After months of wandering, Kael reached the edge of the Demonic Continent. He had survived, barely, but he had survived. In the shadow of a massive ancient tree, he built a small house high in the branches. It wasn't much, just enough to keep him off the ground, away from the beasts that roamed below. He spent the days sharpening his blade, reinforcing his shelter, and keeping watch for any signs of danger.

But at night, when the wind howled through the trees and the shadows seemed to whisper his name, Kael felt the crushing weight of his loneliness.

"Maybe I should've stayed," he whispered to himself one night, lying on the floor of his treehouse, staring up at the stars. "Maybe… I didn't have to run."

But deep down, he knew that wasn't true. As long as the crystal was with him, The Voice would never be far behind. And as much as it hurt, this was the only way to protect the people he cared about.

"I'm not like you," he said softly, thinking of The Voice, his words carried away by the wind. "I won't sacrifice them. Not for anything."

And so, Kael waited in the solitude of the demonic lands, determined to survive without the power that had both saved and cursed him. Even if it meant being alone, far from everything he had ever known.

Who am I?

The months stretched into a blur of endless, quiet days. The sun rose and fell over the treetops, casting long shadows across Kael's path as he roamed deeper into the forest, far from the village, far from the people he once called friends. Each step felt heavier than the last, but the decision to leave had been made, and he swore he wouldn't look back. This was the only way to protect them—from the Crystal, from himself, and from him.

The Voice.

The forest had become his only companion now, its silence broken only by the wind rustling through the leaves or the distant howl of beasts prowling the underbrush. Kael moved like a shadow through the trees, a sword strapped to his back—a sword he had made with his own hands, forged in a moment of desperate need. He was stronger now, physically hardened by the wild, but the weight inside him—the mental strain—was another battle entirely.

His muscles ached from days of walking, hunting, and fighting. His eyes were hollow from lack of sleep, but his mind was sharper than it had ever been, honed by necessity. The wild had forced him to adapt, to become something else, something primal. He had built a treehouse in the heart of the forest, a shelter high in the branches where he could rest away from the beasts that prowled below. It was simple—nothing more than planks of wood and a roof made of dried leaves—but it was enough to keep him alive.

At first, the quiet solitude of the forest was a relief. It was peaceful, even beautiful in its raw, untamed way. But the longer he stayed, the more the silence grew oppressive, wrapping around him like a shroud. The isolation pressed against his mind, twisting his thoughts, leaving him with nothing but his doubts and The Voice.

"You're still running, Kael," The Voice whispered, its familiar, taunting tone slithering into his thoughts as he crouched by the stream, washing blood from his hands after another brutal hunt. "But for how long?"

Kael didn't answer. He never did. Talking to The Voice felt like giving it power, acknowledging its hold over him. But it was always there, lingering at the edges of his consciousness, watching, judging, mocking.

"Don't you miss them? The people you left behind? The life you could've had?" The Voice continued, dripping with mock pity. "You think you're protecting them by running away, but you're just delaying the inevitable. You are the danger."

Kael's jaw tightened, his hand hovering over the pouch where the Crystal of Creation rested. Its power was always there, calling to him, tempting him. Just a touch, just a flicker of its energy, and he could end the torment, silence The Voice, defeat the beasts that hunted him with ease. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. The crystal was a curse, a dangerous lure that would only bring him closer to the thing he feared most—becoming like him.

The Voice chuckled darkly, sensing Kael's hesitation. "You're getting stronger, but how long before you realize it's not enough? How long before you give in?"

Kael ignored it, turning his focus to the path ahead. The beasts of the forest were relentless, and every day brought a new challenge. He had fought and bled in this wilderness, refusing to rely on the crystal's power, determined to prove to himself that he could survive without it. But the toll was beginning to show. His sword, once sharp and pristine, was now chipped and stained with the blood of countless creatures. His body was covered in scars, reminders of every battle, every near-death experience.

One night, as he sat by the fire in his treehouse, sharpening his blade, the ground beneath him trembled. The trees swayed as something massive approached, the earth shaking with each step. Kael's heart raced, adrenaline flooding his veins. He stood, sword in hand, eyes scanning the darkness beyond the firelight.

From the shadows emerged a beast larger than anything he had faced before. Its eyes glowed like embers in the dark, its massive body covered in thick, black fur, rippling with muscle. It was a direbear, its claws sharp enough to tear through steel, its roar shaking the very trees around them. Kael's grip tightened on his sword as the beast charged, its massive form barreling toward him with terrifying speed.

