A gentle rustling stirs me from the abyss of unconsciousness. My vision is clouded – I cannot see, my eyelids feel weighted, and the world remains a haze. My body is a battlefield; every muscle protests, and each breath feels like a monumental effort. I attempt to shift, but my limbs are unresponsive, weighed down by fatigue.

Voices drift towards me, laughter mingling with the rustling of branches. I cannot decipher the words, but the tone is inquisitive, almost whimsical. A chill runs down my spine, igniting my instincts. Who are these people? Are they allies or adversaries?

A sudden warmth envelops my wrist. A pulse – faint, yet alive. I emit a soft grunt, attempting to signal my awareness, my existence. The sensation of fingers on my skin ignites a flicker of hope within me. I yearn to respond, to reassure them that I am still here, still a warrior. However, my voice is silenced, trapped behind an invisible wall.

“What’s wrong with him?” I hear a voice, distinct yet tinged with worry. It’s a female voice – one among many. My heart quickens, a primal urge compelling me to defend myself, to rise up. I cannot allow them to perceive my weakness.

The chatter around me grows louder, frantic discussions swirling in the air. They recognize I am alive, yet the weight of my silence is palpable. I grunt once more, a gentle protest, hoping it will penetrate the tension surrounding us.

I sense someone named Y/N nearby, her presence a mix of kindness and curiosity. “He’s alive,” she asserts, her tone firm. “But we need to move him. We can’t let anyone find him.”