He did not stop dragging me. Grizz's grip stayed locked around my arm as we moved, claws pressing through the fabric like a constant reminder that resistance was not an option. I was not fighting him. I was not shouting. I was barely even pulling back. Still, he held on, guiding me forward with the kind of strength that did not need to prove itself.
My feet kept pace automatically. My thoughts did not.
What did I just agree to?
The question hit all at once, sharp enough to steal the air from my lungs.
My chest tightened, heartbeat stuttering before surging again, each thud loud and frantic in my ears. Walk into the forest. Fight the Centilito. Prove myself or disappear. The words replayed in my head, stacking over each other until they blurred into something I could not quite breathe around.
I was going to get myself killed.
The realization screamed inside me, raw and unfiltered. For half a second, I thought I might actually say it out loud. That I might wrench my arm free and tell them I had made a mistake. That I did not know what I was doing. That I was not ready for any of this.
But I did not.
On the outside, I kept walking.
The bar's doorway spat us back into the open air, and the late afternoon sun struck my face hard enough to make me squint. Light flooded the clearing, warm and indifferent, stretching long shadows across the dirt. The village had not dimmed yet. People were still out, still moving through their routines.
Still watching.
Daylight offered no mercy. It exposed everything. The buildings closest to the bar were solid, carefully made. Thick wooden beams. Clean stone foundations. Doors that sat straight in their frames.
These were homes built with intention. Places meant to last.
As Grizz led us farther away, the village slowly unraveled.
The craftsmanship faded in stages. Wood grew thinner. Stone gave way to packed earth. Repairs layered over older repairs, each one rougher than the last. Roofs sagged under the weight of time. Windows were boarded with mismatched planks or stretched cloth.
Some houses leaned like they were too tired to stand upright anymore.
Closer to the wall, the village looked worn down rather than protected.
Conversations softened as we passed. Not stopped. Just lowered, like the air itself had decided to listen. Heads turned openly now. Eyes slid over me, measuring, curious, restrained. Some gazes lingered longer than others, carrying something sharp just beneath the surface.
No one stepped forward.
No one spoke.
It felt intentional.
Radamar wanted this.
Not punishment. Not yet. Just exposure.
A reminder that whatever happened next would happen in full view, that I existed here only because someone else allowed it.
Grizz did not rush. He set a deliberate pace, slow enough for everyone to see. Levi walked a step behind me, shoulders rigid, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscles jump beneath his dark scales. He had not said a word since we left the bar.
Neither had I.
My hands curled into fists at my sides before I caught myself and forced them loose again. Any sudden movement here would draw the wrong kind of attention.
These were not kids in a schoolyard. These were creatures strong enough to tear me apart without effort.
I was not angry just because I had been humiliated. What gnawed at me was the way Radamar had spoken to Levi, sharp and careless, like Levi was something he could discard with a few words.
And Levi had taken it.
When Grizz conveyed Radamar's judgement to Levi, he had said it was fine. Not because it was, but because he needed it to be. Like he was swallowing the moment before it could turn into something worse. Like he knew arguing would only give Radamar more room to press.
That hit me harder than I expected.
Because I recognized it.
Back home, I had learned how to fold myself smaller without thinking about it. How to laugh things off so they did not escalate. How to pretend nothing hurt so it would not get worse.
A memory flickered up, quick and hot.
Kofi's hand on the back of my neck, forcing my face toward my lunch tray while everyone watched. Juice spilling across my shirt. The heat in my ears as people snickered and looked away. Then Kofi's voice, low and close, almost gentle.
"Look at you," he had whispered. "You look so Pathetic, Like a dog eating scraps."
I remembered swallowing my anger so hard it felt like it scraped my throat on the way down. Remembered the tight little "It's okay" that I would often whisper to myself even as my hands shook beneath the table.
Similar words.
The same survival.
I hated how clearly I saw myself in Levi at that moment. Hated that part of me still knew how to disappear to stay alive.
I forced myself to breathe through it.
Not now. Not here.
Grizz finally slowed near the edge of the housing district, where the buildings thinned and the trees pressed closer. He stopped and released my arm. The sudden absence of pressure sent a dull ache through my shoulder.
"You have until the first sunrise after nightfall," he said, voice low and gravel-rough. " May luck be on your side."
