Felix stood alone in a small clearing, his back still sore from the night spent under tree roots.
He stretched his arms with a groan.
"No cultivation and no idea where I am," he muttered, flicking moss off his sleeve. "Doesn't matter. I just need to keep surviving."
Felix followed the faint sound of running water until the trees opened up. A stream cut through the ground ahead, flowing between rocks and roots. Its surface was clear, and small silver shapes darted beneath it—fish, maybe three or four kinds, weaving between the stones.
He crouched by the edge and watched for a moment. There were more fish here than he'd expected.
Among them, he saw the familiar orange sheen of a Dilgak fish—thin-bodied, sharp-finned. Not for eating, but useful for one thing: ink. He also saw others—wider, plumper, with smooth silver scales. Those, he guessed, were edible.
His eyes narrowed. He could catch them. But not with a spear—not now.
He stood and walked back toward the trees. His hands moved with practiced focus as he gathered long, flexible vines. He wove them slowly, binding them over a bent frame made of thin branches. Bit by bit, the shape of a box took form. At the front, he left a narrow opening, a funnel-like entrance that widened inward and narrowed behind.
"Once they go in… they won't find their way out," he muttered.
It wasn't his first time building something like this. He'd read about these traps—how fish followed scent, entered small spaces, and became confused when the way out wasn't straight. A natural trick.
What he needed now was something strong to lure them.
Felix set the trap aside and began to search along the tree roots. It took nearly half an hour before he found it—a pale red fruit, shaped like a curled gourd, with a soft fuzz and golden lines running down its skin.
He blinked.
"That's an uncommon rank fruit," he said, surprised.
He lifted it gently. It smelled sweet and sharp, almost like spice. He'd read about this before—Spindleberry, a fruit known to attract spirit beasts and certain aquatic creatures when ripe. It wasn't very nutritious, but its scent was powerful.
He smiled faintly. "Perfect."
He placed the Spindleberry inside the vine trap, tying it near the center. Then, he weighted the bottom of the trap with stones and carried it to the river. He lowered it gently into a shallow pool off to the side of the stream, where the water moved slower. The vines settled, and the fruit's scent began to drift outward in slow waves.
Felix moved back and waited behind a bush, watching the trap with quiet eyes.
Minutes passed.
Then, movement.
First one fish swam close—orange fins flickering. Then two more. They circled the trap, drawn by the scent. The Dilgak was first to enter, slipping through the wide mouth of the trap without hesitation. Moments later, another followed—a silver-scaled one with a thicker body.
One by one, they slipped in.
And none came out.
Felix let out a slow breath. "It worked."
He waited a while longer, until the pool was quiet again, then pulled the trap from the water. It felt heavier than before.
Inside, six fish flailed and slapped against the vines.
Three were Dilgak—thin and bright orange. The rest were silver, about the length of his hand, with wide eyes and soft bellies. Edible.
He untied the trap and transferred the fish into a hollowed-out bark basin filled with stream water. He would deal with them later—one step at a time.
He looked down at the trap and the leftover scent of the Spindleberry still clinging to it.
"That fruit… I wonder if there's more nearby," he said.
His voice was quiet, but hopeful.
Felix returned to his shelter with the bark basin pressed against his chest, water sloshing softly with every step. Inside, the six fish twisted and flipped, tails cutting the surface. The Dilgak swam lazily near the bottom. The other silver-scaled ones darted about restlessly.
He set the basin down beside his fire pit, then stood and looked around.
"I'll need something better to keep them alive," he muttered.
The bark basin wouldn't hold water for long, and if the fish died, the ink would spoil. And for the others, he wanted fresh meat, not soft, spoiled flesh. After a pause, he turned toward the edge of the camp, where a slight dip in the ground collected rainwater the day before.
He knelt and pressed his fingers into the soil.
It was damp. Soft.
Clay.
Perfect.
Felix rolled up his sleeves and got to work. He dug slowly, scooping the clay into a low, round wall like a basin, packing the sides tightly. He shaped the bottom flat, using smooth stones to press down and reinforce it. The clay began to form a small spring basin about the size of a large bowl, tucked under the shade of a leafy overhang.
He poured in clean stream water, let it settle, and then added another layer of stones around the outside to keep the structure stable.
"There," he said, wiping his hands on his tunic. "It won't leak."
He carried the basin of fish to the new spring and carefully released the Dilgak first. One by one, they slipped into the clear water, twisting their bodies and then settling near the bottom. The silver-scaled fish, he placed in another smaller basin near the fire. He'd cook those soon.
But the Dilgak… they had more value alive.
As he watched them swim, he noticed something in the water—faint streaks of orange trailing behind the Dilgak as they moved. It came out from under their tails, spreading gently in the water, thin and fluid.
He stared, blinking.
"No scent," he said quietly.
He leaned closer. The color wasn't thick, but it was rich—almost golden when it caught the light. And it didn't cloud the water. It just settled near the clay, slowly collecting at the bottom.
Then he remembered.
"Right… I read this once," he muttered. "It's not from a gland. It's their waste. That's where the ink comes from."
It made sense now.
Dilgak fish were always described as low-maintenance ink sources in old records. If fed well and kept alive, they produced a steady supply. The ink was slow-forming, but didn't smell, didn't rot, and didn't lose its quality in sunlight.
He crouched beside the spring and smiled a little.
"I won't need to kill them."
He dipped his finger into the orange streak and pressed it lightly onto a stone surface.
It marked clearly.
Sticky, but not too wet.
"This will work," he said.
He sat back, staring at the tiny spring he made. The fish glided lazily beneath the water, unaware of their role.
Felix exhaled.
Quiet surrounded him again.
The breeze moved through the trees. Leaves whispered above.