I woke with my spine pressed hard against bark. The pain came first. A sharp, blooming ache that radiated from my back through my shoulders and up into my skull, as if the tree had punched me back into consciousness. My lungs burned when I tried to breathe, dragging air in shallow, uneven pulls that made my chest feel too small for my body.
For a moment, I thought I was still in the desert.
Heat clung to my skin. My clothes were stiff with sand, grains biting into my palms when I shifted. My head throbbed, and when I tried to lift it, the world tilted violently, colors smearing together in a nauseating blur. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the spinning to stop.
When I opened them again, something was standing in front of me.
My heart slammed so hard I thought it might crack my ribs.
It was tall. Taller than me, but not impossibly so. Broad through the shoulders, narrow at the waist, its posture relaxed but alert, like a predator that did not need to prove it was dangerous. Dark green scales covered its body, matte in the shade, catching faint flashes of light where the sun slipped between the leaves. A thick tail curved behind it, barely moving, balanced in a way that made it clear this body was used to standing upright.
A lizard.
On two legs.
My breath hitched. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but my body refused to move, locked in place by fear and disbelief.
It wore clothes. That was the strangest part. A rough tunic, simple and practical, hanging loosely over its torso. Brown pants bound at the ankles. No shoes. Around its waist was a heavy belt fitted with pouches and tools, some leather, some metal, all worn smooth with use. Not decoration.
Utility.
This thing lived here.
Its eyes were yellow green, sharp and focused, studying me with a level of attention that made my skin crawl. Not hunger. Not curiosity alone. Assessment.
It extended one clawed hand toward me.
In its palm was a leather pouch, darkened with age, bulging slightly with liquid.
"You're awake," it said.
Its voice was deep and steady, not threatening, not kind. Just factual.
"Drink."
My mind raced. Images slammed into me. A bottle in the desert. A stranger's voice. The taste of something wrong. Darkness swallowing me whole.
I didn't move.
"What is that?" My voice came out hoarse, scraped raw.
"Water."
I stared at the pouch like it might bite me.
"The last time someone handed me water," I said slowly, "I woke up somewhere I definitely didn't agree to be."
The creature's eyes narrowed slightly. Not angry. Measuring.
"If I wanted you unconscious," it said, "I would've left you where you fell. Or let the forest do it for me."
The forest.
I swallowed. My fingers dug into the bark behind me, grounding myself in something solid.
"Forest," I repeated, testing the word.
The creature tilted its head. "You don't even know where you are."
"No," I said honestly. "I really don't."
It studied me for another long second, then pushed the pouch closer.
"Drink. You're dehydrated. You won't last long like that."
I hesitated, then reached out, my hand shaking slightly as I took the pouch. The leather was cool. Worn. Real.
I uncorked it just enough to dip a finger inside and touched the liquid to my tongue.
Cold.
Clean.
Water.
Relief flooded me so fast my knees nearly gave out. I tipped the pouch and drank, greedily, desperately, water spilling down my chin and soaking my shirt as my body drank faster than my mind could catch up. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was until that moment.
By the time I lowered the pouch, the creature had already turned away.
"Hey," I said, scrambling to my feet. My legs wobbled, but I forced myself upright. "Wait."
It didn't stop walking.
"Where are we going?" I asked, forcing my legs to keep pace with his.
Levi didn't slow.
"We?" he said.
The word landed heavier than it should have.
He glanced back at me, one eye catching the light through the trees. "I'm going to the village."
I hesitated. The forest seemed to lean in around us, dark and watching.
"I can't stay out here," I said. The words came out faster than I meant them to. "I'm coming with you."
Levi studied me for a moment longer, then turned forward again.
"Probably for the best," he said.
"Anywhere is safer than here."
The word village sparked something hopeful in me. And something else too. Something tight and uneasy.
"A village," I said, hurrying to keep up.
"A man in the desert told me I could find answers there. About how to get home."
The creature slowed just slightly.
"Home," it echoed.
"He mentioned something about a guardian."
