The caravan creaked steadily westward, wheels grinding deep grooves into the road. The oxen grunted and heaved with each pull, their hides already lathered in sweat despite the cool morning. Guards kept to their places, eyes sharp, hands resting against blades, as though they could feel the forest's teeth hidden just out of sight.
Leo trudged behind the last wagon, dust clinging to his tongue, sweat slicking his back. The steady rhythm of boots, wheels, and breathing dulled into a kind of trance. Yet unease gnawed at him, tightening with each mile.
Hours passed.
The road narrowed where the Graywood pressed close, trees leaning inward like conspirators. Shadows pooled thick under the canopy, swallowing the ruts of the path. The air grew heavier, damp with the musk of rot and the faint sweetness of wildflowers crushed beneath wagon wheels. Birdsong had thinned until the silence became its own warning.
Too thin.
The captain's hand lifted, fist closed. The caravan slowed to a halt, oxen snorting clouds of breath into the stillness. Guards shifted, scanning the trees.
Leo felt it too. A prickle at the base of his skull, a pressure like unseen eyes pressing from every angle. His breath quickened.
Then the arrow came.
It hissed from the shadows, a streak of death burying itself into the flank of the lead ox. The beast bellowed in agony, rearing against its harness, dragging the wagon sideways. Shouts erupted. Guards scrambled to shields.
More arrows whistled from the treeline. Shafts thudded into wood, armor, flesh. A guard toppled with a cry, clutching his throat.
"Bandits!"
The forest exploded. Figures burst from the undergrowth, men ragged and lean, clad in mismatched scraps of armor and wolfskin cloaks. Faces smeared with paint and ash. Blades flashing, voices howling.
Their leader, a wiry man with a mouth full of broken teeth and eyes like knives, leapt for the nearest wagon. His axe bit into wood, sending splinters flying.
Steel clashed. The road became a storm of noise, shouts, screams, the hiss of arrows, the wet crunch of blades finding flesh. Dust billowed into the air, stinging Leo's eyes.
He froze at the edge of it, heart pounding so loud it drowned the world. His body screamed to flee, to dive into the forest and vanish. He could almost see it, the path away, the shadows swallowing him whole.
But the shard pulsed hot in his palm, burning through bandage and skin.
Strike. Show them. Tear these carrion apart.
"No." His whisper was ragged, torn from his throat. "Not here."
A guard stumbled past him, blood pouring from his arm in crimson ribbons. Another collapsed in the dirt, sword clattering free. The bandits pressed in hard, smelling weakness, their numbers almost doubling the defenders.
The captain's voice cut through the chaos like iron on stone. "Hold the line!"
She fought like a wolf, her scarred jaw clenched, her blade flashing in brutal arcs. Three raiders closed on her, but she met them with a snarl, steel ringing, one man falling with his throat split open. Yet for every foe she struck down, more poured from the trees.
Leo's breath came fast, ragged. His eyes locked on a boy at the wagons' rear, barely older than twelve, a stablehand. A raider had him pinned, dagger raised. The boy's scream split the air.
The shard flared.
Save him. Save them all. You know what waits inside you. Call it.
Leo's hand trembled. He lifted it half an inch. The bandages across his palm strained, light leaking like molten cracks in stone. His teeth ground together, sweat pouring down his brow.
Not yet. Not here.
With a roar, the captain cut down the raider looming over the boy, her sword burying deep in his back. Blood sprayed across the wagon boards. The boy scrambled away, sobbing, but more bandits surged from the trees to take his place.
The guards were being pressed, backs nearly to the wagons. Every clash of steel was desperate, every cry of pain another piece of ground lost.
Leo's choice balanced on a knife's edge. If he held back, the road would be painted red with strangers' blood. If he unleashed what coiled inside him, he would be seen for what he was. And once seen, there would be no turning back.
Dust choked the air. Screams and roars tangled into a single, terrible song. Blood sprayed dark across the dirt.
And in the shadows beyond the bandits, the forest itself seemed to shift. Branches shivered though no wind blew. The darkness between the trees thickened, gathering, as if something vast and patient waited just beyond sight.
Something not man. Not bandit.
The Graywood itself seemed to lean closer, listening for what Leo would do.