The forest didn't roar or howl or open its jaws to welcome me. It just waited, silent and still, as if watching to see what I would do next.
I didn't look back. I didn't need to. No one was coming after me. This was my fight now, and mine alone.
The trees at the forest's edge were spaced apart, like guards who hadn't decided whether to challenge me yet.
With every step, the trees grew thicker, their branches knotting overhead like hands closing into fists. The light thinned until the sun was a memory. My boots sank into mossier ground, and the cool air turned humid, heavy—wet.
My boots crunched softly on the path, dry leaves giving way beneath each step. I could still feel the weight of the leather chestplate Levi had handed me—the ghost of its past owners stitched into every fray. I wore it anyway. Not because I thought it would save me, but because I had nothing else.
Behind me, the village had already vanished from sight. Just memory now.
But memory bites.
As I walked from Radamar's den toward the edge, I'd passed through the bones of the settlement—if you could call it that. The place was small, pressed together like it was afraid of the forest's breath. Shacks leaned against each other like drunks at dawn. The buildings weren't built—they were patched together. Scraps of wood and metal, rusted hinges, tattered cloth hung over doorways in place of curtains.
Eyes watched me. Not openly. From corners, behind cracked doors, through warped glass windows. Fae of every shape—furred, scaled, horned, or clawed. Some looked half-dreamed, like the forest had imagined them and then stopped halfway. A few looked like half-formed ideas of predators. Beautiful, strange. And yet...
They weren't proud. Their eyes were tired. Their clothes mismatched, frayed at the hems, too big or too small. Their beauty—a kind of wild, fanged elegance—was dulled by hunger, by caution, by time.
They didn't greet me. Didn't spit either. Just watched, eyes measuring, as if wondering how long I'd last and how far my blood would carry if spilled.
I didn't blame them.
I was an outsider, a stranger who didn't belong in their world, someone they'd rather see gone than proved right.
Now, the forest claimed me.
The sun's gaze followed at first, softening the spaces between branches. But slowly, surely, the trees drew closer to one another. Their trunks thickened, their roots tangled. The sky above began to vanish behind a canopy that wove tighter with every step. Sunlightfractured, then faded, then thinned to threadbare strands barely reaching the moss-covered floor.
I didn't stop. Couldn't.
The deeper I walked, the heavier the air became. Each step pulled me further from safety, and the dread I tried to ignore began to crawl up my spine, slow and certain.
And still, I wasn't afraid.
Not in the way I used to be.
Something inside me had cracked open during the trials, and what grew back wasn't weakness. It was resolve, sharp and wired with old pain and new purpose. Fear still lived in me, but I no longer bowed to it.
I stepped over twisted roots and ducked beneath low branches. The air grew heavier, clinging to my skin like breath. My shoulders stayed tight, but my steps were sure.
Then I saw it.
Not clearly at first. The sunlight shifted, like water being disturbed. The beam that touched the bark beside me wavered and bent. I looked up, and a bird was there, perched high on a thin branch, almost invisible.
Its feathers shimmered in the sunlight, not glowing but reflecting it—golden and sleek. They caught the light and sent it back in soft pulses, like ripples across water. The creature blended so well with the canopy that I might have missed it entirely if not for the flicker of light.
It stared down at me with black, pinprick eyes. Its body was motionless, silent, perfectly still.
When it moved, it was as if the sun itself had flinched.
I couldn't tell if it was watching, warning, or simply existing, but it was beautiful. Haunting. Like something pulled from a myth too old to be remembered. It made no sound. Just folded its wings tight to its sides and slipped into the glinting dark as if it had never been there.
The silence returned.
I kept walking.
Time blurred. The deeper I went, the more the trees seemed to lean. Not just over but inward, as if curious, as if judging. The path beneath my feet turned soft and spongy with moss. Fungi glowed in pale blues and greens, scattered across fallen logs like constellations fallen from the sky. Insects hummed just beyond hearing, a low vibration that pulsed like a heartbeat under the earth.
Then movement again.
A shape darted through the underbrush, low and fast. I froze, every muscle tight.
It emerged slowly—a foxlike creature, small and sleek, its fur dark green like wet leaves. Two thin wings curled along its back, iridescent like beetle shells. Its tail looked more like a fern than fur, swaying softly.
