Dawn bled into the forest, pale light dripping through the canopy like watered-down gold. Kael stirred in the damp earth, his body stiff, his head pounding as if a hammer had been driven through his skull. When he tried to open both eyes, the world tilted violently. His right one blinked against the light, but the left… nothing. Only darkness, deep and suffocating.

  He raised trembling fingers to the ruined side of his face. The skin was swollen, feverish to the touch, a jagged scar pulling tight across his temple. His cursed Eye—the one that had birthed fire—was now nothing but a hollow thing. No light, no vision, no warmth. Blind.

  The realization settled in his chest like stone. Half his sight gone, half his world stolen. And it was his own doing. He had dared to wield what he did not understand, and now he bore the price.

  Kael staggered to his knees. Every muscle screamed, and his stomach knotted violently. Hunger had grown sharp in the night, gnawing from within like an animal trapped in his belly. He pressed a hand to his abdomen, but it offered no comfort. He needed food, water—anything.

  The forest stretched endless in all directions. The air smelled of wet soil and sap, and branches clawed at him as he stumbled forward. Leaves whispered like mocking voices, reminding him of his weakness.

  He tried to walk as he always had, but the balance of two eyes guiding his steps was gone. With every move, his depth betrayed him. Shadows shifted unpredictably, roots reached up to trip him, and simple branches struck his face as if out of nowhere. He weaved like a drunk, falling often, rising slower each time.

  The ground blurred, the sky spun, and every step brought fresh bruises. Rage and despair warred in him. He clenched his fists, fighting the scream that rose in his throat. If he cried out, who would answer? No one. Only wolves. Only silence.

  A trickle of sound finally pierced his haze. Water. His heart lurched. His parched throat burned at the thought, and he stumbled toward it, half-running, half-falling until the trees opened into a narrow stream winding over stones.

  He collapsed at the bank, plunging his face into the current. The water was icy, biting, but he drank greedily, desperate. It cut through the dryness in his throat, shocking life back into him. He coughed and sputtered, but kept drinking until his belly ached from the cold.

  When he finally pulled back, the stream showed him a reflection. For a heartbeat he did not recognize the boy staring up. Mud streaked his cheeks, lips cracked, hair plastered against his forehead. His right eye, tired but alive, stared back. But the left—his cursed Eye—was swollen shut, clouded, ruined. A husk.

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  A stranger looked back at him. One-eyed, broken.

  Kael’s chest tightened. He hated that face. Hated what the Eye had done to him, hated that it had betrayed him. His fist crashed into the surface, scattering the reflection into ripples. “That’s not me,” he rasped. His voice sounded strange, hollow from thirst, grief, and hunger.

  The gnawing in his stomach returned quickly, sharper now that thirst had eased. His gaze swept the banks for anything edible. He spotted berries on a crooked bush nearby. Small, dark, glistening with dew. He did not care. He grabbed a handful and shoved them into his mouth, chewing fast.

  The bitterness exploded across his tongue, followed by a sour burn that twisted his stomach. He spat out what he could, gagging, but he had already swallowed some. Panic surged. His breath came shallow, and he dropped to his knees, clutching his belly.

  “You idiot,” he whispered, shaking. He had no idea which plants were safe. The city had always provided scraps, the orphanage meals. Out here, ignorance could kill. He curled against the earth, praying the poison wouldn’t take him.

  Hours crawled by. His stomach cramped, but it didn’t stop his body from screaming for more. Hunger gnawed without mercy, stronger than fear, stronger than sense. He tried to find insects under rocks, chewed bitter leaves, even gnawed bark, but nothing filled the void. Each attempt left his mouth dry, his throat raw, his belly empty.

  By midday, exhaustion dragged him to the roots of an ancient oak. He slumped against it, legs trembling too much to stand. His right eye fluttered shut, but sleep brought no peace. Birds shrieked overhead. Branches creaked like voices whispering his name. The forest never rested.

  When dusk fell, the sounds grew darker. Something cracked in the underbrush. Then a long, piercing howl rolled across the distance.

  Kael’s body froze.

  Another howl answered, closer. His heart lurched. Wolves.

  Panic shoved strength into his limbs. He scrambled up the oak’s roots, hauling himself onto the lowest branch. Bark tore at his hands, but fear gave him fuel hunger had stolen. He climbed higher, every breath a ragged gasp.

  From above, he saw shadows moving between the trees. Lean bodies, low to the ground. Eyes glinting faintly in the dying light. His breath caught. The pack had come.

  They circled below, sniffing, growling, their paws crunching the leaves. One snarled at the tree trunk, leaping against it with a thud that rattled Kael’s bones. He clung to the branch, nails digging into bark until they split.

  Minutes stretched into hours. The wolves prowled, tails swaying, teeth flashing when they snapped at one another. Their eyes gleamed like tiny fires whenever the moonlight struck. Kael bit his lip until it bled, forcing himself not to move, not to breathe louder than the rustle of leaves.

  At one point, a wolf climbed halfway up a fallen trunk leaning against the oak. Its claws scrabbled against the bark, snapping jaws reaching upward. Kael nearly screamed, pressing himself flat against the tree as if he could melt into it. The branch shook with his trembling, but the wolf lost its grip and dropped back to the earth.

  The pack lingered long into the night. Kael’s arms ached from holding himself still, his legs cramped until he wanted to cry. But he dared not shift. If he fell, they would tear him apart before he could stand.

  Finally—mercifully—the wolves slinked away, their howls fading deeper into the forest.

  Relief nearly broke him. His muscles sagged, but he dared not climb down. The ground felt too dangerous, the night too alive. He curled against the trunk, gripping the branch until his hands cramped. Hunger gnawed, fear lingered, exhaustion pressed.

  As sleep dragged him down, words slipped from cracked lips. A whisper,

  a vow, or perhaps just a plea.

  “Survive. No matter what.”