Chapter 3 — The Man Who Lived

The first thing I heard was the steady rhythm of wood splitting.

Thak.

Thak.

Thak.

It dragged me out of the dark.

When I opened my eyes, the world came back slowly—blurred light leaking through gaps in wooden walls, the smell of smoke and damp earth, and the dull ache crawling across my body.

I was lying on a bed made of rough fabric and bundled leaves.

Another thak echoed outside.

I forced myself up.

Pain shot through my side.

“Stay down.”

The voice was rough, old—yet firm enough to freeze me mid-motion.

I turned my head.

A man stood just beyond the doorway, shirtless , his back carved and scarred symbols embedded with muscle. Each swing of his machete was clean and precise. Wood split like it feared him.

He didn’t look at me at first.

Then he did.

Sharp eyes. Watching. Measuring.

“You move like that again,” he said, resting the machete on his shoulder, “your wound will open.”

I exhaled and let myself sink back slightly. “...Noted.”

He studied me for another moment, then nodded as if confirming something only he understood.

“We’ll talk,” he said. “I have questions.”

He turned away before I could answer.

“I made food. Don’t expect anything fancy.”

We ate in silence.

Grilled fish. No seasoning. No garnish.

Just fire and hunger.

I hadn’t realized how starving I was until the first bite. My hands trembled slightly as I ate.

Across from me, the old man watched.

“Name?.”

I swallowed. “...Ethan.”

He gave a small nod.

"Just Ethan? Family name." he said

"Ethan Sablan"

“Well then, Ethan.” A pause. “ I am Richard Winston.”

He extended nothing—not a hand, not a smile. Just his name.

“Now,” he said, tearing into his fish, “how did you end up here?.”

I told him everything.

The storm. The ship. The thing beneath the waves.

As the words left my mouth, something twisted inside my chest. My throat tightened.

But no tears came.

Not even one.

When I finished, the hut fell quiet again.

Richard stared at me, unreadable.

Then he spoke.

“You should know something about this island.”

I looked up.

" Welcome to hell, Godforsaken Land"

“Try not to die like the others.”

My grip tightened around the fish.

“The others?” I said. “There were more survivors?”

He tilted his head slightly.

“There was. Not anymore”

"Those Fools!"

A pause.

“You already know this place isn’t normal, don’t you?”

I nodded.

His lips twitched.

Then—suddenly—he laughed.

Not loudly. Not joyfully.

Just… something dry. Hollow.

I frowned. “What’s funny?”

He shook his head, still smiling faintly. “It’s been a long time,” he muttered. “Since I had someone to talk to.”

Lonely.

That word lingered in my mind.

Then his gaze sharpened again.

“When you first arrived,” he said, “did you hear anything?”

“Hear what?”

“Voices.”

I frowned. “No.”

He leaned back slightly.

“Good.”

The way he said it made my stomach tighten.

“If you ever do,” he continued, voice low now, “no matter whose voice it is—your mother, your friends, anyone—”

His eyes locked onto mine.

“Don’t follow it.”

Silence pressed in.

“There are things here,” he added quietly, “far worse than what you saw. Especially at night”

A chill ran down my spine.

“What was that thing that almost killed me?” I asked.

For a moment, his expression didn’t change.

Then—

“I call it… Centimor.”

He burst into laughter.

“Centimor?” I repeated.

“It’s a centipede… with armor! Hahaha!”

I stared at him.

Then, despite everything… I smiled a little.

“...How did you end up here?” I asked.

The laughter stopped.

Just like that.

Richard looked away.

The air shifted.

“It’s getting late,” he said, standing. “Still things to do.”

That was the end of it.

And I understood.

Some questions weren’t meant to be answered.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

Then a month.

My wounds closed slowly, leaving tight scars behind. I learned the rhythm of the place—the chores, the silence, the way the forest seemed to breathe.

Sometimes, deep in the trees…

I heard something.

Whispers.

Faint.

Calling.

I never followed.

Two months later, I found myself standing outside the hut, watching Richard prepare his gear.

“I want to learn,” I said.

He didn’t look at me. “Learn what?”

“To hunt.”

The axe paused mid-air.

Then lowered.

“Before that,” he said, “there’s something you need to see.”

I frowned. “What?”

“A temple.”

“Then let’s go now.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He finally turned.

“If we leave now,” he said calmly, “we won’t make it back before sundown.”

I frowned. “ With your skill, why are you even worried about—”

I never finished.

He glares at me and walks away

The next morning, I found him outside.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He waved it off.

“I’m not mad,” he replied. “You just… said something that brought back memories.”

A pause.

“Come on,” he added. “We’re wasting daylight.”

The forest thickened as we moved.

Then, suddenly—

It opened.

Stone rose from the earth ahead of us.

Broken.

Cracked.

Consumed by vines and time.

“…This is it?” I whispered.

Richard nodded.

“Found it while tracking a boar,” he said. “Blood trail led me here.”

We stepped closer.

Ancient carvings covered the walls—symbols I couldn’t understand. But feels familiar

“I thought there might be something valuable,” he continued. “Treasure, maybe.”

He let out a quiet breath.

“But all I found were these.”

He ran a hand over the carvings.

“At first, I didn’t go deeper.”

His eyes darkened slightly.

“…But curiosity won.”

We moved inside.

The air turned colder.

Still.

“There was a skeleton,” he said quietly. “Sitting in a corner.”

I swallowed.

“It was holding a book,” he continued. “Like it didn’t want to let go.”

He paused.

“I took it.”

A faint echo seemed to whisper through the ruins.

“And then…”

He didn’t finish right away.

“…something screamed.”

The word barely left his lips.

“It came from deeper inside.”

Silence pressed in around us.

“I ran,” he said simply. “Didn’t even take the boar. Just ran.”

We stood there.

Still.

“If you’re wondering why I brought you here, despite being dangerous” he added, “it’s because… nothing’s happened since.”

A long pause.

“…But I never went deeper again.”

We didn’t stay long.

As we left, he suddenly spoke again.

“That book,” he said. “It explained these carvings.”

I looked at him.

“Runes,” he said. “A way to use… something beyond us.”

"I learned a little tricks with the book" he said

He stopped walking.

Then—

He jumped.

So high I lost sight of him for a second.

A blade flashed.

A tree split cleanly.

It crashed down in perfect sections.

He lifted the wood like it weighed nothing.

I stared.

“…That’s from the runes?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

“Get on.”

I climbed onto the wood.

“Hold tight,” he said.

Then he moved.

The forest blurred.

Wind roared in my ears.

Shapes moved between the trees—long, armored bodies writhing through the shadows.

Centimors.

They chased us.

They couldn’t catch him.

I held on for dear life.

And somehow—

I was smiling.

By the time we reached the hut, I collapsed.

Completely exhausted.

Richard? Not even breathing hard.

“Teach me,” I said, barely able to sit up.

He looked at me.

Then smiled.

“Of course.”

A pause.

“That’s why I showed you.”

He turned away, picking up his axe.

“I’m not getting any younger.”

The axe sank into wood.

“I will teach you how to survive”

Another strike.

His voice lowered.

“…So prepare yourself.”

The axe rose again.

“My training…”

It fell.

“…is not easy.”

He laughed.

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