It looked at me.
Its eyes glowed a muted jade, thoughtful and curious, not afraid. The sound it made was like distant chimes stirred by breath, too delicate to be wind and too intentional to be chance.
Then it vanished into the ferns.
I let out the breath I'd been holding and kept walking.
Eventually, I came upon a clearing. Not wide—just a small dip in the land where the roots pulled back and the ground pooled with still water. A natural bowl cradling moonlight like a secret.
The clearing felt too still, too clean. The air hung heavy with the scent of wet soil and something like sap. I stepped closer to the pond, its surface smooth as glass. My face looked older, harder, but behind the eyes, guilt still lived.
Ankantu.
The name alone made my chest tighten. The way it looked at me before the final blow was struck. The words it left behind, Destroyer.
That word had followed me through the caves, across the desert, through every breath since.
Levi's voice came back to me then, quiet and certain. He had said that when you take a life and want to make peace with what's left, you build a mount on the ground and offer something red and something white...Red for the Life and white for the Peace.
I glanced around, searching the forest floor. It took time, but I found what I needed—a small red flower growing between two roots, and a patch of pale white mushrooms clinging to a fallen log. They weren't perfect, but they would have to do.
I returned to the pond. Maybe this was the place. Maybe now was the time.
Without thinking, my hand slid into my pocket. I expected it to be empty, but my fingers brushed against something small and smooth. A seed. I didn't remember picking it up. Then another shape, a twig, barely an inch long, splintered at one end, like it had been broken off something greater.
I knelt by the water's edge. The mud was cool beneath my palms, soft enough to press into. I dug a small hollow, placed the seed inside, and set the twig upright ontop of it. Then I placed the red flower on the left, the white mushrooms on the right.
The pond rippled. Just once.
"I didn't mean to take your life," I whispered. "I was only trying to survive." My voice broke halfway through the words. "If there's anything left of you, Ankantu, I hope you rest now. I hope you forgive me."
The wind stirred, carrying the scent of damp leaves and something faintly sweet, the sap again. I could almost swear I saw movement beneath the water, a faint pulse of green, like breath returning to the soil.
"I don't know what you were meant to be," I whispered. "But I know I didn't see you right. I saw danger, not design. I saw fear, not purpose."
I pressed my palm over the mound.
"If anything's left of you in this... I hope it's not the monster. I hope it's something better. I hope something grows here that doesn't hate the world the way I used to."
I stayed kneeling, head bowed, until the ripples faded. Under my breath, I offered a quiet thank you, for the life taken and the life spared. Then I stood, brushing the dirt from my hands. The guilt didn't vanish, but something inside me loosened, like a weight I had been carrying had finally been set down.
"I don't know how magic works," I murmured. "But maybe this is enough."
For a long moment, nothing stirred. Even the wind held still.
The trees stood quieter now, their branches shifting in a gentler rhythm, as if my small offering had earned a flicker of respect—or perhaps only curiosity. Whatever power lingered near that pool, it stayed behind, content to watch me go.
The deeper I walked into the forest, the more the ground began to change beneath my feet. The roots twisted in patterns I didn't recognize, and the air grew heavier, as though the forest was rearranging itself around me.
The forest floor rose and fell without warning, uneven and soft beneath my boots. Roots twisted across the ground like veins through skin, some thick enough to trip me if I wasn't careful. Moisture hung heavier here, coating every leaf, every stone. My breath fogged in the air even though it wasn't cold. It felt like walking inside a held breath—humid, dense, waiting.
My ring pulsed again, soft and low, like a heartbeat tucked inside metal.
I stopped beneath a sloped branch, breathing through my nose as I studied the forest. The trees here grew too close, their trunks thick and gnarled, roots twisting over one another like veins beneath the soil. Even the air felt tighter. If what Wayne said about the monster's size was true, there was no way it could move freely in here. Not without tearing half the forest apart.
That was the advantage I needed.
I crouched low, letting my eyes trace the path between the trunks. The spaces were narrow, just enough for someone my size to slip through sideways. I could use that—keep the trees between me and it, force it to smash and wedge itself into the gaps. The forest could fight for me if I moved right.