It stopped.
For the first time, it turned fully toward me.
"A guardian," it said quietly. "Everyone is chasing something in this world."
It studied my face, then gave a short nod.
"Name's Levi. If you plan on surviving longer than today, stay close and step where I step."
I noticed then how quiet he moved.
Each step was deliberate, light, placed with purpose. His feet barely disturbed the forest floor. I tried to mimic him, placing my boots where his had been, shrinking my stride, controlling my breathing.
The forest closed around us as we moved deeper in.
The trees grew thicker, their trunks twisted and dark, branches knitting together overhead until the sunlight thinned into pale ribbons. Shadows stretched long and heavy between the roots, and the air felt cooler here, damp and alive.
Then I saw them.
Creatures.
At first, they looked familiar enough to trick my brain into relaxing. A rat darting across the path. A fox slipping between the trees. Birds perched above us, watching.
Then the details sank in.
The rat had too many eyes, clustered along its skull, each one swiveling independently. The fox had two tails, both moving with sharp intelligence. The birds' wings were thin and translucent, like insect shells, buzzing softly when they took flight instead of flapping.
Boars rooted through the undergrowth nearby, their tusks glowing faintly, as if heat lived beneath the surface. Their breath steamed despite the cool air.
Deer watched us from a distance, hides shimmering in unnatural hues of purplish blue. Their antlers were crystalline, jagged prisms that refracted light into fractured rainbows.
Nothing here was normal.
Nothing here was safe.
"You've never seen anything like this," Levi said quietly.
"No," I whispered. "And I really wish I hadn't."
"Don't stare too long," he warned. "Out here, curiosity gets eaten."
A chill ran through me.
"How dangerous is this place?" I asked.
Levi didn't answer right away.
"Dangerous enough," he said finally.
"Especially for you. Humans haven't been here in decades."
I stopped walking for half a step.
"Decades?"
He glanced back at me. "There are none left."
The forest grew darker. The air felt heavier, pressing against my skin, making every sound feel amplified.
Then I heard it.
A deep rustling. Branches snapping. Leaves shaking violently.
Before I could react, Levi's arm shot out, slamming me to the ground.
"Stay down," he whispered sharply. "It's close."
My heart pounded so loudly I was sure it could hear me.
Something moved above us.
I looked up.
Legs. Too many of them. Long, arched, sharp. They moved across the branches with terrifying speed, scraping bark and snapping twigs. The creature leapt from tree to tree, its weight barely slowing it.
Then it crashed down in the distance.
A shaft of sunlight caught part of it.
A shell like body. Endless length. Bladed legs like curved knives.
It vanished back into the shadows.
"What is that?" I breathed. "How big is it?"
Levi didn't look at me.
"Big enough," he said. "Centilito. If you're lucky, you'll never see all of it."
The thing moved away, toward the deer I had seen earlier.
Relief flooded me so hard my vision blurred.
We stayed low until the forest thinned and a wooden wall came into view.
Tall. Reinforced. Ringed with unlit torches.
A village.
Levi stopped.
"You wait here," he said.
"For how long?"
"I'll bring you before the one who decides."
"Who?"
"Radamar."
Fear twisted in my gut.
I grabbed his wrist.
"Has anyone ever left?" I asked. "This place. The village. Has anyone gone back to where they came from?"
Levi stopped.
He looked down at me, his expression unreadable.
"You're asking that," he said slowly, "like you already think we're not from here."
I swallowed. "Aren't you?"
Something flickered across his face. Not surprise. Recognition.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You notice more than most. Yes. We were sent here. Long ago."
"So there is a way back," I said.
Levi's gaze shifted toward the wall ahead of us. "There was."
"And now?"
"If it still exists," he said, "it's been forgotten. We've been here a long time."
My fingers loosened around his wrist.
Levi looked down at my hand, then back at me. "If anyone would know anything about that, it would be the elders. They keep what history we still have."
He paused, then added, "But don't mistake knowledge for kindness.
