Outside, the rain lashed the forest with a relentless fury—a sight that might seem beautiful to some, but a nightmare for the weak and shelterless. Inside the cave, the stumbling footsteps of Harten echoed, accompanied by voices in his head that rose and fell in a bitter struggle. He walked, then stopped, lost between two extremes: should he help her? Or leave her to her fate? Should he follow the carved "Rules," or that "Voice" echoing in his memory?
Suddenly, Harten let out a primal scream: "Damn it... damn it! I know I'll regret this!"
He stepped out into the downpour, heading toward the girl who was drowning in sorrow, mud, and despair—the kind of despair Harten had known since the dawn of his life. He looked at her; her gaze was hauntingly familiar—that look of pleading and frailty he had endured for so long, eyes shimmering with a non-existent hope. But Harten was no longer the same; the spark had vanished from his eyes. He knew that life was a cycle of "attack and retreat," a weary struggle where only the strong or the lucky could play. His eyes were pitch black, as weary as an abyss, unlike the girl who hadn't tasted half of what he had endured.
A flicker of pity stirred within him as he contemplated her tearful, submissive eyes. He shouted: "I don't know if you understand what I'm saying, but I won't let you become what I became to be like J—... Argh, damn it! My head! Who is 'J'? Who is he?!" He was acting on the remnants of "Joe's" guidance, yet he couldn't grasp the name or the reason. "Ugh... my head! Stand up and get inside the cave."
The poor girl couldn't understand his tongue, so Harten carried her inside while she trembled from shock and terror. The moment he set her on the floor, she scrambled away toward a corner, but he didn't care. He began to light a fire; the strike of flint, faint sparks, then the crackle of dry grass catching the wood. He began slicing meat, skewering the red flesh with his knife and waiting for the flames to settle, while the girl watched him from afar until exhaustion finally claimed her.
Harten stared into the fire, thinking: "Did I do the right thing? Or are the Rules more important? And who is that person screaming in my memory?" As the thoughts collided, the growl of his stomach broke his train of thought. He closed his eyes and laughed bitterly: "Food comes first." He began roasting the meat slowly. By morning, the rain had stopped, and the birds returned with the midday sun.
Harten began milking the deer while the girl was still lost in a deep sleep, dreaming of a nightmare where her small village was raided by bandits—blood, screams, and fire turning her world into dust. She was running and running until Harten woke her. She startled, but seeing the fire and the deer, she calmed down. She wiped her tears as she ate what he offered: roasted meat and deer milk. It was food without seasoning, without salt—food for survival, not for pleasure. As he ate, she began to cry; Harten smiled, feeling a strange yet familiar sensation.
Days later, she woke to find Harten chopping wood with a primitive axe. she admired his bulging muscles and the scars covering his body. When he raised his head, sweat dripping down his face, and looked at her, her face flushed with shyness. Harten was puzzled: "What is this girl doing?"
He shook off the thought and returned to his work, the wood shattering into equal pieces. "Ugh... I'm tired. I need to prepare breakfast." Wanting something other than meat, he pointed toward the cave: "Go inside... I'll be back." When she didn't move, he picked her up and placed her inside. When she tried to follow, he stopped her, making exaggerated, almost comical gestures toward his mouth to show he was getting food. The girl burst into laughter. He looked at her with a mix of surprise and annoyance, then stepped out with a faint smile—a strange cocktail of emotions.
In the forest, he searched for fruit. He found bananas but was attacked by monkeys; he fought them off, grabbed the fruit, and tossed one back to them before leaving. He moved through the trees with the grace of a predator. Using his ivory weapon tied with silk, he began spinning the sharpened tip so fast it vanished from sight. He waited like a beast, and when the birds took flight, he threw it like an arrow that never misses. The ivory pierced one bird, then two others in a single strike. He returned to the cave, muttering: "I hope she likes this."
Inside, he began plucking the birds, but the girl caught his hand and said: "No." He was confused: "You don't like birds?" She went to the corner and brought back herbs, placing them on the meat. He grumbled: "Why are you dirtying the food?" But when it was cooked, she offered him a piece with shimmering eyes. Harten tasted it and was shocked by the refreshing, different flavor. He tried to hide his reaction, turning his head away quickly, which made the girl laugh from her heart. He laughed too, a moment of genuine happiness.
Two Weeks of Laughter and Survival
But happiness never lasts. The "Unwanted Guest" appeared—a bald African man with primitive tattoos, searching for someone. He entered without a sound, as if he had no footsteps. He looked at the girl and laughed, speaking unintelligible words. He stepped toward her as if he owned the place. As the stranger reached for her, Harten, who had been relaxed, leaped to her rescue. He took a heavy blow, slamming into the wall as rocks fell onto his head, causing a bleed.
In that moment, the hide covering the wall fell away, revealing the rules written in blood:
DO NOT SPEAK TO ANOTHER... YOU WILL DIE.
DO NOT LEAVE THE FOREST... YOU WILL DIE.
KILL ANYONE WHO ENTERS THE FOREST.
KILL... KILL... KILL...
With the fourth rule, everything flooded back. He remembered—he had involuntarily consumed Joe's corpse after the chip activated. He remembered how he tore his own body apart and slaughtered the Vanguard soldiers in a frenzy. He remembered Joe's recorded message: "I've temporarily erased your memory... you have 30 minutes to write a trigger." Harten himself had written those rules with his own blood!
Harten stood up. The stranger spoke a foreign tongue, and the girl was weeping. It was chaotic and confusing, but to make the place quiet enough to think, Harten moved with a blur of speed. The silk thread shot out, and Harten drove the ivory tip into the man's neck. The enemy fell, bleeding out. Harten dragged him outside and tore his head off with his bare hands, wearing a grin of madness and rage—rage because he had been playing like a fool while his memories were nightmares.
Two days passed, and Harten didn't enter the cave, struggling with his thoughts. Finally, he decided to enter. The sound of the girl humming came from the pool as she bathed, gently washing herself with a smile. She stopped when she heard footsteps.
Harten entered, his face shadowed, dark, and cold. She looked at him with a suggestive, inviting gaze, beckoning him toward her. In a shocking moment, moving in slow motion, the ivory arrow tied to the thread shot forth. It buried itself in the girl's head, splitting it apart. The pool turned a deep, crimson red.
Harten looked on with cold, black eyes and said with chilling indifference:
"I don't have time to play with you... I have a revenge to settle."