The sound of cracking branches and scattering birds echoed through the dying forest light as Kael yanked Saria behind him, boots thudding hard against the moss-laden ground. His grip was tight—tight enough to leave bruises—but he couldn't afford to loosen it. She stumbled, breath ragged, but kept pace.
They ran.
"Come on, Saria!" Kael hissed, but his voice trembled under the weight of what he'd just seen.
His eyes betrayed him—flicking backward again, drawn by a mixture of defiance, horror, and something else… wonder. And what he saw behind him pulled a muttered curse from his lips.
"…That's not… real."
Floating above the ground like a waking nightmare, a creature pulsed with dark, slithering energy—its form half-shrouded in a cloud of black smoke, yet unmistakably corporeal. It wasn't walking—it was gliding. Wings, vast and jagged, fanned open and stirred the trees as if the forest itself feared to touch it.
Its eyes—if they were eyes—burned like dying stars, and a low hum vibrated in the air, just beneath the hearing range. A frequency felt in the spine more than heard. Every tree it passed seemed to wilt just slightly, like time quickened in its presence.
Kael's mouth was dry. He had read of dragons in books—glorious beasts, conquerors of sky and flame, the bringers of storm and ruin. But this? This thing wasn't made of flesh and fire. It was stitched from shadow and something deeper… older.
It looked like a dragon. But it felt like a curse.
He shook his head violently, tearing his gaze away.
No. No, dragons don't drain the light around them. They don't make the forest bleed darkness.
Saria stumbled again, and Kael caught her before she could fall, wrapping his arm around her waist and hoisting her forward with a grunt. Her face was pale as bone, her body trembling uncontrollably.
"Kael—what was that?!" she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper, soaked with terror.
"I don't know," Kael muttered. "But I'm not letting it get to you. We're almost clear."
But he knew he was lying. They weren't anywhere close to safety.
Then it happened—he looked back again, just once more—and his heart seized.
The creature was no longer drifting in place. It had changed direction. It was following them.
Its massive, near-transparent wings didn't flap—they glided, slicing the air with effortless speed. The dark mist trailing its body now churned more violently, as if sensing prey.
And for the first time in a long while, something other than rage or sorrow stirred in Kael's gut.
Cold, primal fear.
But instead of panicking, Kael's eyes narrowed, his pace never slowing. Something in his blood—began to stir. Like a sleeping wolf catching the scent of its old enemy.
His mind raced. Why them? Why not the others? The creature had let the rest scatter—why chase the two who hadn't summoned it?
Unless…
"Saria," Kael said, slowing down ever so slightly, scanning their surroundings. "I need you to listen to me. No matter what happens—if I stop, if I fall—you keep running. Don't look back. Not even once."
Saria looked up at him with wide, trembling eyes, but she didn't speak.
Because the sound behind them was no longer wind. It was wingbeats.
---
The ground slammed into Kael's side like a hammer as his legs buckled under the sheer force of terror—he crashed down with Saria in tow, her frightened yelp slicing through the howling wind. Branches snapped. Dirt kicked up. Kael scrambled to shield her body with his own as they both hit the forest floor, breath torn from their lungs.
Above them, the air split with a deafening whoosh.
The creature surged past.
Kael clutched the earth, frozen, heart drumming a war rhythm inside his ribs. For a moment, he dared to believe they were safe—that the gliding beast would continue into the depths of the woods, chasing some illusion deeper in the trees.
But then it came.
A roar.
It was no ordinary bellow—it was a soul-deep, sky-tearing scream, like pain and fury had been force-fed into sound. Kael's ears rang. Saria whimpered beside him, her body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.
Slowly, Kael raised his head.
There it was—wreathed in that same malicious glow, the creature had turned, its eyes now focused with intent. Its wings didn't flap—they expanded like an opening gate to another realm, and with terrifying speed, it descended once more—straight at him.
Kael's thoughts spiraled—Why me? He wasn't the one with the scroll. He wasn't part of that idiotic summoning. He hadn't even believed in magic up until five minutes ago.
And then, in the midst of chaos, a memory flickered.
A page in one of the dusty old books he'd scavenged from the ruins near the cliffs. "The danger of uncontrolled summons," it had said. "When not properly bound, summoned entities can sometimes be drawn not to the summoner, but to individuals with latent or unstable mana signatures"
Mana signatures…
The thought struck him like a slap. No… it can't be…
He didn't have time to debate his heritage.
Kael sprang to his feet with a speed born of desperation. He grabbed Saria's shoulder and shouted, "Don't move! Stay down!"
She nodded frantically, barely able to speak.
Then he ran—veering to the left, toward the thick trees. The creature missed him by inches, its aura dragging a burst of unnatural wind behind it, pulling leaves from their stems and bending trunks.
It's me, Kael thought as he dove behind a tree, breathing hard. It's after me.
He didn't know how. He didn't know why. But it was the truth. Saria hadn't been touched. The others had scattered.
Only he was being hunted.
This thing recognizes me…
Whether it was his blood, his soul, or something buried deep within that he hadn't yet awakened—Kael didn't know. But he had a theory now. A theory he'd test, even if it killed him.