Nothing in that village comes easy. Not answers. Not shelter. Not survival."
"You have to work for everything," he continued. "Even the right to ask."
Levi turned toward the gate.
"I'll come back for you," he said. "Then you'll learn what your fate looks like."
He stepped through the opening without another word.
The gate closed behind him.
I was left alone.
Outside the wall.
The forest shifted around me. Wind stirred the leaves. Somewhere deeper within the trees, something scurried away. I stood there staring at the wooden barrier, at the torches lining it, unlit and useless in the daylight.
For the first time since I'd arrived in this world, I felt truly exposed.
Not lost.
Not hunted.
Just... waiting.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my breath to steady.
Levi had said he would come back.
He hadn't said how long.
I stood where he had left me, close enough to the wall that I could still feel the faint warmth of the torches through the wood, though they weren't lit. The village was just on the other side. I could hear it now if I focused hard enough. Voices. Movement. Life continuing without me.
Out here, the forest reclaimed everything else.
Leaves shifted in the branches above. Something small scurried through the underbrush and vanished. I stiffened at every sound, my mind replaying the memory of too many legs scraping bark, of a body so long I couldn't even understand its full shape. The Centilito didn't need to come back for the fear to settle into my bones. The idea of it was enough.
I stayed where I was.
At first, waiting felt reasonable.
Necessary. Levi had told me to wait, and I clung to that instruction like it was a rule that could keep me alive. I paced a short line near the wall, never straying too far from it, as if the wood itself offered some kind of protection.
Minutes passed. Or maybe longer. Time didn't behave properly here.
The sun shifted behind the trees, but the canopy made it hard to tell how much. Shadows stretched and changed shape, crawling across the ground in ways that made my skin prickle. My legs began to ache from standing still, from being ready to move but never actually moving.
I waited longer.
The forest grew louder.
A branch snapped somewhere to my left. I turned sharply, heart slamming against my ribs, only to see nothing but twisted roots and ferns. Still, my pulse didn't slow. Every sound felt closer now, more intentional.
I glanced at the wall again.
Still nothing.
No Levi.
A cold realization settled in my chest, slow and heavy.
What if he wasn't coming back?
What if this was part of it? Some unspoken test. Or worse, a decision already made without me ever being present for it.
I tried to imagine going back into the forest.
The thought alone made my stomach twist. Out there, I was exposed. Alone. One mistake away from becoming something's next meal. Out there, nothing cared who I was or why I was here.
I couldn't stay outside.
That truth settled with a clarity that surprised me.
Waiting was no longer patience. It was surrender.
I started walking.
I stayed close to the wall, moving slowly, deliberately, keeping my steps light the way Levi had taught me. The wood loomed beside me, tall and uneven, reinforced in some places and older in others. Roots pressed up against it from the inside, thick and gnarled, like the village itself was trying to push its way back into the forest.
I passed sections where the wall was newer, the planks pale and tightly fitted, metal braces bolted into place. Other sections were darkened with age, splintered at the edges, their surfaces worn smooth by time and weather.
Watchpoints came and went. Some were manned. Others were empty, ladders leaning against platforms that creaked softly in the breeze.
I learned quickly where not to linger.
The torches lining the wall were unlit, their brackets cold beneath my fingers when I brushed past them. The wall curved gradually, guiding me away from the side Levi had entered and toward a part of the village that sounded... different.
The smells reached me first.
Fresh-cut wood. Resin. Hot metal. Something sharp and chemical that stung my nose.
Then the sounds. Hammering. Sawing. Voices raised in argument and laughter. Wings fluttering. Tools clattering against stone and wood.
A craft district.
I slowed, crouching near the edge of the wall, peering around it carefully. This side of the village was busier, less formal. Carts rolled in and out through a smaller gate, one less imposing than the main entrance. Workers moved with purpose, hauling supplies, shouting at one another over the noise.
I watched. I waited.
My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat.
Then a cart approached from the forest path, stacked high with timber and bundles wrapped in thick cloth. Two beastfolk guided it, arguing loudly about weight and balance, their attention fixed on the load rather than their surroundings.
