The forest beyond the city's barrier lay in eternal silence, its heart untouched for a thousand years. Beneath roots as thick as towers and stones older than memory, something vast slumbered. Its breath was slow, its body buried in shadow. Then—its eyes opened.
A tremor rippled through the ground as the enormous beast stirred, its fur bristling like a storm of shadows. Its claws scraped against stone, long and jagged, and its fangs gleamed faintly in the dark. It lifted its head, sniffing the air, and a low growl rumbled from its chest, deep and primal. "So… it is you who woke me," the voice thundered, ancient and lupine, echoing through the trees. The beast howled a chilling, wolf-like cry that split the night. It was no roar of a lion, but the long, haunting call of a predator, echoing through the forest like a dirge. The sound shook the barrier that separated city from wilderness. Birds scattered, animals fled, and even the trees seemed to shiver. Then silence fell once more, heavy and foreboding. Far from that place, Hoj worked quietly in a clearing. His hands were rough, splintered from cutting wood, but he pressed on, shaping beams for a small bungalow. Sweat streaked his brow, yet his movements carried purpose—he was building not just shelter, but a fragile hope.
Nearby, Mandle sat on the ground, his clothes dirty, his hands busy shaping a castle from sand. Butterflies danced around him, their wings catching the sunlight. He laughed softly, chasing one, his mismatched eyes bright with innocence. Hoj paused, watching his son.
A faint smile spread across his face, fierce with the promise of protection. "I hope I can give you the joy and peace you need," he muttered, "and protect you from this harsh world." He turned back to his work, calling over his shoulder, "Mandle, don't go farther into the forest. Stay close." But Mandle, lost in the flutter of wings, hadn't heard. His small feet carried him deeper among the trees, following the butterfly's path, vanishing into the shadows.
Within the marble halls of the city, the High Council gathered once more. Guards knelt before them, heads bowed. "We searched high and low," one reported, "but found nothing." The chamber erupted. Fists slammed against the round table. "Shit!" one ruler spat. "That damn bastard! I'll find him myself!" Another muttered curses, rage twisting their faces. But one council member remained silent. Slowly, he rose. "I will report this to the City Lord. A deeper investigation is needed." He left the chamber, descending into a dim corridor. At its end lay a room lit only by a single candle. Shadows clung to the walls. A man stood with his back turned, facing the window, his figure ghostly, more silhouette than flesh. The council member bowed. "All searches were in vain. The source remains hidden." For a long moment, silence. Then the City Lord spoke, his voice low, almost amused. "Leave."
The council member obeyed, retreating quickly. Alone, the City Lord laughed. It began softly, then grew, twisting into a mad cackle that filled the chamber. His shoulders shook, his shadow stretching long across the floor. "Your arrival is just what I needed," he whispered, smiling into the darkness. "I thought it would be quiet… difficult to find you. But you came to me. The prophecies were true."
He turned, his face half-lit by the candle, eyes gleaming with madness. "Now… let the game begin." His laughter rose again, sharp and unhinged, echoing like broken glass. Then, with a final hiss, he whispered: "I will find you." The candle flickered. The room fell silent.