I returned to my tree with my heart beating fast. I took a firm stick and, being careful not to cut myself, I tied the obsidian crystal with some strong fibers. I had made my first knife! As I ran my finger near the edge, the coldness of the stone gave me a new sense of confidence; everything would be easier now. With the tool problem solved, only one thing remained: sweating to build that shelter.

  At the base of the tree, the pile of materials I had collected earlier was already waiting. I stretched my arms, feeling the crackle of my joints, and got to work. My plan was simple: a functional hut, a corner to sleep in without the forest devouring me. No kitchens or living rooms; I'm not a bricklayer or an engineer, just a Viktor trying not to spend the night out in the open. I’m going to make my shelter at the base of the tree trunk since there is a hollow between the roots where I will sleep very well; I just have to make it look nice.

  I sat on the ground and started working. At first, the knife felt strange in my hand and my arm burned from the constant effort, but I soon found my rhythm. The obsidian bit into the wood with a surprising aggressiveness, leaving the scent of fresh resin in the air. I cut branches to about 3 feet; these will be for the walls. I also had several large, thick branches that would serve as the columns and beams of the structure.

  I stood up and used my hands to start digging two holes about 7 feet away from the tree. I felt the damp earth getting under my claws and my fingers were getting scraped, but when I finished, I put a large branch into each hole. Once these were vertical and stable, I joined them with a horizontal beam, creating a solid frame right in front of the trunk.

  To support the roof, I used the tip of the knife to carve two deep notches into the tree bark, perpendicular to my columns. I’m going to place two beams there; the effort made me sweat too much, but it was worth it when I fitted them in. These connected the trunk with the front frame so that nothing would move. I reinforced every joint and support point with tight wraps of vines, pulling so hard that my knuckles turned white. When I let go, the structure didn't even flinch.

  The skeleton was ready, hugging the hollow between the roots where I planned to sleep. For the first time in a long while, I felt like the owner of my own space.

  I had only a few hours of sunlight left, so I had to hurry. I grabbed the pile of small branches I had cut and began to cover the walls and the roof with them, tying them tightly to the columns. I finished the job with leaves, covering everything.

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  When I finished, I stepped back a few paces to admire my work of art. It was the first time in my life I had built something so important, something real to be able to survive.

  But then, the next big problem appeared: fire. How the hell am I going to make fire? I remembered the videos I used to watch on LooTube; everything seemed so easy there, but I'm 80% sure it will be complicated.

  The options for making fire were the usual ones: rubbing two sticks together or looking for a flint stone. But since I have no idea what flint looks like, I leaned toward wood, even though I knew it would be a headache. I remembered that in survival videos they used the "bow drill," a method that made the process of creating an ember easier.

  I collected dry leaves and all the combustible material I could find nearby. With a leftover vine and a flexible branch, I made the bow—basically, I tied the vine to both ends of the branch. I looked for a branch as straight as possible, sharpened it, and with my knife, split a thick piece of wood in half as best I could. I placed it on the ground and with the tip of the knife carved a small hole in the base, fitted the straight branch, and looped it into the bow.

  I started rubbing. Fifteen minutes passed; my arm already ached and still no ember or trace of fire appeared. I only managed to get tired and sweat like a pig. Maybe I wasn't made for this.

  I stopped to rest and think of a better strategy. I realized that I'm stupid; I had forgotten to put in tinder.

  —"Samuel is forgetful." The voice spoke, as arrogant as ever.

  —You're right, mysterious voice.

  I got up and this time I did put tinder in the hole. After a few minutes, a thread of white smoke began to snake toward my face. My heart skipped a beat. Excited, I rubbed faster until the wood glowed red like volcanic lava.

  I gave a small jump of joy, quickly brought the dry leaves close, and began to blow hard. The smoke increased until, finally, flames sprouted.

  —I finally have fire!— I let out a small cry of triumph.

  I improvised a small campfire in front of my shelter. Night was falling, but the cold was no longer a problem; plus, now I had a way to cook. A while passed; it was already night. With the heat of the fire, I settled inside my hut and fell fast asleep.

  However, I overlooked something: in absolute darkness, fire is a beacon. And light attracts unwanted guests.

  "Grrrrrr..."

  A growl vibrated in the ground and woke me up suddenly. It wasn't just one; there were several. When I opened my eyes, the shadows of the pack were silhouetted against the glow of my embers. They were those demon dogs that killed one of my kind when I was nothing but a stone. I was cornered in my own creation. What the hell am I going to do now?