The air changed the deeper he walked. It grew heavy and damp. Every breath tasted like soil and leaves had been rotting long before he arrived. The ground was softer too and covered in much less stone each step had more give. His boot left tracks on the damp soil.
Grub didn’t stop until his leg began to tremble under him. He leaned against a tree first, steadying himself, jaw tight. The burn along his calf throbbed in steady pulses, matching his heartbeat. His ribs felt worse now that he wasn’t surrounded by people. Pain had space to exist when there were no voices to distract from it.
He slid down slowly and sat on a fallen trunk, pressing his palm against his side. The ache was dull and deep, like something had been bent and forced back into shape without care. They had done what they could on the ridge. It wasn’t enough though. It would never be enough.
He tilted his head slightly and listened. Things that he would call insects droned in uneven waves. Leaves shifted slowly in the wind. Somewhere above, something leapt from branch to branch, claws scratching bark. Farther off, something large moved through brush—slow and heavy—but it didn’t approach. Grub took out his small notebook made of pressed leaves and animal skin that had been his coat. He wrote down every thing he saw excitedly as he yearned to understand how this unfamiliar ecosystem worked
After a while of journaling Grub adjusted the bundle on his shoulder and forced himself back to his feet. Sitting too long would stiffen him. He couldn’t slow down too much and he had to make sure he didn’t get distracted.
He needed three things before the full darkness of night: water, elevation, and concealment.
Water first, Grub thought as he angled downhill—choosing the path of least resistance. He began observing the area as he tried to discern where to go to get a drink. He watched the slope, which direction moss grew thicker on trunks, the way certain plants leaned toward moisture. He let his mind narrow into observation. It was easier to think of small, practical problems. Find water. Make sure it’s safe then finally relinquish this thirst. It was a simple plan but an important one.
Grub smelled the water before he saw it—a faint mineral scent beneath the smell of soil. Then the faint sound of movement over stone. A narrow stream cut through the forest floor, clear but fast. It reflected the last scraps of sunlight like broken glass.
Grub crouched carefully and studied it. He didn’t trust clear water. No—he didn’t trust anything without testing it. First, he watched the surface. He needed to test two things: If the water was safe. And if anything was lurking in the water. Sure, the water was clear and he could see through it, but you can’t be too certain of the laws of a world that had grubs with beating hearts.
He filled his water skin up as he continued to scan the surrounding area. Then he waited. Two long minutes. Nothing lunged from below. Nothing broke the surface.
Only after confirming nothing was gonna strike from the water did he cup his hand and bring water to his mouth. He didn’t swallow. He let it sit against his tongue. No immediate bitterness. No sting. He swallowed and waited again.
His stomach didn’t revolt. He drank deeper after that, slow and steady, until the dryness in his throat eased and the dull pressure in his head softened. Just that short test wasn’t enough to see if the water had long term effects, but Grub was far too thirsty to wait that long.
So he had secured himself a water source. Now he needed elevation. Grub didn’t want to stay on the ground where he was most vulnerable, but he also didn’t want to stay near the stream. Animals would use it. All sorts of strange predators would linger nearby. If something hunted by smell, it would circle the water eventually.
After roughly memorizing about where the stream was he moved uphill, choosing a slope thick with exposed roots and tangled undergrowth. It forced him to move slowly, but that was the point. Larger creatures would struggle too.
Stolen story; please report.
His leg burned halfway up. His ribs flared when he had to brace himself against a variety of thick vines and roots. Sweat rolled down Grub’s back despite the cooling air.
He didn’t let it stop him.
After a while of wandering he found something promising near the top of a small rise—a massive tree with roots that arched outward before plunging back into earth. Between two of those roots was a shallow depression, shielded on three sides and angled slightly downward. It was a natural cover. Grub shrugged and said to himself, Good enough. Grub cleared only what he had to. He made sure not to be too loud as he moved. He shifted leaves aside quietly and created a hollow space just large enough for himself. He scattered some leaves loosely over the entrance, enough to break shape without trapping himself.
No fire.
The thought came and went quickly. Fire meant warmth, light, and comfort but fire also meant visibility. He lowered himself into the root hollow and leaned back against rough bark. His club rested across his lap. He tested its weight again, adjusted his grip, memorized the angle he would need to swing in tight quarters.
