Kael's breath hitched before his mind understood why.
The night had gone still - too still. No rustle of leaves, no whisper of wind. Just silence, thick as a held breath. Then, a prickle at the back of his neck, like fingers of ice tracing his spine.
The clearing wasn't empty anymore.
Something was watching.
Oren didn't flinch. Didn't tense. His face smoothed into something serene - unnervingly so, like a predator who'd already decided how this would end. His fingers brushed the earth, almost tenderly.
The ground answered.
Roots twisted upward, coiling and weaving like serpents around his hand. In seconds, they formed a pale, porcelain mask. Smooth. Featureless. Cold.
He held it out to Kael.
"Put this on," Oren said quietly. "No matter what happens… do not move. Don't speak. Don't even breathe too loudly."
The mask clung to Kael's face like a second skin, so cold it burned. For a heartbeat, the world twisted - shadows stretched too long, voices whispered in a language that slithered through his skull.
Then silence.
But the mask… the mask was listening.
Around them, the shadows stirred. Not like wind or wildlife. No. These were footsteps made of silence. Movement that did not rustle leaves or crack twigs. The clearing, bathed in pale moonlight, suddenly felt like a stage under scrutiny.
Then, he appeared.
A man stepped from the darkness, as if peeled from the very fabric of night. Dressed in black from head to toe, not a speck of skin exposed - save for the slit revealing a pair of pale, sharp eyes. The skin beneath that slit was painted in black, so even the moon refused to reflect off it.
Oren smiled faintly, stroking his beard as if this were nothing more than an evening chat.
"Isn't this a beautiful night for you young folk to be dressed for murder?"
No response.
The man pointed toward Kael. His voice was dry, distant.
"Both of you - Shadow Court rats. Come with us."
"Oh?" Oren's brow lifted. "And what makes you think we belong to the so-called Shadow Court?"
In a blink, four shadows leapt from the edges of the clearing - one from each direction - rushing straight for Kael.
Roots exploded from the ground like spears.
All four attackers were caught mid-air, suspended and writhing in a web of roots and dirt. It had taken less than a heartbeat.
Oren sighed. "Impatient brats. Don't even explain themselves before attacking a harmless old man."
The masked leader's eyes narrowed. Surprise flickered there - but not fear. He was still calculating.
Kael stood frozen behind the mask. The ground beneath him hummed faintly.
Oren planted a wooden staff into the soil - grown from the roots themselves - and rested both hands on it. The air around him shifted, tightened, became something lethal. Though hunched and weathered, he looked untouchable, a storm buried in bones.
"I ask again," Oren said, voice still conversational. "Suppose we are from the Shadow Court - what do you want with us?"
The masked man's jaw twitched.
"You kidnapped our Madam. You need to come with us for questioning."
Oren chuckled. "Madam, is it? Well, this boy only woke up a few hours ago, and unless he sleepwalks through kidnappings, and I'm merely an old bag of bones, I'd say you've got the wrong corpse."
A murmur rippled through the trees - others were out there. Watching.
"We've been tracking her," the leader snapped. "We found the tracker about a mile from the forest's edge. Been searching for half a day. And now we find an old man and a boy wearing a Shadow Court mask. You're coming with us, one way or another. We only need one of you alive to get what we want."
"Then you're more blind than I thought." Oren's eyes gleamed.
"You said you were looking for the kidnapper?"
"Yes. Unless you'd like to admit you're protecting a Shadow Court agent."
"Oh no," Oren said smoothly. "Nothing like that. But I do know the one you're looking for."
The intruder tensed. "You what?"
Oren's tone dropped a note.
"He's standing about twenty-two meters behind you."
The clearing froze.
Even the four caught in the roots turned.
Then the mist parted - not by wind, but by will. A figure stood there, as if he'd always been there. A mask, white as bone, split by jagged cracks. A cloak that drank the moonlight. And eyes, gleaming behind the porcelain, that made Kael's blood turn to ice.
Rook.
The moment they saw him, the rest of the hidden intruders - twenty or more - rose from the earth like phantoms, as if the soil itself had birthed them in silence.
They launched toward him in a seamless, wordless attack.
And vanished.
Not literally. But one moment they were flying through the air, and the next, there was only the sound of something gliding through it. A whistling whisper, followed by flashes of steel catching moonlight.
Bodies dropped like falling fruit. No screams - just wet thuds and metallic echoes.
Kael blinked - and the clearing was painted in red. No battle, no clash of steel. Just a whisper of motion. One breath. Twenty-one bodies hit the earth.
Rook hadn't even broken stride.
The leader barely had time to react. He reached for his weapon - but his hand never made it.
His head separated from his shoulders before the blade was half drawn.
The clearing fell still.
Blood soaked into the roots.
Rook stepped over the last corpse, unfazed. His mask turned to Oren.
"You're getting sloppy, Rook," Oren said mildly. "They tracked you here."
Rook shrugged. "Apologies. I got… distracted when I saw him." His eyes flicked toward Kael.
Kael could only stare.
"Should I take care of the rest?" Rook asked, glancing at the four still wrapped in roots.
Oren's grin widened. "Oh, no need. Human bodies make excellent fertilizer."
The roots obeyed.
Before Kael could blink, all twenty-six bodies - screaming or still - were swallowed by the earth in unison, dragged beneath the roots as if the forest itself demanded silence.
The clearing was silent once more - save for the wind, and the distant cry of a nightbird disturbed by the violence.
Kael's hands trembled. His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. But beneath the horror, something darker stirred - a hunger to understand, to wield that kind of power.
The thought sickened him more than the blood.
"Who…" he managed, voice barely a whisper. "Who is he?"
"Rook," Oren said. "A friend. Of sorts. Or maybe a shadow with a name. Depends on who's asking."
Rook's cracked mask tilted toward Kael.
"You have her eyes," he said quietly.
Kael flinched. "Whose eyes?"
But Rook was already turning away, vanishing again into the mist without a sound.
Oren tapped his staff. "Now then… where were we?"
Kael didn't respond. His mind was still trying to process what he'd just witnessed.
Oren looked up at the stars.
"You'll need more than anger, boy. Rage without purpose is just a fire that eats itself."
Kael tore his gaze from the blood-stained grass and looked at the old man.
"I'm not afraid," he said, though his voice shook.
Oren's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Good. Because tonight? Tonight was just a shadow of the storm." He tilted his head, as if listening to something only he could hear.
"And the storm is coming for you, boy."
Kael's hands clenched. "When the time comes… I'll be ready."
Oren raised an eyebrow - but didn't argue. Then he squinted at the full moon and groaned theatrically.
"Would you look at that," he muttered. "My granddaughter's yelling at me again. If we're late to dinner, she'll have this old man sleep without food."
Kael blinked. "Wait, what?"
Oren smirked. "Come along, Kael. Let's not add starvation to your training regimen."