With every step Arthur took deeper into the forest, the excitement inside him grew stronger.
And stronger.
Yet beneath that excitement, there was something else.
Something unusual.
A feeling that he was approaching the territory of a predator far more dangerous than himself.
Like walking willingly toward a tiger.
But curiosity had already taken control.
The moment Arthur entered the woods, his fingers began trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the sheer effort of restraining whatever emotions were building inside him.
The forest felt unnaturally alive.
The trees.
The bushes.
The wet leaves beneath his shoes.
Everything around him carried the suffocating sensation of being aware of his presence.
As if the mountain itself were watching him.
Branches scraped against his clothes while he pushed deeper through the woods. Within minutes, his pants and shoes were stained with mud and torn by thorns and sharp branches.
Arthur ignored it completely.
Eventually, the forest opened into a circular clearing roughly forty paces wide.
At the center stood a small wooden cabin.
No windows.
Only a single door.
And standing near it was a man.
The father of the Austin family.
Mr. Austin wore the same black clothing Arthur had seen earlier, along with the silver cross hanging from his neck. This time, however, thin glasses rested upon his face, and in his hands he carried a rifle.
The moment Arthur noticed the weapon, a faint smile appeared on his lips.
Then he calmly began walking toward him.
Mr. Austin reacted instantly.
Within seconds, he raised the rifle and aimed directly at Arthur's chest.
Arthur had expected that.
Immediately, he spread his arms slightly apart, making it obvious he carried no visible weapon.
"Easy," Arthur said calmly while continuing to approach. "Easy. I'm not carrying anything. See?"
After a brief pause, Mr. Austin lowered the rifle slightly, though not completely.
"Who are you?" he asked coldly. "And what are you doing here?"
Arthur stopped roughly ten paces away from him.
"Well, Mr…" Arthur hesitated deliberately. "I'm actually lost."
Mr. Austin narrowed his eyes silently.
Arthur continued naturally, almost casually.
"I'm visiting Ireland for vacation. I'm originally Mexican, as you can probably tell." A small smile crossed his face. "I've been traveling alone."
His tone remained calm and believable.
"I was supposed to leave today, but last night I went drinking with a friend I met here. Honestly…" He rubbed the back of his neck lightly. "I got pretty drunk."
Arthur laughed softly to himself.
"When I woke up this morning, I was somewhere inside the forest. I've been wandering around for hours trying to find my way back."
Then his eyes drifted briefly toward the rifle.
"And then I heard the gunshots."
He looked directly at Mr. Austin again.
"So I followed them."
For several seconds, Mr. Austin said nothing.
He studied Arthur carefully.
Very carefully.
Not like a stranger listening to a story.
Like a hunter examining tracks.
Searching for inconsistency.
Searching for weakness.
Then finally, he spoke.
"You said you're Mexican, right?"
Arthur nodded once.
Mr. Austin's expression remained unreadable.
Then, without warning, he said:
"Quiero comerte."
Arthur stared at him silently.
The older man stared back.
Neither looked away.
The forest itself seemed to grow quieter around them.
Then Arthur tilted his head slightly and smiled.
"You sure say some disturbing things, you know that?"
For the first time, a faint smile appeared on Mr. Austin's face as well.
"You can call me Mr. Austin, kid," he said calmly. "I'm a hunter."
His grip on the rifle loosened slightly.
"But your story is strange." His eyes sharpened again. "Most people hear gunshots in the middle of a forest and avoid them."
Arthur maintained eye contact.
"Maybe," he replied evenly. "But I think I heard three shots."
His voice remained calm.
"And yet…" His eyes slowly moved toward the rifle. "I don't see any animal."
A brief silence followed.
"No body either," Arthur added quietly. "Isn't that a little strange?"
Mr. Austin answered in the same composed tone.
"Today was unfortunate. The prey escaped."
"Oh?" Arthur said softly. "That must be disappointing."
Then his gaze shifted downward.