My chance.
I didn't give myself time to think.
I moved when they did, slipping in behind the cart, keeping low, matching its pace. My breath came shallow and fast as we approached the gate. I could hear the guards talking, complaining about paperwork and deliveries running late.
One of them waved the cart through without looking too closely.
I crossed the threshold with it.
The moment my foot touched the village ground, something shifted inside me.
The forest's tension eased, replaced by something else entirely.
The village was alive.
Buildings clustered close together, their shapes irregular but intentional. Workshops lined the path, doors thrown open to reveal workbenches built for claws, talons, and hooves. Tools hung neatly on walls, each one adapted for hands that weren't human.
People stopped when they saw me.
At first, it was subtle. Conversations trailed off. Hammering slowed. Feathers rustled.
Then the whispers started.
"That's a human." "I thought they were gone." "What's one doing here?"
Children were the first to approach. A rabbitfolk child tugged at a goatfolk woman's sleeve and pointed openly. A bird child fluttered closer, wings twitching with curiosity.
"What are you?" one of them asked.
I didn't know how to answer.
I kept walking.
Eyes followed me everywhere. Some curious. Some wary. Some openly hungry.
A lionfolk leaned against a post, golden eyes tracking me, tongue flicking briefly across sharp teeth. A wolffolk murmured something to a companion, both of them watching me like I was an unsolved problem.
Elves stood farther back, tall and composed, hair shimmering in shades of silver and deep blue. Their gazes were sharp but restrained. Dwarves watched openly, broad-shouldered and solid, their expressions unreadable.
I caught fragments of conversation as I passed.
"Could we?"
"No."
"Why not?"
A pause. Then, quieter.
"If he's here, that means Radamar allowed it."
Another voice scoffed softly. "And if you're wrong?"
"Then you're dead for touching him. Same as if you touched any other villager."
"Shame."
The realization hit me hard.
They weren't holding back because they knew I was protected.
They were holding back because they assumed I was.
The mere fact that I stood inside the village was enough for them to believe Radamar had given me grace. And that belief alone was keeping me alive.
Without it, I would already be torn apart.
Without it, I was nothing more than meat.
A ratfolk brushed past me, tail flicking, his voice low and almost wistful.
"It's been a long time since we've had one."
I fought the urge to run.
That was when a hand clamped around my arm.
"Stop."
I turned sharply.
The guard was taller than me, broad-shouldered, his armor worn smooth with use. His eyes were sharp, assessing me with none of Levi's restraint.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "And what are you doing here?"
"I-" My voice caught. "I was told to wait. Outside."
"That's not an answer."
His grip tightened. "Does Radamar know you're here?"
"I haven't spoken to him."
His expression darkened.
"Nobody enters this village without permission."
The crowd had stopped pretending not to watch.
"How did you get in?" he pressed. "Who let you through the gate?"
"I followed a cart," I admitted.
He swore under his breath. "Great. Just great."
He glanced around nervously. "If this isn't recorded, Lenny's going to have my head."
"Lenny?" I asked.
He ignored me.
"You're coming with me."
I twisted instinctively, trying to pull free, but his grip tightened like iron. I stumbled as he dragged me forward.
"Let go of me!"
"Should've thought of that before sneaking in," he snapped.
The crowd reacted.
"Too bad." "Could've eaten him."
"Radamar didn't give him grace."
Another voice replied, "Not anymore."
The path widened.
The buildings fell away.
And then I saw it.
The tree.
Massive. Ancient. Its trunk rose like the spine of the world itself, bark etched with age and intent. Structures were carved into its base, doors set directly into living wood. Higher up, nestled among thick branches, I could make out another structure, half hidden by leaves.
Everything pointed toward it.
Every road. Every glance. Every rule.
The guard didn't slow as he dragged me forward.
I stopped resisting.
I already knew.
Whatever happened next would happen here.
At the base of the great tree.
The guard did not slow.
