. By the time I made it back to camp, my body was screaming at me to stop, but my brain had other plans. If I sat down now, I might not get back up, and I had work to do.

First up, continuing our shelter. The raft was fine for now, but one good storm and I'd be out in the open like a soggy gym towel. I needed something sturdier, something that wouldn’t float away with the tide.

I scouted the tree line for anything usable. The jungle beyond the beach was thick, tangled with vines and massive trees that looked like they belonged in a dinosaur movie. It was both exciting and mildly terrifying.

With my new trusty hatchet, I started hacking at some of the thinner trees, using the rope I found to tie together makeshift walls. It was slow, sweaty work, but with each secured branch, my new shelter started taking shape. I even found a massive leaf big enough to act as a makeshift roof.

“This is basically a five-star resort,” I muttered to Spike, who was busy digging another hole. “Beachfront property, all-natural decor… too bad room service sucks.”

Spike ignored me, too busy burying something he had stolen earlier. Probably a crab. Or my dignity.

Once my shelter was somewhat stable, I turned my attention to the wreckage supplies. The metal scraps could be turned into better tools, maybe a stronger spear or a sharper blade. I spent some time hammering out a flat piece of metal against a rock, fashioning a crude but effective knife. Not exactly gym equipment, but it would do the trick.

The sun was beginning to set, the sky painted in shades of orange and purple. My stomach reminded me, loudly, that I needed to eat again, so I went for round two of fishing. I didn’t choose the pescatarian lifestyle, it chose me. So with my new metal-tipped spear, I was able to snag another fish, this one bigger than the last.

Progress.

As I stood in the water, the waves were lapping around my waist and drenching me in the fish blood, something shifted beneath the surface. A shadow, massive, slow-moving.

My breath hitched.

For a second, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but no of course I could never be so lucky. A vast, ominous shape glided near me, its outline barely visible in the fading light. Bigger than anything I had ever seen.

My stomach turned to ice.

I had been so focused on making my little world comfortable, so proud of my small victories, that I had forgotten the truth of this place.

I was not at the top of the food chain.

I swallowed hard and took a slow step backward, careful not to make sudden movements. The shadow lingered, shifting slightly before disappearing into the depths. My heart pounded against my ribs as I backed onto the shore, my grip tightening on my spear.

Spike whimpered, sensing my unease.

Just like that, my sense of safety crumbled.

I wasn’t as in control as I thought. Comfort was a luxury here, and the ocean had just reminded me how easily it could be ripped away.

Survival wasn’t just about getting stronger. It was about staying aware.

Because out there, in the water, something much bigger than me was watching.

And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what would happen if it decided to come closer.

Chapter Text

The night had stretched on, each hour dragging like a slow-moving tide. My mind raced in a restless whirl of thoughts, each more tangled than the last. The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore was a constant, rhythmic reminder of the vastness of the world, and my utter insignificance in it. I just couldn't shake the image of the shadow I had glimpsed beneath the water earlier. Was it just my imagination, or was something lurking, waiting, watching? The idea that the ocean, which I had come to rely on, might also be my doom unsettled me.

Every time I closed my eyes, the shadow appeared in my mind, gliding silently through the murky depths. The sheer size of it had been staggering, and for a split second, I thought it might be a whale, or something bigger and much scarier. I had never felt so small in my life.

Sleep, when it came, was fractured and shallow. Every sound, every movement, had me jerking awake, heart racing, pulse thumping in my ears. The night dragged on like that, a battle of mind against body, a losing fight that left me drained and vulnerable.

When the sun finally cracked the horizon, spilling pale light over the beach, it offered little comfort. My limbs felt heavy, like I had been wrestling with shadows all night. My muscles ached from the tension of sleeplessness, but I pushed myself up, gritting my teeth against the exhaustion.

Spike was still snoring softly beside me, completely oblivious to my internal turmoil. His tiny, peaceful snuffles were the only sound that made me feel like I hadn’t completely lost touch with reality. His presence, though comforting, only reminded me of how alone I truly was.

"Alright, girl," I muttered to myself, wiping the sleep from my eyes and running a hand through my wild hair. "Time to get it together. The world doesn’t care if you’re tired."

I wasn’t wrong. The harsh truth of survival was that the world kept spinning, indifferent to my struggles. The fear from the night before, the shadow in the water, was still there, gnawing at the edges of my mind. I needed to be better. Stronger. Faster. If I didn’t want to end up as fish food, or worse. I need to adapt.

I stripped off my wet and ragged clothes, letting the salty breeze kiss my skin. Modesty had stopped being a concern long ago, there was no one here but me and Spike, and he had zero interest in my human hang-ups. The ocean had been my bath for over a week, and today was no different.

The salty breeze ruffled my hair as I waded into the cool waves, letting them wash over my skin, chasing away the sweat and grime that had accumulated from the days before. The water, while chilling, was a small solace, a brief moment of clarity amidst the chaos.

"I’m not afraid," I whispered under my breath, staring into the vast, dark expanse of the ocean. It was a lie, but I told it to myself anyway, hoping it would stick.

Spike barked from the shore, his tiny form bouncing in the sand. He was always the watchful one, and I couldn’t help but smile at his antics. His tail wagged furiously as if to remind me that everything would be fine. "Yeah, I’m sure you’re right," I said, rolling my eyes. "No sea monsters today. Probably."

But even as I spoke the words, I couldn’t shake the sensation that I was being watched. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and my breath caught in my throat. The uneasy feeling crept up my spine, something instinctual warning me that I wasn’t alone.

And then, as if on cue, I saw him.

At first, he was just a shadow against the tree line, half-hidden by the foliage. Tall, lean, and impossibly still. His silver hair caught the light in the early morning glow, tousled by the breeze, and for a moment, it was almost too surreal. The sharpness of his features, the coldness in his dark eyes, everything about him screamed danger.

My blood ran cold.

Someone had been watching me. Someone is watching me. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. I froze, unsure of what to do, my heart pounding in my chest.

Before I could even think of a response, the man moved. He was fast, way too fast, and in a blur of motion, he was almost upon me. Panic surged through my veins, and my instincts screamed at me to run. Run where exactly? Either towards the gigantic fish or to the stranger coming at me?

But the water slowed me down when I began to move, the resistance dragging at my limbs, making each movement sluggish. I barely made it two steps before I felt his presence behind me, an electric tension that made my blood run cold. A strong arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me back with terrifying ease.

My breath caught in my throat.

"Let go of me!" I spat, thrashing in his grip, trying to break free. "I said let go you fucking bastard!"

"You're reckless," he murmured, his voice smooth and cold, like ice scraping against stone.

My mind scrambled to make sense of the situation. Who was this man? What did he want with me?

I twisted in his grasp, trying to get a glimpse of his face, but a sharp pressure on my neck made my vision blur. My mind screamed, my body fought to escape, but it was futile. Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision, and with a final, desperate gasp, the world went black.
-----------
When I regained consciousness, it was to a different reality. The rough texture of sand beneath my fingers, the smell of unfamiliar herbs, the soft murmur of Spike’s comforting presence beside me, it all felt wrong, out of place.

My head throbbed painfully, a dull ache that spread through my entire body. Disoriented, I shot upright, the sudden movement making me dizzy, my vision swimming. Spike yelped at my side, immediately jumping to my leg, as if to reassure me. But it didn’t help.

The first thing I saw was him, sitting near the entrance of my shelter, watching me with those unreadable, dark eyes. His long wavy silver hair was damp, the strands clinging to his forehead as though he had just been in the water himself. The way he looked at me made me feel small, insignificant, like I was under some kind of silent judgment.

I scrambled back instinctively, pressing myself against the wall. My pulse hammered in my ears, my mind still struggling to piece together what had happened.

"What the hell?" I croaked, my voice hoarse from the shock. "Where am I? Who are you?"
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tossed something at me. It was my clothes, crumpled and stained, lying at my feet in an awkward heap.

I flushed with embarrassment as I hastily pulled them over myself. Not that I cared about modesty anymore, but the sudden realization that I had been exposed in front of a complete stranger, someone who had knocked me out and dragged me into my own shelter, was far more pressing.

He finally spoke, his voice low, as cold as the ocean I had been so terrified of.

"You were careless," he said. "If I were something else, you'd be dead by now."

I narrowed my eyes as I stared at him. "Oh, so now you’re my knight in shining armor, huh? You get off on knocking out girls and dragging them out god knows where? What, you got a fetish or something?"

He barely reacted, his lips twitching just slightly. "Hardly. If you die, your scent will attract bigger problems."

I bristled, fists clenching. "Oh, well, sorry for being such an inconvenience. Maybe next time, just let the sea monster eat me, okay?"

"Maybe I will," he replied coldly.

I shot him a glare, my heart still pounding from the encounter. Spike growled softly at my side, sensing my tension. The man stood, smooth and deliberate, his presence even more unnerving now that I wasn’t fighting to stay conscious.

"Stay here, or don’t," he said, his tone indifferent. "Your choice. But if you’re going to survive, stop being stupid."

With that, he turned and disappeared into the trees, leaving me sitting there, stunned, fists still clenched. My heart still raced, but one thing was clear. I hated him.

----------

The moment the asshole left, a deafening silence settled around me. The kind of silence that wraps you in its suffocating grip, making every breath feel like an effort. Spike, still uneasy, sat close to me, his small form alert, his ears pricked. He knew something was wrong. He always knew.

My mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of the morning. The stranger. His speed. His strength. The coldness in his eyes. Everything about him screamed danger, and yet, there was an odd, unsettling calmness to him, as if he had seen worse, dealt with worse, and was now simply passing through, indifferent to the chaos of the world around him.

I shook my head, as if trying to shake off the lingering sense of dread that clung to me like a second skin. Focus. You need to focus, I reminded myself. My heart was still pounding, my pulse still thumping in my ears, but I couldn’t afford to let it overwhelm me. The world didn’t care if I was afraid. It kept turning, indifferent to my fear, and I had to survive it.

Looking down at Spike, I gave a small, reassuring smile. "Hey, boy, we’ll figure this out. Don’t worry." But the truth was, I wasn’t sure how. How could I? How could anyone?

My little raft shelter, crude as it was, felt like both a refuge and a prison. The only sign of life in my shelter besides me and Spike was the faint rustle of leaves from outside, as though the world was waiting for something to happen. Hopefully it can wait, I’m already having a shitty day.

My head throbbed, the aftermath of being knocked out still sharp and pulsing. I reached up, gingerly touching the side of my neck where I remembered his grip. It had felt like the pressure of a vice, as if he could snap my neck with a flick of his wrist. Who is he? The question gnawed at me, a constant echo in my mind. But I already knew one thing: he wasn’t just some random passerby.

Was he involved in my kidnapping? The reason I’m stuck on this awful island? Should I have followed after him?

I felt vulnerable, exposed in this strange place. The beach, which once seemed so familiar, had turned into a wild, uncaring landscape, a place where anything could happen, and I had no control over it.

I have no control over anything anymore.

Spike nuzzled my leg, sensing my rising anxiety, and I gave him a gentle scratch behind the ears, trying to calm both him and myself. "Thanks, buddy," I whispered, though I wasn’t sure he understood. Still, his presence was a small comfort in the chaos.

I shifted, pushing myself to my feet with a wince. My body ached from the tension of the night, from the fight to stay awake, from the fear that had gripped me and refused to let go. I wanted to believe that I was stronger now, that I had adapted in some way, but the truth was, I felt more fragile than ever.

Chapter Text

The sun was barely up, and I was surviving off of barely any sleep, but I was already knee-deep in sand, trying not to face-plant into the earth as I went for a spike that probably had no chance of landing. Not that it mattered, I was more concerned with not getting my beautiful thick thighs stuck in the sand than with actually playing. But hey, priorities.

I glanced over at Spike, who was off to the side, barking his head off like some kind of miniature guard dog. "Chill out, buddy," I muttered, wiping the sweat from my brow. "I’m just practicing my vertical jump. You know, for when we need to outrun giant sea monsters or praying mantises or whatever else might show up."

Spike didn’t seem particularly impressed by my attempt at humor, but he wagged his tail like he was on the verge of applause.