Directly toward Mr. Austin's hand.
"Well then, Mr. Austin…" Arthur continued gently, "if the prey escaped…"
His smile widened slightly.
"…whose blood is on your fingertips?"
For the first time since the conversation began, Mr. Austin's expression changed.
His eyes instinctively lowered toward his hand.
There was blood on his fingertips.
Fresh blood.
And the most unsettling part—
Even he had not noticed it until now.
Mr. Austin slowly lifted his eyes back toward Arthur.
"You can get injured pretty easily while hunting," he said calmly. "Branches. Thorns. Sharp rocks."
His tone carried no urgency now.
Then his gaze drifted downward.
"You're bleeding yourself."
Arthur glanced toward his legs.
Around the calf area of his pants, thin streaks of blood had indeed begun soaking into the torn fabric where branches had scraped against his skin during the walk through the forest.
Mr. Austin continued speaking evenly.
"I tried applying medicine to my own wound earlier."
As he spoke, he pulled up the edge of his pant leg slightly.
There was a cut there.
Fresh.
Real.
Arthur observed it carefully without changing expression.
"So…" Mr. Austin said quietly, "that blood is mine."
Arthur remained silent for a second before giving a small nod.
"Oh. I see."
A faint smile crossed his face.
"My mistake."
For a moment, neither man spoke.
The wind moved softly through the trees surrounding the clearing while distant birds echoed somewhere deep within the mountain.
Then Arthur spoke again.
"Anyway, Mr. Austin… you seem like a wise man."
The compliment sounded casual.
"Could you maybe tell me exactly where I am? And… if possible, help me get back?"
Mr. Austin lowered the rifle slightly further now.
"Well," he said, "my family owns this mountain."
Arthur raised his eyebrows slightly.
"So technically," Mr. Austin continued, "you're standing on private property."
Arthur immediately nodded apologetically.
"Oh. I'm sorry about that."
Mr. Austin closed his eyes briefly and exhaled through his nose.
"No," he replied. "Don't worry about it. My house is nearby. You can get help there."
Then his gaze sharpened once more.
"Although…" he added quietly, "you still haven't told me your name."
Arthur smiled faintly.
"Right. My apologies."
He straightened slightly.
"My name is Arthur Doyle, sir. I'm twenty-two."
For the first time since the conversation began, something subtle shifted inside Mr. Austin.
A strange discomfort.
He could not immediately explain why.
But Arthur's face suddenly felt different when attached to a name.
The dark circles beneath Arthur's eyes appeared deeper somehow.
More unnatural.
As if exhaustion had settled into his face permanently.
Then Arthur's eyes drifted toward the silver cross hanging from Mr. Austin's neck.
"Are you Christian?" he asked suddenly.
Mr. Austin blinked once.
"What?"
"The cross," Arthur clarified calmly. "I assumed you were religious."
Mr. Austin looked down briefly at the silver cross resting against his black clothing.
Then he nodded.
"You see, Arthur…" he began slowly, "…I'm a very religious man."
The forest around them remained unnaturally still.
"I believe every human being has a destiny."
His voice had grown quieter now.
"A fate given to them by God."
Arthur listened attentively.
"Oh, I see," he replied. "My uncle back in Mexico is also very religious."
Then Arthur tilted his head slightly.
"But there's one thing I didn't understand."
Mr. Austin remained silent.
"You said everything is destiny," Arthur continued calmly. "So does that mean free will doesn't exist?"
A faint smile touched Mr. Austin's face.
"Arthur…" he said, "…normal people believe humans have choices."
His fingers tightened slightly around the rifle.
"But if everyone truly had equal choice…" he continued, "…then all people would become equal."
His eyes darkened subtly.
"But some humans are more equal than the others."
The wind passed softly through the clearing.
"Some people are simply superior to others," Mr. Austin said. "And some are inferior."
He spoke the words with complete certainty.
"That is destiny."
