# Chapter 3: Ripples and the First Lesson
I woke up and for a few seconds just lay there, staring at the shadowy wooden ceiling above me. Then I noticed something strange about this hut.
Silence.
In Blackwater, silence was suspicious. But here it felt... different. Like the world was holding its breath.
I sat up slowly. The wounds on my back had improved, but the pain still faithfully accompanied every movement.
I glanced around.
No Master. No fire in the hearth. Only cold ash and the remains of burnt wood. The wooden table in the corner—empty. No bread. No signs of life.
My stomach growled loudly, breaking the silence. I sat in the low doorway and waited. Maybe he had gone out. Maybe he'd return with food. Maybe this was just another test.
Time passed quickly. The sun climbed toward noon, but the fog still clung stubbornly to the trees. The cold air bit my skin. My stomach cramped, like it was being wrung from the inside.
No one came.
I looked outside at the expanse of silent spruce forest stretching before me. In the distance, between the tree trunks and undergrowth, I saw strange stones. They looked like small menhirs, only about knee-high on an adult—or shorter. Some stood alone, some in clusters. I didn't know what they were. But something about their arrangement made me uneasy. Strange symbols that seemed to ripple faintly.
I ignored them. My stomach was more important.
In Blackwater, I survived because I knew how to steal. Here, I didn't even know what was edible. But that didn't mean I didn't know how to survive. My father taught me before he disappeared.
*"If you're hungry, find something to eat—even if you have to steal it. If you're afraid, try to overcome your fear. Never wait—take a single step if you have to. The world will ignore you anyway. Because you were never meant for this world."*
I stood up, trying to move my heavy legs. My back throbbed with every movement. But I walked.
My eyes started working—not to see the scenery, but to search. This was what my eyes were for, I thought. Not to see beautiful things. But to survive and find something.
In the damp soil near some bushes, I found it. Tracks. Small, with four toes and tiny claw marks. Fresh. I crouched and touched the ground beside them. Damp, but not wet, hidden in the long shadows of the spruce.
I followed the tracks.
Every step felt like torture. My back screamed. My thighs trembled. But I kept walking. Between the trees, I saw movement. Brown and furry. A rabbit.
It was eating grass, its ears twitching, unaware I was here.
I lowered my body. Held my breath. One step. Two steps. I could hear my own heartbeat thudding too loud. I could see the fine fur on its back ruffled by the wind. I could see its restless feet, as if it knew when it would leap.
I lunged.
Failed.
The rabbit darted left. Just as I was about to grab it, my head suddenly throbbed with pain and I missed. I fell face-down, my chest slamming into the ground. The wounds on my back pulsed. The pain returned. I lay curled there, holding my breath, holding back rage.
Stupid. I was too weak.
But I didn't give up. I got up again. Warm blood seeped from beneath the bandages on my back. But I kept walking. Followed the tracks again. Slower this time. More careful.
Some time later.
I found it near the roots of a fallen tree. It was hiding behind a bush, thinking I wouldn't see it. But my eyes saw. Even now, so clearly.
This time I didn't lunge. I crawled. Slowly. Inch by inch. My hands felt the ground, sensing every small twig before touching it. I heard the rabbit's breathing—fast, frightened. But it hadn't run. It didn't see me. It didn't smell me. It just trembled, trusting stillness as its shield.
One more inch. One more inch.
Quickly, I caught it while it was distracted. Its fur was warm. Its body was small and shaking violently. I could feel its heart racing under my grip. Its eyes—black, round, full of fear—stared at me.
For a moment, I stopped.
It was afraid. Just like I used to be.
But my stomach screamed. The wounds on my back throbbed. And I remembered. In this world, only the strong survived. The weak died.
Without thinking, I twisted its neck.
*Crack.*
The small body went limp. The warmth was still in my hands, but no more trembling. No more breath. Just meat.
I sat on the ground, holding the rabbit in my hands. My breath came in ragged gasps. My back throbbed violently. But in my hands, there was food.
I had succeeded.
Then why did my chest feel so tight?
I stared at the dead rabbit. Its eyes were still open, but empty. Its fur was still warm. Minutes ago it had been alive, eating grass, unaware that behind the bush, eyes were watching.
Just like me.
I bit my lip. Swallowed something stuck in my throat.
Then I stood on unsteady legs. I walked back to the hut, through the thinning fog. Rabbit blood dripped along the path, leaving a red trail on the moss. I passed those strange stones again. They were still silent, as if watching.
And in the distance, from the hut's chimney, smoke curled upward.
The hearth was lit.
