The eastern border of Silpatra had always been quiet. A long stretch of rolling hills, dotted with watchtowers that mostly watched sheep graze and the occasional merchant caravan pass by. Guards played cards, drank weak ale, and complained about the cold nights. Nothing ever happened.
Until it did.
It started just after midnight.
A low rumble rolled across the plain—not thunder, not wind. Something alive. Something angry.
Sergeant Torin, who had been dozing with his boots on the table, snapped upright. "You hear that?"
His second-in-command, a young recruit named Lira, froze mid-sip. "Sounds like… stomach?"
Torin glared. "Not funny. Listen."
The rumble grew. Deeper. Closer. Then came the first crack—wood splintering, followed by a scream that cut off too quickly.
The tower door burst open. A scout stumbled in, face pale, blood on his tunic. "Beasts! Dozens! They're… they're smart. Flanking the outpost. They cut the signal ropes first."
Torin was already on his feet, grabbing his spear. "How many?"
The scout swallowed. "Enough to blot the moon."
Outside, the night exploded into chaos.
Dark shapes poured over the hill crest—hulking figures with ember eyes, scales glinting under starlight. Not mindless animals. These moved like soldiers: two groups splitting left and right, a third holding the center. Claws tore through wooden barricades like paper. Fangs snapped shut on shields. Roars mixed with the wet crunch of bone.
The guards fought. They always fought. Spears thrust. Swords flashed. But the beasts were faster, stronger, and far too clever. One guard swung at a wolf-thing; it ducked, rolled, and came up behind him. Another beast leaped from the shadows, claws raking across a tower wall, sending stones tumbling.
Torin stood on the rampart, shouting orders. "Form line! Shields up! Don't break—"
A massive orc-like brute charged straight at the gate. It carried no weapon—just fists the size of shields. It slammed into the reinforced wood once. Twice. On the third hit, the gate shattered inward.
Beasts flooded through.
Torin met the first one head-on. Spear met scale. The point bent. The beast laughed—a guttural, wet sound—and swatted him aside like a child. Torin hit the ground hard, ribs cracking. He tried to rise. Couldn't.
Through the smoke and screams, he saw the truth: this wasn't a raid. This was a message.
The lead beast—the biggest, with horns curling like blackened thorns—stopped in the center of the ruined outpost. It raised its head and let out a roar that shook the earth. The sound carried for miles, rolling across hills, through valleys, straight toward the heart of Silpatra.
All around the fallen guards, the beasts paused. They didn't loot. They didn't feast. They just stood there, eyes glowing, waiting.
The message was clear.
We are coming.
Back in the capital, far from the border, the king was woken by a messenger who had ridden three horses to death getting there. The man collapsed at the throne room door, gasping.
"Your Majesty… the east… gone. Beasts. Smart. They roared… like they wanted us to hear."
The king stood slowly. Every warrior in the room felt the air change. This wasn't just an attack.
It was the first roar of war.
Word spread through the city like fire through dry grass. By dawn, every tavern, every market, every home knew.
The Beastkind War had begun.
And somewhere, deep in the wilds, the Demon King smiled.
In a small cabin in the forest mountains of Biwa, hundreds of miles away, Kael woke up to the same sound every morning.
His stomach.
A long, impatient growl rumbled through the quiet room.
Jade, face buried in her pillow, mumbled, "Even the demons can't match that timing."
Kael sat up, rubbed his belly, and walked straight to the empty pantry.
He opened the door. Stared inside. Closed it.
Then he turned to Jade.
One word.
"Food."
Jade groaned, but she was already laughing. "War's starting and you're still the most dangerous thing in the room."
Kael just pointed at his mouth.
The roar from the east had started a war.
But in Biwa, the real daily battle was keeping Kael fed.
And right now, the stomach was winning.