I knelt and searched the ground, brushing aside damp leaves and roots, then pulled out the knife Lenny had tossed me before. The blade was sharp, the weight familiar now. I found a fallen branch, thick and solid. I latched the knife to its end using a vine from a nearby tree and twisted it tight until the blade held firm. It wasn't pretty, but it didn't need to be.
When I was done, I looked around again. Between the trunks, I could map a route in my head—slopes and roots, spots where the ground dipped low or rose high. I could move quick, weaving in and out, hit it from the side if it tried to force its way through.
That was when I noticed them.
Above, half-hidden by the canopy, stood the skeletons of old tree houses. Their frames sagged with age, their rope ladders long rotted through. One stood crooked on a split trunk. Another leaned against a dead oak, barely held together by vines. A few sat alone, far apart, as if whoever built them never wanted to be near anyone else.
I walked closer to one, squinting through the half-light. The planks were soft with decay, and the air around it smelled of wet wood and mold. Nothing living had been here for a long time.
Maybe whoever built them thought they could hide from the monsters. Maybe they couldn't.
I backed away slowly, eyes sweeping through the maze of trunks again.
There wasn't enough room for something that big to chase me cleanly. It would have to break its way through, and every time it did, it would lose sight of me. That was my chance—to keep moving, to use the trees like shields, to make the forest itself my weapon.
I gripped the spear tighter. "Alright," I muttered under my breath. "If you're out there... let's see how well you can move."
The forest stayed quiet, but the silence didn't feel empty anymore. It felt like it was waiting. When I had entered, daylight still reached the ground in wide, careless bands. Now the light slipping through the canopy came in thin, uncertain streaks, and I realized night had settled in while I was still walking.
The silence deepened again. It wasn't empty. It never was.
I walked further, gripping the weapon tighter as I pushed through low branches and shoulder-high underbrush. The air felt close, damp against my skin. Every step seemed to echo against the roots. Then, without warning, the forest opened—just a little, just enough to let me breathe.
And there it was.
A deer.
Not an ordinary one, but something unearthly. A creature so delicate, so impossibly beautiful that I stopped moving altogether. Its fur shimmered black, so dark it seemed to swallow the light itself. Along its hide, faint blue spots glowed like tiny stars shifting beneath its skin. The antlers caught what little moonlight broke through the canopy, refracting it into fractured beams that danced across the ground like scattered rainbows.
That was when I noticed movement beyond it.
Farther back, closer to the treeline opposite me.
A boy.
He was thick and soft-bodied, the kind of chubby. His cheeks were round, his arms dimpled where they pressed against his sides. His clothes strained slightly at the seams, a shirt too short in the belly, trousers cinched tight with twine.
He stood still, feet planted wide like he wasn't sure the ground trusted him.
He was watching the deer.
It didn't run. It didn't even flinch. The creature stepped lightly toward the edge of the clearing and lowered its head to nibble at a patch of glowing purple flowers—the same kind I had seen near the water's edge.
For a moment, all the fear inside me quieted. The noise, the ache, the weight of everything I had done, all of it slipped away. This creature didn't belong in a place like this. It felt like something from a time before violence, before ruin. A remnant of a world that had forgotten what it meant to be gentle. For that moment, the forest seemed to remember itself.
I didn't move. I didn't want to shatter the illusion.
But illusions don't die. They get devoured.
The underbrush to my right exploded.
A blur of black limbs cut through the air, too fast to follow. Claws slashed the open space between us, dragging wind and soil with them. A sound tore through the clearing—a shriek that wasn't quite a shriek, more like hunger turned into noise.
The deer screamed
The sound barely had time to exist before the creature slammed it into a tree. Antlers cracked like glass. The body jerked once, twice, then vanished into the dark as if the forest itself had swallowed it whole.
I turned instinctively, searching for the boy. He was still there. Frozen. Hands clenched at his sides. His mouth open, but no sound coming out.
I couldn't move. My body refused to obey. I just stood there, gripping my makeshift spear so tight the wood groaned in my hands.
Then came silence again. Not peace. Not absence. The silence of something full. Something watching.
The forest didn't breathe. It listened.
