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."

Joaquin’s stomach churned with a sick, gnawing fear. “What do you mean by that?” he whispered, his voice barely holding.

The tikbalang’s cold laugh crawled down his spine. "You think you're running from your father... but you're not. You're running from yourself."

The words struck like a blow. Joaquin’s mouth went dry as his chest tightened. He could feel the creature circling, unseen, playing with him.

"You want to run away from the failure that you are," the tikbalang’s voice taunted from all directions. "You are the cause of the grief around you."

Joaquin clenched his fists at his sides. “That’s not true!” he shouted, his voice cracking. "I didn’t know—"

"But your parents did, didn’t they?" the tikbalang cut him off, its mocking tone sharp and biting. "They warned you, and you didn’t listen. Isn’t that why your father hates you? Why he blames you? Why he hurts you?"

Joaquin flinched at the words, as though each one was a physical blow. His chest burned with shame, a raw ache that had never fully healed. His father’s voice rang in his ears, the anger, the disappointment, the resentment. The tikbalang’s words wormed their way deeper, twisting the knife.

"You caused him too much pain, didn’t you? So, isn’t punishing you justified?" The creature’s voice was a taunting whisper now, a poison in the air. "But you hated him instead. You thought only of yourself. You didn’t even consider how much pain you brought."

The words hit like a landslide, the weight of them crashing down on him, suffocating him under their truth. Joaquin’s knees buckled as he sank to the ground, his hands shaking as he pressed them against his temples, trying to block out the voice, trying to block out the reality of it.

"You’re selfish, Joaquin."

“No!” Joaquin’s shout echoed through the trees, but it felt small, hollow, as though the forest itself swallowed the sound. “I refuse to believe you!”

The tikbalang’s laughter reverberated around him, cold and cruel. "Who are you trying to convince, boy? You can fool anyone but yourself." The creature’s voice was a mocking sneer, its words coiling tighter around his heart. "Isn’t that why your friend left?"

Joaquin froze, the blood draining from his face. "No," he whispered, shaking his head. "No... you’re lying."

"Am I?" The tikbalang’s voice was silk, smooth and dangerous. "Your friend was smart. He can survive in this village. But you…" The pause was deliberate, the silence stretching out like a noose tightening around Joaquin’s throat. "You are nothing."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Joaquin’s chest heaved as he slumped forward, collapsing into himself. His knees scraped the rough earth beneath him, the stones digging into his skin, but he didn’t care. His arms hung limply at his sides, his body trembling as the tears welled in his eyes, burning hot against the cool night air.

"You were just a burden he couldn’t wait to drop," the tikbalang said, its voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

“No,” Joaquin croaked, his voice broken, his breath hitching in his chest. He buried his face in his hands, the sobs wracking his body as he tried to muffle the sound, as if crying made the words more real, more painful.

"It can’t be true," he whispered through his tears. "It can’t be..."

"You're just a liability, Joaquin." The tikbalang’s voice was soft now, almost gentle, as though it was speaking to a child lost in the dark. "Your disappearance would be a favor to everyone."

Joaquin’s vision blurred as he stared down at the ground, his body shaking with silent sobs. His mind was unraveling, the weight of his guilt, his fear, pressing down on him until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything but the crushing certainty that the tikbalang’s words were true.

The earth beneath him was cold, rough, unforgiving. His knees scraped against the stones, his hands limp at his sides. His mind was a swirling storm of doubt and self-loathing, every cruel word the tikbalang had spoken echoing in his head, louder and louder until it was all he could hear.

Then, as if summoned by his despair, the tikbalang materialized before him, its towering form emerging from the mist like a phantom. Its long limbs were stretched in grotesque angles, its eyes glowing with a sinister light as it looked down at him with that same mocking grin.

Joaquin didn’t move. He didn’t even look up. His eyes remained fixed on the ground, his tears falling in silent streams onto the cold, hard earth.

The tikbalang’s shadow loomed over him, the darkness wrapping itself around Joaquin like a shroud.

"No!" Joaquin’s voice came out weak, barely more than a broken whisper. His throat was tight, raw from shouting, and his limbs trembled as he knelt on the cold forest floor, defeated.

The tikbalang leaned in closer, its grotesque face filling Joaquin's vision, the twisted muzzle of its horse-like head so near that he could feel the warmth of its breath against his skin. It reeked of earth and decay, a stench that made his stomach churn.

"What a bad, bad boy you are," the tikbalang sneered, its voice a low, cruel whisper dripping with malice. Its glowing yellow eyes flickered with amusement as it watched Joaquin crumble before it. "You cannot go back. And you will die alone in this forest."

Joaquin’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind swirling in a haze of confusion and despair. The darkness pressed in around him, thick and suffocating, making it hard to breathe. His fingers clawed at the earth beneath him, dirt and stones digging into his palms. "No... I told you...," he croaked, his voice barely a breath.

The tikbalang chuckled, a low, mocking sound that echoed in the night. It leaned even closer, its dark mane brushing against Joaquin’s skin. "You can deny it all you want," it said softly, its voice curling around him like smoke. "But the truth remains."

"The truth?" Joaquin repeated, his voice distant, almost mechanical, as though he was no longer in control of his own thoughts.

"Yeeeesss," the tikbalang purred, leaning forward until its grotesque face was inches from Joaquin’s. Its eyes narrowed with cruel satisfaction. "The truth is—"

"The truth is... I can see your golden hair," Joaquin whispered, his voice suddenly sharp, cutting through the creature’s taunting words like a blade.

The tikbalang froze, its eyes widening in shock. Its mocking grin faltered, replaced by a look of pure, raw fear.

Before the creature could react, Joaquin sprang to his feet, every muscle in his body surging with a desperate burst of energy. He lunged toward the tikbalang, his hand outstretched, fingers reaching for the shimmering strands of its mane. The movement was swift, instinctive, driven by a primal urge for survival.

The tikbalang roared, thrashing wildly as it tried to shove him away. Its massive arms swiped at him, but Joaquin was quicker—driven by a force greater than his fear. He felt the cold, silky strands slip between his fingers, just for a second. Then a sharp impact hit him as the tikbalang threw him back with a powerful shove.

Joaquin tumbled to the ground, the air knocked from his lungs as he landed hard on his side. Pain shot through his body, but he gritted his teeth, his heart still racing. His vision swam, but as he blinked, trying to clear the haze from his eyes, he realized something—something that made his pulse quicken in a different way.

His hand was clenched tightly around something. Slowly, he lifted it, and there, shimmering faintly in the moonlight, were three long, golden hairs.

The tikbalang’s eyes locked onto Joaquin’s hand, the once smug expression now twisted in terror. It stumbled backward, its hulking form trembling. For the first time, the creature looked vulnerable, its earlier menace replaced by a palpable fear.

Joaquin stood slowly, his legs unsteady but his resolve solid. A fierce grin spread across his face as he raised his hand, the golden hairs gleaming in his grasp. He had done it. He had turned the tables. The hunter had become the hunted.

The tikbalang, for all its strength and dark magic, had underestimated him. And now, Joaquin held its fate in his hands.