For a moment, my throat tightened. A dozen responses rushed forward and died there. I chose the safest one.
"Thank you," I said.
The words came out steadier than I felt, but even I could hear the strain beneath them. The carefulness. The way I was choosing each syllable like it mattered.
Grizz studied me for a long second. His fur was black, thick and coarse, catching the sun in dark bands broken by brown highlights along his shoulders and arms. Pale scars cut through it in uneven lines. His massive frame blocked part of the light as he weighed me with a look that was not quite pity and not quite respect.
"Two hours," he added. "That is what you have before this light's gone."
I nodded once. It was all I trusted myself to do.
Without another word, he turned and walked back the way we had come, heavy steps steady and unhurried.
Levi watched him go, then looked at me.
"You alright?" he asked quietly.
The question caught me off guard. I hesitated, measuring my answer the way I had learned to.
"I will manage," I said. Not because I felt confident, but because admitting anything else felt dangerous.
We started walking again, this time without an escort. The village noise slowly returned behind us, conversation resuming in cautious murmurs. No one followed. No one interfered.
That did not mean I felt safe.
Levi's place sat close to the forest line, modest and patched together from whatever had been available at the time. It looked like a place built by someone who never planned to stay and never found a way to leave.
Inside, the air was cooler. Light filtered through narrow gaps in the walls, catching dust motes mid-drift. Levi closed the door behind us and leaned against it for a moment longer than necessary.
Silence settled.
The kind that makes you realize how tired you really are.
Not just physically. Emotionally. Like every step since the caves had been taken uphill.
"You said something earlier," I began carefully. "About where you all came from."
Levi straightened slightly. "You want answers?"
"I need them," I said. "I don't think I can survive here without some."
He nodded once and moved toward a low table cluttered with tools and half-finished repairs, resting his claws against the wood.
"This place is not a world," he said. "Not the way yours is. It is a boundary. A holding ground. Things end up here when they no longer fit where they came from."
"Like punishment?" I asked.
"Sometimes," Levi replied. "Sometimes exile. Sometimes containment." He glanced back at me. "Sometimes mercy, dressed up as cruelty."
That did not help.
He spoke in fragments after that. About beings who slipped into my world long before I was born. Some worshipped. Some feared. Some misunderstood. Stories twisted with time, names changing, roles blurring.
"Your people remembered us as gods," Levi said. "Or demons. Or warnings parents told children to keep them from wandering too far."
"And you?" I asked.
"I was a guardian," he said simply. "Of places that grew wild when left alone."
Something tightened in his voice, just barely.
"When belief shifted, so did our place," he continued. "Those who were loved were elevated. Fed by faith until they became something else. Those who were feared were hunted. Those who tried to remain neutral were forgotten."
"And Radamar?" I asked.
Levi's jaw set. "Radamar, He just showed up one day. He adapted quickly."
The light through the cracks had shifted again, lower now, warmer.
"And Lenny?" I asked, the name slipping out before I could stop it. "Who is he?"
Levi turned to face me fully. "Lenny is the strongest guard this village has," he said. "Practical. Direct. Loyal to the system, not to ideals."
"Would he help me?" I asked, careful not to sound like I expected it.
Levi hesitated. "If Radamar wanted the Centilito dead, it would already be dead."
That answer settled uncomfortably in my chest.
A sharp knock cut through the moment.
"Levi," a voice called. "You in there?"
The door opened before Levi could answer. A wolf-folk stepped inside, fur pale along his muzzle, eyes wide with concern.
"Tell me it is not true," he blurted. "Tell me you are not letting him go after it."
His gaze landed on me, and he froze.
"Oh," he said. "You are... different." he continued as if choosing his words carefully. I heard that humans didn't look like, but still..."
"Wayne," Levi said, exasperation and familiarity tangled together.
Wayne cleared his throat. "Right. Sorry." Then he looked back at Levi, urgency returning. "You cannot let this happen."
I swallowed.
The sun outside dipped lower.
And somewhere beyond the trees, something large shifted.
Wayne was the first to speak.
"If you want to survive this," he said, ears angling toward the door like he expected something to burst through it at any second, "then walking into the forest without a plan is suicide."