I lined up like I was going for another serve, bouncing on my feet and stretching my arms. The beach was quieter than I liked, too quiet, with only the sound of the waves crashing and the faint breeze stirring the air. I should’ve been happy for the peace, but it felt more like the calm before a storm. Something about it just didn’t sit right. Maybe it was the fact that I kept getting the feeling I was being watched. Again.

The air was thick with tension, and I wasn’t talking about the kind of tension that happens before a killer serve. No, this felt more like something was lurking out there, watching me through the sand. My skin prickled. It wasn’t the sunburn kind of prickly either. This was the "there’s definitely someone behind me" kind of prickly.

"Great," I muttered, pulling myself out of my head and back into volleyball mode. "What I really need right now is a creepy stalker."

Spike yelped again, a little louder this time, like he was agreeing with me or warning me. Or maybe just trying to get me to throw him the coconut knockoff volleyball, who knows?

I slapped the ball into the air, but my concentration wavered as I turned my head. A flicker of movement in the trees caught my eye, and suddenly I was second-guessing everything about this peaceful little paradise.

That’s when I saw him. Of course, I did. Tall, silver-haired, looking like a background character from one of those post-apocalyptic movies where the bad guy is always the brooding type who probably eats children’s happiness for breakfast.

It’s been a couple of days since I last met the silver haired stranger, and I still didn’t know how I felt about him. I haven’t been able to get him to talk whenever I do encounter him, but my intuition was telling me that he wasn’t the one to kidnap me. He was still hella creepy though.

He was standing there like he was made of ice, his eyes glinting with that same “I’m better than you” look that people like him always seem to have. Honestly, it was getting so old. But what else was new? The guy looked like he could bench-press a bear. And yet here I was, trying to work on my serve, like I was somehow competing with a guy who could probably snap me in half with one arm.

"Hey, you mind not lurking like a creep?" I called out, trying to sound confident.

His response? Nothing. Typical. Apparently, today’s mood was “silent, brooding loner.” The only thing missing was the soundtrack of a sad violin.

Spike wasn’t having it either. He growled, low and deep, the kind of growl that said, “Yeah, I know this guy’s bad news.”

I wanted to tell Spike to chill, but I wasn’t so sure about the guy myself. I wasn’t exactly scared, but being sneaky was his thing, and if he thought I was going to let him sneak up on me, he clearly hadn’t seen my crazy reflexes in action.

I jogged toward him, calling out again. "You know, I get that personal space might be a foreign concept to you, but I’m not a fan of being stared at like I’m some kind of yoga workout video."

He finally moved, walking up right in front of me, all cold eyes and intimidating presence. Seriously, was there an instruction manual for looking like you had nothing better to do than make people uncomfortable? Because he was killing it. First person I’ve seen in forever and he just had to have a stick up his ass.

"You have no awareness," he said. "You’re going to get yourself killed out here."

I raised an eyebrow and couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my mouth. "Oh, I’m sorry, I thought this was the beach where I could practice my spiking skills, not deal with stalkers. But hey, thanks for the free advice, I’m sure it’ll come in handy right before I die a horrible death."

He didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, just stood there looking like he wanted to lecture me on basic survival, like I wasn’t already aware of what the stakes were out here. But what did I know? Maybe I should’ve been more careful about the fact that the beach was turning into an episode of "Survivor: Beach Edition." If only it was more like, “Too Hot to Handle.” It’s not like I was here out of my own free will.
I turned back to the guy, who, shockingly, didn’t get all up into my personal space. Maybe he didn’t get my humor, or maybe he was just too focused on whatever dark thoughts were clouding his mind.

He sighed, a low exhale of frustration, like he was tired of this whole charade. "If you don’t start thinking about your survival, you’ll end up dead before you even realize it."

"And here I was thinking we were having a conversation," I said, rolling my eyes. "But no, you're here to be the world’s least helpful motivational speaker. Great, I’ll make a note of it: Be careful or die. Very deep."

“Besides,” I continued, “Why do you even care about my survival, we’re just strangers.”

A small twitch passed over his features, but it was gone before I could really catch it. He didn’t seem like the type to show much emotion.

Spike growled again, more fiercely this time, he was turning into a loyal protector despite his tiny size.

I gave one last look at the brooding man, then grabbed the coconut knockoff, tossing it lightly in the air before catching it with a soft thud. "So, what’s next, old man? Want to fight or are you just here to ruin my workout?"

I watched the silver-haired mystery man sigh before he walked off to go disappear into the trees, all broody and dramatic like he was contractually obligated to act like the main character in some grim survival documentary. Classic. If I had a protein bar for every edgy guy I’d met since waking up in this apocalyptic nightmare, I’d have… okay, well, just one protein bar. But still.

Spike gave one last grumble before trotting back to my side, tongue hanging out like he was exhausted just from existing. Same, buddy. Same.

"Well, that was weird," I muttered, bouncing my newest volleyball, just another smooth, round coconut I’d found washed up on the beach. Yeah, yeah, desperate times and all that. Not my first pick, but when life takes away your actual volleyball and hands you a tree nut, you make do. Plus I heard coconut water had tons of potassium.

I tossed the coconut up, snapped my arm forward, and “BAM!” spiked it right into the sand. It didn’t bounce back, obviously, just kind of… thunked into the ground, unimpressed with my display of power. Rude.

Spike tilted his head at me. "Oh, don’t judge. You try being a star athlete when your only training equipment grows on trees."

The coconut wobbled to a stop, and I sighed. Not quite the same satisfying rebound I was used to, but hey, if I was gonna keep my skills sharp, I needed something anything to practice with. Because let’s be real, if I ever ran into another human who knew how to set, I was gonna need to be ready.

And if I ever found a real volleyball again? Oh man. It’d be game over for all my haters.

I bent to pick up my “ball,” but that prickly feeling was back, like something was just off. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I hesitated.

Spike had already gone stiff, his ears perked, tail frozen mid-wag.

Oh, come on. Again?

I straightened up, slowly turning to scan the tree line. Nothing moved. No sounds. But that didn’t mean anything.

"You know," I said loudly, addressing the vague presence I felt but couldn’t see, "if you’re gonna lurk and keep interrupting me like a creep, at least have the courtesy to bring snacks."

No response. Typical. I wasn’t expecting a Broody to just step out of the shadows, holding out a granola bar like, Hey, my bad for scaring you. Want some carbs? But a girl could dream.

Spike let out a soft growl, his little body tensed like he was ready to throw down.

"Okay, relax, big guy. Maybe it’s just an obnoxious seagull with an attitude problem."

Still, I wasn’t taking chances. I grabbed the coconut, shifting my grip. Was it ideal as a weapon? No. But would I hurl it at someone’s head if necessary? Absolutely. I had a killer serve.

I waited, letting the silence stretch.

Nothing.

Then, just as I was about to write the whole thing off as my brain playing tricks on me, a voice cut through the air.

"You should be more careful."

I spun around so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet.

Broody had somehow materialized again, standing on a patch of rock like he had just teleported there. Which, honestly, wouldn’t surprise me at this point.

"SERIOUSLY?!" I threw my hands in the air. "Do you just enjoy sneaking up on people? Is this, like, a fun little hobby for you? Besides, I thought you were done harassing me for today."

His expression didn’t change. No guilt, no amusement, just that same calm, dead-eyed stare. "You were being watched."

"Oh, you mean by you?" I shot back. "Yeah, no kidding."

He exhaled, clearly regretting every decision that had led to this conversation. "Not just me. Something else."

I blinked. Okay. That was… significantly less fun.

"Elaborate."

His jaw tightened. "Something was in the trees. Not human."

Of course. Because what’s a casual morning volleyball practice without the looming threat of some nightmare eldritch creature lurking in the shadows?

"Great," I muttered. "Love that for me."

I wasn’t even gonna ask what was in the trees. If it was big and ugly and had a taste for stranded volleyball players, I’d rather not know the details.

"How do you know?" I asked instead.

His eyes flicked toward the tree line, scanning. "Unlike you I actually pay attention to what’s around me."

I shifted my grip on the coconut, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous. "So, what, you just came to warn me? Real nice of you, but I’m guessing that’s not your style"

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he turned slightly, angling his body toward the trees, like he was expecting something to come bursting out at any second.

I hated how my pulse jumped at that. Not out of fear, obviously. More like… mild concern. Maybe a little dread.

Spike whined softly.

Okay. Maybe more than a little. I’m just tired of being hurt.

I inhaled through my nose. "Alright, let’s just cut to the chase. How bad are we talking here? Should I be running, hiding, or getting ready to spike something’s face in with a coconut?"

That was the first time I saw something resembling amusement flicker in his expression. It was brief, barely there, but I caught it. A ghost of a smirk, like he couldn’t quite help it.

"You should be ready to run," he said.

Oh.

Oh, that was not the answer I wanted.

I forced a grin anyway, hoisting my coconut over my shoulder like a makeshift battle weapon. "Cool, cool. Just checking. Nothing like a little morning cardio."

A low, unnatural sound echoed from the trees. Not wind. Not an animal. Something else.

I swallowed hard.

Spike pressed against my leg, ears flattened.

Broody tensed beside me. "We need to move. Now."

And just like that, my morning volleyball workout turned into an impromptu sprint for my life.

Because of course it did.

At least this time I wasn’t really alone?

Chapter Text

The moment I saw another giant white praying mantis, I knew two things:

One, nature had officially decided to screw me over.

Two, I was about to have the most hardcore leg day of my life.

I bolted through the sand, my thighs burning as I sprinted alongside my new favorite brooding apocalypse companion, who still hadn’t told me his name. Which, honestly? Rude. We’d been running for at least five minutes, and I felt like that kind of cardio trauma deserved proper introductions.

“Not to alarm you,” I huffed, dodging a root that had no business being that big, “but that thing is still gaining on us.”

Silver-Haired Lurker Guy (still workshopping the name) shot me a glance, looking annoyingly unbothered for someone being pursued by an oversized bug straight out of a nightmare.

“You think?” he said flatly.

The mantis screeched behind us, personally offended we didn’t just let it kill us. Either that or it just really wanted to make me into a protein shake. I didn’t have time to debate the finer points of monster insect motivation.

We broke through the tree line, stumbling onto a rocky stretch of land that sloped toward the ocean. Not exactly ideal terrain for a getaway, but at least we weren’t surrounded by trees anymore. I didn’t need to add “death by face-plant into bark” to my list of potential causes of doom.

“Got a plan, or are we just running until our lungs explode?” I asked, scanning for anything remotely useful. A weapon, a hiding spot, a conveniently placed trapdoor, literally anything.

Mister Mysterious slowed, his gaze flicking around as well. “We kill it.”

I blinked. “Oh. Great. Yeah, let me just pull my flamethrower out of my nonexistent pocket.”

He ignored me, grabbing a large piece of driftwood and twirling it in his hands like some kind of apocalyptic samurai. Okay, cool, but not all of us had effortlessly mastered the fine art of looking cool with random sticks.

I, however, had something better: a coconut.

Did I know if this would work? Absolutely not. Was that going to stop me? Also absolutely not.

I turned to my canine sidekick, Spike, who had somehow managed to keep up with us. “Spike, if I don’t make it, tell my mother I died doing what I loved.”

He blinked at me.

“Being awesome,” I clarified.

I sprinted toward the mantis, launching the coconut like my life depended on it, fun fact, it did. It hit the thing square in its beady white eye, and to my absolute delight, it recoiled with a shriek.

“Oh my god, I just nailed a giant bug with a fruit. Somebody better be filming this.”

Silver Hair used my moment of dumb luck to lunge, bringing his makeshift staff down on one of its spiked legs. The mantis reeled back, screeching loud enough to rupture an eardrum.

I grabbed another coconut, thank you, conveniently placed beach, and went for a fastball pitch. It cracked against its other eye, making it flail wildly.

“This is officially my new favorite weapon,” I declared. Maybe I should’ve gone pro in baseball?

Silver Hair, despite looking like he probably had never willingly participated in shenanigans in his life, was keeping pace with my ridiculous plan, striking at the mantis’s legs to keep it from moving too fast. With a final coordinated effort, aka me chucking one last coconut like I was aiming for a world record, the thing let out a final, pitiful shriek and collapsed.