He darted left again, shouting as loud as he could.
"HEY! YOU WANT ME? COME GET ME!"
From the tree's shadow, the beast turned again, its roar answering his cry like a twisted agreement.
And as Kael bolted, glancing back one last time, his heart began to change. No longer just afraid. But curious.
Because somewhere in the bottom of that horror-filled sky, a part of him… recognized the creature.
---
The candlelight flickered against the polished mahogany desk as Walter Grefen, head of Thormans village, leaned back into his high-backed chair, quill in hand, struggling through a stack of tedious reports. The muffled crackling of the hearth fire behind him was the only sound in the study—until the door burst open with a thud.
A guard stepped in, chest rising with exertion. "Sir, there are… sightings. Bright lights—over the forest."
Walter arched a brow, momentarily unmoved. "Probably lantern flames or a lightning bug swarm. It's that time of year."
The guard hesitated. "Except… it wasn't like that. It was—pulsating. Bright. Like magic. Witnesses said it lit the sky for a moment."
The word magic was like flint against steel in this kingdom. Walter set his quill down. "Where exactly?"
"Southern edge. Near Hollowridge Creek."
That got his attention. Walter rose, walking slowly to the window as he stared into the night. The forest loomed in the distance—an eternal monolith, older than the village itself. He was just turning to issue orders for a formal investigation when another breathless villager appeared behind the guard.
"Sir—more news. Some of the local boys were seen entering the forest before dusk. They haven't returned."
Walter's lips thinned. "Children?"
"Yes, sir. A whole group of them."
A strange foreboding swept over him. The kind that gripped your lungs and squeezed like a vice. He waved his hand quickly. "I want names. Now."
The room emptied in haste.
Moments later, a worn parchment was handed to him—names hastily scribbled by a witness, a concerned neighbor perhaps. Walter's eyes moved down the list. The second name, the third, and then—
There it was.
Tilly Grefen.
His heart dropped.
His hand trembled.
"No…" he whispered, the words barely escaping his mouth. "He wouldn't be that foolish…"
But even as he tried to deny it, a storm surged within him. Tilly had been withdrawn lately, secretive. Always eager to prove something, to chase stories of the Academy and its gates.
Walter stood abruptly, his chair falling behind him with a clatter. His voice rang through the building like a battle cry.
"Gather every able-bodied hunter and guardsman! Now! We ride for the forest at once—I will lead the party myself!"
"But sir—should we wait till sunrise—?"
"If we wait till sunrise," Walter growled, already donning his cloak, "we'll be dragging out corpses."
The men scattered, the building alive with frantic motion.
Outside, the night wind carried faint, unnatural echoes from the woods—howling, pulsing, shifting like something waking from centuries of slumber.
Walter didn't know what awaited him in that forest.
But he could only hope that this feeling of danger that he had, doesn't coincide with reality.
---
The hearth's embers had begun to dim, casting long shadows across the modest wooden floorboards of the Jorran household. The room was quiet save for the hurried, anxious steps of Virelle as she paced back and forth—her hands twisting the hem of her apron into knots.
She paused and turned sharply as Jorran emerged from the inner room, adjusting the straps of his worn leather armor. His face was stone—jaw tight, eyes hard.
"Jorran," she said quickly, stepping in front of him, "let me come with you—please. Kael is—"
"No," Jorran cut in coldly, brushing past her. "You stay here. I'll be back when I'm back."
"Please, I—he's just a boy, he's not—"
"Stop pestering me, woman!" Jorran barked as he pushed open the front door. His boots struck the porch with hard, final steps before she heard him mutter under his breath: "Should've let that cursed brat stay lost…"
Virelle stood frozen, her hands trembling at her sides. The door shut behind him, but her gaze lingered—locked onto the threshold like it might open again and undo everything.
She knew exactly why he was muttering.
It had started years ago, after she confessed—falsely—that Kael was one of his children.
Rufus Laparch.
The name alone had shattered whatever tenuous peace once existed between them. A foreign mage whose cruel enchantments had terrorized outlands and cracked families apart. A man whose very existence had haunted Jorran for years—especially after what he did to Jorran's sister.
And Virelle had twisted that wound deeper… by naming Kael as the spawn of that monster.
But it was never true.
She'd only said it to give Kael some plausible backstory. Something half-believable. Something that might protect the truth buried beneath his blood. She never imagined it would seed such loathing in her husband's heart.
Now she wished she had said nothing at all.
Her heart panged with guilt and fear as she slumped into the nearest chair, head in her hands.
Kael... if only you knew. If only I could tell you who you really are…
The last prince of Varethis. The only living heir to the shattered throne of a kingdom buried in legend.
But to the world—including her husband—he was just another cursed child from a cursed bloodline.
And now… he was lost in a forest glowing with unnatural light, chased by whispers of forgotten power.
Virelle rose again, stiffly this time, and moved to the window. She could hear the horns in the distance—signaling the forming search party.
She placed a hand against the wooden frame and whispered to the night, barely audible:
"Live, Kael. Please. You are more than what they believe you to be… you mean more to me."