I shifted where I stood, suddenly aware of how still the room had gone. Not tense exactly, but attentive. As if the walls themselves had decided this was a moment worth remembering.
"I'm not planning on walking in blind," I said. I meant for it to sound steady. It almost did. There was a small hitch just before blind that betrayed me anyway.
"That's why I'm still here."
Wayne studied me, amber eyes narrowing slightly. Not in suspicion. In concern. The kind that came from knowing too much.
"Then you're already behind," he said. "The Centilito isn't like other things out there. You don't rush it. You don't corner it. And you don't fight it straight on unless you want to be torn apart."
My stomach tightened.
Levi crossed his arms slowly, claws sliding against his scales with a faint rasp. "Wayne's right," he said. "It's survived encounters that should have ended it. It learns. It remembers."
I swallowed. My throat felt dry, like I'd been breathing dust instead of air. "Then someone here has to know how it hunts."
The way Wayne and Levi looked at each other answered before either of them spoke.
"That name again," I said quietly, more to myself than to them. "Lenny."
Wayne let out a slow breath through his nose. "Yeah. Lenny."
There was something in his tone that made my shoulders tighten.
"I keep hearing it," I continued.
"Strongest guard. Radamar's enforcer. If anyone could face the Centilito and live, it would be him."
Levi's claws flexed where his arms were crossed. "Or Grizz," he said. "But Grizz wouldn't talk about it. Not to anyone outside the guard."
"I don't need kindness," I said, choosing my words carefully. "I just need information. Anything that improves my odds."
Wayne shook his head. "Lenny doesn't help people because he feels like it."
"I didn't think he would."
"He helps when there's something in it for him," Levi added. "Or when he wants to make a point."
That settled unpleasantly in my chest. I looked down at my hands. They were shaking again. Not violently, but enough that I noticed. I curled them into fists, then forced them open, flexing my fingers until the tremor eased.
"I don't really have a choice," I said. "If I stay here and wait, Radamar decides what happens next. And I don't like how easily he decided last time."
Wayne's ears flattened. "You're trading one kind of danger for another."
"I know," I said. "But at least this one lets me prepare."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was stretched thin, pulled taut by the steady slide of time. The sunlight filtering through the gaps in Levi's walls had shifted lower, warmer, slanting across the floor in long bands that pointed toward evening.
Levi uncrossed his arms and turned toward the table, rifling briefly through a pile of tools before stopping himself. He didn't pull anything free. Instead, he rested his claws against the wood and looked back at me.
"Lenny will test you," he said. "Not with questions. With pressure."
I nodded. "I can endure that."
Wayne tilted his head slightly. "Can you?"
The question wasn't mocking. It was honest.
"I've done it before," I said.
Levi studied me for a moment longer. Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
"Do not confuse endurance with respect," he said. "Lenny respects strength. Or defiance. Sometimes both."
"That sounds... encouraging," I muttered.
Wayne snorted. "That's one way to put it."
I drew in a slow breath and straightened. Not boldly. Just enough to stop myself from folding inward.
"I'll go see him," I said. "Now. Before the light drops any further."
Wayne opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then shut it again. His tail flicked once behind him. "You come back in one piece," he said. "Or at least recognizable."
"I'll try."
Levi stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Be careful how you speak to him. He enjoys pushing people to see what breaks first."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Even as I turned toward the door, my chest tightened. My legs felt uncertain, like they hadn't agreed with my decision yet.
Outside, the village felt different again. The sun sat lower now, shadows stretching longer between buildings. Activity had slowed, but it hadn't stopped. Guards moved in pairs. Conversations paused when I passed, then resumed once I was several steps away.
I followed the sound of raised voices and clinking metal until I reached the smaller guard bar Wayne had mentioned. It was sturdier than the outer homes, reinforced beams sunk deep into the ground like it expected violence as a regular guest.
I stopped at the threshold.
You don't belong here.
The thought came uninvited and sharp. I shoved it aside and stepped in.
The room was loud. Rough laughter. The scrape of armor against wood. Guards crowded around tables, leather and metal catching the light. Weapons rested within easy reach, treated like extensions of their bodies rather than tools.
And at the center of it all stood Lenny.
He was larger than I expected. Not just tall, but wide in a way that filled the space without effort. He leaned against a table, relaxed, like nothing in the room posed a threat to him.
