The air grew colder as the search party crossed the threshold of the Dark Forest—as if the trees themselves exhaled ancient malice. The torches held high in the hands of each villager only managed to beat back the gloom by a few trembling feet. Shadows danced and slithered around them, devouring the light as quickly as it was born.
Walter Grefen led the vanguard, his jaw clenched, his posture rigid, but his eyes—his eyes sparkled like a man who had waited too long for war.
He knew it was foolish, drawing the village's ultimate treasure into such an ambiguous threat. But this wasn't politics, this wasn't trade—this was his son. And for his son, he would wager the entire village vault if need be.
Behind him, a sharp snap of taut rope echoed as a pair of hounds pulled forward, teeth bared, noses twitching with maddened excitement. The dogs were restless, not from fear—but from sensing something not of this world ahead. They knew the scent of deer, wolf, and beast. This... this was other.
Walter's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword—the magical blade that once hung untouched in the depths of the Vault of Thormans village. The runes etched along its blade flickered faintly, like veins lit from within. He felt the hum of power pulse through the hilt and into his bones—not just power, but promise.
This was no ceremonial weapon. This blade was created specifically for battle.
He'd told the villagers he was opening the vault for their protection—and it was true. But another truth burned behind his measured expression: he wanted to test the mettle of these weapons. What use was keeping gods in boxes if no devils came knocking?
Walter turned to his lieutenants and barked his next order like a general on campaign.
"Divide into four teams—east, west, north, and center. One mageblade or scroll wielder per team. Do not engage unless necessary—your mission is search, not slaughter. Signal only if contact is made."
Torches swayed as the search party divided. Six of the twenty bore enchanted gear—not even a third. In a world where a single enchanted sword could buy a merchant's estate, arming even six villagers was a staggering feat.
Walter looked to each team leader in turn, eyes hard.
"You see a sign—light, blood, unnatural fog—you report it. No heroes. We are still not sure of what we are facing, so we need to be extra cautious."
Low grunts of understanding followed. Each team took its position. The sounds of boots, snapping twigs, and barking dogs faded as the forest swallowed them.
Only Walter remained for a moment longer, staring into the black sea of trees. His thoughts strayed to his son, as he wondered if the boy was okay—and prayed that he would be able to retrieve his son in one piece—not as a corpse.
He let out a slow breath. Then, with one last glance at the glowing veins on his sword, he stepped into the dark.
Let whatever form of danger that awaits in there be real... he thought grimly.
Let it be worthy of the impending battle.
---
The air snapped.
Kael barely had time to scream before a surge of unnatural cold swept over him like a tide of death, curling around his broken body and wrenching him violently into the air.
He didn't feel weightless—he felt powerless.
The wind howled as though mourning him in advance. His limbs dangled, numb and twitching, his mind reeling as a deeper kind of chill—a coldness that bypassed flesh and struck directly at his soul—burrowed into him like claws of ice.
This wasn't frost or winter. This was death made sentient.
The gash on his chest throbbed violently, blood still seeping in slow, fatal rivulets, but that pain now competed with a far more haunting one: the soul-ache of something being pulled out of him. Siphoned.
He forced his eyes open.
And there it was—the creature—its wings spread like a god of extinction, suspended in the air before him.
It didn't growl. It didn't roar. It just stared.
Twin eyes like dying stars, swirling with hate, void of empathy. Its face—if such a thing could be called that—was twisted into something that mocked dragon and demon alike, and as it hovered there, studying Kael with a predator's disinterest, it opened its maw.
Rows upon rows of jagged, shadow-wrought teeth shimmered under its inner glow.
Kael felt his breath stop.
This is it. I'm going to die.
He didn't want to believe it. His heart, though bruised and broken, still beat wildly—as if to deny the inevitable. But his body wouldn't obey him. He was paralyzed—suspended by magic he didn't understand, held hostage in a nightmare that refused to end.
And somewhere deep in that growing void, a scream erupted. Not a cry for help—but a demand.
Why?
Why did my mother die screaming in that fire? Why did my father vanish like smoke in the wind? Why was I thrown into the dirt, to beg for scraps in a village that spat on my name?
Why did they hate me—every single one of them—even my stepfather Jorran? What did I ever do?!
The creature didn't care for his sorrow.
But Kael did.
And something in the core of him—some spark—refused to die in ignorance. Not now. Not yet.
If death was coming, it would not come to a Kael who knew nothing.
The ache inside him turned to fury. He wasn't just angry at the creature—he was angry at the world, at the gods, at the silence that followed every scream he had ever let out. And in that moment—suspended in the air, cold crawling into his bones, death staring him in the face—
Kael's soul snarled back.
He gritted his teeth and let the pain anchor him. Not to this world—but to his will.