Arthur continued staring directly at him.
"A person cannot choose most things in life," Mr. Austin went on. "Yet people comfort themselves with the illusion that they can."
A brief silence followed.
"That illusion," he finished quietly, "…is what they call free will."
Arthur absorbed every word carefully.
Then, after a few seconds, he spoke.
"I understand."
His voice remained calm.
"But I also think there's another possibility, Mr. Austin."
The older man said nothing.
Arthur's expression softened slightly.
"Don't you think," he asked quietly, "that some people are so ashamed of their own choices…"
His eyes locked onto Mr. Austin's.
"…that they invented destiny just to hide from responsibility?"
The air between them suddenly became heavier.
Suffocatingly heavy.
Arthur continued softly,
"Maybe it isn't really about God at all."
A long silence followed.
The two men stood motionless within the clearing, staring directly into each other's eyes while the forest around them seemed to hold its breath.
Mr. Austin studied Arthur quietly for a moment before speaking.
"You talk about intellectual things far too comfortably for someone your age."
Arthur smiled faintly.
"Oh, thank you."
He lowered his eyes briefly, as if recalling an old memory.
"My uncle—the one I mentioned earlier—was a hunter too. He used to tell me something when I was younger."
The wind moved softly through the clearing.
"He said a hunter should always take responsibility for the prey."
Arthur's voice remained calm.
"Because the moment you choose to hunt something alive, you also choose to carry the weight of killing it."
Mr. Austin remained silent for several seconds.
Then he asked quietly,
"Your uncle was a hunter?"
Arthur nodded.
"Yes. I hunted with him sometimes when I was younger."
Mr. Austin adjusted his grip on the rifle slightly.
"Hunting, huh…" he muttered. "What kind of animals did you hunt?"
"Oh, nothing special," Arthur replied casually. "Mostly small things. Rabbits. Seagulls. Birds."
As if responding to the conversation itself, several black crows suddenly flew above the clearing. Some landed silently upon nearby branches, watching the two men from the trees.
Neither Arthur nor Mr. Austin looked away from each other.
Then Mr. Austin spoke again.
"Maybe you should try again."
Without warning, he extended the rifle toward Arthur.
Arthur blinked once.
"What do you mean?"
"Take it," Mr. Austin said calmly. "Shoot one of the crows for me."
Silence settled briefly between them.
"Are you sure?" Arthur asked.
Mr. Austin nodded once.
Slowly, Arthur accepted the rifle.
Mr. Austin pointed toward a crow perched high upon a nearby tree branch.
"That one."
Arthur lifted the rifle and aimed upward.
Then he waited.
Patiently.
His eyes carefully observed every tiny movement the bird made:
the twitch of its wings,
the movement of its beak,
the shifting balance of its claws against the branch.
He did not rush.
He waited for the exact moment he wanted.
Then—
He pulled the trigger.
The gunshot echoed violently through the clearing.
The crow's body dropped lifelessly from the tree.
Mr. Austin raised his eyebrows slightly.
"For a second there," he said, "you looked like a professional."
Arthur lowered the rifle modestly.
"No, no. It wasn't anything impressive."
Then silence returned once again.
A strange silence.
This time, Arthur held the rifle.
And Mr. Austin stood unarmed.
For the first time since arriving in the clearing, Arthur felt something shift inside the atmosphere.
Not fear.
Something closer to confusion.
Then Mr. Austin spoke again.
"You should shoot another one. There are plenty."
Arthur gave a small smile.
"I would," he replied, "but the rifle only had one bullet which i just shot."
His eyes drifted toward the weapon.
"Even though it's a double-barrel."
Mr. Austin stared at him for a second before smiling as well.
"Oh…" He laughed lightly. "You're right. I suppose I forgot."
He rubbed his forehead briefly.
"I already fired three shots earlier. Of course only one bullet was left."
A dry chuckle escaped him.
"I'm getting old."