I stared at it, panting. “Did we just… Did we just kill a mutant praying mantis with a piece of wood and tropical produce?”

Silver Hair exhaled, shaking his head like he was reevaluating his entire existence. “We did.”

“Damn right I did, I got a master’s in bug extermination.” I dusted off my hands, grinning. “That was so metal. High five.”

I lifted my hand, fully expecting a reluctant slap of acknowledgment.

Instead, the last thing I saw was his fist flying toward my face.

And then, darkness. Again.

---------------------

Waking up with a headache was nothing new, but waking up with my arms tied behind my back? That was a fresh experience.

My eyes snapped open, and sure enough, I was slumped against a tree, my wrists bound with some kind of vine. The night had fallen, casting eerie shadows through the dense jungle canopy. A small fire flickered nearby, and sitting across from it, looking about as entertained as a brick wall, was Silver Hair.

I groaned. “Okay, first of all? Rude.”

He didn’t respond. Classic.

I wriggled my fingers, testing the restraints. “So, what’s the deal? You kidnapping me? Selling me for resources? Planning to eat me? Because I got to warn you, I doubt I'd taste good. Unless I’m supposed to be a different kind of meal.” Damn it, I really need a filter on this big mouth of mine.

He poked the fire with a stick, completely unbothered by my presence. “You’re annoying.”

“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed.”

“You could’ve died back there.”

I huffed. “Yeah, well, so could you. But look at us. Alive. Thriving. Basically the heroes of a low-budget anime.”

His gaze flicked to me, and for the first time, I noticed the sharpness in his eyes, cool, calculating, but not without a flicker of something else. Annoyance? Concern? Hell if I knew. But there was something behind that stoic face.

“I’m taking you with me,” he finally said.

I blinked. “Sorry, what now?”

“You need someone to keep you alive.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And that someone is you?”

He nodded, completely serious.

I considered my options. The guy had literally knocked me out, which put him on my personal ‘people to maybe throw into a volcano’ list. But he also just helped me fight off a giant mutant bug. And, okay, maybe I could admit, very quietly, and only in my head, that I probably wouldn’t last long alone in this apocalypse. Not without more coconuts, anyway.

“Well,” I muttered, leaning my head back against the tree, “that’s just fantastic.”

The fire crackled between us, and despite the whole being-kidnapped thing, I couldn’t help but groan. If nothing else, at least life wasn’t boring.

Then, to my surprise, he stood, his gaze scanning the jungle around us, his expression unreadable.

“Get up,” he said, pulling out a knife and cutting the vines from my wrists with swift precision.

I rubbed my wrists, feeling the slight sting from the ropes, but at least I was free. Still, I wasn’t about to follow this guy around blindly. Not without a bit of negotiation.

“Can I grab my stuff? And my dog?” I asked, standing up. My legs felt like jelly from the sprinting earlier, but I wasn’t about to let him see that.

The silver-haired man just nodded and turned his back to me, heading in the direction I had pointed. Spike had been close by, probably sniffing around, doing dog things. I was relieved to see him trotting toward us a few moments later, tail wagging, looking as if he’d been hiding under a bush.

“Good boy,” I cooed, bending down to ruffle his fur. He gave a happy yip and nudged me, looking ready to continue the adventure.

Broody was observing us from a distance. Looking at him now, I had to admit if I saw him a month ago when life was normal he probably would’ve been my hallway crush. Tall, with long messy silver hair that looked almost white in the dim firelight, he had the kind of sharp, defined features that looked like they belonged in a painting. His gray eyes were piercing, not quite cold but definitely calculating, always scanning, always ready for what came next. Even his posture was relaxed but controlled, like a coiled snake ready to snap into action at any moment. The simple, worn clothing he wore, tattered black jeans, a black shirt, gave him an odd look. He seemed like he belonged on the cover in a magazine and not in the harsh wilderness.

“Ready?” he asked, voice flat.

I shot him a look as I adjusted the strap of my makeshift weapon, a chunk of driftwood. “You’re really dragging me along, huh?”

He gave a short nod, like this was some kind of inevitable thing.

“You won’t survive alone. And I hate to see wasted resources.”

I wasn’t sure if it was because I needed help or if it was because I didn’t have many other options, but something about his words made me want to punch him.

“Fine,” I muttered, standing up. “But you can’t just keep calling me ‘annoying’ and expect me to just... follow you into the wilderness.”

He didn’t even acknowledge me, but I noticed the faintest glint of something in his eyes, like he almost wanted to smirk. Almost.

“Well, Silver Hair,” I continued, adding a dramatic flair to my words, “you’re stuck with me now. I’m sticking with you as long as you don’t try to knock me out again. Deal?”

He didn’t answer, but he did start walking, signaling for me to follow.

I did, with Spike trotting happily by my side.

Chapter Text

It’s been a few days and the jungle was thick with humidity and the distant chirping of creatures that sounded like they were plotting our demise. I kept my pace steady, but my legs felt like they were made of lead. Spike, ever the happy-go-lucky dog, trotted ahead, clearly in better shape than I was. Not that I’d admit it out loud, though.

We walked in silence, which, in a way, was a relief. The brooding guy, Silver Hair, as I’d taken to calling him, didn’t say much. Frankly, that was fine with me. I didn’t feel like talking either, but I also wasn’t about to let this whole "surviving in the wilderness" thing go without my usual commentary. It’s always the comedic relief who lives the longest.

“So, uh,” I said, breaking the silence, “how exactly do you plan to keep me alive out here? I mean, I’m sure you’ve got some kind of survival skills, right? Or is this just some... nature documentary where I’m the first to get eaten?”

He glanced over at me, his expression unreadable. His gray eyes seemed to scan me like he was deciding whether or not I was worth the effort of keeping alive. But then, with that same flat tone, he spoke.

“I’ll teach you to survive.”

“Great. So not only are we on Epstein’s Island, but you’ve taken it upon yourself to be my personal survival coach?” I raised an eyebrow. “Can you at least give me something more exciting than, ‘Just stay alive’?”

He didn’t respond, but I could tell he was confused about my Epstein remark. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me as he walked ahead. Annoying? Sure. But I wasn’t going to let it stop me.

We kept walking, the only sounds being the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional rustle from the underbrush. It was almost too quiet, like the jungle was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Then, from somewhere ahead, came a low, rumbling growl. My heart skipped a beat.

Before I could say anything, Silver Hair was already moving, his body a blur as he stepped in front of me, one hand grabbing a piece of driftwood, the other ready to draw some kind of weapon.

“Stay back,” he ordered, his voice cold and commanding.

I didn’t need to be told twice. My grip tightened on my spear, my pulse racing. Whatever was coming was bad news.

From the shadows emerged something I couldn’t quite make sense of. It had the shape of an animal, but its eyes glowed a menacing yellow, and it had the kind of claws that could rip through steel. I swallowed hard, my heart thumping in my chest.

Silver didn’t hesitate. With one swift movement, he lunged forward, his knife ramming into the creature’s side with a sickening thud. The thing hissed in pain, but it wasn’t enough to stop it. It lunged at him with a snarl.

“Shit,” I muttered, readying my spear.

But before I could move, Silver Hair was already on top of it, disarming it with an efficiency I couldn’t help but admire. He took a step back, his movements graceful and deadly, and with one final strike, the creature collapsed, twitching in its death throes.

He stood over it, breathing evenly, like he’d just taken out a squirrel, not some mutant jungle monster.

“That was...” I started, still in shock, “insane. Are you... Are you like a professional monster hunter or something?”

He didn’t respond, just wiped the blood from his weapon and turned to me, his expression still a mask of indifference.

“You’re lucky I was here,” he muttered, his tone dismissive. “If you’d tried to fight that thing, you’d be dead by now.”

My jaw tightened, irritation flaring up. “Oh, thanks for the compliment. Really makes me feel safe and appreciated.”

He didn’t even look at me, just started walking again as though nothing had happened.

“Let me know if you’re done whining,” he called over his shoulder, voice as cold as the night air.

“Whining? I’m not—" I stopped myself, grinding my teeth. This guy was unbelievable.

We kept walking, and despite everything, I found myself following him. Mostly because the alternative was dying alone in the jungle, and I wasn’t ready to make that mistake.
Eventually, the air grew heavier as night began to fall. The sounds of the jungle shifted, growing more eerie, the distant howls of creatures echoing through the trees. I wanted to ask him more, like how he was so calm in the face of certain death, or how he was so damn good at taking down creatures like that. But I didn’t.

Instead, I just followed, my mind racing with questions. I had a thousand things I wanted to say, but something told me that if I started talking too much, I’d only annoy him. Not that I was exactly shy about annoying people, but this guy seemed like the type to just... disappear if I pushed him too far.

We found a small clearing as dusk settled in. The fire we managed to start flickered weakly in the center, casting strange shadows on the surrounding trees.

Silver dropped down next to the fire and began pulling out a small kit of supplies from his bag. Meanwhile, I sat cross-legged, my mind still spinning from everything that had happened.

Spike lay next to me, his tail wagging softly.

After a long pause, Silver Hair finally spoke again, his voice flat but cutting through the silence like a knife.

“You should sleep.”

I shot him a look. “Sleep? You’re kidding, right? There’s like, a million things I need to do before I can just pass out in the jungle.”

He glanced at me, then back at the fire, his face as unreadable as ever. “You’ll make it a lot easier for something to eat you if you don’t rest.”

“Yeah, well, I’d prefer not to get eaten, so if it’s all the same to you, I’ll be awake, thank you very much.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he went about his business, clearly unbothered by my stubbornness. I stayed quiet after that, but the thought of anything creeping up on us kept me on edge.

After a while, he turned to me again, his gaze sharp.

“We should introduce ourselves,” he said, his voice still annoyingly flat.

I blinked, surprised. “Uh, yeah, probably should’ve done that earlier.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, then spoke without hesitation.

“I’m Ryou.”

“Cool, cool,” I muttered. “Mizuki Momo,” I added, rubbing the back of my neck. “Nice to meet you, I guess.”

He didn’t respond, but I noticed the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if my attempt at a joke had somehow amused him. It lasted all of half a second before he returned to his usual stoic expression, but it was enough to make me wonder if there was more to him than I thought.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Ryou said as he got to his feet to put more wood to our fire. “You have the next watch.”

I didn’t bother answering. Instead, I pulled my legs up to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and watched him. Even though he was a pain in the ass, I couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of gratitude. After all, he was the only person I’ve seen in a long time and he was going out of his way to keep me safe. And with that, I closed my eyes, my body exhausted but my mind still buzzing with a thousand unanswered questions.

\ 0.0 /

The sun was barely creeping through the dense trees when I woke up, my head still heavy with sleep. I shifted my weight, and, oh, right. I was in the jungle. Not exactly the kind of place you wake up feeling rested.

Spike was curled up at my feet, his little snoring noises the only peaceful thing in this chaotic world. I rubbed my eyes and groaned. My muscles ached from this week’s sprinting and fighting mutant bugs with coconuts along with the crazy distance we trekked, and I was still trying to process the fact that I was stuck in the apocalypse with a guy who seemed to think “being annoyed” was his entire personality.

Speaking of Ryou…

I turned my head and saw him sitting by a fire, cleaning his knife with quiet precision. His silver hair caught the early sunlight, almost glowing in the dim light of the jungle. He didn’t notice me at first, which gave me a moment to appreciate the way his sharp jawline and piercing gray eyes looked when he wasn’t being a total jerk.

Yeah, I’d admit it. He was... ridiculously good-looking.

But no time for daydreaming about the apocalypse’s hottest survivalist. I was alive, and that was all that mattered right now. So, I pushed myself to my feet, my legs unsteady as I tried to stand up too quickly. Big mistake. The ground seemed to tilt beneath me, and before I could catch myself, I was stumbling, right into Ryou.

“Whoa, hey!” I yelped, throwing my hands out in a desperate attempt to steady myself.

Unfortunately, I didn’t quite manage to stop myself in time. The next thing I knew, I was toppling straight into him, my face pressed against his chest. For a second, I forgot how to breathe. My hands went instinctively to his shirt, trying to push myself up, but it only made the situation worse, and I ended up half-lying on top of him.