The creature reared back to finish it.
But something happened.
A pulse. Like a heartbeat—but not from Kael.
From within him.
The cold began to tremble. The grip loosened, just slightly.
Kael's eyes snapped wide. Something ancient and violent stirred within his blood. Something buried. Something watching.
And it was not afraid.
---
The dark creature's maw hovered inches from Kael's face. The stench of death flooded his senses, and his body went rigid in fear and pain. But just as the creature's jagged teeth were about to close in, something shifted deep within Kael.
A humming sound, low at first, reverberated through his chest. Then it spread through his limbs, his blood, his very bones. A heat, sharp and all-consuming, began to burn through the icy grip of the creature's magic, and Kael's body surged with energy. It wasn't the weakness of a cornered animal anymore—it was rage, an all-encompassing fury.
His blood boiled, and for the first time in his life, Kael felt a force beyond himself awaken. The cold that had paralyzed him melted away under an intense, burning pressure. Every fiber of his being screamed in protest against the suffocating weight of the creature's grip, yet the heat within him pushed it aside. The very essence of his being, his anger, his defiance, began to rise.
Kael had always been defiant—had always fought back against those who saw him as weak. He had often been angry, frustrated at the world and his circumstances. But this... this was something more. This wasn't just a reaction. This was power—raw, untamed power that demanded to be released.
The dark creature, sensing the shift, paused mid-air, its eyes narrowing. It, too, felt it now—the tremendous pressure radiating from the human it held. This boy, this pitiful human, who had been so easily captured moments ago—now felt like a force. Something had ignited within him. It wasn't just the usual desperation of a preyed-upon animal. This was dangerous.
The creature hissed in low, guttural disbelief, uncertainty flickering in its molten eyes. How? How could a human, so frail and weak, emanate such a force?
Kael's head was spinning, but there was a fire inside him that would not let him go down so easily. Not again. He refused to die like this. His teeth gritted, and he let out a low, feral growl—before, suddenly, it exploded.
A roar, not of pain, but of power. Of fury.
The surge inside him broke free like a violent tide, ripping out of his chest. His body felt like it was on fire, but it was alive, more than it had ever been before. The red energy poured from his body like a blaze, overwhelming the creature's grip, the darkness. The red light expanded, engulfing the forest in a blinding, furious explosion of heat.
Kael's body lifted higher, not from the creature's grasp, but from the sheer force of the power coursing through him. His mind went blank for a second, overwhelmed, before everything went white—and then, he lost consciousness, falling into the depths of his own rage-filled darkness.
---
Meanwhile, in the Forest...
Walter Grefen and the search party continued their efforts to find the missing children, meticulously combing through the dense, shadow-filled woods. The night was thick, and the searchers had already encountered signs of distress—broken branches, overturned rocks, and strange, faint markings on trees that seemed almost... unnatural.
The team was cautious. The magical equipment they carried was a testament to the dangers they were prepared to face, though no one expected this search to lead to anything more than an unfortunate accident in the woods. After all, they didn't know yet what kind of threat they were dealing with.
But the signals had started coming in.
One of the smaller teams, stationed on the eastern flank, sent a signal to rally the rest. The tone was sharp—urgent. Walter felt his heart tighten. Something wasn't right.
They converged quickly, moving with practiced precision. As they arrived at the designated meeting point, Walter's eyes scanned the area, but it was the figure they brought to him that struck him with immediate concern.
A teenage girl—pale, exhausted, shaking. Her clothes were torn and caked with dirt, and her breathing was labored. She was barely conscious, her body swaying as she was supported by two of the search party members.
"Is she one of the missing?" Walter asked, his voice steady but his gaze intense.
"Yes," one of the team members replied, his face grim. "She's Saria—the daughter of Millsworth the trader"
Walter felt his stomach lurch. He moved toward the girl, kneeling down to inspect her. "What happened? Where's my son Tilly?"
The girl opened her eyes weakly, but she couldn't speak. Her gaze was unfocused, her body trembling uncontrollably. After a long, agonizing moment, she managed to rasp out a single, broken sentence:
"Ka... he's... he's gone. The creature... it took him..."
The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Walter didn't know whether to be angry or scared.
"Where?" he demanded, the urgency building in his voice. "Where did you last see him?"
Saria, with all the strength she could muster, pointed a shaky finger toward the dark heart of the forest. "That way... He... He was... alive... but... something changed."
Walter felt a deep pang of dread. What had happened? What had changed?
But there was no time to question further.
"Prepare for a full search," Walter commanded to the team. "Move out now—and don't stop until we find Tilly...and the other children."
As they moved further into the forest, Walter couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't just hunting for the missing teenagers anymore. Something far more dangerous had awakened in these woods—and he had to find his son—at all costs.