Morning light broke through the canopy, scattering soft rays across the ground.
Altleno stirred, stretched, and yawned. His stomach growled like an animal.
"Haven't eaten since yesterday," he muttered, rubbing his belly. "Guess it's time to hunt."
He dropped from the tree with the easy grace of someone born to the wild. The village lay eerily quiet.
At the outskirts he spotted movement — three children darting between ruined houses, glancing around before slipping behind an old storage hut. Curiosity pulled him after them, silent as shadow.
He peeked around the corner. The children whispered and pointed toward the distant hills, then bolted into the trees.
Altleno tilted his head. "What are they doing out here?" he asked himself, and followed in the hush.
The trail wound past a shallow stream to a rocky slope. Hidden between mossy boulders was a narrow cave mouth. He crouched and listened. A flicker of torchlight showed dozens of faces — men, women, elders — huddled deep inside, whispering prayers and fear.
"So this is where you ran off to," he said under his breath.
Snatches of conversation carried out: monster, curse, revenge. A bitter smile tugged at his lips. He stepped back into the shade. Hunger faded, replaced by something colder — a quiet sense of superiority.
The village was still. He wandered until the smell of dried meat drew him into one of the larger houses. Inside were sacks of grain, jars of pickles, and smoked meat dangling from rafters.
Without hesitation he tore into it, devouring until the ache eased. Leaning back among the leftovers, he let out a long, satisfied sigh.
"That's better," he murmured. Comfort settled on him for the first time in ages — then the old, sharp thought returned. He stared at a dusty mirror and saw the cold-eyed face reflected there.
"I defeated Guiko," he said quietly. "The leader of this place. The others ran and hid like frightened animals."
A smirk formed. "Then isn't it right that I rule this village now?"
He rose, wiping his mouth. The air around him thrummed faintly — the same decayed echo that had once terrified the guild. Decision hardening, he stepped into the morning light.
"I'll go to that cave," he whispered. "They'll listen. Whether they like it or not."
The cave's air was thick with sweat and smoke. Torchlight revealed faces turned toward the entrance as Altleno filled the mouth of the tunnel. Mothers clutched children; men gripped crude weapons with trembling hands. Some whispered, "He found us," others, "There's no way out…"
Altleno's shadow cut across the chamber. His footsteps fell slow and deliberate.
"I come in peace," he said, voice calm and flat. "I'm not here to harm anyone. I'm here to claim what is mine."
His words landed like a stone. The silence was absolute.
A child broke it with a wail. Heads snapped toward the sound. Altleno's eyes slid to the child — and instead of anger, he smiled, soft and controlled. The smile deepened the villagers' fear.
"Don't be afraid," he said, gentle in tone. "Serve me, and you'll never have to hide again."
An old man stepped forward, voice shaking. "Y-you said… we won't have to hide?"
Altleno nodded. "Yes. I have no interest in killing the weak. I'll not tolerate betrayal. Obey, and none of you will starve or suffer again."
They exchanged looks, frightened and uncertain. Slowly, one by one, they lowered themselves to their knees. What began as fear turned into a trembling, reluctant submission.
Altleno watched them fall, feeling something tangled inside — pride, a strange sorrow, and an odd, unsettling satisfaction.
"Rise," he said. "From now on, you work not just for yourselves… but for survival. For strength. I don't rule for pride — I rule so none of you starve."
Outside, his silhouette was framed by morning light. "This is the start of something new," he said quietly. "The weak will learn to live again. Under my rule."
A few villagers dared to look up and watch the boy who had nothing walk like a conqueror. He let the wind carry his whisper.
"Ru… I'm doing what you would have wanted."
He spoke the words, though even he wasn't certain.
From that day on the village was under Altleno's control. At first they obeyed out of fear. Weeks later, crops that had failed now shimmered green. Hunting parties returned with more meat. Injured people received herbs from the deep forest. His rule was harsh but effective: punish disobedience, but feed the hungry and mend the sick.
Murmurs spread.
"Maybe he was sent by the gods…"
"Guiko never did this much for us…"
"He may be strange… but he's not cruel."
Fear softened into a twisted respect. The boy once called a monster began to be named "The Savior of the Forgotten Village."
Not everyone accepted it.
In the quiet of the rebuilt guild hall, a young woman sharpened her dagger, face hard with grief and fury. Her brown hair fell over her face as she whispered, "They praise the murderer of my father…"
Lyra — Guiko's daughter — watched the villagers smile beneath the rule of the man who slew her father. She clenched the dagger until her knuckles whitened.
"If they won't remember my father… then I'll make them."
She gathered the fearful and the broken — hunters, merchants, grieving families. Each night, they met in secret among the ruins at the forest's edge.
Their purpose was clear: Altleno must fall — no matter the cost.
Unseen, the forest and the aura within Altleno sensed the coming storm and shifted like a sleeping thing stirring.