“Great,” I muttered, now practically sprawled across him. “Just perfect. I’ve really gone and done it now.”

His breath hitched for a second, almost imperceptibly, but then his arms shifted slightly, as if he was deciding whether or not to throw me off. “You’re an idiot,” he said flatly, his voice laced with irritation.

“Yeah, well,” I said, trying to push myself up from the awkward position, “I guess I just couldn’t resist falling for your good looks.”

The moment the words left my mouth, I instantly regretted it. It was stupid. And cheesy. But I couldn’t help myself. Maybe it was the way he looked all broody and composed, like he was the last person on earth who could be messed with. Or maybe it was because being in an apocalypse didn’t exactly leave room for normal interactions, and my sarcastic sense of humor was the only thing that kept me from losing it.

Ryou didn’t even react at first, just staring at me with a blank expression. Then, to my surprise, I saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, the barest hint of a smile that disappeared as quickly as it came.

“You really are annoying,” he muttered, though it looked like the tips of his ears were pink.

“Yeah well, you'll learn to love it,” I shot back, finally managing to sit up and give him some space.

He didn’t argue, but I caught the way his gaze flicked to me, more thoughtful than usual, like he was trying to make sense of my weirdness. For a moment, it felt like we were standing on the edge of something, maybe an alliance, or maybe something else entirely.

Spike, apparently done with the morning drama, trotted over and gave a little woof, breaking the tension.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” I said, brushing myself off. “Breakfast is more important than my dignity. Whatever.”

Ryou stood up then, his expression still unreadable, and began packing up his things. He moved with such quiet confidence, as though the whole world could crumble around him and he wouldn’t flinch. I couldn’t help but admire the way he carried himself.

That didn't mean I would stop messing with him though, I got the feeling that he's never been flirted with before and I couldn't help myself from teasing him.

He glanced at me once more, his gray eyes sharper than before, like he sensed my plotting.

“If you’re done making a fool of yourself,” he said, his tone teasing just a little, “we should get moving.”

“After you, oh wise and rugged jungle survivor,” I quipped, standing up to follow him.

Ryou shot me a sidelong look, and for a moment, I thought he might crack a smile. He didn’t.

But there was something in the way he moved, something almost... patient. Maybe he wasn’t as annoyed with me as I thought. Maybe he was even getting used to my ridiculousness.

Or maybe, just maybe, he was starting to like having me around.

I snorted at the thought. Yeah, like that would ever happen.

“Come on, then,” he said, already walking toward the dense jungle. “We’ll head toward my base. Keep up.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” I said, adjusting my pack, “I’m really good at keeping up with hot guys.”

Ryou didn’t respond. But if the slight increase in his pace was any indication, I might have gotten him embarrassed, just a little.

Momo 2 > Ryou 0.

I grinned to myself at the mental calculation and followed him, Spike happily trotting along beside me. Whatever was ahead, it couldn’t be worse than falling flat on my face for a second time.

Chapter Text

The walk to Ryou’s so-called base felt endless. The trees seemed to grow thicker as we pressed on, the dense canopy blocking out more and more of the sky. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion that weighed on me, it was the suffocating sense that I was walking deeper into a trap. This place, this journey, it felt like a maze. I couldn’t see the end, and I had the feeling that we were going in circles.

I wasn’t exactly a fan of hiking, but this was different. The longer we walked, the less I felt like I was heading anywhere familiar. The forest felt wilder with every step. And I didn’t like that. The deeper we went, the more disconnected from anything resembling familiarity towards this island I felt.

I wasn’t going to let it show though. That wasn’t my style. So, I did what I did best. I made jokes.

“You know, for someone who kidnapped me, you’re not very talkative,” I said, stepping over a fallen log, my boots crunching against the dry leaves. “Is this the part where you confess you’ve secretly been falling for my charm the whole time?”

Ryou didn’t even look at me. His eyes stayed locked on the path ahead, his posture stiff, as usual. But I saw his jaw tighten for a brief moment, like he couldn’t quite stop it from reacting to me. “No.”

I raised an eyebrow, letting out a soft laugh. “Wow, one word. That coconut incident must’ve left you speechless, huh?” I shot him a grin, though I wasn’t really expecting a response. “Don’t worry, I get it. I’m a pretty big deal. You see a girl take down a giant praying mantis with a coconut, and suddenly, feelings just happen.”

I couldn't resist adding, "Hey, you think we could’ve eaten that mantis for protein? I mean, it’s like free gains right there. You ever thought about that, Silver? We could’ve grilled it up, tossed it in some soy sauce, it would’ve been a real high-protein snack." I raised an eyebrow, half-serious, but mostly just trying to see if I could get a reaction. "Just imagine, praying mantis stir-fry. It’ll taste like victory."

Ryou’s only answer was a sharp exhale through his nose, and for a split second, I caught the faintest roll of his eyes. It was subtle, but enough to make me think I was getting under his skin. Good. I was definitely going to have fun with this.

"Keep telling yourself that," he muttered, his voice flat but still dripping with sarcasm. Then he added, his tone unamused, "And no, we're not eating a giant bug for protein, no matter how practical you think it is."

I smirked, clearly enjoying myself. I slowed my pace, letting Spike catch up beside me. The little dog had been sticking close, always on alert, like he could sense the shift in the air even though I couldn’t put my finger on it. But at least one of us was paying attention.

As we walked further, the silence of the forest seemed to deepen. The rustling of leaves, the chirping of birds, the hum of insects, it all began to fade. The sound of life was slowly replaced by a suffocating quiet. The atmosphere shifted, growing heavier. It felt like the world was holding its breath.

Something wasn’t right. My instincts were buzzing like an alarm, and I couldn’t ignore it. I looked at Ryou, but his expression remained impassive, his gaze still locked forward. If he noticed how tense I was, he didn’t give a damn.

“Ryou,” I called out, trying to break the silence, “we’re seriously walking in circles or something? Because if this is some sick joke, I’m really not in the mood.”

There was no answer. But I caught a small shift in his posture. Just a tiny change, a fraction of a second where his shoulders tensed. He wasn’t giving me anything, but that little movement was enough to make my pulse quicken.

We kept walking. The trees began to thin out, and the ground beneath us sloped downward. The further we went, the more it hit me: this wasn’t just wilderness. Something was off. There were signs. Little things. Footprints in the dirt. A broken branch here and there. I was no expert, but it didn’t take much to realize we weren’t on some random path. This was intentional.

And then I saw it peeking through.

“Wait a second,” I muttered, squinting my eyes as we reached the edge of a clearing. My breath caught in my throat as I looked around. “You have a real base? I thought it was just going to be tent or something.”

Ryou didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The clearing before me opened up into something unexpected, something I hadn’t prepared for. At the center of it stood an enormous tree, with a sprawling treehouse nestled high in the branches, like some kind of secret fortress. Multiple platforms connected by rope bridges stretched between the trees, and the whole structure was so well-hidden that it looked like it had been created by expert architects.

I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing. This was no random hideout built by a single guy who would’ve just gotten to this island. It was crafted with care. And, somehow, it was concealed so well that it could’ve been there for years without anyone noticing. The wooden walls of the treehouse blended seamlessly with the surrounding foliage, almost like it had grown out of the tree itself.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath.

Ryou didn’t answer. He simply stepped forward, crossing onto a rope bridge that stretched across a wide gap, connecting the central treehouse to another platform. I watched him, my eyes narrowing. The bridge swayed slightly in the wind, and it looked impossibly rickety. My stomach churned.

“Ryou,” I said, my voice now edged with disbelief, “are you seriously making me cross that?”

Still no answer. Ryou didn’t even look back as he made his way across the bridge like it was nothing. I shot a look at the rope bridge again. It looked far too unstable for comfort, and I could already feel the familiar sense of dread creeping up on me.

I sighed. “Well, guess I don’t have much of a choice anyways,” I muttered the words under my breath and stepped onto the bridge after him, my heart hammering in my chest. I gripped the ropes tightly, one step at a time, trying not to look down at the dizzying drop below. Spike was close behind me, though he didn’t seem much more confident than I did. His little body seemed to vibrate with tension as we crossed.

The wind picked up, making the bridge sway even more. The ropes creaked under the pressure. Every step felt like it might be my last, but somehow, I kept going. Spike trotted behind me, his little whines only making my nerves spike further. But I focused on getting across. One step at a time.

When we finally reached the other side, I let out a long breath, relief flooding through me. But it didn’t last. The unease, the feeling of being watched, well it only just grew stronger as we moved closer to the treehouse.

Ryou continued without a word, heading toward the ladder that would take us up to the entrance. He climbed it with ease, like he had done it a thousand times. But I lingered, my gaze darting around. The stillness of the air, the oppressive silence, it was like someone was watching us from every corner.

I followed him, my hands gripping the wooden rungs of the ladder as I climbed, every step making my skin crawl. When I reached the top and stepped inside the treehouse, the full scope of it hit me. The space was bigger than I had imagined, rooms tucked into various parts of the tree, connected by narrow walkways and rope bridges. It looked like a small village up there, hidden in the canopy, away from the eyes of the world below.

But as impressive as it was, my skin crawled. There was an eerie feeling to it, like I wasn’t alone. Spike was still close, but he wasn’t moving around freely. He stayed near me, his ears flattened as if he too sensed something off.

And then I saw them.

Figures, silent and still, emerged from the shadows between the trees. I could barely make out all of their faces, but their eyes, they were watching us, all six of them, as if they had been waiting for us. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

I looked at Ryou, but he didn’t seem fazed. His posture was stiffer than usual, his shoulders rigid, his eyes hard. He was still calm, but something in the air had changed. The atmosphere was charged now.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked, my voice wavering despite my best efforts to sound confident.

The figures continued to move closer, and I realized just how trapped we were. The feeling of being surrounded was suffocating.

Ryou glanced at me, and for the first time, I saw something in his eyes. Not indifference, not quite. A flicker of something darker, something unreadable, flashed before he turned away.

I swallowed hard. This wasn’t just some hideout.

This was a trap.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, that primal instinct to flee or fight. But I stayed still, my hand instinctively wrapping around the hilt of the dagger hidden in my belt. Just in case.

I was about to crack some joke to relieve my tension, something about walking into a weird cult or a bad horror movie, but before I could, a sharp voice sliced through the air, demanding attention.

“What the hell is this?”

I froze.

A tall, muscular young man stepped into the clearing, moving with a quiet intensity that made it impossible to ignore him. His sharp, dark eyes locked onto me, cold and calculating, his expression unreadable but brimming with quiet hostility. His short shitty dyed black and white hair was slightly tousled, strands falling over his forehead, but there was nothing soft about his features, his face was all hard angles, his jaw tense, his brows slightly furrowed as if he was always on the verge of glaring.

He wore a loose, long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the fabric worn but sturdy, paired with cargo pants that had seen their fair share of use. There was something unnervingly rigid about the way he stood, as if every muscle in his body was primed for action, his presence filling the space with a pressure that made my skin crawl.

The weight of his presence was suffocating, like he had already decided I wasn’t worth his time.

He didn’t even spare Ryou a glance, just stepped forward, his gaze sharpening as he assessed me. His face twisted in annoyance as his lips curled into a sneer.

“What’s this?” he demanded, his voice dripping with disbelief as he turned to Ryou. “Did you pick her up?”

Ryou barely glanced over, like he couldn’t care less. “I picked her up on the way, Ango” he said flatly.

I couldn't help but stiffen at his words. Picked me up? What the hell did that mean?

The man’s gaze flicked to me again, his eyes narrowing, sizing me up like a piece of worthless junk. “For what? She looks like dead weight.”

I crossed my arms, subtly checking for the weapon I put in my sports bra, my stomach twisting, but I forced out a dry laugh. “Great first impression, man. You treat all your guests like this, or am I just special?”

The man didn’t even dignify me with a response. “We don’t need more baggage slowing us down,” he muttered, his tone venomous. His voice turned cold, challenging as he looked at Ryou. “You didn’t tell her, did you? This isn’t a place for weaklings.”

