‘Huh…?’

With effort, I forced my eyes open.

My senses returned gradually, as if each one was struggling to wake from a deep, heavy slumber. My body felt like solid lead, my muscles numb, and every movement demanded more energy than I had to give.

Something damp and rough brushed against my fingers in slow, rhythmic motions.

I blinked a few times, trying to adjust my blurry vision, and then—like a jolt of electricity—the scene before me hit with full force.

The sky…

A dull, ominous red stretched endlessly above, as if the very atmosphere had been stained with old, dried blood.

Beneath it, the world was enclosed by towering walls of jagged stone, rising on either side like massive, natural fortresses.

And in front of me, a vast crevice split the ground—a rugged, winding path stretching straight ahead for dozens, maybe even hundreds, of meters.

“But… what…?” I murmured, my voice hoarse and weak, barely recognizing the sound of my own words.

“Where the hell am I?”

One thing was certain—this was no longer the Black Forest.

I tried to move, feeling a strange, unfamiliar weight pressing down on me. Yet, oddly enough, when I finally managed to sit up, my body felt unnaturally light.

Except for my right hand.

A dull, throbbing pain pulsed through it, like a wound slowly healing over time.

Lowering my gaze, that’s when I noticed.

The wolf pup was there.

The small creature, its fur a soft shade of gray, watched me with sharp, attentive eyes, licking my hand with quiet dedication. Its ears twitched in sync with my breathing, and its tail swayed gently against the dust-covered ground, scattered with bits of broken stone.

For a brief moment, I couldn’t help but let out a tired smile.

"You have any idea how we ended up here…?" I murmured, sliding my free hand over the pup’s head, my fingers sinking into its rough, tangled fur, still coated in dust and bits of stone.

It lifted its gaze to me, eyes gleaming with that silent, almost uncanny intelligence animals sometimes have. But instead of answering—not that it could—it simply went back to licking my injured fingers, as if to say, ‘I can’t tell you, but I can help.’

I let out a tired sigh.

"Forget it… even if you did know, you wouldn’t be able to tell me, would you?"

The pup let out a soft whine—something close to a chuckle, almost mocking the irony—before resuming its quiet, dedicated work on my wounded hand.

That was when I finally took in my surroundings.

I looked around, examining the area with sharper focus.

We were… at the bottom of a ravine.

There was no other explanation. The walls around me were massive, sheer cliffs of dark, uneven stone. Black veins ran through them like old scars, weaving between deep cracks where thick, sticky moss clung stubbornly. Tiny insects scurried through the crevices, too preoccupied with their own survival to pay me any mind.

But… how?

How had I ended up here?

I didn’t remember falling.

I didn’t even remember being near a place like this.

The last thing…

The last thing I remembered was the illusion.

Or at least, what I thought had been an illusion.

But now… now, nothing about this felt unreal.

Everything was too real.

The cold stone beneath my hands.

The damp, earthy scent hanging in the air.

The metallic taste lingered in my dry mouth.

And if this was real… then there was no denying it.

I was far. Way too far.

This was definitely no longer the Black Forest.

A chill ran down my spine as my mind raced, trying to piece everything together—from the beginning of the blood moon to the clash with the mercenaries.

And then—

“Shit!” I shouted, my voice echoing through the ravine like a muffled thunderclap.

“The rupture.”

The words slipped out before I could even stop them.

“Somehow… I must have crossed the rupture… and ended up in the Demon Forest…”

WOOF!

The pup barked, either agreeing with my conclusion or simply sharing my frustration.

I ran a hand over my face, trying to keep the rising panic at bay.

“Calm down, Alexander…” I muttered to myself, shutting my eyes for a moment. “The family must be looking for a way to get me out of here…”

But then—

A sharp, ice-cold realization sliced through me.

My eyes snapped open, wide with horror.

“Shit!” I exploded again. “I’m at the bottom of a ravine! How the hell are they supposed to find me down here?!”

And worse—

“Will they be fast enough… before some demonic beast finds me first?”

...............

The morning sun barely managed to warm the cold lands of Magnum, where vast mountains remained cloaked in a thin mist, as if winter had never truly abandoned the region. A frigid breeze wove its way through the grand corridors of the Magnum family’s estate, slipping through window cracks and brushing against the heavy tapestries with an almost imperceptible whisper.

But to Lucian, the cold was nothing more than a trivial detail.

Already awake and fully dressed, he strode through the estate’s long stone corridors, wearing clothing that most would consider far too light for such a hostile climate—fitted black leather boots, thick wool trousers, and a white linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, exposing part of his chest and making it abundantly clear that the cold didn’t bother him in the slightest.

