The night split open.
Dozens of shadow creatures tore through the trees, moving at full speed — a dark river spilling toward the Golden Forest. Their bodies shifted like smoke, melting into one another, reforming, stretching. Their clawed limbs scraped against the ground, leaving trails of rotting darkness behind.
The forest ahead glowed faintly, each leaf reflecting gold as if dipped in sunlight. Even from miles away, its aura stung their eyes.
— Closer.
— Go.
— Faster.
Their voices vibrated through the air like dying whispers.
Up above, the moon was swallowed briefly by darkness — a signal.
Their creator was watching.
Through their eyes.
Through their shadows.
Through their fear.
---
Back in the dark castle built of cold stone and older curses, Olto sat alone in his throne room. No torches burned. The only light came from a dim orb floating before him, showing rapid, blurred images through the eyes of every shadow creature.
He leaned forward.
His fingers — long, skeletal, wrapped in ink-like patterns — touched the orb. His grin stretched unnaturally, twisting across his face.
"Run," Olto whispered, voice scraping like metal across bone.
"Bring me… the ring."
The shadows responded instantly, accelerating until their bodies broke into streaks of black.
---
The moment they crossed the forest's boundary, the air changed.
Golden dust danced in the wind. Leaves hummed softly. The earth itself pulsed with ancient magic — warm and alive, like a sleeping beast opening its eye.
Then—
THUD.
A massive weight struck the ground ahead of them.
The shadows froze.
A large creature stepped out from behind the golden trees, hooves sinking slightly into the soft glowing soil. Its body shimmered as though carved from molten gold. Its horns spiraled beautifully, each curve burning with a fierce radiance strong enough to blind the darkness.
The Golden Markhor.
Guardian of the forest.
Protector of the hidden path.
Sworn sentinel of the Golden Ring buried deep beneath ancient tree roots.
The Markhor lowered its head slightly, exhaling a breath that glittered like dust.
"You dare enter this forest?"
Its voice resonated, shaking the branches overhead.
The shadows hissed, their forms rippling. They did not stop. Not even for him.
—they saw it
—they felt it
—the hidden path
—the ring
—the master wants it
—we must take it
The Markhor's eyes darkened.
"So… it's him again."
He stomped his hoof.
Golden shockwaves rippled outward.
The first line of shadows evaporated instantly, bursting into black vapor that dissolved into the air.
But more poured in from behind, racing through the trees, climbing over one another, forming an avalanche of darkness.
The Markhor stood firm.
'They're more desperate this time.
This many… all chasing one object.
Olto must be regaining strength.'
The shadows lunged.
The Markhor moved.
With one powerful leap, it soared over them — twisting mid-air, antlers slicing through darkness. Light exploded from its horns like a meteor shower.
Dozens of shadow bodies split apart, screeching as they dissolved.
He landed in front of the hidden roots — the ancient tree that concealed the descending path. Thick, twisting roots guarded the entrance like sleeping serpents woven together.
The Markhor stood between them and the shadows.
'I won't let a single one pass.'
A massive shadow beast formed from the swarm, rising to a towering height. Its body was made of overlapping black shapes, eyes glowing white with hunger.
It let out an ear-piercing shriek and charged.
The Markhor braced—
The impact rattled the forest.
Golden light clashed with rotting blackness. Sparks rained across the ground. The Markhor dug his hooves in, muscles straining, golden veins surging across his body.
The beast pushed harder.
A streak of pain shot through the Markhor's shoulder.
'Not good… it's stronger than the last ones.'
The beast's jaws snapped. The Markhor ducked, spinning beneath it, striking upward. His horns ripped through the creature's chest — golden heat pulsing into its core.
The beast's scream echoed across the forest as it exploded into shadows.
But the moment it vanished, five more replaced it.
The Markhor breathed heavily.
'Olto is pouring his energy through them. He wants the ring at any cost.'
The ground behind him rumbled as the roots shifted, tightening their grip around the hidden entrance as if the forest itself were afraid.
The shadows surged again.
They surrounded the Markhor from all angles, claws raised, eyes glowing.
He lowered himself, hooves digging into the ground.
'I… I must hurry. If Olto gets this ring… everything will collapse.'
Then he roared—
A roar that shook the golden canopy.
Light erupted outward, brighter than dawn. A barrier of gold spanned across the clearing, incinerating shadows on contact. The air shimmered violently, bending as the Markhor unleashed every ounce of power the forest granted him.
Shadows screamed, clawed, pushed back—
But they kept coming.
More and more.
In his castle, Olto leaned forward, eyes widening. The orb reflected the Markhor's blazing power.
"So the guardian still has strength," he whispered.
"Good… good. Burn it all. But the ring will be mine."
He pressed his palm to the orb.
The shadows' eyes glowed brighter. Their bodies surged with new strength.
They rushed the Markhor again.
This time, even the guardian staggered backward.
He felt a tremor of fear.
'If this continues… I might not hold them long enough.'
A massive shadow claw swiped at him—
He blocked.
Another lunged from behind—
He kicked it away.
But for every one he struck down, ten more took its place.
The Markhor bared his teeth, golden energy crackling violently around him.
Then, from deep beneath the earth, he felt it:
The ring pulsed.
A warning.
A call.
A plea.
'I will not let Olto take you.'
With one last deep breath, the Markhor charged forward, his antlers blazing like twin suns.
The battle exploded into chaos — golden flashes, dark shrieks, tremors shaking the forest.
And in the far distance, from within the shadowy castle, Olto's grin widened.
"Fight, guardian. Fight until you break.
Because once you fall…
the ring will belong to me."