My temper flared. Weaklings? That hit a nerve. I opened my mouth to retort, but nothing came out. I was already feeling the shift in the air, the kind of shift that happens when something is about to get real ugly.

I turned to Ryou, searching his face for any sign of reassurance. He didn’t even meet my eyes at first. Then, when he finally did, his gaze was distant. Cold. Detached. And it stung more than I wanted to admit.

“She can work,” he said bluntly, like it was a simple statement of fact.

Work? I felt my chest tighten, confusion flooding in. “Work? Work where? What the hell is going on and who are you people?” I asked, not even sure what he meant by that. What kind of work was I supposed to do here? What the fuck did I just get myself into?

The man, Ango, I figured from Ryou, didn’t answer me right away. Instead, he just looked at me with this kind of disgust in his eyes. “You didn’t tell her anything, did you?” His voice was mocking now, like he was enjoying watching me flounder. “You really didn’t know, did you?”

I swallowed, my throat dry, feeling a sinking dread start to take root in my stomach. “Know what?” I asked, but the answer was already kind of hanging in the air, and I was too scared to hear it.

Ango stepped closer, his eyes narrowing, his voice lowering to a cruel, almost gleeful tone. “You didn’t know? Didn’t know that the world ended? That the people you loved, the family you thought you could always rely on, are gone?” His words slithered into my mind like poison. “You thought this was some kind of vacation spot, didn’t you?”

The words didn’t fully sink in at first. Maybe because some part of me had already known deep down but refused to accept it. Maybe because hearing it said so plainly, so mockingly, made it feel less real, like some twisted joke.

But Ango wasn’t joking.

“There was an asteroid,” he continued, his voice sharp, each syllable cutting like a blade. “That’s what did it. Hit the planet, sent the whole world into chaos. Tsunamis, earthquakes, firestorms. Everything you ever knew, wiped out in days. Your cities, your people, your future. Gone.”

I felt something cold coil around my stomach.

“You really didn’t know?” He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. All this time, you thought what? That you were going home?”

Home.

The word sent a sharp pain through my chest. My house, my school and teammates, the streets I used to walk every day, the people I used to see. All of it, reduced to nothing but dust and memories. My mother’s voice, my sisters’ laughter. Gone. The very air I used to breathe, the sky I used to look up at. Changed forever.

I had lost everything.

And somehow, the world kept turning without it.

I felt my breath catch in my throat. The world spun as the words hit me harder than I could prepare for. Gone. No. No, this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. My family, my friends, everything I knew, they were gone?

Ango’s smile twisted wider, like a predator savoring its kill. “Yeah, that’s right. It’s all gone. Everything. And now you’re here, in a world you don’t even recognize. Surrounded by people who’ve been raised to survive while you’ve been living in the lap of luxury.” His eyes gleamed with something ugly, something too satisfied. “You’re a freeloader living off the luck of being chosen for this project.”

I couldn’t breathe. My mind raced, trying to process what he was saying, but it didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Nothing made sense.

I looked at Ryou, my heart pounding in my chest. He had to tell me this was some kind of sick joke. He had to. But his face… it was empty. Unreadable. He was looking past me, like I wasn’t even there.

“Ryou,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “You knew. You knew, and you didn’t tell me?”

His gaze flicked to me for a fraction of a second. His fists clenched. For a split second, I thought I saw something in his eyes, something like regret. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. Like my world crashing down didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.

The words cut through me. I felt like the air was knocked out of my lungs, my heart sinking into my stomach. I wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t supposed to be my life. But it was. And I had no choice but to accept it.

Ango let out a low, mocking chuckle, watching me fall apart under the weight of the truth. “Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath, like I was some kind of disappointment. “Ryou, do you expect us to live with a clueless, privileged civilian?”

The words felt like a slap, and I wanted to scream, to lash out at him, to tell him he was wrong, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even find the strength to yell at him. Because deep down, I knew he was right. I didn’t belong here. I didn’t understand this world. I didn’t understand any of it.

I turned away, my knees buckling beneath me as I sank to the ground, chest tight with the pressure of everything I’d just learned. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. All I could do was curl in on myself, the weight of the world pressing down until I could hardly breathe.

And as I sat there, trembling, falling apart, Ryou and Ango just stood there. Silent. Indifferent. Watching me fall.

I felt the weight of everything crash down on me like a ton of bricks. My family. My friends. My life. Gone. Just like that. As if it had never existed.

Spike nudged at my side, whining softly, but it barely registered. Nothing felt real anymore. The world felt distant, like I was watching it all happen from the outside.

“Get up,” Ango’s voice broke through my haze, sharp and commanding. He didn’t care. He didn’t give a damn about what I was feeling. He was just another voice in the storm.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t move. Everything I’d known, everything I’d taken for granted, was gone. The life I had, the people I loved, they didn’t exist anymore. It was all ripped away, like it never even mattered. And I had no idea how to fix it, how to process any of it.

I felt myself crumbling, but I couldn’t let him see. I couldn’t let any of them see how broken I felt. I wasn’t supposed to be weak. I couldn’t afford to be weak.
Ango’s footsteps echoed in my ears as he turned back to Ryou, speaking like I wasn’t even there. “She won’t last a week.”

Ryou didn’t respond, didn’t even spare me a glance. But then again, that wasn’t anything new. He’d never really cared about me. Not in the way I’d hoped when I first met him, at least.

I tried to focus on the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, the faint scent of earth and pine hanging in the air. But even that didn’t help. It only reminded me of how alone I was. Alone with my family dead and where I didn’t belong.

I forced myself to my feet, the world spinning around me as I made my way toward the treehouse ladder that was supposed to be my refuge. I climbed down the ladder, every step feeling like a weight I wasn’t sure I could carry. As I reached the body, I was met with the sight of the open space in the village. I glanced around, noticing how everything felt so cold, so disconnected. There was no warmth here, no decorations, no truly community items.

They had brought me to a small kind of wooden shed that had locks on the outside. Ryou stood by the door, his back to me, not even acknowledging me. Ango was the only one who bothered to pretend I was here. He leaned against the building, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing as he watched me.

“Get in,” he ordered, his words like a whip against my skin.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Part of me wanted to scream, to fight back, but I didn’t. I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. I walked past him, heading to the far corner of the room where a small cot was set up. I didn’t care if it was the only place to sleep. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Spike jumped up next to me, curling into a ball on the cot. He was the only thing here that still felt real. The only comfort I had left. I felt a knot tighten in my chest as I leaned into him, but even that wasn’t enough to calm the storm inside me.

I stared at the floor, not looking at Ango or Ryou or anyone else. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be part of this world they’d thrust me into. But I didn’t have a choice, did I? No one cared about what I wanted.

I tried to shut everything out. The voices. The judgments. The cold indifference of the people around me. But it was impossible. The weight of everything still clung to me, suffocating, until I couldn’t breathe without feeling like I was drowning.

Ango’s voice broke through the silence again, his words cutting through the air like a blade. I couldn’t even understand what he was saying.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sound of his voice. Trying to block out the reality of what had happened. But it wouldn’t go away. It never would. My family was gone. My world was gone. And I had to keep moving forward, even if it meant living in this twisted nightmare where I didn’t belong.

I hugged my knees to my chest, the feeling of isolation wrapping around me like a thick, suffocating blanket. I wasn’t the same person I used to be. I couldn’t be. Everything I had known was gone. And now, I was just trying to survive in a world that had already left me behind.

I could feel Ango’s eyes on me, like he was waiting for me to break, to show that I couldn’t handle it. He was right. I was broken.

Chapter Text

I wake up to pain. Every muscle in my body screams in protest as I shift, the ache in my limbs settling in like an old enemy. The cot beneath me is hard and cold, nothing like the warm bed I once took for granted. Except that bed doesn’t exist anymore. Nothing does.

I swallow against the lump in my throat, eyes stinging as I try to push myself upright. Spike’s curled at my feet, his presence the only comfort I have left. He whines softly, nudging my hand, but even his warm, familiar weight can’t pull me from the hollow emptiness inside.

Last week, I thought I was adapting and keeping up, if only through sheer stubbornness and sarcasm. Now? Now I don’t even want to know if I wanted to continue if there was no hope for the future.

A rough boot nudges my side, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to jolt me out of my spiral. "Up."

I blink blearily, vision adjusting to the silhouette looming over me. It’s him, the one who looked at me with disgust that night last week. The one who told me, in no uncertain terms, that my world was gone. Ango.

He doesn’t look any friendlier this morning.

"You think you get to sleep in?" he sneers. "Get moving."

I open my mouth to snap back, but the words catch in my throat. What’s the point? I can’t argue my way out of this. I have no leverage, no way out, and no fight left in me. Instead, I force myself to my feet, every motion slow and mechanical.

A few others are moving around the camp, setting up for the day. Some are sharpening weapons, another is tending to makeshift gardens. I don’t care. It all blurs together into a dull haze of motion that I can barely process.

Another sharp nudge at my back. "You’re on water duty. Get moving."

Water duty turns out to be hauling heavy buckets up a steep hill to refill the camp’s supply. Over. And over. And over.

My arms burn. My legs shake. Sweat drips down my back. I don’t know how many trips I’ve made before I lose count, before my mind stops registering anything beyond the crushing weight in my freshly calloused hands.

Day after day, the tasks change, but the suffering doesn’t.

I dig trenches for waste disposal. I carry firewood until my shoulders feel like they’re being ripped apart. I’m sent into the jungle to gather unknown plants, barely given a knife to defend myself against whatever creatures lurk in the shadows. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been scratched, bitten, or stung. No one cares. If I die, I die.

During the evening, as the sun bleeds orange across the sky, Ango shoved a bundle of plants at me.

"Eat this," he instructs.

I look down at the unfamiliar leaves, my brows furrowing slightly. "What?"

"We’re testing them."

I hesitate. "Testing them for what?"

He smirked. "To see if they’re poisonous."

My stomach twists, but I take the leaves anyway. Does it even matter? If they’re deadly, at least it’ll be quick. I shove them in my mouth, chewing dully.

Bitter. Sharp. My tongue tingles slightly, but nothing happens. Not yet, at least.

"Guess you live another day," he mutters, barely sparing me another glance before moving on.

I don’t react. What’s there to react to? If this is my life now, what difference does it make?

The days blur together. Another week passes, maybe more. I barely notice when I collapse that night, body trembling from exhaustion.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear voices.

"She’s slowing down already."

"She’ll break soon."

Ryou’s voice, calm as ever. "Let’s see how long she lasts."

I shut my eyes. I’m not sure I care.

I don’t even know what day it is anymore. I’m not sure it matters. The labor never stops. The pain never fades. And the world I once knew is still gone.

My body moves on autopilot now. My hands are raw from hauling wood, my knees bruised from scraping against the jungle floor. I don’t speak unless spoken to. I don’t argue. I don’t flinch when Ango shoves me into the dirt or sneers in my face. It’s easier this way.

I realized after a few days that they weren’t just working me to the bone. They were testing me. Watching, waiting for me to break. To scream. To lash out. To beg. But I don’t. Because what’s the point? It’s not like anyone cares.

"Mizuki."

I almost don’t react at first, until I hear that voice.

Ryou.

He’s standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, his silver hair catching the dim firelight. His face is unreadable, but his eyes flick over me, assessing, calculating. He’s looking at me the same way he did when we first met, like I’m just another resource to be measured.

I press my lips together, biting back everything I want to say.

"You look like hell," he finally says.

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Gee, thanks. That’s exactly what every girl wants to hear.”

Ryou tilts his head slightly, like he’s actually considering my response. “You’re still talking. That’s something.” I huff, shifting my weight. “Yeah? Maybe I just haven’t figured out how to shut up yet.”

His gaze lingers on me, and for a second, I hate that I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Back when we were running for our lives, there were moments where I swore he was almost... human.

Almost kind. But here? With his team? He’s hardened. Reverted. And I hate that I notice. Then I hear a new voice cut through the air. Sharp. Cold.