I held the rabbit close. Its body had gone cold.
As I approached the door, warm air welcomed me. I entered. The Master stood near the hearth, the fire already burning warm. But there was no roasted meat. Nothing on the stones. Just the fire, and the Master staring at me.
He looked at the rabbit in my hands. Then at the blood on my clothes. Then at my pale face.
He said nothing. Just watched.
I didn't want to say anything either. I just stood in the doorway, holding the rabbit, waiting for something—a scolding, praise, anything.
Nothing.
"Sit," he finally said. His voice was flat. Not a command. Just... a statement.
I sat on the bench near the fire. The rabbit was still in my hands. I didn't know what to do.
The Master sat across from me. His gray eyes looked at me, then at the rabbit, then back at me. He saw my hesitation.
"You see that animal?"
His voice was calm. I didn't nod, just glanced at the rabbit.
"That's what human life looks like."
He paused, letting his words settle in the air.
"Even if you do nothing evil, death will still find you. It's only a matter of time. Only a matter of who is faster, who is stronger, who is hungrier."
He stared at me.
"If you're weak, you'll be that rabbit."
I swallowed. My hands were still in my lap, gripping the rabbit's stiff body.
He was right. In Blackwater, I'd nearly died many times.
But this rabbit was different... it had died by my hands. I was the one who killed it, twisted its neck. I was the one who felt its body tremble and then go limp.
---
Suddenly the Master stood. He walked over, and without a word, took the rabbit from my hands. He began skinning it with quick, skilled movements—like he'd done it a thousand times.
I could only sit silently, watching him.
Some time later, the rabbit meat was cooked over the fire. The smell of smoke and roasting flesh filled the room. My stomach screamed. But when the Master placed the meat in front of me, I just sat there, staring at it.
I had killed it. And now I had to eat it to survive.
My hand reached out and tore off a piece. The meat was hot and juicy.
I put it in my mouth.
It tasted so good—I couldn't even remember the last time I'd eaten roasted meat. Something burned behind my eyes.
I bit again. And again. And again.
I ate ravenously, like an animal, like someone who hadn't eaten in days. Grease ran down my chin, but I didn't care. I just wanted to eat. Chew. Swallow and take more.
But in between bites, something lodged in my chest. Something hot and aching, like an invisible wound. Something that whispered... *It was alive, and you killed it. You're eating it. But you're alive.*
My eyes burned. My throat tightened. But no tears fell. Maybe they were all gone. Maybe they were too deep to come out.
I kept eating. Didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
When I finished, small bones lay scattered before me. I stared at them, breathing heavily. My stomach felt full, but my chest was empty.
The Master just watched in silence.
Then he stood and walked to the door. But before stepping out, he stopped.
"Out there, there are stones. You passed them earlier."
I turned.
"That's the boundary. From now on, you're not to go beyond those stones."
That was the first rule he gave me.
He left, the door closing slowly behind him.
I remained seated, staring at the fire as it dimmed—then at the bones, and at my still-trembling hands.
I didn't understand this man. But for the first time, I felt... deeply confused. More confused than ever before.
He was the first person to give me a rule without a whip.
I spent that night just thinking. The Master—I didn't know where he went after the door closed. I tried to sleep with my feelings in turmoil. *Tomorrow*, I thought. *Tomorrow everything begins.*
---
The next morning, the lessons began, just as he'd said. The Master took me deep into the forest. We passed the boundary stones, and I memorized exactly where they stood. I noticed for the first time that the stones had crude carved faces—expressions that made me uncomfortable. We walked deeper, to a place I'd never been.
The trees here were older, larger. Fog still lingered between their trunks, making everything look gray and wet. We stopped near a flat stone. Its edges were carved with strange symbols—circles, curved lines, shapes I didn't recognize.
"Sit here," the Master said.
I sat. The stone was cold. Dew seeped through my clothes.
"Close your eyes. And be still."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Nothing. Just be still. And listen."
I closed my eyes.
At first, there was only the sound of wind. Then, slowly, other sounds began to emerge. Leaves brushing against each other. Birds singing in the distance. My own heartbeat—slow and heavy.
But the longer I stayed still, the more my thoughts leapt uncontrollably. Leon, father, the whip. And that rabbit. All of them came in waves, like an endless tide.
My breath started to quicken.
"You're not being still." The Master's voice cut through the silence. "Your breathing is loud. Calm it."
I took a long breath. Held it. Let it out slowly. But the harder I tried to calm down, the more something inside my chest writhed. And at the edges of my vision—even with my eyes closed—the ripples began to appear. Subtle movements that shouldn't be there. Like the world vibrating beneath my eyelids.