The light drained from the forest in slow layers. Gold turned to grey. Grey turned to blue. Blue dissolved into black.
The jungle changed tone as darkness deepened. The insects grew louder, then steadier, like the pulse of something enormous. Somewhere in the distance, something gave a low, echoing call that vibrated through trunks and soil alike.
It wasn’t quite a scream or a roar. Whatever it was it was probably not something Grub wanted to face.
Grub kept his breathing shallow.
He had thought leaving the ridge would feel freeing and clean. Like shedding a weight. Instead, it felt like stepping into a mouth and realizing the teeth were already closing. His thoughts drifted without permission. He thought about Wrighty’s face when he said no. Shiela’s hand gripping his. Five’s calm, unreadable certainty. Snow’s quiet disappointment. He pushed them away. That was the trap. Alone, you only lose yourself.
His ribs throbbed when he shifted even slightly. He hissed under his breath and stilled again.
Then something moved. Slow steps through brush below. Grub’s grip tightened around the club as he slowly became aware of a threat. He didn’t turn his head. He didn’t move his shoulders. He let his eyes do the work, tracking the space between roots and shadows. A shape passed between trees near the stream. Low to the ground and lean. Its spine arched slightly as it moved. It paused, lifted its head, and sniffed.
A Predator.
It wasn’t massive. Not like The Leviathan or the grub. But its movements were efficient. It had an air of quiet patience that Grub didn’t want to test. It felt more dangerous than something loud. It crept closer to the water’s edge.
Step. Pause. Step. Testing.
Grub slowed his breathing further. He let his heartbeat settle as best he could. The last thing he needed was the thud of fear betraying him. The creature drank. Its jaw worked slowly as it greedily gulped down gallons of water. Then its head lifted again. The wind shifted carrying the scent it must’ve been sniffing.
Grub didn’t know what it smelled. Blood from his bandages? The paste on his leg? The unfamiliarity of his skin?
The creature froze. Its head turned slowly in his direction. Grub did not blink. He became bark as he stood still—commanding every fiber of muscles not to move. The moment stretched thin enough to break. The creature slowly took a half-step toward the slope leading up to him.
Grub tightened his grip, calculating distance. If it charged, he would have one swing—maybe two. His ribs would scream. His leg might fail him. He did not let that calculation show on his face.
Another long second passed. Then the creature lowered its head again, drank once more, and finally slipped back into the trees the way it had come—silent and controlled.
Grub stayed still long after it vanished. Only when the forest swallowed the last sound of its movement did he allow a slow exhale through his nose. Lesson learned. He was not the apex here. And he didn’t understand the kind of creatures here. He would have to be extra careful now that he was alone. Because while it was true that being together brought larger creatures, being alone would mean smaller ones would now target him. The same ones that probably avoided their camps before.
He adjusted his back against the bark carefully, trying to find a position that didn’t set his ribs on fire. He stared upward through a small gap in leaves.
The stars looked wrong. Different patterns. Different distances between them. Or maybe that was just his imagination.
He wondered if they had names here. He wondered if he had once known different names for different stars. His mind drifted to the empty spaces in his memory—the missing tooth he couldn’t stop pressing against. The shape of something lost.
Who was he before this?
The jungle didn’t answer.
Something skittered across a branch above him. A fruit dropped somewhere to his left. Far off, another low call rolled through the trees. Grub tightened his grip on the club again.
If this world wanted him dead, it would have to earn it. He would not be easy prey. The forest hummed around him, indifferent and ancient. And Grub stayed awake long into the night, listening to a world that did not care whether he survived it or not—determined that he would anyway.
HOST STATUS: LORD CRESTFALL (ERROR)
[BREEDING SCHEME ABORTED] Su Ian Hoo woke up male, uninjured, and infinitely more spiteful.
[FOREKNOWLEDGE ACTIVE] She knows exactly who holds the hammer.
[OBJECTIVE] Dismantle the Chancellor's plot using pure, unadulterated chaos.
Cursed into a useless peacock, then murdered and reset—Lord Crestfall is done with destiny. This time, the "Immortal Scam" is taking no prisoners, only grubs, and certainly no breeding partners.