“Stop wasting time.” I don’t have to turn to know who it is. Ango. His disdain for me was instant. Sneering. Unrelenting. It’s in every glance he throws my way, every word he spits.
The moment I arrived over a week ago, he made it clear that I was nothing more than a burden. He’s called me ‘privileged,’ a ‘civilian.’ Like I’m something lesser. Something useless. Like I haven’t fought for my life just like the rest of them.

Ango walks up beside Ryou, arms crossed, his gaze burning into me. “If she has the energy to talk back, she has the energy to work harder.” Ryou doesn’t argue. Of course, he doesn’t. My fingers curl into fists, but my expression remains blank.

“Understood,” I mutter, stepping past them. I don’t see Ryou’s expression as I walk away. I don’t care to.

The next morning, they sent me out to gather plants again. Alone. They don’t even bother to give me a knife this time.

The jungle is thick, humid, pressing in from all sides. Every rustle makes my instincts flare, but I don’t slow down. I don’t hesitate. If something decides to eat me, so be it.
But nothing does. Instead, I find myself stopping in front of a patch of blue flowers. My stomach twists. I know these. Not by name, not by any scientific term—just by memory. I’ve seen them before. Back home. In the tea garden. Back when I still had one.

I crouch down, staring at them, my vision blurring. Mom loved these. She loved the tea they made. I suck in a breath, but it catches in my throat. The weight of reality slams into me, pressing down with all the force of an ocean tide. My mother. My six sisters. My home. My life. My future.

Gone.

My body trembles, but no tears come. I’ve cried enough. There’s nothing left. The jungle hums around me, alive but distant, as if it knows this moment isn’t for it. I don’t know how long I kneel there, fingers brushing the petals, grasping at something already lost.

My voice is barely a whisper.

“…You’d hate it here, Mom.”

The words disappear into the silence. No response. No warmth. No comforting hand on my shoulder, no laughter in the distance.

These flowers will be my memorial. No headstone, no grave, just this small, fragile patch of blue in an endless sea of green. My hands shake as I touch them, the soft petals ghosting against my fingertips, like holding onto a memory that’s slipping away too fast.

I don’t know how to move forward. I don’t know how to be without them.

The jungle holds its breath. The world pauses, just for me, just for this. The sob rises in my chest, but it never makes it out. The grief is too heavy. Too much. I have no more tears left to give.

And yet… when I finally stand, something inside me shifts.

I’m not the same person who walked into this jungle. My heart feels heavier, cracked in ways too deep to heal, but I stand. These flowers, this fleeting patch of blue, are all I have left of them. I can’t bury them. I can’t say goodbye the way I want to.

But I can remember.

The wind stirs the trees above me, a quiet whisper. My thoughts drift back to that garden, to my mother’s voice, my sisters’ laughter. They’re gone. But maybe… just maybe…
“I’ll remember you,” I murmur.

The words feel too small, too fragile. But somehow, I believe them.

A strange calm settles over me. Not peace. Not healing. It’s something else, something quieter, more stubborn. A rebellion against the silence that threatens to swallow me whole.
My fingers linger on the petals one last time, my voice cracking, raw and honest.

“You’re still here, with me.”

And for a fleeting moment, I let myself believe it.

Then, I turn and walk back to camp.

Tonight, I think I’ll have a cup of tea.

Chapter Text

The fire flickers low, casting long shadows over the camp. The sound of something cooking wafts through the air, but it’s all background noise to the ache in my bones. The weight of exhaustion presses down on me, but I’m here. I made it back.

Still, no one acknowledges my return. Koruri and Ayu murmur to each other, not sparing a glance. Gengorou sharpens a knife slowly, his eyes flicking over me once before resuming his task. Ban and Nijiko are tucked away, sorting through their things, too deep in their work to care about my presence. It's fine. I don't need them to.

I slide down to the ground where I left my things, Spike lifting his head and immediately nudging into my side. His warmth is the only thing that’s constant. His loyalty is the only thing I can trust. He’s my anchor, and so I let myself lean into him for a moment before pulling out the bundle of plants I scavenged.

The mix of them is a mess, some familiar, some strange. I can’t help but notice how my hands move mechanically, almost too sure of themselves, reaching for what I need, and identifying what’s useful. What’s edible? Even when I don’t remember gathering certain items, I know what to look for. I know their shape, their texture, their smell. I know what’s safe, and that makes me feel… in control, if only for a moment.

Then my eyes land on the blue petals, nestled carefully at the bottom of the bundle like a secret.  I stare at them, weighing the oddity of the moment, the way they stand out among the leaves and berries. Their vibrant blue is almost too perfect, too pristine, like a memory pulled out of time.

The feeling hits me hard, like a wave crashing over my chest. It’s not just nostalgia. It’s something deeper, more personal. These petals feel like a bridge to my past, a past that was merely a couple of weeks ago. And yet, they’re here, in my hands, in this moment when everything feels uncertain.

I swallow hard, the weight of the flowers heavier than I expected. My fingers brush over the petals, and I can almost hear my mother’s voice, see her hands tending to the garden in the soft light of morning. The memory is painful, too painful, so I shake it off. I focus on the petals instead, trying to push the emotions aside, trying not to let the past drag me down.

Before I can think too much about it, a shadow falls over me. 

I don’t have to look up to know who it is. The tension in the air, and the heavy silence, Ango carries both like a second skin. I can literally feel his evil aura before I hear him. It’s suffocating, like the jungle’s humidity that never quite lets go. Like he never quite lets go.

“You were gone longer than you should’ve been,” he says, his voice flat, like he’s delivering a report instead of speaking to a human being.

I don’t react right away. There’s nothing to say. Nothing that would change anything. I feel the pressure building as his eyes bore into me, trying to read me, trying to force an answer from me. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

I hold his gaze, unwavering. I can almost see the way his mind ticks behind those eyes, his thoughts calculating, anticipating my every move. But he won’t find weakness in me, not here, not now.

He expects me to crack, to give in to the pressure. But I won’t. Not this time. My mind sharpens, focusing on his posture, the slight tension in his shoulders, and the way his jaw tightens just a little more with every passing second. He’s waiting for me to respond, but I stay quiet. I don’t owe him an explanation or an apology.

His lips curl into something far colder than a smile, and I feel a flicker of irritation rise within me. 

“You’d better not be getting weak on us.”

Weak. The word digs deep. Too deep.

I swallow the rush of bitterness that threatens to rise. Weak, like the touch of the flowers. Weak, like my past, my family. It’s too much, too personal. But I keep it together. I hold my ground, keeping my expression steady.

I clench my jaw, swallowing the wave of bitterness that rises up inside me. That sharp, clawing feeling that lingers just below the surface, threatening to spill out if I’m not careful.

I hold onto it. Let it settle deep, like the ache in my limbs. It keeps me from saying something stupid. Keeps me from breaking.

Ango exhales sharply, like I’ve wasted enough of his time, and his eyes narrow. “Get some rest,” he says, already turning away. “Tomorrow, you’re on hunting detail.”

My stomach twists at the thought of it. Hunting detail. Of course. I’ve been nothing but a tool for their use, another body to do their bidding.

I don’t react. I can’t. What’s the point? I don’t need to show him anything. I don’t need to show any of them anything.

I don’t look back as he walks away, striding back toward the others, slipping seamlessly into conversation with Ryou. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it doesn’t matter. I already know what they think of me. I know how they see me, how they all see me now. I’m just an expendable piece of equipment to them. 

I stare down at my hands, at the cuts and scrapes and fresh callouses that mar the skin. I wonder how much longer I can keep doing this. How much longer can I pretend I’m not breaking inside? I wonder if they know if they see the cracks forming beneath my skin.

But I can’t afford to care about that. Not here. Not now.

I glance at Spike, his warm body curled up against me. His beautiful eyes glowed from the campfire next to us. I can’t believe I was considering eating him before. I scratch behind his ears absently, feeling the roughness of his fur beneath my fingers. 

I started to prepare some water and set the pot over the fire, watching as the flames flickered beneath it. The water inside trembled as it began to heat, and I took a deep breath, centering myself. Back home, I had seen tea ceremonies, graceful, deliberate movements, a kind of quiet reverence in the process. Grandmother even had me practice them when I was younger but  I wasn’t sure I could replicate that with just a wooden cup and the battered pot, but I could try.

I reached for the blue petals I had gathered earlier, inspecting them one last time. No bugs, no dirt, nothing that seemed dangerous. The color was deep, almost iridescent in the moonlight filtering through the trees. Carefully, I rubbed one between my fingers, breathing in the faint scent. It was floral, but not overpowering. That was a good sign.

Once the water was just below boiling, I gently dropped the petals in, watching as they floated, then slowly sank. The liquid swirled as the color began to seep from the petals, turning the water a delicate blue. I wrapped my hands around my wooden cup, feeling its rough texture, grounding myself in the moment. In a real tea ceremony, every movement had meaning, every action was intentional. So I tried to move with purpose, steadying my breath as I scooped some of the now-cooled tea into my cup.

Slowly, I brought  it to my lips, and I took a slow sip.

It has no honey or sugar, unfortunately. The delicate fragrance rises as I tilt the cup to my lips, but it tastes like nothing. The tea is flat, lifeless. It won’t taste the same. It won’t taste like home. 

Unfortunately, even a moment of peace is too much to ask for, as I hear another person approaching.

Gengoro’s voice breaks the stillness. “You should make a carrier for him,” he says, stepping closer. His eyes briefly flick to Spike, then meet mine.

I glance up at him, surprised by the suggestion. “A carrier?” I repeat, my voice flat, still processing what he’s saying.

He nods slowly. “You’ve got to keep him close. You’re his best bet for survival, and the terrain's rough. It’ll be easier if you don’t have to leave him behind or carry him in your arms every time you need to move fast.”

I look down at Spike, who’s curled up tight, oblivious to the conversation. His fur is rough and dirty from our travels, but I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. Gengoro’s right. 

“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” I mutter, though I’m not entirely sure where I’d even begin to make something like that.

The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable. Gengoro doesn’t move right away, his gaze lingering on me for a moment. Like he’s trying to figure out what to say next. I decided to try to fill the silence with something to ease the tension.

“Would you care for some tea?” I ask, holding my cup out to him. It’s an attempt to break the quiet, but I can’t help the slight hesitation in my voice.

Gengoro looks at the cup, then back at me, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nods, accepting it. He takes a slow sip, his face giving away nothing, but I notice the slight pause as the taste hits him.

“It’s not much,” I add, almost apologetically, “but I don’t have any sweetener for it.”

Gengoro looks at the tea, his gaze undecipherable for a brief moment. “It’s fine,” he replies quietly, his voice still calm. 

I watch him for a moment, the way his serene demeanor holds steady, before glancing down at Spike again. Maybe I should let Gengoro pet him? He seems like an animal person. 

The moment stretches, and I realize that Gengoro isn’t leaving yet, his presence steady beside me. He doesn’t seem eager to break away, as if lingering just a little longer to observe, to understand. The silence doesn’t feel uncomfortable now, it’s almost peaceful. 

“I’ll think about that carrier, though,” I say, breaking the stillness once more. “For Spike.”

“Good,” Gengoro responds, his voice calm and steady, but there’s something almost approving in his gaze. “It’ll make things easier in the long run.” He takes another sip of the tea, his posture relaxed, as if the moment has shifted into something more familiar.

We sit there for a while, not speaking much more, but the weight of his words lingers in the air.

Eventually, Gengoro finishes his tea, my cup empty in his hands. He sets it down with a soft clink, looking up at me with the same unreadable expression he always wears.

After a moment, he stands. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says simply, his gaze flicking briefly back to Spike. Without waiting for a response, he turns and walks off. 

I rinse out my cup with what little water I can spare, before refilling it with what’s left in the pot.  The taste of the tea still wasn’t like Mom used to make, not even close, but it was a little better acter that small act of kindness that Gengoro did for me. 

Who would’ve thought that a simple conversation would be so nice? 

Spike shifts beside me, letting out a tired sigh that only an unemployed dog could make. I reach down and scratch behind his ear, my fingers moving without thought. He’s exhausted, same as me. Maybe worse because of his age. His body is stiff, and the muscles under his fur tense from the long days of travel, and the harsh conditions. I feel a pang of guilt that I can’t do more for him, but it’s all I can offer right now: a few minutes of comfort in the midst of everything else.

