**Twelve Years Later**

**The Forest Within Gravalk Territory**

I was running.

Not as the hunter.

As the prey.

My lungs burned with every breath.

The air I drew in refused to leave my chest.

My vision blurred.

The path between the trees dissolved into a green haze.

But I couldn't stop.

Heat pressed in from behind.

A presence—

warm and heavy, like the breath of a beast.

A low vibration scraped across the forest floor, drawing closer with every heartbeat.

Then—

the ground vanished beneath my feet.

It wasn't that I'd missed my footing.

It felt as though something holding my body upright had simply disappeared.

My balance collapsed.

*Crunch.*

My foot twisted beneath me.

A small hill slick with wet moss.

My body slid sideways and slammed into an exposed tree root.

My shoulder struck first.

Thud.

Then—

I hit the ground hard.

Pain shot up my spine the instant my back struck the earth.

"Ugh—"

But before the pain came—

my ankle told me something was wrong.

That strange sensation...

the one that always came before real pain.

It was out of place.

It wouldn't support my weight.

Damn it.

If I stopped—

I died.

My body understood that long before my mind did.

Grinding my teeth, I drove my elbows into the dirt and dragged myself forward.

Hah...

Hah...

Every ragged breath made the heat in my ankle flare even hotter.

Still—

I didn't stop.

*I'm used to this.*

Since when?

When had enduring pain simply become normal?

Survive until the designated point.

That was all.

No one here taught us how to fight.

They taught us something else first—

the order in which people died.

Who ran.

Who stayed behind.

Who was abandoned.

The survivors weren't the strongest.

They were simply the ones left alive at the end.

That's why...

there always had to be bait.

Yeah.

I think...

the first time was something like this.

The memories are blurred.

But everything begins there.

The day I became...

**the bait.**

Back then,

my body had been much smaller.

I dragged myself forward on my hips.

The ground beneath me was narrow...

cold...

and damp.

Every movement scraped painfully beneath my skin.

"...Ugh."

The throbbing in my ankle pulled the memory to the surface.

It had happened...

years ago.

ㅡㅡㅡ

**Inside the Slave Quarters**

Mother's voice drifted softly through the room.

She was telling me about spring in the Kingdom of Heian.

About rivers so wide you couldn't see the opposite bank.

About endless fields that stretched to the horizon.

Her hands never stopped moving.

She wrung out a damp cloth.

Folded a dry one.

Then reached for another wet cloth.

Every corner was folded the same way.

Every knot was tied exactly the same.

Never once did she leave one undone.

If anything was out of place...

she was beaten.

Then—

the door opened.

The old wooden boards groaned.

It was Shaka.

He walked in without a word.

His footsteps deliberately loud.

The next instant—

**Thud.**

Something slammed into my side.

My body folded and crashed onto the floor.

The air vanished from my lungs.

I couldn't breathe.

It hurt.

My mouth refused to open.

If I cried...

I'd only be hit again.

So instead—

I bared my teeth.

And bit down on Shaka's calf.

My teeth sank through the thick leather just enough to find flesh.

The faint taste of blood spread across my tongue.

For a single moment...

the entire tent fell silent.

The muscles in Shaka's leg stiffened.

Then twitched.

The next instant,

a fist grabbed my hair and yanked me upward.

The world flipped upside down.

Shaka grinned.

He didn't look hurt.

If anything...

he looked pleased.

"That's it."

A rough fingernail flicked my forehead.

*Flick.*

My vision flashed white.

"That's what teeth are for, kid."

He looked down at me once more,

his eyes narrowing into an amused smile.

"Come on."

"The chief wants to see you."

"...Me?"

Inside the tent,

every pair of hands stopped for just a moment.

But no one looked up.

Shaka grabbed my arm.

Not painfully.

Yet I couldn't pull away.

He led me outside.

The moment we left the tent,

the air changed.

It smelled of blood.

At one side of the village square,

slaves were butchering meat.

Every swing of the cleaver sent grease splattering into the dirt.

Bones rolled across the ground.

**Thud.**

A short scream.

No one even turned to look.

Young beastfolk wandered among the slaves,

shoving them as they pleased.

People stumbled.

Some were trampled.

The crying stopped almost as quickly as it began.

Then—

their eyes found me.

"It's Gren."

The children gathered in a circle around me.

"Let's play."

A kick struck the back of my heel.

My balance lurched.

Before I could fall,

I shoved forward.

Ring staggered back a step.

Instead,

I punched Brook—

the one standing closest.

**Thud.**

The laughter vanished.

"Come on."

The moment they started rushing toward me—

"Enough."

Shaka's arm swept between us.

The children bounced back.

"I'm taking him to Murkan."

Reluctantly, they stepped away.

Pel smiled.

"We'll finish this outside."

I didn't look away.

I'd almost died...

more times than I could count.

They were the kind who only got worse if you backed down.

Shaka never stopped them.

Sometimes...

he let it happen on purpose.

That's how rank was decided.

And the competition...

never ended.


ㅡㅡㅡ

Standing before the chief's tent, the air itself felt heavy.

Shaka gave me a shove between the shoulders.

The door opened.

The old wood groaned.

The moment I stepped inside,

it closed behind me.

The air within the tent was thick—

so heavy it felt as though time itself had stopped.

A long fire trench ran across the floor.

Low flames burned steadily from one end to the other.

*Pop.*

A spark leapt into the air.

"Forward."

Shaka's hand pressed against my back.

One step.

Then another.

I stopped before the raised platform at the far end of the fire.

A pair of eyes looked down on me.

Beside the chief stood Aren,

his head bowed in silence.

Only then did the village chief speak.

"It's time for you to prove yourself."

Every word felt like a weight pressing down on my chest.

"You have two paths."

"Live as a slave..."

"Or prove that you have value."

It sounded like a choice.

It wasn't.

Murkan said nothing more.

Shaka chuckled from behind me.

"Eat well tonight."

"And get some sleep."

He rested a hand on my shoulder and leaned close enough to whisper into my ear.

"It might be your last day."

The Owlin slave, Aren, quietly stepped forward and placed a bowl of rich, oily food into my hands.

He said nothing.

He never even met my eyes.

Without another word,

I turned and left the tent.

The door closed behind me.

As it did,

Shaka's voice drifted through the leather flap.

"He actually thinks she's his mother."

A lower voice answered.

It was Murkan.

"...Maybe she is."