Kael sidestepped just in time, his sword slashing through the air as the direbear's claws narrowly missed his head. The force of its attack sent debris flying, and Kael rolled to the side, coming up on one knee. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat echoing the thundering steps of the beast.

"No crystal," Kael muttered to himself, gritting his teeth. "Not now."

The direbear swung its massive paw again, and Kael ducked beneath it, slashing at its leg. His sword bit into the beast's thick fur, but it barely slowed. The direbear roared, turning to face him, its eyes burning with rage. Kael could feel the exhaustion creeping into his limbs, the weight of every fight, every struggle pressing down on him. He was tired—so tired—but he couldn't stop. He wouldn't.

The beast lunged again, and this time Kael was ready. He leaped to the side, driving his sword into the back of the creature's neck. The blade sank deep, and the direbear let out a deafening roar, thrashing wildly as it tried to shake him off. Kael held on, twisting the blade, his muscles burning with the effort. With a final, guttural cry, the beast collapsed, its massive body crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust and blood.

Kael stood over the fallen creature, his chest heaving, his sword slick with blood. He wiped his brow, looking down at the corpse. Another victory. Another fight survived. But the triumph felt hollow.

"Is this what I've become?" he whispered to the darkness, his voice barely audible. "A killer? A survivor at any cost?"

"You're stronger than you were before," The Voice said, its tone almost… approving. "But you still don't see it, do you? This is who you are now. You can't go back. You can't escape it."

Kael clenched his fists, his knuckles white. He wanted to scream, to tell The Voice it was wrong, that he wasn't like him, that he was still fighting to hold onto something—some piece of himself that was good, that wasn't lost. But the words stuck in his throat, choked by the doubt that had been growing inside him for months.

The nights were the worst. Alone in his treehouse, the wind howling through the branches, Kael would stare at the stars and wonder if there was still a place for him among people. If he could ever return to the village, to Elara, to anyone. Or if he had gone too far, become too detached from everything human. He had survived, but at what cost?

"Am I a good person?" he whispered one night, the firelight flickering weakly as he sat with his back against the rough wooden wall of his shelter. The question hung in the air, unanswered.

For the first time, The Voice didn't laugh or mock him. It was silent for a long moment, as if considering the question.

"I know how you feel," The Voice finally said, its tone softer, almost… reflective. "I asked myself the same thing once. Before I became what I am."

Kael blinked, surprised by the shift in The Voice's demeanor. There was no malice, no pity—just a strange, unsettling understanding.

"I was like you," The Voice continued. "Fighting to survive. Trying to hold onto something good, something worth saving. But in the end, survival meant sacrifice. It always does. You're walking the same path I did, Kael. You're just too stubborn to admit it."

Kael's hand drifted to the pouch at his side, where the crystal lay hidden. It was always there, always waiting, its power just within reach. He could end this struggle, end this endless torment with a single touch. But at what cost?

"You're stronger now," The Voice said. "Keep using the sword. Keep fighting. But remember… the crystal is there. And when you start to rely on it, when you give in—I'll be there to take your life."

Kael swallowed hard, his hand trembling. The promise hung in the air like a curse, but there was no comfort in it. Only a grim acknowledgment of the path he was walking.

"Maybe… maybe I've already gone too far," Kael whispered, his voice barely audible.

But there was no one to answer him. Only the wind, the darkness, and the cold silence of the forest.

Months later

The months passed in a blur of silence, the only sound in the forest being the rustle of leaves, the crack of branches, and the occasional whisper of The Voice in Kael's mind. Living in isolation, Kael had adapted to the brutal realities of the forest. He had grown stronger, more adept at hunting and defending himself, but with each passing day, something inside him hardened. There was no one to help him, no one to rely on but himself, and that made him resilient—but also colder.

His muscles ached from the endless battles with beasts that prowled the forest, but the pain had become routine. Every swing of his sword was sharper, every move more precise. He had learned to rely on his instincts, but each victory felt hollow. The isolation gnawed at him. Without people, without purpose, the fights became nothing more than a way to pass the time, a distraction from the emptiness gnawing at him from within.

Then there was The Voice. Always there. Always mocking, always pitying. It whispered during the nights, when the forest was at its quietest, and Kael would lie awake in his treehouse, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore it. Yet, even as he tried to shut it out, part of him clung to the sound. It was the only connection to anything outside of himself, and as much as he hated The Voice, it was the only thing keeping him from drowning in his own loneliness.

"You're strong, but still weak," The Voice would say, its tone both condescending and soft. "I could make it easier for you. Just use the crystal."