Realm of Thorns

The Hunter's Hair

Joaquin's heartbeat thundered in his chest, so loud it drowned out the world. The forest air had grown dense, clinging to his skin like invisible vines. The tikbalang loomed before him, blotting out the faint light that filtered through the canopy. Its hulking figure—a grotesque fusion of man and beast—stood as a dark monument to his deepest fears. But this was no story. It was real, and it was right in front of him.

The creature's stillness unnerved him. Despite its massive size, it didn't lunge or snarl. Instead, it observed him with a calculated calmness, its glowing yellow eyes—two fiery slits—narrowing slightly as if sensing a flicker of defiance beneath Joaquin's fear.

"You're not like the others," the tikbalang rumbled, its ancient voice sending chills through the trees. "Most would run. Most would plead. But you... you ask why."

Joaquin swallowed hard, the dryness in his throat painful. His limbs felt leaden, weighed down by the oppressive air. Yet amidst the dread, a strange clarity kept him rooted. He didn't dare look away from the creature's gaze, even though everything inside him screamed to flee.

"Why are you alone?" His voice was rougher than he intended, but he forced the words out. He knew the tikbalang wouldn't give a straight answer—yet there was something crucial he needed to understand.

The tikbalang's grin widened, revealing sharp teeth gleaming in the shafts of moonlight. "Do you think knowing that will save you, boy?" The words dripped with amusement, as though it relished the verbal game as much as it would have enjoyed chasing him down.

"No," Joaquin replied, his voice steadier. "But I think it matters."

For a moment, the forest stilled. The wind stopped rustling the leaves. The tikbalang's fiery eyes scrutinized him, probing for cracks in his resolve. Slowly, it crouched, bringing its long, horse-like face closer, until their breaths mingled in the cool night air. The stench of earth and decay filled Joaquin's nostrils.

"If you wish to play a different game, then so be it," the creature whispered, its tone both playful and sinister. "Answer me this: what do you fear more—losing your life, or losing your mind?"

The temperature plummeted, the air thickening as if it were no longer air but a force pressing in on all sides. Joaquin's skin prickled, cold sweat breaking out along his back. The tikbalang stepped back slowly, dissolving into the mist with an unsettling grin, leaving Joaquin's eyes darting frantically, trying to keep track of the shadow that vanished like smoke.

"I can feel your emotions," the tikbalang's voice echoed, now disembodied, everywhere and nowhere at once. The sensation of being watched tightened around Joaquin's chest like a vice. His breath quickened, eyes wide, heart pounding faster. The creature was there, circling him, its presence unseen but undeniable.

"Why did you really run, boy?" the voice pressed, sharp and probing, digging into his soul.

Joaquin's breath came in ragged gasps. He knew the tikbalang was playing a different game now—one of the mind. And yet, the truth of its question cut deeper than he expected. Why had he run? What was he really trying to escape? The guilt, the shame, his father's resentment?

The towering trees cast long, skeletal shadows, their branches twisting like bony fingers. But it wasn't the creatures of the forest that scared him now—it was the relentless voice, weaving through the dark like poison.

The shadows pressed tighter. Joaquin swallowed hard, but his feet stayed rooted to the spot. He couldn't run anymore. This was a battle of wills, and if he fled now, he knew he'd never stop.

"What does it matter to you?" Joaquin asked, shaky but defiant, trying to steady his breath.

"Oh, it matters a lot." The tikbalang's voice circled him, a soft hiss. Joaquin jerked at the rustle of leaves nearby, but when he turned, there was nothing but shadow. His heart pounded as the creature's words echoed through the trees. "You think you're running away. But you can never escape what's already yours."