The last thing George saw before he plunged into the unknown was his arrow missing the target by a few feet.

  Well… I tried.

  That was the thought that flashed through his mind.

  The moment you stop feeling the ground beneath your feet, everything changes.

  Some people say that when a person begins to fall, time seems to slow down. As if the mind is given a brief moment to process the situation, to search desperately for some way to survive.

  For George, those few seconds of free fall felt like eternity compressed into a single moment.

  Yet strangely, it did not give him time to think. Terror overwhelmed him too completely for any coherent thoughts to form.

  Instead, fragments of his life flashed before him.

  Grayville.

  Fifty-two years old, and still working as a guard.

  The gray hairs in his beard and the occasional pain in his back were the only signs that time was catching up with him. Otherwise, he was still capable. Still reliable.

  He liked the work.

  Guard duty gave him purpose. A routine. A reason to wake up every morning.

  And he loved his bow.

  That bow had carried him into the top ten on the village ranking board and had kept him there for years.

  Now, while falling through the mist of a waterfall in the middle of an unknown forest, George found himself questioning every decision that had brought him here.

  All he could see was dense fog, likely created by the roaring waterfall itself.

  All he could feel was the wet air and the violent wind beating against his body as he accelerated downward.

  All he could hope for was survival.

  Then — splash.

  George plunged into the water.

  The impact drove the air from his lungs as the cold river swallowed him whole. For a moment he sank beneath the surface, disoriented.

  Then the current grabbed him.

  The river surged forward with tremendous force, dragging him downstream.

  No… not like this.

  George refused to let the current carry him away like driftwood. He had always been a strong swimmer, and instinct took over. Kicking hard, he forced his way upward until his head finally broke through the surface.

  He gasped for air.

  Dense fog surrounded him.

  He could not see anything. The roar of the waterfall behind him drowned out every other sound.

  George quickly realized fighting the current directly would exhaust him.

  Instead, he turned and began swimming perpendicular to the flow, hoping to reach the riverbank.

  Seconds stretched into minutes.

  His arms burned. His lungs strained. The current kept pulling at him like an invisible hand.

  Then his foot touched something solid.

  The riverbed.

  Relief flooded through him.

  George forced himself forward until he could finally stand. The water reached his waist as he staggered the last few steps toward the shore.

  At last he collapsed onto the rocky ground, breathing heavily.

  “I made it… I made it.”

  An excited laugh escaped his mouth.

  For a moment he simply lay there, staring at the gray sky above.

  Then reality returned.

  “Kael? Mara!”

  He pushed himself to his feet and shouted their names into the fog.

  No answer came.

  Only the distant roar of the waterfall.

  He was alone.

  George walked along the riverbank until he reached a patch where the fog thinned enough for him to see his surroundings.

  His clothes were soaked. His body ached from the fall, and bruises were already forming along his ribs and shoulders.

  But what alarmed him most was something else.

  His bow was gone.

  George looked around instinctively, though he already knew the answer.

  “The current must’ve taken it,” he muttered.

  He sat down on a rock and took stock of his situation.

  No bow.

  No team.

  Three arrows.

  A knife.

  And absolutely no idea where he was.

  George exhaled slowly.

  “Well… this is not a very promising situation for success.”

  A nervous laugh escaped him.

  The sun was already beginning to sink behind the forest.

  Evening was coming.

  “I need to make a fire and dry my clothes,” he muttered. “Otherwise I’ll freeze tonight.”

  He stood and looked toward the thick forest beyond the river.

  “Tomorrow I head west. The caravan should be somewhere that way.”

  With that decision made, George began walking away from the waterfall.

  Everything near the riverbank was soaked with mist. There would be nothing dry enough for firewood there.

  I wish Kael was here right now, he thought.

  That boy is impressive when it comes to survival.

  George shook his head.

  “I hope you're alive,” he muttered quietly. “Both of you.”

  He glanced toward the fading light.

  “I’ll meet you at the caravan.”

  His voice was calm, almost solemn.

  “I promise.”

  It took him about thirty minutes to find a place where the ground was dry enough to build a fire.

  Another thirty minutes passed as he gathered sticks and branches.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Finally, George sat down and opened his bag.

  He rummaged through it anxiously until his fingers closed around something small and metallic.

  Flint and steel.

  “Thank the heavens,” he whispered.

  A few strikes later, sparks fell into a small nest of dry grass.

  Smoke.

  Then flame.

  The sudden warmth made his entire body shiver.

  George held his hands toward the fire, letting the heat slowly drive the cold from his bones.

  Gradually, the trembling subsided.

  He sat there silently, watching the flames dance.

  His thoughts drifted back to the events of the last day.

  To Joseph.

  George did not blame Mara.

  He knew she had made the correct decision.

  If their roles had been reversed… he would have done the same.

  But that did not make it easier.

  Joseph had been a fool sometimes. Loud. Reckless. Always talking when he should have been quiet.

  Yet George had liked the boy.