I stood there a second too long.
"Human," someone said.
The laughter dipped just enough for Lenny to look at me.
His gaze moved over me slowly. Not curious. Measuring.
"You lost?" he asked.
I stepped forward. "I was told you know the forest."
A few guards snorted.
"That so?" Lenny said.
"I'm going after the Centilito," I said. My voice stayed level, but there was no hiding the tension threaded through it. "I need advice. Training. Anything."
Silence rippled outward. Then Lenny laughed.
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
"You?" he said, finally looking directly at me now. Not up. Not down. Just straight through.
"You wouldn't last five minutes."
The words landed clean. No anger in them. No heat. Just a statement, delivered like a measurement. A few guards chuckled. I swallowed and forced myself to speak before the sound could settle.
"Then that's exactly why I'm here," I said. My voice stayed even, but I could hear how carefully I was choosing each word. "If five minutes is all I have, then I need to know how to make it six. Or ten. I need advice."
Lenny tilted his head slightly, as if the idea amused him.
"Advice," he repeated.
"Yes," I said. "Patterns. Warnings. Anything."
That drew a few more looks. Less laughter now. More interest. Lenny leaned back against the table, arms folding across his chest. He looked me over again, slower this time, as if reassessing something he'd already dismissed.
"You really think there's a trick to it," he said. "Some clever angle that turns you into something else."
"I think preparation matters," I replied. "Knowing what I'm walking into."
For a moment, I thought he might actually consider it.
Then he smiled.
Not wide. Not cruel. Just faint. Controlled.
"Alright," he said. "You want advice?"
I nodded.
Lenny straightened, the room subtly shifting with him. Conversations nearby tapered off. Not silent. Attentive.
"Don't go into the forest."
A few guards snorted. Someone laughed outright.
"That's it?" I asked, before I could stop myself. "That's your advice?"
"That's not advice," Lenny said calmly. "That's mercy."
"I didn't come here for mercy," I said. The words came out firmer than I felt. "I came for information. For something real."
Lenny's expression flattened.
"You don't get information," he said. "You get outcomes."
The air in the room changed. Not heavier. Sharper. Focused.
I felt my jaw tighten, but I kept my voice level. "Then tell me how you got yours."
That did it.
Lenny laughed. Not loudly. Not mockingly. Just amused, like he'd been waiting for me to say exactly that.
"How I got mine?" he echoed. "By knowing when something isn't meant for me."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough that I had to listen harder.
"And by not mistaking effort for worth."
Something inside me cracked then. Quietly. Like a hairline fracture spreading under pressure.
"I've dealt with your kind my whole life," I said. "The strong. The ones who decide who matters and who doesn't. You walk past people like they're nothing. You've never had to struggle, to look something bigger than you in the face because everything has always been beneath you."
The room froze.
Lenny moved before I could react.
The blow knocked the air from my lungs. I hit the ground hard, breath tearing from my chest as pain flared along my ribs.
He crouched in front of me, close enough that I could smell iron and sweat.
" I had to work extremely hard to get where I am now kid. If it wasn't for your temporary grace," he said quietly, "I'd gobble you up and leave your bones right here."
It seems news travelled fast in this place. My vision swam, but I met his eyes anyway.
Something flickered there.
I Staggered to my feet, shaking, brushing dust from my clothes. "I'm still standing."
For a moment, I thought he might hit me again.
Instead, he paused, a long pause and then laughed. Sharper this time.
"Fine," he said. "You want to prove yourself? Sure. Who am I to get in the human's way of showing everyone here , just what hes made of. I'll give you three tasks. Complete them, and I'll take you seriously."
Hope surged in my twisted stomach so fast it almost made me dizzy.
"What are they?"
He tossed me a knife. I barely caught it.
"First," he said. "Kill a boar within the forest and bring it back."
"Second," he added. "Dig up some roots. They have broad leaves with yellow spots."
"And the third?"
He grinned. "We'll see, If you make it back."
I left before he could change his mind.
The sound of laughter followed me all the way to the door, sticking to my back like something wet and unpleasant. I didn't look behind me. If I did, I wasn't sure I'd keep walking.
I didn't spare a second. I headed toward the gate before doubt and worry could set in. All I wanted to focus on were the tasks ahead, the ones that might lead me to my lifeline against the Centilito.