Mr. Austin gently took the rifle back from Arthur before reaching into his pocket and removing two shells.
He reloaded the weapon carefully.
Then Arthur spoke again.
"I think you should shoot this time, Mr. Austin."
The older man considered it for a moment before nodding.
He raised the rifle, aimed calmly, and fired.
Another crow fell dead from the trees.
Smoke drifted briefly through the cold air.
Mr. Austin handed the rifle back once more.
Arthur accepted it silently.
Again, he lifted the barrel toward the trees.
Again, he waited patiently.
Then he fired.
This time, he missed.
The crow flew away immediately.
Mr. Austin smiled.
"Oh well," he said. "No worries. Try again. I still have more bullets."
He reached into his pocket once more.
But as he removed the shells, one slipped from his fingers and fell into the dirt.
Mr. Austin sighed and crouched down to pick it up.
"Man…" he muttered to himself. "I really am getting ol—"
He froze.
The moment he stood up again, Arthur was already aiming directly at him.
The rifle barrel pointed straight at his chest.
Arthur slowly walked forward until the muzzle touched against the black fabric of Mr. Austin's clothing.
Point-blank range.
For a brief second, neither moved.
Then Mr. Austin forced himself to speak calmly.
"What are you doing, Arthur?"
His voice sounded controlled.
But only barely.
Arthur's expression did not change.
"I don't think I'm doing anything," he replied softly.
The rifle remained steady against the man's chest.
"It's destiny."
Something inside Mr. Austin snapped.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he shouted suddenly.
His calmness disappeared instantly.
"Destiny? Who do you think you are?"
His breathing grew heavier.
"I thought you were different!" he barked. "Different from all those worthless pieces of trash!"
His face twisted with fury.
"But no…"
He pointed at Arthur with trembling fingers.
"You're the same as them."
His voice shook violently now.
"One of the inferiors."
Arthur remained perfectly still.
Mr. Austin continued shouting.
"Who exactly do you think you're aiming at, huh?!"
A hysterical laugh escaped him.
"You think you're hunting me?"
His eyes widened.
"What a joke."
His voice lowered into something darker.
"I am the predator."
His hand struck his own chest violently.
"I'm the one who hunts."
Another step closer from Arthur.
"I'm the one who kills."
The rifle never moved.
"You are prey," Mr. Austin hissed. "And that will never change."
His breathing trembled now.
"Because that… is destiny."
Arthur stared at him silently before speaking in the same calm tone as before.
"You should stop moving so much."
A small pause.
"Don't push your luck."
Mr. Austin laughed nervously.
"Oh, come on, kid…" he muttered. "You're not fooling anyone."
His eyes flickered toward the rifle.
"That gun is empty."
A long silence followed.
Then Arthur asked quietly:
"Do you want to test that theory?"
Mr. Austin's expression changed.
This time, the shaking in his body came from genuine fear.
Arthur tilted his head slightly.
"I always come prepared."
His eyes darkened.
"Too bad for your destiny."
Mr. Austin looked directly into Arthur's face.
Into the dark circles beneath his eyes.
The same eyes that had disturbed him from the very beginning.
Something about them felt wrong.
Not emotional.
Not angry.
Empty in a way that frightened him more than rage ever could.
Desperately, Mr. Austin glanced around:
toward the trees,
toward the cabin,
toward the empty clearing surrounding them—
Then Arthur pulled the trigger.
The gunshot exploded through the forest.
The bullet tore directly through Mr. Austin's chest.
For a second, the older man remained standing motionless.
Then his body collapsed heavily onto the ground.
Silence returned to the clearing.
Arthur stared down at the corpse quietly before lowering the rifle.
Then he let it fall from his hands.
"I hate people like you," he said softly.
After that, Arthur slowly lifted his eyes toward the cabin standing alone in the middle of the clearing.
He looked at it for several seconds.
Then, without another word, he turned away and began walking deeper into the forest.
Chapter ends
To be continued