I forced myself to back up slowly, every step measured. My breath came shallow and quiet, my heartbeat thundered inside my ribs. I knew the rules of things like this. I wasn't prey, not yet. Not unless I ran.
And I wasn't going to run.
I crouched beside a thick tree trunk, feeling the rough bark press against my shoulder. My eyes darted through the dark, scanning for movement. My hand brushed the ground, finding stones—smooth, weighty, familiar. My palm itched with instinct. I picked one up and hurled it into the trees ahead, right where the deer had vanished.
The stone disappeared into the dark.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing. Then, a growl rolled through the forest. Deep. Resonant. It didn't sound like an animal—it sounded like the earth itself clearing its throat.
Something shifted in the dark. Large. Heavy. Wrong.
Before I could react, the world erupted sideways.
Something slammed into me with brutal force, knocking the air from my lungs. My back hit a tree so hard I thought it cracked the bark. The shock scattered my thoughts. For a moment, I couldn't feel my body. My chest burned from the impact, my head rang.
I gasped and clawed at my shirt, half expecting to feel something torn open. But there was no blood. Just the sound of my own ragged breathing and the quiet pulse of the ring on my finger—steady, alive, waiting.
The impact came out of nowhere.
Then something different slammed into my side, knocking me backward. I hit the ground hard, shoulder scraping against damp soil as the world spun for a second. My hands clawed for balance, the spear slipping from my grip.
For half a second, I was sure it had found me. Then green fur flashed past my face. Wings. A fern-like tail. The fox tumbled once, scrambled upright, and bolted into the undergrowth.
"Damn dutty fox," I hissed, forcing myself to my feet. "You almost gave me a heart attack."
The fox flicked its fern tail once, ears flat, then bolted in the same direction as everything else. Even it was running. My chest heaved. My heart wouldn't slow. The forest had changed.
The collision with the fox had sent adrenaline rushing through me and I cut toward the boy, keeping the trees between us and the clearing, using the trunks like shields as I moved. My boots barely touched the ground. I didn't stop until I reached him.
He was crouched behind a fallen log, shaking so hard his teeth clicked.
"Hey," I whispered. "Hey. Don't move."
He flinched but didn't scream. He looked up at me, eyes wide and glassy.
"Who are you?" he whispered back.
"My name's Jeremiah," I said softly. "What are you doing out here?"
His lower lip trembled. "I'm looking for my father."
My chest tightened.
"What's his name?" I asked.
He told me.
"I came because he was part of the hunting party this afternoon," the boy continued, words tumbling over each other. "They said he'd be back before dark. He didn't come back, so I thought maybe I could find him. I didn't mean to go this far. I just kept walking."
I swallowed and chose my words carefully.
"I overheard people in the village," I said quietly. "They were talking about the hunting party that went out earlier. Some of them didn't come back."
His breath hitched, the sound already folding into a cry.
"They said the Centilito got them."
The sob broke free.
I reacted without thinking. I pressed my hand gently over his mouth and pulled him close, keeping his face tucked against my chest.
"Not now," I whispered. "I know it hurts. I know. But if you make noise, it will hear you."
TTears spilled anyway, silent and hot against my palm.
Adrian's voice echoed in my mind, soft but unshakable. Strength isn't about fighting your battles. Real strength is when you use what you have to protect others—when you become someone else's reason to be safe.
"I won't let the same thing happen to you," I murmured. "Not if I can help it."
His body shook against mine, but he nodded, small and desperate.
I loosened my grip just enough to let him breathe.
Then I looked back toward the clearing.
At first, I thought it was just the wind, but then I heard it — the rush of movement all around me. Leaves rustled, twigs snapped, the faint scurry of claws and hooves cutting through the undergrowth. Small shapes darted between the trees — birds, rodents, something larger just ahead. They weren't hunting or playing. They were running.
Running from something.
One by one, the sounds faded deeper into the woods, leaving only the echo of panic behind. I stood frozen, trying to understand what I was hearing, what I was feeling. The air itself had grown thick, the kind of pressure that settled before a storm.
"I'm going to pull that thing away from us," I whispered, keeping my voice steady. "When I do, you run. Don't wait, don't look back, just go straight to the village. Only when it's gone, you hear me?"