The gate creaked as I pushed it open, the wood protesting softly as if it knew exactly where I was headed and didn't approve. The moment I stepped through, the village noise dulled, swallowed by rustling leaves and distant movement.
I stayed close to the edge at first, where the light still filtered through the canopy in thin bands. My breath came faster than I wanted it to. Every sound felt amplified. A snapped twig made my shoulders jerk. A bird lifting from a branch sent my heart racing.
I forced myself to slow down.
Panicking would get me killed.
I thought finding the boar would be simple.
It wasn't.
The forest didn't make sense to me. Animals weren't where I expected them to be, not that I really knew where they were supposed to be in the first place. Everything felt... off. Too quiet in some places. Too loud in others. Lenny wouldn't send me into centilito territory. At least, I hoped he wouldn't. He said this was a hunt, and I was holding on to that word like it meant something.
Still, every snapped branch made my stomach tighten. Every shadow felt heavier than it should have. This wasn't about tracking anything.
It was about whether I could keep walking when every part of me wanted to stop. Whether I could move without letting fear trip me up before anything else did.
I moved carefully, more out of fear than confidence, my eyes darting from the ground to the trees and back again. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, only that something out of place would stand out. That's when I noticed the marks on a nearby trunk - darkened streaks, like the bark had been scorched and then left to heal wrong. I stopped, staring at them, then spotted another set farther ahead. And another, faint but unmistakable. I didn't know what they meant, not really, but instinct told me they mattered. So I followed them, one mark at a time, deeper into the trees.
The boar burst from a brush without warning.
It was bigger than I expected. Thick-bodied, muscles rippling under coarse hide, tusks curved and scarred like they'd been sharpened on bone. Its eyes locked onto me instantly.
I barely had time to move.
I threw myself sideways as it charged, the ground shaking beneath its weight. Air rushed from my lungs as it thundered past, missing me by inches.
I rolled, came up scrambling, heart hammering so hard I thought it might drown out everything else.
It turned fast. Faster than something that size should.
I ran.
Branches slapped at my face as I bolted through the trees, lungs burning, legs screaming almost immediately. I wasn't built for this. I knew that. But fear carried me farther than strength ever could.
I remembered the cave. The trials. The way standing still had almost killed me.
Don't stop.
The boar crashed after me, tearing through undergrowth, snorting loudly enough that I felt the sound vibrate through my spine. I cut sharply to the right, then left, weaving between trees, forcing it to adjust again and again.
It gained anyway.
I needed terrain.
Ahead, a cluster of trees grew tight together, trunks thick and close. I veered toward them, breath ragged, vision narrowing. At the last second, I pivoted hard and flattened myself against one trunk.
The boar didn't.
It slammed into the tree with a crack that shook bark loose, the impact staggering it just long enough.
I didn't think. I reacted.
I lunged forward, drove the knife down into it's flesh and it landed in the space behind its shoulder, where the hide gave way just enough. The blade sank in with a resistance that turned my stomach.
The sound it made wasn't a roar.
It was a scream.
I stumbled back as it collapsed, legs folding awkwardly beneath it. Blood spilled fast, dark against the earth.
I stood there, shaking, knife slick in my hand, chest heaving.
The forest went quiet around me.
Too quiet.
The boar's breathing slowed, then stopped.
The finality of it hit all at once but I couldn't stop, Because I was afraid that if I stopped moving, I wouldn't be able to start again.
I wiped the blade clean on the grass, swallowed hard, and forced myself onward.
The roots were easier to find.
Broad leaves with yellow spots clustered near a shallow dip in the ground, just as Lenny had described. But as I crouched to dig, I noticed movement beneath the foliage.
Small shapes shifted under the leaves.
Rodent-like creatures, low to the ground, fur mottled to blend with the soil. Their eyes watched me. Too many of them.
I froze.
They hadn't attacked. Not yet. But they were alert now, bodies tense, ready to scatter or swarm.
I backed away slowly, scanning the area.
The plants grew in patches. Not just here.
I circled wide, keeping low, watching how the creatures reacted. They were territorial, but lazy. They responded to vibration more than sight.
An idea formed.
I picked up a stone and tossed it into the brush several paces away.