The reason?

His blood.

A descendant of a lineage renowned for both its raw strength and extraordinary resilience, Lucian was far from an ordinary child. At just ten years old, his height and build easily made him look thirteen, if not older. When combined with his naturally broad shoulders, developing muscles, and imposing presence, it was easy to forget that he was still just a boy.

At his side walked a young woman, her steps quiet and composed. With delicate features and pale skin, she appeared to be in her early twenties. Her attire was impeccable—far more refined than that of the other servants they passed along the way. A perfectly tailored black outfit, modest yet elegant, matched the dark hue of her eyes and the long, sleek hair cascading down to her waist.

This was Marie—Lucian’s personal attendant and tutor.

She was always by his side, ensuring he met his responsibilities and maintained proper conduct. A difficult task, to say the least, given the boy’s restless nature.

“Damn father!” Lucian complained, his voice carrying lightly through the corridor as he passed a row of tall windows at an unhurried pace. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in months!”

Marie cast him a brief, concerned glance before discreetly scanning their surroundings.

“Prince Lucian,” she reprimanded softly, stepping a little closer and lowering her voice to a near whisper. “Your Highness, your father will punish you again if he hears you speaking like that.”

Lucian scoffed, crossing his arms and kicking a loose pebble down the hall.

“As if he doesn’t already…” he muttered, his eyes narrowing with pure frustration.

Marie sighed but chose not to stoke the boy’s anger any further.

As they walked on, they passed through the grand entrance hall, where ancient tapestries swayed gently with the breeze slipping through the cracks in the door. Servants and guards stepped aside, bowing respectfully as the young prince passed—though he hardly seemed to notice their reverence.

A short while later, they emerged into the front courtyard, where the air felt even colder. The gray sky stretched overhead like a heavy shroud, and the towering mountains of Magnum loomed in silence, standing watch like ancient sentinels.

Waiting for him was a sturdy yet elegant carriage, reinforced with strong wooden panels. Two powerful horses stood ready, their breath misting in the frigid air.

Lucian climbed in with ease, settling into the fur-lined interior.

Marie remained at the entrance, watching him closely. Before the coachman could set off, she bowed her head slightly and said,

“Safe travels, Prince Lucian.”

Her voice was soft and formal as always, but her eyes brimmed with quiet concern.

Lucian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he forced a small, measured smile—a practiced expression meant to mask any trace of frustration.

“Thank you, Marie. I’ll see you later.”

She didn’t deserve to bear the weight of his foul mood. No matter how exhausting his routine had become or how suffocating the patriarch’s strictness felt, taking it out on others had never been his way.

The carriage doors shut behind him, and with a faint creak, the vehicle began to move. The sound of its heavy wheels echoed through the stone courtyard before fading into the crunch of dry leaves and snapping branches along the road.

Lucian watched in silence through the window.

The landscape shifted as they left the heart of the Principality. The wide, paved streets soon gave way to packed dirt roads, flanked by towering trees that stood like the solemn columns of an ancient, shadowed temple.

But the farther he traveled from the estate, the more the tranquility of nature was replaced by the unseen weight of the mines.

The air—once crisp and biting—grew thick and heavy, filled with a fine dust and invisible particles that scratched at his throat with every breath.

The music of the forest gave way to the rhythmic, unrelenting sound of human toil.

Hoarse shouts of orders.

The dry clink of tools striking rock.

The almost hypnotic rhythm of men working—striking, pulling, striking, pulling—a repetitive cycle that echoed through the mountains like an unending ritual.

Lucian rested his forehead against the cold glass of the carriage window and let out a long sigh.

"And to think they call this a noble life…" he muttered.

When the carriage finally slowed and came to a stop, there were no servants rushing to open the door. No overseer hurrying forward with bows and honeyed words.

The coachman sat motionless at the front, gripping his own wrist as if restraining the instinct to so much as glance back.

Lucian didn’t wait for anyone.

With a sharp click, he pushed the door open and stepped out on his own.

His attire was different now.

A dark leather jumpsuit, reinforced to withstand the wear and tear of labor. Thick gloves, already worn from time and effort. Heavy boots that sank slightly into the uneven ground. A sturdy linen shirt—the only real protection against the biting cold, laced with the dust of the underground.

At his belt, a small leather canteen swayed gently—half-empty, but enough to keep his throat from going dry in the first few hours of work.

Standing before the gaping maw of the mine, Lucian took a deep breath.

As ironic as it was…

This place was his personal hell.

But it was also the only place where he could exist without masks.

No watchful eyes of the court.

No suffocating rules of protocol.