His grip tightened, and his pace increased just enough that I had to stumble to keep up. My boots scraped against the packed earth, my balance barely holding as he hauled me forward.
"Move," he shouted.
I did.
I stopped resisting completely. My body still tensed on instinct, but my mind had already accepted what my muscles refused to understand. Whatever happened next would not be decided by my strength. The great tree rose ahead of me like the spine of the village, its trunk swallowing the space around it, roots thick as walls crawling outward into the ground.
Doors carved into its base stood open.
Warm light spilled out from within, and with it came a smell that made my stomach twist. Smoke. Alcohol. Roasted meat. Sweaty leather. Iron.
Laughter rolled out too, rough and careless, like the forest outside did not exist.
The guard dragged me across the threshold.
The bar was louder than the village paths, but not chaotic. It was the noise of people who felt safe enough to be careless. Lanterns hung from iron hooks, their glow warm and uneven, throwing soft light across heavy wooden beams that curved overhead. The ceiling looked grown, not built, as if the tree had bent itself into supporting the room.
Long wooden tables ran through the space, thick and scarred from years of use. Tree stumps served as chairs, their tops worn smooth by countless bodies shifting and settling. The floor was packed earth, swept clean but uneven beneath my feet.
This was not a place for comfort.
This was a place for guards.
Most of the figures seated at the tables wore light leather armor, practical pieces that protected without restricting movement. Chest guards, shoulder plates, bracers strapped tight around forearms. Some had cloaks thrown over one shoulder. Others had their armor loosened, as if the room itself was an extension of their barracks.
Weapons were everywhere.
Short swords hung low at hips, blades built for close work rather than show. Compact, thick-backed knives and short blades rested on tables beside plates and mugs, treated like utensils. No one reached for them. No one needed to.
The power in this room was already established.
Conversations dipped as I was dragged forward, then returned as if my presence was a momentary distraction rather than a threat. A few guards stared openly. Some looked amused. Some looked hungry.
I tried not to imagine what hungry meant in a place where everyone looked like they could break me in half without effort.
My eyes searched the room until they landed on Levi.
He stood near one of the central tables, half turned toward the crowd, one hand resting lightly against the wood as he spoke with someone beside him. His posture was calm, but I saw the tension in it now. The controlled stillness of someone listening for danger.
Our eyes met.
Relief hit me so suddenly it almost hurt.
Levi shifted slightly, angling his body just enough to address the massive bear humanoid beside him.
"Grizz," Levi said quietly. "It's fine."
The bear inclined his head once, eyes never leaving the room.
Grizz.
He was bigger than every other guard in the room, not only tall but wide, his presence filling space without effort. Dark fur covered his arms and neck, streaked with gray. His leather armor was not like the others. It was heavier, reinforced at the shoulders and chest, full-bodied in a way that suggested authority. The stitching was precise. The plates layered. It was refined without being decorative.
He did not drink.
He did not speak.
He stood there like a wall that had decided to be alive.
The guard dragging me forward stopped and shoved me ahead a step, forcing me into the open space near Levi's table.
"Found him wandering the village," the guard announced. "Human. No record."
A few guards laughed.
One leaned back in his seat, lifting his mug. "Bold."
"Or stupid," another muttered, low enough to feel like an insult meant for me alone.
Levi turned slightly, his gaze shifting to the guard.
"I told him to wait outside," Levi said evenly.
The room changed.
Not the sound, not the movement. The attention.
A few guards straightened. Some glanced toward the far end of the bar, toward the shadowed space beneath the highest curve of the tree's interior, like they expected someone to be there.
The guard scowled. "And he didn't."
I swallowed. The words piled up behind my teeth, fighting their way out. I didn't want to speak. Speaking was dangerous. Speaking in front of guards was like stepping onto a stage with no script.
But silence felt worse.
"I waited," I said quickly, my voice smaller than I intended. "I waited a long time. I... I didn't know if he was coming back."
A few guards smirked.