  They had stood near each other on the village ranking board. They had patrolled together many times.

  Now Joseph was dead.

  A deep sadness settled across George’s face as he stared into the fire.

  Before sitting down earlier, he had carefully chosen this location. The fire burned near the edge of a cliff, leaving only one exposed side where something could approach him.

  It was the safest place he could find.

  George leaned back against a rock and pulled his damp cloak tighter around himself.

  He needed rest.

  And more than anything—

  He needed to survive.

  He woke early, just as the sun began to rise.

  George pushed himself to his feet and stretched slowly. His joints cracked in protest, but he welcomed the feeling.

  He needed that.

  At his age, if he did not want to live in constant pain, he had to keep his body conditioned for action. Stretching was part of that routine. A guard who stopped preparing his body would soon become useless.

  The morning air was cold, and the chill running through the forest reminded him immediately of his mission.

  The caravan arrives in less than two days.

  “I need to start moving,” he muttered.

  George quickly packed his bag, making sure the fire was completely out before leaving the campsite. The last thing he needed was to start another forest fire in this cursed place.

  Once everything was secured, he turned toward the west and began walking.

  The forest around him was thick—far thicker than the outer woods near Grayville. Towering trees stretched upward like pillars, their branches forming a dense canopy that allowed only scattered beams of sunlight to reach the ground.

  Despite the heaviness of the forest, the morning felt strangely peaceful.

  Birds sang somewhere high above the branches.

  Squirrels darted through the undergrowth, their small squeaks echoing softly between the trees.

  For now, those were the only sounds George could hear.

  Thankfully.

  The wolves were far away.

  Still, George did not allow himself to relax.

  He remembered something Kael had told him at the beginning of their journey.

  "Don’t let the forest fool you into thinking you’re safe."

  George nodded to himself as the words echoed in his mind.

  The boy was right.

  Silence in a forest did not mean safety.

  Sometimes it meant something far worse.

  George adjusted the knife on his belt and continued walking, keeping his eyes sharp and his ears open.

  The journey west had begun.

  He continued west for five hours on foot.

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first. The forest remained thick and quiet, the occasional rustle of leaves or distant birdcall the only sounds breaking the silence.

  Then he passed a rocky cliff.

  About sixty feet away, George noticed something unusual — a dark opening in the stone.

  A cave.

  At first, he did not think much of it. Caves were not uncommon in these forests.

  But then something moved.

  A massive brown bear burst out of the cave and sprinted across the clearing.

  George’s heart slammed violently against his ribs.

  For a moment his knees buckled.

  The creature was enormous — easily large enough to tear a man apart in seconds. George knew immediately that a direct confrontation with such a monster would mean certain death.

  He froze.

  Stay quiet.

  The bear ran past the entrance of the cave and disappeared briefly behind a patch of trees.

  George forced himself to breathe slowly.

  Maybe it didn’t notice me.

  He whispered under his breath, “I didn’t survive that fall just to be beaten by a wild bear.”

  His hand instinctively reached for his back.

  No bow.

  “I wish I had my bow,” he muttered.

  Then he remembered something.

  Bears often slept during the day after feeding.

  If he stayed hidden long enough, perhaps the creature would return to its cave and fall asleep.

  George quietly searched for cover and found a massive oak tree. Its branches stretched high into the air.

  He climbed as quickly and silently as he could.

  Thirty feet above the ground, he finally stopped and steadied himself on a thick branch.

  From that height he could see far across the forest.

  In the distance he spotted the cliff where he and his companions had fallen into the river.

  Eighteen hours.

  It had been over eighteen hours since the fall.

  George stared in that direction for a moment.

  “I hope the others have more luck than I do,” he murmured.

  Forty minutes passed.

  Then the bear returned.

  It dragged a massive moose carcass across the forest floor and into the cave. Blood poured from the wound in the animal’s neck, leaving a thick red trail behind it.

  George watched carefully.

  The scent of blood would mask his own smell from most predators.

  That realization sparked an idea.

  He slowly climbed down from the tree.

  At first he intended to run.

  But halfway down he stopped.

  A strange thought struck him.

  What if the bear woke during the night?

  What if it tracked him down while he slept?

  What if he ran now only to be hunted later?

  George had spent decades as a guard and a hunter.

  His instincts told him something important.

  This might be the best opportunity he would ever have.

  The bear had just eaten. It would be heavy and slow.

  And after such a meal, it would sleep deeply.

  If he was ever going to kill the creature, the moment was now.

  George looked at the weapons he still possessed.

  Three arrows and a knife.

  Not much.

  But it would have to be enough.

  A plan began forming in his mind.

  He found three sturdy branches on the forest floor. From his bag he took a small coil of rope and carefully tied the arrowheads to the ends of the sticks, creating crude but deadly spears.

  Three improvised spears.

  He carried them toward the cave.

  One he left near the entrance, just in case he needed it.

  Then he turned toward the bloody trail left by the moose.