No burden of a surname that, to many, meant more than the person who carried it.

Down in the mine… he was just another worker.

And in the end, that was freeing.

He made his way to the side of the entrance, where an old wooden crate sat overflowing with pickaxes worn down by years of use.

Without hurry, he rummaged through the pile until he found his own.

Carved into the handle by hand, a single name stood out: Lucian.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips—almost nostalgic. He rested the pickaxe against his shoulder, feeling its familiar weight.

With steady steps, he crossed into the dark, damp entrance of the mine. The cold deepened, and the scent of earth and iron thickened in the air.

"And here we go… another day of work," he sighed, pausing for a moment before letting out a bitter chuckle.

"At this rate… am I even still a noble?"

..................

“Just where the fuck are we?”

 The question burned in my mind as I stared at the glowing fireflies, their soft light flickering against the damp stone.

I spent hours in that abyss, sitting on the cold earth, unmoving—almost as if the sheer weight of my situation had pinned me to the ground. There was no rush to stand, no point in pretending I had a plan. I simply sat in silence, studying my surroundings, trying to make sense of where I had ended up—and, more importantly, how the hell I was going to get out.

I took deep breaths, filling my lungs with air that, surprisingly, felt purer than anything I had ever breathed before.

As my eyes scanned every inch of those hostile rock walls, my mind struggled to summon the courage I needed.

One thing was certain: staying put wouldn’t save me.

It didn’t matter whether this was the Black Forest, the Demon Forest, or some other unknown hell…

I had to get out of there.

But before courage could push me to my feet—

My stomach growled.

Quiet. Treacherous.

But loud enough to remind me that surviving meant more than just escaping. I needed to eat.

“Damn it…” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face, as if I could wipe the hunger away. “And what exactly are we supposed to eat?”

I glanced at the pup beside me, expecting an indifferent reaction at best.

But he surprised me.

Calmly, he turned his head toward the ravine walls, ears twitching slightly, as if to say: ‘Look for yourself.’

I followed his gaze, curious.

And then I saw them.

Clinging to the rocky slopes of the ravine, scattered like tiny beacons of hope in the midst of all the gloom, were thick, dark vines covered in glistening green moss. Small clusters of insects crawled through the cracks—fat larvae, gleaming beetles, silent spiders, and even fireflies that cast a faint glow into the dampest, deepest corners.

I held my breath.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…”

The pup simply looked back at me, eyes calm, as if to say: ‘It’s your choice, human. But we won’t last long just admiring the scenery.’

I swallowed hard, my eyes flicking back to the sight before me.

Hunger wasn’t something I could ignore forever.

And for the first time, I realized that surviving here might be far more disgusting than I had ever imagined.

“…That’s revolting,” I whispered, my stomach twisting at the thought.

Eating bugs? That had never even been a last resort in the worst scenarios I had envisioned.

But then—something bothered me.

I looked closer. Really looked.

And suddenly, a thought struck me.

“Wait… how is this possible?”

My gaze locked onto the fireflies, and my mind raced, flipping through pages of books I had read before.

“Fireflies… Fireflies… Fireflies don’t exist in the Demon Forest.”

The realization hit me like a lightning bolt.

My hand flew to my chest, feeling the rapid beat of my own heart—a flicker of hope igniting inside me.

I turned to the pup. Then back to myself.

And finally, the inevitable question formed in my mind:

"How… how are we fine?"

According to the records, the Demon Forest was filled with poisonous miasma—deadly to any ordinary creature.

And yet, I felt nothing unusual.

On the contrary…

The air around me was unbelievably pure, clearer than anything I had ever breathed before.

The pup, now lying beside me, calmly licked his paw, his fur gleaming as if he had never endured the chaos we had just survived.

Something was definitely wrong.

I frowned, lifting my gaze toward the sky above.

That dull, reddish hue stretched endlessly, like an eternal, frozen twilight. A crimson veil, unmoving in time. No trace of the toxic mist from the Demon Forest. No signs of decay, malice, or death.

Only silence… and that eerie, unnatural peace.

And then, finally, it hit me.

"We… we're not in the Demon Forest."

The words escaped as a whisper.

I let out a long breath, running a hand through my messy hair, trying to make sense of the impossible as I stared at the distorted sky and the jagged rock walls surrounding me.

"If this isn't the Demon Forest… then where the hell are we?"

The pup perked his ears at my question but only gazed at me with that same calm, oblivious expression—like he had no idea what was going on.

And honestly, I hadn’t expected him to.

But deep down… a cold unease was already creeping in.

Wherever this place was…

It shouldn’t exist.