Not too far from his secluded cabin, Luc roamed the dense forest, rifle in hand, doing what he always did—hunting. It had been his trade and survival skill since he was a boy, a way of life passed down through generations. The forest was alive with the usual sounds: birds chirping, the distant howl of the wind weaving through the trees, and the crunch of leaves under his boots. He scanned the area, keen eyes searching for any sign of game.

As he crouched near a patch of ferns, a faint rustling broke through the ambient noise. Luc froze, his hunter’s instincts kicking in, and turned sharply toward the source of the sound. His heart quickened. Could it be a deer? Or worse—a predator? Slowly, he raised his rifle, aiming toward the bushes.

But what emerged was no animal.

From the underbrush, a small figure stumbled forward—a boy, his frame frail and his face streaked with dirt. His clothes were torn, his skin pale and smeared with scratches. Most striking of all was the fresh wound on his leg, seeping blood into the fabric of his pants. The boy looked up, his wide eyes filled with fear and exhaustion, his breaths shallow.

Luc’s grip on the rifle tightened, his finger hovering near the trigger out of habit and caution. What in the hell is a kid doing out here? he wondered, his brow furrowing as he studied the child. The forest was no place for someone so young, especially in this state.

After a long moment, Luc’s shoulders relaxed. He lowered the weapon, the barrel pointing to the ground. Cautiously, he stepped closer, the dried twigs snapping softly beneath his boots.

“Hey… are you okay?” he asked, his voice low but tinged with concern. It wasn’t often he spoke to anyone, let alone a frightened child. The boy flinched slightly but didn’t answer. Luc crouched down, keeping his movements slow and deliberate, trying not to spook him further.