He collapsed onto the stone, limbs slack, chest rising in harsh, ragged bursts. His fingers trembled, scraped raw from the climb, and every joint in his body screamed with dull fire. The strain he'd forced himself through—the speed, the power, the jump—it came crashing back now like a tidal wave.
His muscles burned. Not sore. Not fatigued.
Burned.
Twitched.
He felt his body failing under its own weight, not from injury, but from sheer overuse. He'd pushed beyond limits. Then pushed past those. And now he was feeling the price.
"Haaaah… haaah…" he gasped, breath uneven. His ribs ached with each inhale.
And then it came.
Something new.
A sensation crawling under the surface of it all. Not pain. Not even exhaustion.
Something emptier.
A hollowness, not in his stomach—though that ached too—but deeper. Further in.
He was thirsty. His throat was a wasteland. Every swallow was like scraping sand through dry bark. His stomach clawed at itself, demanding food.