  George knelt down and rubbed the warm blood across his clothes, his arms, and even his boots.

  He grimaced at the smell.

  But the scent would hide him.

  Slowly… very slowly… he approached the cave.

  Inside, the bear lay on the stone floor.

  Asleep.

  The creature’s chest rose and fell heavily with each breath.

  George’s heart pounded louder with every step.

  He moved like a shadow.

  Quiet.

  Controlled.

  When he stood only a few feet from the sleeping beast, he raised one of the spears.

  For a brief moment, doubt flashed through his mind.

  Am I insane?

  Then he struck.

  The spear drove forward with all his strength.

  Straight into the bear’s eye.

  Blood exploded outward.

  The bear woke with a thunderous roar.

  But George did not give it time to recover.

  Before the creature could orient itself, he grabbed the second spear and rammed it into the other eye.

  The bear screamed in rage and pain, thrashing violently as its massive paws slashed through the air.

  George dove to the side just in time.

  Then he lunged forward.

  His knife flashed.

  He slashed across the creature’s throat with a brutal strike.

  Blood poured out.

  Before the bear could recover, George drove the blade upward beneath its jaw, pushing with every ounce of strength he had.

  The knife pierced deep into the skull and into the brain.

  For a moment everything went silent.

  Then the massive body collapsed.

  The bear fell directly on top of him.

  Dead.

  For several seconds George could not move.

  The full weight of the bear pressed his body into the cold stone floor of the cave. The air had been knocked out of his lungs, and he struggled to draw a breath.

  “Ugh… you’ve got to be kidding me,” he groaned weakly.

  Using both hands, he pushed against the creature’s massive head and slowly slid out from under the carcass. His arms trembled from exhaustion as he crawled away from the bear and leaned against the cave wall.

  His entire body shook.

  Not from fear.

  From relief.

  He stared at the beast lying motionless on the ground.

  “You picked the wrong guard,” George muttered.

  Just as he began to calm down, something vibrated faintly against his chest.

  George froze.

  The insignia.

  The metallic gray plate attached to his chest began to glow faintly.

  ***

  Local Achievement Detected

  Subject: George Bell

  Occupation: Guard — Grayville Village

  Action Recorded: Solo elimination of Tier-1 Forest Predator

  Target: Brown Cave Bear

  Estimated Weight: 1,700 lbs

  Threat Level: Moderate

  Merit Points Allocated

  Primary Contributor: George Bell

  +18 Merit Points

  Action Recorded: successfully fought a pack of wolves and escaped to safety.

  Threat Level: Moderate

  +10 Merit Points

  Action Recorded: Survived a fall from over 70 feet

  Threat level: high

  +25 Merit Points

  Additional Note

  Combat efficiency detected.

  Improvised weapon usage recorded.

  Stealth kill method logged.

  Title Awarded.

  Title: Undaunted

  Tier: Uncommon

  Description:

  Repeated exposure to dangerous wildlife has sharpened the subject’s survival awareness.

  Effect:

  +5% reaction speed against wild creatures.

  +5% detection of animal threats within nearby range.

  ***

  He looked at the achievement and the merit and said:

  “Not bad for an old guard.”

  But the smile faded as he thought of the larger problem.

  Kael and Mara are missing.

  The caravan is coming.

  George stood slowly and wiped the blood from his knife.

  Then he walked out of the cave.

  After catching his breath and cleaning the blood from his knife, he gathered the few things he had left and stepped back into the forest.

  The sun had already begun to descend behind the tall trees.

  He looked once more at the massive bear lying motionless inside the cave.

  “Well,” he muttered quietly, “that should keep the wolves busy for a while.”

  Then he turned west.

  The caravan.

  That was still the mission.

  George walked for hours that evening, pushing himself through the forest until darkness made it impossible to continue safely. When night finally fell, he made a small hidden camp between two fallen trees and rested for only a few hours.

  At dawn he began walking again.

  The journey was slow and exhausting. Without his bow he felt exposed, and every sound in the forest forced him to stay alert.

  Yet nothing attacked him.

  The forest remained strangely quiet.

  He crossed small streams, climbed over rocky ridges, and pushed through thick patches of undergrowth that slowed his progress. Several times he had to stop and rest his aching legs.

  But he kept moving west.

  Hour after hour.

  When the second day was nearing its end, George finally saw something through the trees.

  Smoke.

  Thin columns of gray smoke rising into the evening sky.

  His heart lifted immediately.

  Campfires.

  He pushed forward through the trees until the forest finally opened into a wide clearing.

  There they were.

  Wagons.

  Dozens of them.

  Large wooden carts stood in a circle while armed guards moved around the camp. Horses were tied to posts, and merchants shouted orders while unloading supplies.

  The caravan.

  George exhaled deeply.

  He had made it.

  Two and a half days after the fall at the waterfall, bruised, exhausted, and still smelling faintly of bear blood…

  He had reached the meeting place.

  Now only one question remained.

  Were Kael and Mara still alive?