Chapter 9: Forced Decision

  Gaia World, 3 Days After The Shattering

  Pawel spent the night alternating between uneasy sleep, tending to the fire, and trying to accomplish something with his new aura sight.

  Every rustle in the bushes, every bird or unseen bat fluttering by, put him on high alert. Who knew what lurked out there? Even another encounter with a spider might play out differently under the cover of darkness.

  Every time he had to move around the tent to feed the flames, his nerves tensed like guitar strings, vibrating with anticipation. The crackle of wood splitting under heat mingled with the distant hoot of an owl, and the cool night air carried the sharp tang of smoke laced with pine sap, grounding him even as it heightened his senses.

  One might expect he'd grow accustomed to the forest noises by now, but that single scuffle with the spider was enough to keep his nerves heightened, every snap of a twig echoing like a predator's stealthy approach.

  Sleep was uneasy and interrupted by those sounds anyway. Sessions of meditation rested him more than actual slumber, the rhythmic inhale of damp earth and faint herbal scents from the grass helping to center his mind amid the chaos.

  He repeated attempts to affect the green auras surrounding him and observed those of different colors, which seemed to emerge from the distant anomaly, pulsing like faint veins in the night sky. But all attempts kept failing. And it did not seem that any energy inside him would be building up over time.

  He began the next day by consuming coffee from his thermos and the last of his energy bars.

  Pawel spent around two hours waiting for some ducks to get within his slingshot range, crouched low amid the reeds by the pond's edge, the water's surface rippling gently with a faint, murky scent of algae and mud rising in the warming air. The birds paddled lazily, their quacks echoing softly across the still morning, feathers rustling as they preened. Finally, one ventured close enough, and with a steady breath, he released the shot. The stone struck true, sending feathers scattering in a burst of startled flaps and splashes. He retrieved the duck, its warm body limp in his hands, the metallic tang of blood mixing with the pond's earthy dampness. Elation surged through him—this was real food, earned from the wild.

  But when trying to gut it and clean it with his hatchet—his only sharp tool—the blade proved too clumsy, hacking unevenly through feathers and flesh, the sticky warmth of innards clinging to his fingers with a raw, coppery smell. He needed something better for this. Later, while scouting the area, he stumbled upon a deer's skull half-buried in the underbrush, its bone bleached white by sun and time, the faint, musty odor of decay lingering faintly. He decided to sharpen one of the antler tines against a rough stone, grinding it methodically until it formed a crude knife edge, the scraping sound rhythmic against the backdrop of buzzing insects and distant bird calls. He spent the rest of the day preparing the duck—plucking feathers that fluttered away on the breeze like soft whispers, gutting it with his new tool, and roasting it over the fire, the sizzling fat dripping with a savory,

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  smoky aroma that made his mouth water. Between tasks, he gathered wood for the night, stacking branches that snapped crisply underfoot, their resinous scent sharp and invigorating.

  After two uneventful days of rest, Pawel had fully recovered from the sudden fever.

  Finally having made a decision to linger in this area for a while, his mind settled into the new reality of gathering water, hunting small game, and scouting the immediate surroundings, slowly accepting this fresh life.

  It wasn't even that hard; in fact, this was close to his dreams—living in nature, away from people, experiencing all that beauty.

  Pawel gawked at the sun slowly dipping lower, casting elongated shadows from behind the trees, tainting the clouds in vivid red hues. The air cooled with a crisp edge, carrying the loamy scent of evening soil mingled with the faint, herbal whisper of crushed grass underfoot.

  "If only there was nothing to attack me... then again, perhaps that is even better... magic and all?"

  He pondered how to better use his time this night. There wasn't much he could do, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. At home, he'd sit by the computer long past sunset, but here?

  "Well, I can always practice slingshot aim... but that gets old fast."

  His musings were interrupted by a loud cracking noise and rumble. Now, in the fading light of day, he could clearly see purple cracks expanding in the sky, behaving as if there was something more material in the air that could shatter.

  The noise startled birds from all around, their fluttering wings and frantic chirps combining with crows' harsh caws and a cacophony of animal cries, adding to the rumble of the anomaly itself and the trembling ground beneath his feet.

  The anomaly visibly expanded into the air, but now that this happened, Pawel was suddenly struck with a thought:

  "Is it expanding my way as well? I need to know."

  And so, his last task of the day was decided for him.

  He picked up his spear, ascended the slope, and took in the view: the cracks seemed to mostly reach out to the sides and upwards, so in that regard, Pawel was safe.

  At the bottom of the anomaly, purple mist twisted and swirled uneasily after the growth, reaching out and down the hill that the base of the crack was situated on, as if licking the surroundings with its tentacles.

  In some places, ends of those misty limbs were separating, swirling for a while and...

  "Oops," Pawel squeaked and rushed back to his camp.

  What he saw in the mist suddenly made his camping spot much less appealing.

  The anomaly was spawning something alive.

  The things were not looking all that powerful, even though from a distance size was hard to estimate, but they were not big—perhaps knee-high.

  Their bodies were brown and elongated, shaped like tadpoles but with two short legs somewhere in the middle of their weird forms and a mouth on the wider side. A big mouth.

  Big brown land tadpoles. Not very threatening, right? Except there were many.

  And they would surely expand to Pawel's camp and probably get lured by the water.

  How he was not attacked in his tent while incapacitated by fever or during the following two days was a mystery.

  Perhaps nothing was spawning earlier, he pondered while frantically packing the tent.

  He stopped for a second—staring into the distance, thinking...

  "No... it was spawning—the spider that first evening was probably it."

  Those things he saw today being spawned were not looking very dangerous... he could try killing some; perhaps he'd get the ability to manipulate those auras again?

  Then he snapped back into reality:

  "No... no...."

  It was one thing to hunt something like those creatures—he would. But spending the night, sleeping in a tent surrounded by so many?

  He needed to evacuate, and fast.