The boy nodded, eyes wide, holding back the rest of his tears.
I crouched, gripping the spear again, my fingers slick with sweat.
That was when I noticed it.
Not movement — shape.
The darkness itself seemed to crawl. Shadows twisted around the trees like something alive, curling and stretching, sliding across bark and roots as if they were climbing. I blinked, trying to focus, but the shapes only grew larger, heavier, bending the light around them.
The hairs on my arms rose. My stomach clenched.
Something was coming.
The trees ahead shuddered as if pushed from below. Soil shifted. A low vibration rolled through the ground, rising into my legs.
Then I saw it.
At first, only fragments — a ripple of black between the trunks, something wet gleaming in the faint light. Then the full shape pulled itself from the dark.
The Centilito.
The monster Wayne had spoken of. And suddenly, I understood why the animals had run.
Then silence.
Not even the insects dared to move.
It had forced the trees apart, and through that gap, a sliver of moonlight slipped down, finally revealing it for the first time.
The Centilito's body gleamed yellow beneath the light, slick and scaled, every movement sending ripples across its armor. Its sheer size made the forest seem small. Even with most of its length still pressed to the ground, the creature towered over me, claws digging trenches into the soil as it shifted its weight.
Then it rose higher.
Three-quarters of its body stayed coiled along the forest floor, heavy and unmoving, while the front half lifted, swaying above the trees like a column of muscle and shell. Moonlight slid beneath its frame, cutting across its underside. That was when I saw them.
Faint shapes ran along its stomach, curling and twisting in long patterns that caught the light. They weren't random or natural. They formed deliberate designs, faint but exact, carved deep into the flesh like writing that refused to fade.
A cold shock rippled through me. My breath caught before I even realized I had stopped breathing.
The markings pulsed once beneath the skin, a dull shimmer of silver spreading through them before sinking back into the yellow hide. For a second, it looked like the creature itself was breathing through the runes.
The forest stayed silent. Even the insects had gone still.
Then the Centilito moved again. Its head turned toward me, slow and certain, mandibles twitching. The air thickened with the weight of its presence. I could feel my heartbeat echoing the sound of its claws pressing into the dirt.
Then it opened its jaws.
The roar that followed tore through the clearing like thunder. The ground shook, bark split, and leaves shivered loose from their branches. The noise didn't just fill the forest, it seemed to crawl through it. For an instant, I could swear the trees leaned with the sound, as if the forest itself was answering.
That was when the light changed.
The faint runes along its stomach flared, bright enough to reflect against the ground and the nearest trunks. For a heartbeat, ghostly symbols shimmered across the clearing, painted in silver light that flickered like water. Then they vanished, gone as if they had never been there at all.
My chest felt tight. I could still feel the echo of it, a pulse that sank into the soil and didn't fade.
The Centilito lowered its head again, slow and deliberate. Its mandibles clicked once, dripping something dark onto the ground. The scent of iron hit the air.
Every instinct screamed at me to run, but I held my ground.
My fingers tightened around the spear.
"Come on," I shouted, voice rough. "Come on!"
The Centilito shifted, claws scraping bark. The forest seemed to lean with it, every shadow waiting.
And I braced myself, because I knew this time, wherever I ran, it would follow.
A pair of eyes opened in the dark.
Sickly yellow. Unblinking. Wide.
They weren't just eyes. They were judgments.
They didn't look at me. They measured me, studied me, like something that had already tasted a hundred versions of me before and found no reason to be surprised.
I felt its attention settle like a weight pressing against my skin.
Not a creature. A HUNTER.
The glow from its eyes pulsed faintly, slow and steady, like an inevitable countdown.
The Centilito shifted, claws scraping bark as it moved. One step. Then another.
The ground vibrated beneath its weight. Its mandibles clicked, slick and deliberate, tasting the air between us.
Then it opened its jaws and roared.
The sound tore through the trees, shaking the branches above. It wasn't just noise—it was a declaration. The kind that told the forest everything inside it who ruled this place.
I raised my weapon, my arms trembling, but I didn't back away. My breath came shallow and fast.
I wasn't going to die here. Not like this.