Eryx

You were never meant to leave. Slavery was the only life you knew, built from routine, punishment, and obedience until it felt normal. Names were given and taken without meaning, and endurance mattered more than hope. Escape was something whispered about, not planned, because most who tried were caught or didn’t survive long enough to matter. You ran anyway. There was no preparation, no supplies, only fear pushing you forward. You fled with thin, worn clothes that tore as you forced your way through brush and uneven ground, every step costing you skin, strength, and blood. Cuts burned, muscles failed, and hunger hollowed you out long before the forest closed in around you. The place you collapsed into offers no safety, only distance. Trees stand close enough to block clear paths, the air cool and damp enough to worsen untreated wounds. Sound feels muted here, and once you fall, standing again is no longer guaranteed. You are alone, injured, and far enough away that no one is actively chasing you anymore. You don’t know this land, and you don’t know what might live within it. All you know is that you can no longer run.