I should sleep. My body screams for it, my limbs aching, my eyelids heavy. But my mind? It’s a different story. It won’t quiet down. The second I close my eyes, I know what I’ll see, Ango’s sneer, the weight of buckets digging into my hands, the jungle swallowing everything I’ve ever known. I can already feel the heat of the moment pressing in on me. The suffocating air. The knowledge that I’m not welcome here. Not really.

But, there’s also a whisper in the back of my mind that’s eating at my thoughts. What if? What if it’s possible to win these guys over?

The thought gnaws at me, persistent. As much as I tell myself I shouldn’t care, shouldn’t waste energy on this, I can’t shake it. I know how I feel about Ango, how I feel about Ryou. But Gengoro? The rest of the group?

So I move. I push myself to my feet, despite every bone in my body begging for rest. I walk, careful not to make a sound, not wanting to disturb the camp. Each step is measured, slow. I don’t have a clear destination in mind, just a need to keep moving, to outrun the pressure in my chest, the thoughts that don’t stop spinning.

Quietly, carefully, I slip past the low-burning fires, past the buildings of their small village. Some of them are still awake, tending to weapons or keeping watch. I don’t let my gaze linger on them. I don’t want them to see me, and I don’t want to see them. 

At the edge of the camp, I stop, pressing a hand against the rough bark of a tree. The jungle looms beyond, thick and dark, its shadows creeping along the ground, shifting like they’re alive. I take a slow breath, trying to steady my thoughts.

In. Out.

I should be afraid. I should care about the things lurking in the trees, the things that could tear me apart in a second. But I don’t. Not anymore. I’ve stopped fearing the jungle, stopped fearing the unknown. The worst thing I’ve seen so far isn’t some overgrown bug. It’s the people I’m surrounded by. The way they look at me. The way they don’t look at me.

A rustling sound. Too controlled to be an animal.

I tense, every muscle going rigid as my instincts kick in. My eyes scan the darkness. There’s a moment of stillness, then the figure steps into view.

“You’re up late.”

I don’t jump. I don’t whip around. I already know who it is. The weight of his presence, the way he moves through the space, the sound of his boots pressing softly into the ground, all of it tells me exactly who’s there.

Ryou.

He steps into the pale moonlight, his silver hair shimmering against the dark backdrop of the jungle. His expression is unreadable, as always, but there’s something about the way he looks at me that makes my stomach tighten. He’s observing, calculating. It’s like he’s trying to piece together some puzzle that he hasn’t quite figured out yet. And I’m the puzzle.

I should ignore him. Walk away. Say nothing. I’m already exhausted, I’ve used up all my social battery from earlier today and now I’m just running on fumes. I’ve already learned how to shut everyone out, and how to keep my walls high. But instead, I find myself speaking.

“Could say the same about you,” I reply, my voice flat, but the words feel lighter than I mean them to.

He tilts his head slightly, an almost imperceptible movement, like he’s trying to understand something. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Something like that.” I shrug, leaning back against the tree, the bark digging into my skin. It’s uncomfortable, but I don’t mind. The discomfort grounds me in a way that the rest of the world doesn’t.

The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. He doesn’t press for an answer, and doesn’t try to pry. And I don’t offer him one. We’re both here, existing in this strange new world. 

Finally, Ryou exhales through his nose, the sound low and barely audible. “You shouldn’t wander off.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “And yet, here you are.”

His lips don’t quirk into a smile, but I swear I see something flicker in his eyes. Something fleeting, like he’s amused or maybe even a little impressed. But it’s gone before I can fully register it.

His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer, and it feels like he’s weighing me, the way a predator watches its prey, but there’s no malice in it. It’s just… calculation. Always calculating. Always searching for something.

I know I should hate him. He’s the reason I’m here. He’s the one who found me, dragged me back, let Ango have his fun with me. He’s done nothing to help me. Nothing to make me feel like I’m more than just another piece of their broken little game.

He’s not the one pushing me into the dirt. He’s not the one sneering at me, waiting for me to break. He doesn’t add to the weight pressing down on me. He just watches, waits, and for some reason, that unsettles me and makes my skin crawl more than anything else. 

“I’m not stupid,” I say after a moment, crossing my arms, trying to make myself seem smaller. Less… vulnerable. “I know what happens if I step too far into that jungle.”

I glance toward the dense trees, the darkness stretching endlessly beyond. It’s calling to me, pulling me in, offering escape in a way this camp never can. But I know better. I’ve seen what happens to people who venture too far.

“That’s why I haven’t left yet.”

Ryou stops mid-step, barely noticeable, but I catch it. There’s a brief flicker of something in his expression, something I can’t quite place, before he resumes his slow approach, his boots crunching softly underfoot.

I turn my gaze back to him, tilting my head slightly, watching him more closely. “What, you think I’m just sticking around because I love getting hit and testing what’s poison or not?” My voice is light, but there’s an edge beneath it. An anger that I can’t quite shake. I’m not here because I want to be. “I know what’s out there. I know what happens if I leave.”

For the first time, Ryou’s expression doesn’t remain as impassive as usual. I swear I see something flicker in his eyes, maybe understanding.Maybe guilt. Maybe amusement. But I can’t be sure. It’s there, gone in the blink of an eye.

Smart girl.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but I hear it, the quiet praise that lingers in the air between us. And I hate it. I hate that something in me finds that faint recognition so… soothing. I don’t need his approval. I don’t need anyone’s.

I barely notice Ryou leaving me in the silence and dark. 

I push off the tree, my fingers lingering on the rough bark for a moment longer than necessary. The jungle still calls to me, its dark, restless whispers filling my ears. If I had a real chance, would I actually run?

…Probably.

But not yet. Not while there’s something still holding me here. Something that refuses to let me slip into the darkness, even if it’s just for a moment.

I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on me. My muscles ache, my hands are raw, and my head still swims from exhaustion, but for the first time in days, I don’t feel like I’m sinking. I feel… steady. Grounded.

Tomorrow, Ango will try to break me. He’ll push, prod, and wait for me to crack. He’ll be lurking, looking for any sign of weakness, anything to insult me over. The others? They’ll sit back, quiet, letting him have his way while I’m left to deal with him alone.

But here’s the thing, they don’t know me. They think this is some game, that they can push me to my limits, but what they don’t realize is that I’m the goddamn wildcard. They don’t get that this whole setup was built for someone like me. Someone who’s only ever pushed past their limits.

I’m not just going to survive tomorrow, I’m going to show them what real strength looks like. They want a show? Fine. I’ll give them one.

I’m starting my day with something way more intensive than my usual workout. I’m going to crush it. I’ll make it look like a warm-up. Hell, I’ll probably be laughing by the end. Watch me. I’ll show them how weak I am. Ango can kiss my beautifully sculpted ass.

And the rest of them? They’ll be sitting there, wondering when I turned into a freak of nature.

I’ll walk around that camp tomorrow with my head held high. Not because I’m hoping they’ll notice, but because I’m damn sure I’ll be the only one they can’t look away from. They’ll be watching me like I’m some kind of monster, and you know what? I’ll be fine with it.

They think they’ve got me figured out? They have no clue what I’m capable of.

Tomorrow, I'll show them.

Chapter Text

I drop into a deep squat, arms stretched out in front of me, steady as steel. The jungle heat clings to my skin, thick and suffocating, but I don’t waver. I refuse to. My thighs burn, my muscles are screaming, and I continue to hold the position longer than any sane person would.

Ango and the others are watching from the sidelines, pretending not to. I can feel their eyes on me, waiting for me to falter. Too bad for them, I don’t break. I perform.

With a sharp inhale, I explode upward, twisting mid-air into a full-body rotation before landing in another squat. The impact sends a shock up my legs, but I absorb it, smooth, controlled. Then I push off again. Jump. Land. Jump. Land. I keep going.

Burpees. Broad jumps that land hard. Then I drop to my elbows for a plank, holding until my core trembles.

No one speaks, but I can feel them watching.

Jump squats turn into sprints. Sprints become bear crawls. Bear crawls become a rapid-fire series of one-legged hops that should have my calves screaming, but I don’t let it show. Sweat is already dripping down my spine, and soaks into my shirt, but I barely notice. I only feel the beautiful and addicting high of pushing past my limits.

I drop down, kick my legs back, and spring into a push-up even clap behind my back, drop, push, clap in front. Drop, push, clap behind, again. The rhythm is clean and controlled, and I push until my arms tremble but don’t fail. Then I shift. I lift one hand, shifting all my weight onto a single arm, lowering myself slowly, deliberately, before pressing back up. One-arm push-ups.

What if it's not good enough?

I push up hard, launching into a one-armed handstand, balancing on just my right hand as I extend my legs into a perfect hold. My muscles scream, and my core tightens, but I stay locked in place. Unmoving. Unshaken. Sweat drips down my back, but I don't falter.

Silence.

They’re watching. I know they are. I can feel it.

With precise control, I shift my weight, lowering myself into a planche hold, hovering, body parallel to the ground, supported by nothing but my hands. I hold it, my entire body trembling from the tension, before pushing back up into a press handstand and landing smoothly on my feet.

There’s not a single wasted motion.

Ango’s arms are crossed, his jaw tight. Koruri looks away quickly when I catch her staring and Gengoro’s expression doesn’t shift, but I can tell he’s taking mental notes. Ryou just looks like a smug asshole. 

I smirk and grab my spear.

Let them think whatever they want. I’m just getting started.

As I roll my shoulders, stretching out the lingering burn from my workout, a thought nags at the back of my mind.

I train like my life depends on it, because it does. Every muscle fiber, every movement, every ounce of effort is fine-tuned for survival. But these guys? They don’t push half as hard as I do. I’ve watched them. They train, sure, but not with the same intensity. Not with the same need.

And yet… they’re all insanely strong.

Ango, Ryou, even Gengoro and Ban, as well as the girls, they move like it’s second nature, like their bodies have been made for this world, built for it in a way that doesn’t make sense. It’s not just skill. 

I know that their government experiments and everything, but it’s just unnatural. 

I grip my wrist, flexing my fingers. There’s something off here. Something I don’t understand.

And I don’t like not understanding.

Eventually, as the sun begins to rise further, I end up having to get ready for the hunt. Leaving Spike at the base alone hurts, but he’s too young to truly help out with anything yet. 

The sweat from my earlier workout hasn’t fully dried, and my muscles are still warm, loose, thrumming with exertion. I had barely caught my breath before Ango gave the signal, it was time to move. There were no breaks. No rest. Not in this world. And if Spike and I wanted to eat tonight, I had to earn it for us. So I fell into step with them, slipping seamlessly from training to being a badass huntress.

I twirl the spear in my hands, the familiar weight settling against my palm. The jungle hums around us, buzzing insects, the distant calls of something big moving far beyond the trees. The air is thick, damp, filled with the scent of earth and decay. Every breath sticks in my throat, heavy with humidity. The ground beneath my feet is soft with layers of fallen leaves, slick with unseen moisture. Perfect for tracking. Perfect for ambushes.

We move in near silence, Ango in front, Ryou somewhere to my left, Gengoro trailing slightly behind. A hunting party, thrown together like we’re some kind of functioning team. As if I’d ever trust any of them to watch my back.

My senses are dialed up to eleven. The crunch of leaves under our feet, the shift of weight in the trees overhead, the rustle of underbrush too steady to be the wind. My instincts scream at me to pay attention.

Something’s wrong.

I can feel it before I even know what it is. The way the birds have gone silent, the way the air feels charged , like the world is waiting for something to snap.

Ango holds up a hand, signaling a stop.

I stop, but only because I know Ango well enough to know he wouldn’t endanger me if it meant endangering everyone else.

So,  I listen. Focus.

There, a sound. Low. Guttural. Something that doesn't belong. It rumbles through the undergrowth, followed by the snap of a branch, heavy footfalls that aren’t quite right. The weight distribution is off, too heavy for prey.

I narrow my eyes.

Then I see it.

It steps out from the shadows, like a nightmare dragged straight out of history.

Why the fuck am I looking at a dinosaur right now?

Well, it’s not quite one.