The creatures scattered instantly, skittering toward the disturbance.
I moved quickly, digging where they'd been a moment before, fingers scraping through soil until I felt the thick roots beneath. I worked fast, pulling free what I could before the rustling returned.
I repeated the process twice more, heart racing each time, until I had enough.
By the time I turned back toward the village, my arms ached, my legs trembled, and my stomach churned.
When I reached the bar, the sound hit me first.
I dropped the boar. Held out the roots.
Lenny stared at them.
Then he laughed.
"Ah. There you are," Lenny said, his voice cutting through the room. "You brought my lunch." The guards laughed with him. The sound hit me like a slap. Like my effort was a joke they'd all agreed to share.
Heat climbed my neck, slow and burning. For a second, the room blurred at the edges, understanding settling in too late. This had never been about testing me. It had never been about training.
It was about reminding me where I stood.
I should have walked away then. That would have been the smart thing. That would have been the old thing. Instead, I straightened. The movement was small, but it pulled Lenny's attention back to me. The laughter thinned as I met his eyes.
"You think this is funny," I said. My voice didn't rise, but it carried. A few guards shifted uncomfortably. I took a step closer before my legs could argue otherwise. They wanted to shake. I didn't let them.
"You can laugh," I said. "Go ahead. Enjoy it while it lasts." I felt my hands curl at my sides, not into fists, but tight enough to keep them from trembling. "Because when this is over, you're going to choke on those sounds."
The room went quiet. "Is that so?" Lenny said gruffly.
"I'll face the Centilito with or without your help," I said. "And when I survive, you won't be able to pretend you didn't see it."
I turned before he could respond.
Every step toward the door felt deliberate, measured, like I was walking a line drawn in glass. My legs wanted to give. My breath wanted to hitch. I didn't let either happen.
I didn't stop walking until the noise behind me faded.
The farther I put between myself and the guard bar, the easier it became to breathe, though my chest still ached from where Lenny had struck me.
My ribs throbbed with every step. Not sharp, just constant. The kind of pain that settled in and reminded you it would be there for a while.
Good.
I wanted to remember it.
The second sun had sunk low by the time I returned, its light thinning as it slid behind the trees. At the same time, the third sun was beginning its slow rise on the opposite horizon. Both ends of the sky glowed at once, one fading, one awakening, leaving a stretch of dimness caught between them. The village sat in that in-between light, neither fully day nor night.
Long shadows stretched across the ground, pulled in opposite directions, snagging on doorframes, fences, and the uneven edges of houses that leaned as if worn down by the effort of standing. The well-built structures near the center still caught the warmer light, their beams and stonework glowing faintly, but farther out the homes fell back into silhouette. Crooked repairs, sagging roofs, and mismatched boards blended into the growing dusk, half-hidden as the balance between suns shifted overhead.
I didn't go back to Levi's place right away. Not at first. I drifted instead, following the path without really choosing it, my mind replaying the moment in the bar again and again.
You collected my lunch.
The words landed harder now that the adrenaline was gone. Not because they were cruel, but because they were casual. Like my effort hadn't even registered as effort.
I had killed something today.
That realization stopped me in my tracks.
I stood there, just inside the shadow of a leaning house, and looked down at my hands. They were clean now. The blood had dried and flaked away during the walk back. But I could still feel it. The resistance. The warmth. The way the boar had gone still beneath me.
My stomach twisted. I closed my eyes.
I hadn't wanted to kill it. I still didn't understand how I'd found the nerve to do it at all. I'd acted because I had to. Because stopping meant freezing, and freezing meant dying.
But knowing that didn't make it feel lighter.
I exhaled slowly and kept moving.
By the time I reached Levi's place, the light had softened further. The sun wasn't gone yet, but it was clearly on its way out.
I pushed it open.
Levi was inside, pacing. His movements stilled the moment he saw me.
"You're back," he said.
His eyes dropped to the bundle slung over my shoulder, the stains on my clothes, the way I was holding myself.
"You went to see him," he added quietly.
"Yes."
There was no point pretending otherwise.
Levi didn't ask how it went. He didn't need to.
He watched me set the knife down on the table, watched the way my hands trembled when I finally let go of it.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Levi turned away, crossing the room and dropping to one knee near a storage chest half-hidden beneath a workbench. He flipped the lid open and began rummaging through its contents.