I felt heat climb up my neck. I wanted to shrink into myself. I wanted to disappear. The old version of me, the one who swallowed everything, the one who stayed still and hoped problems would pass, was clawing its way back to the surface.
And I hated how familiar that felt.
The bear humanoid shifted.
One step forward.
The room did not react, but I did. My stomach tightened. My breath caught. His eyes were dark and steady, not cruel, not kind. He looked at me the way someone looks at a tool they're deciding whether to keep.
"You crossed the wall without permission," he said.
His voice was low, even, like stone grinding against stone.
"Yes," I whispered.
"Why."
The truth was that I had been terrified.
Terrified of the Centilito.
Terrified of being forgotten.
Terrified of being alone.
But the words came out tangled.
"I thought... I thought if I stayed out there, I would die," I said.
Grizz's expression barely changed.
"That forest wants to eat everyone," he replied. "Most learn to respect that."
I nodded quickly, as if agreeing could save me.
The guard who had brought me in opened his mouth again. "I'm reporting this to Lenny. I'm not losing my head over a human slipping through my gate."
The name felt heavy in the room. Like an invisible rank.
Then a voice cut through everything.
"Enough."
It wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
The bar went still in an instant.
Mugs paused mid-lift. Laughter died mid-breath. Chairs stopped scraping. Even the lantern light felt like it steadied.
Pressure settled into the room, subtle but undeniable, like air becoming heavier.
I turned slowly.
Radamar stood at the far end of the bar, partially framed by the thick curve of the tree's interior. He was taller than Levi, taller than any guard, but that wasn't what made him impossible to ignore.
It was the way he stood.
Relaxed.
Unhurried.
As if the entire village was arranged around his patience.
His scales were deep red, catching the lantern light in subdued patterns. His clothing was immaculate, a tailored coat fitted perfectly over a dark vest, clean and crisp in a room filled with smoke and sweat. The fabric looked expensive, the cut deliberate.
Everything about him felt chosen.
Out of place.
And because of that, dominant.
"I gave you freedom," Radamar said calmly, his gaze on Levi. "More than most would."
Levi's jaw tightened slightly. "And I used it."
"Yes," Radamar replied. "That is precisely the issue."
He stepped closer, stopping near Levi's table. "I allowed you room to move. To improvise. I hoped you would tire of repeating yourself."
Levi didn't answer.
Radamar tilted his head, studying him like a teacher watching a student fail the same lesson again. "But here we are. The same patterns. The same little performances."
His eyes sharpened. "You test the edges. I close the gaps. You try again. Each time less refined than the last."
He paused.
"It has become sloppy."
The word felt like a slap, even though it wasn't aimed at me.
"I expected better," Radamar continued. "Especially from you."
There was no anger in his voice. No threat. No heat.
Just disappointment.
Levi spoke quietly. "Maybe the story needs to change."
Radamar smiled faintly, almost amused. "Does it."
His gaze shifted.
And landed on me.
The pressure intensified.
Not physical, but intimate, like being examined. Like being peeled open layer by layer, every weakness visible.
"This," Radamar said slowly, "is different."
The guard beside me straightened. "A human," he said quickly. "Found wandering the village. No record. No permission."
Another guard spoke up from a table behind him. "Orders, sir. What do we do with it."
The word it burned.
"Killing is simplest," someone muttered.
"And eating is quieter," another added, laughter soft and ugly.
My mouth went dry.
Radamar didn't look at them. His eyes stayed on me.
"How did you get here," he asked.
My throat tightened. I wanted to answer properly. I wanted to sound confident. But confidence felt like a costume I didn't know how to wear anymore.
"I... I don't know," I said.
Radamar's expression didn't change.
"You don't know."
"No," I whispered. "I was somewhere else and then I wasn't. I woke up in the desert. I ran. I found the forest."
His eyes narrowed slightly. Not suspicion. Interest.
Then he turned his head toward Levi again.
"And this happens," Radamar said, "while you continue to test how much patience I have left."
Levi met his gaze. "I did not bring him."
