Andrew crouched beneath a thick, moss-draped branch, catching his breath. Thorns had torn clean lines across his arms, his shirt clinging to sweat and sap. His eyes flicked back to the thicket. The Sylvans hadn't pursued, but he knew better than to relax.
The forest was too quiet.
He slid behind the base of a broad tree, pressing his back to the bark. 'Whispering Woods'. The name wasn't just for flair. There were whispers, soft, curling through the leaves like the wind carried voices that shouldn't exist.
[Time Remaining: 11 hours 34 minutes 48 seconds]
Only twenty-five minutes had passed. It felt like hours.
He exhaled, slow and steady. "Think. This isn't about killing. It's about surviving. There has to be a pattern here."
Something cracked in the distance. Not twigs. Something heavier.
Andrew lowered himself to the ground and peered through the thick ferns.
There, in the distance between two massive trees, a shadow moved. Slow. Deliberate. Each step sent tiny tremors through the ground. A thick arm of bark and vine brushed against a trunk, sending leaves raining down.
A Treant.
Andrew didn't move. The thing was enormous, easily three times his height and its movements were painfully slow. But it radiated strength. Raw, ancient, patient.
'Not something I want to test. Avoid. Always avoid.' Andrew mused to himself.
But even as he stayed hidden, another sound began,a rhythmic, rustling cadence from the opposite direction.
He shifted. Across the clearing, barely visible through the foliage, a group of Sylvans moved in formation. Not running. Hunting.
They weren't searching blindly. Their movements were calculated, even cautious. They checked trees. Shadows. Listening.
One of them paused, its head turning toward Andrew's direction. He didn't breathe.
The Sylvan moved on, but slower, like it sensed something.
'They're sweeping the area' he realized. 'Which means hiding won't be enough forever.'
[Passive Alert – Whispering Woods Environmental Modifier: Sylvan Awareness is increasing gradually]
'Of course' he thought grimly. 'The longer I survive, the smarter they get'.
He retreated slowly, step by step, keeping low. He moved uphill toward a ridge where the trees were more widely spaced. Less cover, but better sightlines. If he could find higher ground, maybe he could plan his next movement.
Halfway up, he paused. A clearing opened before him. A natural spring bubbled at the center, surrounded by glowing stones and flowering roots.
[Minor Sanctuary Discovered – Temporary Safe Zone: 30 Minutes Max]
He stumbled forward with a gasp of relief and stepped into the circle. Instantly, the tension in his shoulders loosened. The air was warmer here, more still.
He collapsed at the spring's edge, dipping his fingers into the cool water. It wasn't healing magic, but it felt like something close.
[Time Remaining: 11 hours 25 minutes 31 seconds]
Still over eleven hours left. But for the next thirty minutes, he could breathe.
"Phew.."
He leaned his head back against a root and allowed his eyes to close, just for a moment.
Sylvans are smart. Treants are strong. The forest is alive… changing.
He opened his eyes again and looked up through the canopy.
"This isn't just a level. It's a predator's domain. And I'm not the hunter anymore".
Andrew sat motionless at the edge of the spring, watching the ripples move outward from where his fingers had disturbed the water. He hadn't realized how much his body ached until the pain faded,not vanished, but dulled within the sanctuary's embrace.
The silence here was different. Not the tense, hunting quiet of the woods beyond, but something deeper, ancient. Almost reverent.
He dipped his cupped hands in the water and splashed his face. Cool relief spread across his skin. The cuts along his arms didn't heal, but they stopped stinging.
Above him, the leaves barely moved.
[Time Remaining in Sanctuary: 27:03]
Andrew leaned forward and checked his status screen again. Numbers and stats blinked at him back, cold and unsatisfying.
[Level: 5 (Pending)]
[Monarch Points: 125]
[Guardian Spirit Points: 50]
[Skills & Abilities: 0]
"Still zero skills." His jaw tightened. "I'm deep into this trial and all I've done is survive. That's not going to be enough forever."
He glanced at the Skill Orb reward promised at the end of this level. Just twelve hours of survival. It sounded simple. But now? Surviving here meant learning.
These Sylvans… They didn't attack right away. They track. Communicate. Hunt in formation.
He closed his eyes, trying to replay their movements in his head. The way they spread out, the way one paused near his hiding place. That wasn't random.
They were improving.
So he had to, too.
He stood slowly and paced the sanctuary's edge. Glowing stones marked its boundary, like a protective ward. Beyond them, the woods waited, lush and silent. He saw no Sylvans now. No Treants. But he didn't trust it.
'They know I'm here. They'll wait.' he mused to himself.
[Time Remaining in Sanctuary: 24:47]
He pulled a small stick from the ground and used it to scratch a rough map in the dirt. The ridge behind him sloped down to the thickets.
"The Sylvans had come from here. The Treant had appeared from here." He said, scribbling a rough map on the ground.
He marked them both.
Then he marked the sanctuary and began sketching a plan.
'Use elevation. Use light gaps. Use noise.' he decided, like as if he had other options.
Suddenly, the leaves on the far side of the clearing rustled.
Andrew froze, hand tightening on his dagger's grip.
A Sylvan stepped into view.
It paused just outside the sanctuary's ring. Its sharp green eyes locked onto his. Its clawed fingers twitched, but it didn't cross the glowing stones.
It hissed. Not in rage, but in warning.
Andrew stayed still.
Behind it, two more emerged. They flanked the first. No aggression. Just observation.
A chill crawled down his spine.
"They know I'm safe here. They're not wasting energy." He scoffed.
They were waiting.
A low groan rolled through the trees again. Heavy. Measured. The unmistakable gait of a Treant moving nearby, its footfalls like falling trunks.
The Sylvans didn't react.
They're coordinating.
Andrew's throat was dry.
[Time Remaining in Sanctuary: 21:11]
'Twenty-one minutes.'
After that, the real trial began again. This time, they'd be ready.
But this time… so would he.