Inside Lostwood, time flowed with no certainty. There was no sun to mark day or night—only an ever-clouded sky, sometimes accompanied by thick fog that limited visibility.
For Ziero, the difference between day and night no longer mattered.
The concept of time, as he had once known it in Theria, had long since lost its meaning. All that remained was a simple rhythm—hunt, survive, and keep moving to avoid becoming prey.
---
A small campfire flickered dimly inside the hut, offering a bit of warmth against the ever-present cold. Ziero sat on a pile of dry leaves, watching as a piece of meat roasted over the flames.
"Hmm… this should be done," he muttered.
Casually, he took a bite. The taste? Bland. No seasoning, no flavor except for the raw freshness of wild game. But for someone who had grown accustomed to life here, this was more than enough.
As he ate, his eyes never stopped scanning his surroundings.
The snap of a branch.
A gust of wind.
A shadow shifting in the distance.
In Lostwood, even the smallest mistake could mean death.
---
Once he finished eating, Ziero stood and picked up the crude weapon he had crafted himself—a wooden spear with a sharpened tip.
He needed to check his traps.
Stepping out of the hut, he followed a familiar path, carefully avoiding the more dangerous areas. Even after nine months in Lostwood, he knew the forest was ever-changing.
The terrain could shift. Roots could emerge where none had been before. And worst of all, the monsters within it were always evolving.
Reaching his first trap, he smirked.
A Shadowfang—a wolf-like beast with pitch-black fur and glowing red eyes—had been caught. The creature was still alive, snarling at him with pure hatred.
Ziero raised his spear.
Schk!
With a swift strike, the Shadowfang's life ended.
"This should last me a few days," he murmured, exhaling softly.
As he crouched to inspect his catch, something caught his attention.
The ground beneath the Shadowfang… trembled.
A chill ran down his spine.
"…Something's coming."
Without hesitation, Ziero slung the beast's corpse over his shoulder and sprinted back toward his hut.
He had learned from experience—never stay in one place too long after a kill.
Because in Lostwood…
There was always something bigger lurking.
---
The small hut stood amidst towering ancient trees, hidden beneath thick shadows cast by the dense canopy. Built from rough wood and large leaves, it was far from comfortable, but to Ziero, this was home now.
He placed the Shadowfang's body on an aging wooden table, then tore off the tattered cloth wrapped around his arm. His clothing, full of tears and dried bloodstains, was just another part of daily life.
Without hesitation, he began skinning and butchering the beast.
"Ahh, this should last three days," he muttered, glancing at the neatly arranged cuts of meat on a large rock.
Afterward, he sat in the corner of the hut, staring at his hands—the undeniable proof that he was no ordinary human.
Pitch-black fingers, their texture like obsidian, with dark veins pulsing faintly beneath the skin. And most striking of all, his left eye—glowing violet, unlike the blue or silver eyes that ran in the Theria bloodline.
He clenched his fist.
"Two years, huh… since I was thrown into this place."
"I tried escaping so many times, but I always ended up back here."
"I've never seen the sun. It's always dark here."
His mind drifted back to that day—the day Theria cast him aside.
The day his family decided he was better off gone.
"They…" he whispered, his voice cold. "I hate them."
For a moment, his chest tightened. But he inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly.
"There's no point dwelling on it," he said flatly. "I have no connection to them anymore. Survival is all that matters now."
Shoving those thoughts aside, Ziero stood and lit the fire, drying some meat for storage.
Yet, no matter how much he tried to ignore it… something still felt off.
Something that made this forest feel more unnatural with each passing day.
---
That night was quieter than usual.
Ziero lay restlessly on a bed of rough straw in his small hut. The cold air seeped through the gaps in the wooden walls, but that wasn't what kept him awake.
It was the sound…
The rumble of turning wheels.
The steady rhythm of hooves.
The creaking of wood—like a carriage rolling through the forest.
Ziero's violet eye gleamed as he sat up abruptly. He grabbed his dagger and stepped outside cautiously.
"A carriage? That's impossible… No one can enter or leave Lostwood."
But the sound was real—exactly like what he had heard nine months ago.
Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the source of the noise.
His steps were swift, weaving through dense trees, avoiding the thick roots jutting from the ground. The air remained cold, and the fog thickened the further he went.
Yet, when he arrived at the spot he believed the sound had come from… there was nothing.
No carriage.
No tracks.
No signs of life.
Only dense fog and the eerie silence of the forest.
Ziero let out a long breath. "Did I miss something?"
He turned to leave. But after only a few steps—
He saw something.
Someone.
Lying on the cold, damp ground was a small girl, bound tightly.
Her hands and feet were tied with rough rope, her eyes covered by a dirty black cloth.
Her hair—deep crimson—stood out starkly against the dark forest.
Ziero's heartbeat quickened.
"As far as I remember… she wasn't here before."
"Could it be…?"
Without hesitation, he knelt down and pulled off the cloth covering her eyes.
For a moment, he froze.
Her eyes fluttered open, and beneath the dim light of the clouded moon, Ziero saw them—
A pair of glowing, blood-red eyes.
Not human.
Ziero narrowed his gaze. He had already guessed what this meant.
"So… you're just like me?"
Without wasting another second, he lifted the girl onto his shoulder and hurried back to his hut.
Tonight, he hadn't just found someone…
He had found someone who shared his fate.
---
The small hut was barely fit to be called a home.
Its walls were made of rough wooden planks, hastily put together. The roof had holes, allowing the cold to seep in unhindered. Inside, there was only a pile of straw for a bed, a few animal pelts for warmth, and crude tools Ziero had fashioned during his time in Lostwood.
And there, the girl lay.
Ziero lit a small fire in the corner, its orange glow casting flickering shadows on the walls. He knelt beside her, watching her pale face. Her hands and feet were still bound.
He didn't untie them right away.
There was something about this girl that made him cautious.
Not because she looked dangerous or weak… but because—
She was just like him.
Ziero studied her face. Slowly, he reached for the cloth covering her eyes and pulled it away.
Two blood-red eyes stared back at him, glowing softly in the firelight.
Ziero frowned.
He only had one unnatural eye—his left one, dark with a violet glow.
But this girl…
Both of hers shone.
His gaze flickered to his own hand—black as obsidian, rough and unnatural. A constant reminder that he wasn't human.
Then, he looked at hers—deep crimson, veins pulsing faintly beneath the skin.
"Like my hand… but a different color."
"Was she also called a monster?"
"Was she abandoned just like me?"
Ziero sighed, pushing those thoughts aside. He knew she was weak—if he didn't act, she wouldn't last long.
Without hesitation, he took his dagger and swiftly cut the ropes binding her.
The restraints fell away.
Ziero leaned back against the wall, watching the unconscious girl.
Tonight… he was no longer alone.