"But you found him," Radamar replied. "And now he stands beneath my tree."
Levi glanced at me.
Just for a second.
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't a signal. It was a look of recognition, a quiet acknowledgment that we were connected now, whether either of us wanted it.
I looked back.
Radamar noticed.
Of course he did.
His expression shifted, not to anger, but understanding.
"Oh," he murmured. "So that is it."
Levi's shoulders stiffened.
"I cannot allow this to continue," Radamar said calmly. "Whatever arrangement this is."
The guilt hit me like a blow.
This was because of me.
Because I existed in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because I had followed Levi. Because I had looked at him like he mattered.
The old part of me wanted to stay silent and let the adults decide what to do. Let the powerful handle it. Let it pass.
But it never passed.
Not with Kofi. Not with anything.
My hands trembled.
I forced myself to speak.
"I'm sorry," I said, voice shaking. "This is my fault."
Radamar turned back to me.
"You speak without permission," he said mildly.
"I know," I whispered. My chest felt tight. My mouth felt numb. "But please."
The word tasted like humiliation.
Please.
I hated how small it sounded, and I hated that I still said it.
"Do not punish him," I said, barely able to keep my voice steady. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. I didn't even know where I was."
Radamar studied me. His gaze was unreadable.
"What do you want," he asked.
The question caught me off guard. My mind scrambled. I wanted to say home. I wanted to say safety. I wanted to say answers.
But the room, the guards, the weapons, the silence, all pressed in on me until only one truth remained.
"I don't want to die," I admitted.
A few guards chuckled softly.
Radamar didn't.
He looked at me for a long moment, then glanced toward Levi again, as if measuring something invisible between us.
"You want protection," he said.
I nodded quickly. "Yes."
"You want what the village has," he continued. "Walls. Food. Order."
"Yes," I whispered again.
Radamar's mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile.
"And you want his pardon," he added, eyes on Levi.
My stomach twisted.
"Yes," I said. "Please."
The door burst open. A beastfolk guard, breathless, spoke quickly: "Radamar, sir-half of today's hunting party is dead. The centilito struck. Animals are shifting from their grounds, we had to go deeper just to find food."
I felt the room shrink. Radamar didn't even flinch. "How many?" The guard, catching his breath, said, "Five."
Radamar muttered to himself, taking a deep breath. "Always trying, always failing, never succeeding."
Then his eyes fell on me. "You want Levi spared, right? You want my grace? Then defeat the centilito. One problem for another. You have until the first sunrise after nightfall. After that, you'll know your answer."
The words landed like a sentence.
My mind flashed to legs scraping bark. To that shell-like body vanishing in shadows. To the sound of it slamming into the ground.
I swallowed hard.
Radamar watched my reaction with something that felt like amusement and assessment.
"If you succeed," he continued, "you will be granted my grace, and you will be allowed to remain within the village."
My heart pounded.
"And Levi," I whispered, barely able to force the words out. "What about him."
Radamar's gaze shifted to Levi.
"If you succeed," Radamar said, "he will be pardoned."
Levi said nothing.
Grizz moved behind him, just slightly, like a shadow ready to close.
Radamar's voice stayed calm. "If you fail."
He let the silence finish the thought.
My throat tightened. My hands shook. Everything in me wanted to back away, to say I couldn't, to shrink and disappear.
But the part of me that had swung at Kofi, even knowing I might lose, surfaced again.
Small.
Bruised.
Still there.
"I'll do it," I whispered.
Radamar smiled faintly.
He lifted one hand, dismissing the room with a simple motion, as if my life and Levi's fate were no more significant than a change in weather.
"Grizz," he said quietly. "Take them out."
Grizz stepped forward.
Levi moved first, turning without a word, his posture tight now, controlled.
Grizz's presence crowded me as he guided us toward the doors. He didn't shove. He didn't drag.
He didn't need to.
The room watched as we left. Some guards looked amused. Some looked disappointed. Some looked hungry.
Outside, the air felt colder.
The tree towered over us.
And the forest waited.