It’s like a dinosaur, like someone looked at a T-Rex and velocirapter and thought, What if we combined them and made it smaller, faster, and meaner?

Six, maybe seven feet tall. Long tail flicking behind it for balance. Muscles coiled tight beneath scaly, mottled green skin. Arms a little longer than a classic T-Rex, but still tucked close to its chest. Its head jerks up as it catches sight of us, nostrils flaring, black, slit-pupil eyes locking onto me first.

The moment stretches.

I analyze. Instinct takes over.

It’s built like a predator. The way it moves, the way it breathes , it’s waiting for an opening, calculating just like I am. But something about it doesn’t make sense.

This isn’t just a leftover relic of the past. This thing shouldn’t be here. Evolution doesn’t work this fast. I know basic biology. I know how species adapt over millions of years, not decades .

So what the hell am I looking at?

The creature exhales, a sharp snort through its nostrils, and I see the tension shift in its legs. It’s about to move.

No. It’s about to strike .

“Move!”

I don’t wait for them to react. I launch myself sideways just as the thing lunges.

I’m already moving before I even process it, my muscles coiled and ready to spring, instinct taking over faster than thought. The creature lunges, its jaws wide, a flash of teeth that could tear through bone. I don’t even hesitate.

I see Ango’s wide-eyed expression, his feet are planted wrong as he stares at the thing bearing down on him, too slow to react. His arrogance might work in most situations, but not against something like this. The thing’s fast, and Ango’s too predictable and slow.

I’m already moving before I could even chance considering letting him get eaten. .

With a hard push, I shift my weight, my legs bursting forward like I’m launching into a volleyball dive, and I crash into Ango, throwing him aside just as the creature snaps its jaws shut where he’d been standing a moment ago. Barely missing my foot. The air smells of its breath, hot and  rancid. Kind of reminds me of my first kiss. The force of the move sends me rolling, but I barely notice as I spring to my feet.

Ango’s sprawled out on the ground, wide-eyed, breathing hard. I can almost hear his heart pounding even from where I stand. It’s almost pathetic for someone who likes to call me unworthy.

“Move your ass, Ango,” I snap, my voice biting through the air like a whip. “You’re not worth saving, but you’d better start acting like you’ve got a brain before that thing decides it wants to make you lunch.”

Ango blinks up at me, frozen in place for a moment, as if he can’t quite process what just happened. As if I— I —had actually just saved him.

I don’t wait for him to thank me. Instead, I’m already positioning myself, spear at the ready, my eyes locked on the creature. It doesn’t take its eyes off me either. It’s circling, testing my movements, looking for an opening.

I can feel the others behind me, not helping, just watching. 

Assholes. 

But I’m not backing down.

I take a step back, keeping my spear poised, eyes locked on the creature. My heart is pounding, but I’m calm, focused. The adrenaline rush doesn’t slow me down. I can feel the tension in my legs, the slight burn of exhaustion, but I suppress it. I’m not done. I won’t let this thing get the better of me.

The creature’s tail whips, a blur of motion, and I leap to the side just in time. The air sings with the sound of its strike missing me by inches, but I know it won’t give up that easily.

Without thinking, I throw myself at it again. The spear in my hands is a blur of motion as I jab toward the thing’s side, aiming for the weak spot just below the ribs. It dodges, but I’m fast, faster than it expected. The spear tip grazes its scales, leaving a shallow mark. It snarls, frustrated, but not yet beaten.

“Not so tough now, huh?” I mutter, testing it, pushing it. It hisses at me, its jaws snapping, but I dodge easily, my body fluid, like I’ve done this a thousand times, usually dodging volleyballs but still.

I’m done with this. I’m not just going to survive. I’m going to show them exactly who they’re dealing with.

“Get up, Ango,” I hissed, confused on why he’s just sitting there, “and do something .”

He stumbles to his feet, a little slower than I’d like, but he’s moving now. I can see the hesitation in his eyes. I don’t care. I’ll handle this, I am handling this.

I circle around, my body coiled, waiting for the next move. The creature isn’t backing down, but it’s getting more cautious. It knows I’m not some easy target, and that’s the first time I’ve seen anything respect me out here.

It’s about damn time.

The standoff stretches, the air thick with tension. The creature watches me, muscles coiled, its tail twitching low to the ground. It’s smart, smarter than I want to give it credit for. It’s testing me.

I test it right back.

A feint to the left, and its head jerks, tracking the motion. Good. It’s responsive. But it overcommits, just slightly. That’s all I need.

The moment its weight shifts, I move.

I don’t lunge straight in, that’d be suicide. Instead, I drop low, using my momentum to roll beneath its snapping jaws, the rush of air from its bite cutting too close to my ear. But I’m already twisting, pivoting on one foot as I drive the spear upward, aiming for the soft spot just beneath its jaw.

The strike lands, but not deep enough.

It snarls in pain, thrashing, and I barely yank the spear free before its claws rake the air where I’d been a second ago. Too close. I grit my teeth, adjusting my grip, feeling the damp wood slick under my fingers.

It charges.

This time, I don’t dodge. I sprint straight at it.

The sudden shift throws it off for half a second, just long enough for me to plant a foot on its knee joint and propel myself up, using my full body weight to drive the spear down with all the force I can muster.

The tip punches through the roof of its mouth, burying deep.

The creature lets out a strangled, gurgling screech, its limbs convulsing, tail thrashing wildly. I cling to the spear, holding on as it jerks beneath me, its dying movements frantic and desperate. But I don’t let go. I press down harder, forcing the blade deeper, twisting for good measure.

Then, finally, it stops.

The fight drains out of its body in one slow, shuddering exhale, and I let myself breathe again.

I stand over the beast, chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths, the jungle around us thick with silence. My fingers flex around the spear, the bloodied tip gleaming in the dim light. It’s dead. I killed it.

And yet, no one moves. No one speaks.

“You guys can applaud now, “ I say, my breath shaky. Yet, my mind was working rapid fire.

They were watching the whole time. Not stepping in. Not helping. Just watching.

I exhale slowly, rolling out my shoulders as I scan their faces. Ango is still catching his breath, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle twitch. His pride has to be stinging, but I don’t care. He’d be dead if I hadn’t stepped in.

Gengoro looks at me with that same unreadable calm, but there’s something deeper there, calculating, measuring. Koruri still won’t meet my eyes, shifting uncomfortably and guiltily where she stands. Ango has his arms crossed, but I catch the way his weight shifts, like he’s reassessing something.

And Ryou… Ryou watches like he always does, but this time, there’s the slightest shift in his expression. A flicker of something, approval? Satisfaction? It’s subtle, barely there, but I catch it. Like I’ve passed some unspoken test, confirming something he already suspected. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t nod, doesn’t say a word. He just looks away, as if that’s answer enough.

They didn’t help me.

They wanted to see what I’d do.

I don’t know if this was some kind of test or if they were hoping I’d get torn apart, but either way, I passed. I’m still standing. The beast isn’t.

I let my grip on the spear relax and flick the blood off the tip, keeping my expression neutral. I won’t give them anything. No relief, no frustration. They don’t get to see what I’m thinking.

I turn without a word and start walking, stepping over the creature’s massive clawed foot like it’s nothing more than a fallen tree branch. I don’t check to see if they’re following. I know they will.

Because now, they’re wondering.

The jungle hums around us, the air thick with the scent of blood and sweat, the distant calls of unseen creatures layering over the silence left in the aftermath. I don’t look back. I don’t need to. Their gazes burn into my back, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

They expected something, maybe a struggle, maybe my body torn open in the dirt. What they got was something else entirely.

I move through the undergrowth with practiced ease, my breath steady, my steps light despite the weight of the moment. Leaves whisper against my skin as I pass, the damp earth muffling my footsteps.

Behind me, I hear the shift of boots against the ground. Someone, probably Gengoro, steps forward, hesitating. But no one says anything.

Good.

I can still feel the way Ango’s breath hitched when I knocked him aside, the raw disbelief in his face. The way Koruri flinched when she realized I was bleeding. The way that Ryou just stood there without even trying to help.

I don’t know what’s going on in his head, but I know what’s going on in mine. They wanted to see what I’m made of. Whether it was a test or a death sentence, they got their answer.

I pass a thick, gnarled tree and plant the butt of my spear into the ground, pausing just long enough to glance at them over my shoulder.

“Are we done here, or do you want me to kill something else?”

Ango scowls, but his lips part slightly like he wants to say something, wants to argue, wants to take control back.

He doesn’t.

I let the silence stretch for another beat before I turn back toward camp. My body aches from the workout, from the fight, from every second I’ve spent proving myself, but I don’t let it show.

I don’t know if they wanted me dead or if this was just another game to them. Either way, they know now.

I don’t fucking lose.

I press forward, gripping my spear just a little tighter, forcing my breath to stay even. Every muscle in my body screams at me to stop, to rest, but I refuse.

The others might be rattled, might be reassessing whatever twisted expectations they had of me, but I’m not finished.

We came here to hunt. And I’ll be damned if I limp back to camp empty-handed with nothing for Spike to eat.

The beast is too big to carry, its flesh might be tough, maybe even inedible, but that doesn’t mean we should leave with nothing. My vision sharpens, scanning the jungle ahead, searching for movement. Prey. A smaller animal, something I can take down cleanly.

Behind me, I hear the others shifting, still caught in the aftermath. No one speaks. Maybe they think we’re done. Maybe they expect me to roll over, let them take control again.

Too bad.

I drop into a crouch, pressing a palm against the damp earth. The jungle is alive again with sounds, chirping insects, rustling leaves, and the distant call of something deep within the trees. I tune in, sifting through the layers of noise until I catch it.

A faint shuffle. Something low to the ground, small, but not too small.

I pivot smoothly, shifting toward the noise, my steps light despite the fire in my legs. Exhaustion gnaws at the edge of my focus, but I push past it. I have to.

I flick a glance at the others. “We didn’t come out here to sightsee,” I murmur. “Let’s move.”

For a second, they hesitate, like they weren’t expecting me to keep going. Like they thought I’d collapse in the dirt after that fight and call it quits.

Ango’s the first to fall into step beside me, his usual scowl in place. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s something sharp in his gaze, something almost like irritation. Maybe because I saved him. Maybe because I destroyed his opinion of me. 

Ryou follows next, quiet as ever.

Koruri lingers, shifting her weight, glancing between me and the carcass we left behind. She doesn’t argue. None of them do.

I press forward, tracking the sound, letting my instincts take over.

A few minutes later, I catch sight of it through the dense foliage, a lean, dark-furred boar rooting at the base of a tree. Its snout digs through the damp earth, oblivious to the predators lurking nearby. The animal shifts its weight, muscles rippling beneath its hide, ears twitching at the faintest sounds of the jungle. It hasn’t noticed us yet.

Perfect.

I exhale slowly, adjusting my grip on the spear. My fingers tighten around the worn shaft, familiar and steady. My arms ache, my shoulders tight from the earlier workout and fighting a dinosaur to death, but I shove the discomfort aside. This isn’t the time for weakness. One clean throw. That’s all I need.

I roll my shoulders, centering myself. The world narrows down to the rhythmic rise and fall of the boar’s breathing, the steady beat of my pulse in my ears. I’ve never made throws like this, never bothered with javelin. 

But, there was no room for error.

With a sharp inhale, I snap my arm forward, releasing the spear in a single fluid motion.

It whistles through the air, silent, precise, before sinking deep into the boar’s side. The animal lets out a strangled grunt, its body jerking in shock. It stumbles, legs buckling beneath it as blood spills onto the jungle floor, dark and slick. A second passes. Another. Then it collapses in the undergrowth, still.

Got it.

A rush of relief floods through me, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I straighten, rolling my sore wrist before stepping forward to retrieve my kill. The jungle is silent, save for the hum of insects and the distant cry of something massive beyond the trees.

Ango exhales sharply behind me. “Huh.”

That’s all he says. No praise, no comment on the throw. Just that single syllable.

I yank the spear free, wiping the blood off against the grass before glancing back at the others. 

I grip my spear tighter, wiping the sweat from my brow. “Dinner’s handled,” I say, voice even. “Let’s go.”

No one argues.