Whispers of Ember Hollow:"The Hunted"

Stranded and Alone

Myles awoke to the cries of gulls and the roar of distant surf. His head throbbed, and his clothes were soaked with seawater. The last thing he remembered was standing on deck , a sudden jolt, a shout, the splash of waves, then nothing.

Now, he was lying on a stretch of sand, half-buried in seaweed, surrounded by thick jungle. His yacht was gone.

He staggered to his feet, trying to make sense of where he was. Tall cliffs loomed in the distance, and behind him, dense, dark foliage rustled with unseen life. He was on the island.

Ship-Trap Island.

The name suddenly made his skin crawl.

A Strange Welcome

After hours of trudging through thickets and thorns, Myles stumbled upon something completely unexpected — a chateau. Not a ruin, but a towering, gothic structure with heavy wooden doors and walls of stone. Torches flickered in iron sconces. He knocked hesitantly.

The door creaked open.

A tall man with a groomed beard, perfect posture, and sharp black eyes greeted him with a smile.

“Ah, a guest! How rare… and how fortunate for you.”

The man introduced himself as General Zaric, a former nobleman turned hunter, and invited Myles inside. His home was filled with mounted trophies — not deer or lions, but creatures Myles didn’t recognize: claws, tusks, massive eyes frozen in terror. The walls practically pulsed with the energy of death.

Zaric poured him wine and offered him rest.

“Tomorrow,” the General said, “we’ll speak of sport. I have… fascinating interests.”

The Truth Unveiled

That night, Myles couldn’t sleep. He wandered the halls and overheard a muffled conversation between Zaric and a hunched, brutish servant named Ivan.

“He’s perfect,” Zaric whispered. “Strong, clever, and he has the look of a fighter. Finally… a challenge.”

Myles froze.

The next morning, Zaric explained everything over breakfast — calmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You see, the island is my game preserve. I’ve hunted every animal worth hunting. But they grew predictable. Weak. Now I hunt the most dangerous game.”

Myles blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Man, of course. You.”

Let the Hunt Begin

Myles bolted, knocking over the chair as he ran. But Zaric only chuckled.

“You have until sunset to run. If you survive three days, you may leave the island. If not… well, you’ll make a fine addition to my collection.”

Ivan handed Myles a small pouch with a knife, a canteen, and a head start. Then the gate opened.

The jungle swallowed him whole.

Survival

The forest was alive with traps, not just the physical kind, but psychological too. Every rustle could be Zaric. Every shadow could be Ivan. Myles kept moving, doubling back, hiding in trees, using vines and stones to craft makeshift snares.

Night fell.

The howls began.

He caught a glimpse of Zaric at dawn — standing atop a ridge, rifle in hand, smiling.

Myles wasn’t just being hunted. He was being studied.

The Final Stand

On the third day, exhausted and bleeding, Myles knew he had one shot. He led Zaric into a gorge he had rigged with sharpened bamboo. But Zaric was clever , too clever.

“Very inventive,” the General said, avoiding the trap with ease. “But this is the end.”

As he raised his rifle, Myles lunged — not to run, but to fight.

They struggled on the edge of a cliff. The rifle fired into the air. Myles struck him with a rock, and Zaric fell, silent and stunned.

Escape

Myles stumbled into the chateau one last time, found the emergency radio, and sent a distress signal. A patrol boat responded hours later.

As it pulled away from Ship-Trap Island, Myles sat in silence.

“He hunts men,” he whispered. “And I was just another trophy waiting to be taken.”

But he had survived.

For now.

CONTINUE Part III