An hour might have passed. Or only minutes—I couldn't tell anymore.
"I'm cold," I finally said.
The Master nodded. As if that was the answer he'd been waiting for.
"Cold is a sensation," he said quietly. "Sound is a sensation. Pain is a sensation. They're all information you need to survive. You must learn to listen to your instincts and study them, not be enslaved by them."
He stood and walked back toward the hut.
"Tomorrow you'll sit longer."
I wanted to curse him, but I was too exhausted to say anything. I just trailed behind him.
The following days were filled only with cold stone and breath that was never calm enough. The ripples—those faint lines in the air—didn't disappear. They only learned to hide.
The Master spoke less and less as the days passed. He just sat on his stone, watching, as if recording something in the small book tucked inside his head.
My eyes—the ripples never truly went away. In quiet moments, they receded. But when I was tired, hungry, or tense, the world seemed to vibrate again. Small movements at the forest's edge were caught too clearly. Falling leaves. Crawling caterpillars. Far away, a squirrel leaping—and for a moment, I could see its arc before it moved.
I didn't tell the Master. But I knew he saw. He always saw.
"Argh!"
The dizziness came again, more often than before. It used to come only sometimes, when I was too focused or too scared. Now it came uninvited, stabbing from inside, making me want to smash my head against a rock.
I wanted to tell the Master. But every time I looked at him, the words died in my throat.
There was something in his eyes—not a threat, but... observation. Like he was waiting for something. Counting something. And I didn't know if I wanted to be part of his calculation.
---
One morning, before the sun had fully pierced the forest canopy, he called me to the back of the hut.
There was a small clearing there. Wooden training dummies. Old, worn weapons. But the Master didn't point to them. He stood at the forest's edge, staring into the expanse of trees stretching beneath the fog.
Strange. Every morning he did this. Stood like a statue, staring at the forest. For someone as cruel as him, that habit felt... wrong.
But today, for the first time, I saw something different in his eyes. I'd seen that look before. On my father's face, when he was remembering my mother.
A look that shouldn't exist on someone like him.
He turned. His eyes met mine. My chest jolted.
He approached. In his hand was a small bottle containing a greenish liquid. Something glittered inside it.
"Drink."
"What is it?"
"Help."
"What kind of help?"
He stared at me. "Your head hurts often. This will ease it. Temporarily."
I held the bottle. Cold. I remembered merchants in Blackwater giving similar concoctions to disobedient guards. They'd died convulsing within seconds.
But I also remembered his words. *The ones who want to kill you will be more honest.*
I didn't have a choice. I never had a choice.
I drank.
The liquid was cold. Not ordinary cold. Cold that spread fast, like ice water flowing through my veins.
I convulsed a moment later.
Then the world exploded.
Sound. All the sounds came at once. Leaves brushing together like a thousand knives. Insects in the soil—I could hear their legs, one by one, piercing the earth. Far away, beneath dry leaves, a worm crawled. I heard its soft body pressing into the ground.
I fell. My knees hit the dirt. But there was no pain. Only sound. Too much sound.
I covered my ears. It didn't help. The sound came from inside.
Sunlight shattered into millions of fragments. Each fragment danced before my eyes, too fast, too sharp. I squeezed my eyes shut as hard as I could. But behind my lids, the ripples only grew wilder. They were no longer subtle movements. They were a storm.
And inside that storm, something stirred.
I felt the pulse of the earth. I felt the crawling roots of the trees. I felt the warm trails of animals that had passed an hour ago.
And I didn't want it to stop.
I opened my eyes.
The Master stood in front of me. His face was calm. And on his lips—faint, but real—a smile. A smile that reminded me of those cursed people who had taken everything from me.
I wanted to curse him. But the anger drowned in the flood of sensations. Blood ran from my nose and my eyes, also from my ears. I collapsed, helpless... like I could no longer control my own body.
I crawled, trying to reach his feet. Looking for a hold. Looking for something real.
Then the memories came.
Leon with his empty gaze when he'd looked at me.
Father and the coldness of my mother's body in my grip.
The rabbit and the warmth of its body when I twisted its neck.
All of it came at once, wave after wave. Hammering and tearing through my skull.
And the Master just watched.
I kept crawling. Still trying to reach him. But my body had no more compromise left in it. All that remained were my eyes—still staring—and consciousness slowly fading.
Face-down in the dirt, amid the stench of blood seeping from my ears. My eyes grew heavy. My vision blurred.
I saw the Master still there. Silent. Watching.
Then—
Darkness.