"I told you he wouldn't make it easy," he said.
I let out a breath that was halfway to a laugh and failed somewhere in my throat. "Easy wasn't what I was expecting."
"No," Levi agreed. "But humiliation wasn't necessary either."
I leaned back against the wall, letting the wood press into my spine. The ache in my ribs flared, but I welcomed it. It anchored me.
I looked at Levi.
"He had me kill a boar," I said.
The words felt heavier once they were out.
My stomach twisted as the memory surfaced. The sound it made. The way its body jerked. The way everything went quiet afterward, like the forest itself had turned away. I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into the wood behind me.
Levi's expression shifted. Not shock. Something closer to concern.
"And that's sitting with you," he said.
I nodded.
He studied me for a moment longer, then spoke carefully. "If killing a boar is weighing on you this much," he said, "how do you think you'll face the centilito."
The question landed harder than I expected.
My chest tightened. I hadn't let myself think that far ahead. Not really. The centilito had been a task. A threat. Something distant. Now it felt closer. Personal.
Levi exhaled slowly.
"Among my kind," he said, "when a life is taken, we do not pretend it didn't matter." He paused, choosing his words. "We shape a small mound of earth. Nothing large. Just enough to mark the moment."
He held up two fingers.
"We place something red and something white at its peak. Red for the blood that was spilled. White for the life that remains."
I listened, my breathing slow and careful.
"We say a single thank you," Levi continued. "Not to excuse what was done. Not to erase it. Only to acknowledge it." His gaze held mine. "If you don't, the weight follows you. It presses on your spirit. It turns into something you carry instead of something you release."
The image came unbidden.
Roots snapping. Stone collapsing. A living tree screaming as it fell.
Añkantu.
My chest loosened, just a fraction.
"You could try it," Levi said quietly. "For the boar. The next chance you get." He nodded once. "So what you did doesn't keep traveling with you."
I didn't answer right away, but the tension in my shoulders eased.
"He didn't hurt me because he was angry," I said. "He did it because he could."
Levi's movements slowed.
"Yes," he said after a moment. "That is Lenny."
He straightened, holding something in his hands. A piece of armor. Leather, worn smooth in places, reinforced along the chest and shoulders. Old. Used. Repaired more than once.
"I was hoping to find something else," Levi said. "But this will have to do."
He crossed the room and held it out to me.
I stared at it. "What's this?"
"Something that might keep you alive a little longer," he said.
I hesitated. "I didn't earn this."
"It doesn't matter," he interrupted gently.
He pressed the armor into my hands. It was heavier than it looked. Not cumbersome, but solid.
"You are not like the others here," he continued. "That is not a weakness. But it does mean you will not survive by pretending to be one of them."
He turned back to me, there was something in his expression that made my chest tighten.
Regret.
"I was trying to protect you," he said. "By keeping you out of the village. By buying you time."
"I know," I said.
"Never could I have imagined things turning out like this," he continued, voice quieter now, "I am sorry jeremiah."
" Its okay levi, things would have ended the same , either way. Me in the forest, possibly running into the Centilito, and fighting for my life."
Levi went back to digging through the clutter, overturning jars, shifting broken tools, and opening old boxes. He was looking for something-anything-but whatever he wanted to give me wasn't there.
His movements grew sharper, more desperate.I fastened the chest plate, the leather cool against my skin. The straps bit into my shoulders as I tightened them, but the fit was snug enough. I drew a slow breath, steadying myself. Levi's voice came from behind me.
"The least I can do is to provide you with some general Hunting knowledge. Stay to the trees. Use their cover. The Centilito hunts by vibration, not sight. If you can keep it guessing, you might survive long enough to strike first."I nodded once.
"Got it."He kept searching even as I stepped toward the door.
The scrape of his claws against wood echoed behind me."Jeremiah, wait," he called. "Just give me a few more minutes. There's something-"But I couldn't wait.
Every moment lost meant one closer to sunrise.I pushed open the door. Cold air rolled in, brushing against my face like a warning. The forest loomed ahead, black and silent, waiting. Behind me, Levi's voice rose again, but I didn't turn back. I crossed the threshold and let the darkness swallow me whole.