The torches danced ahead in a wavering procession, throwing long shadows against twisted tree trunks and gnarled roots. Each flicker of flame cast strange shapes on the undergrowth—like beasts half-formed in firelight and smoke.
Kael followed them silently, steps light, calculated. His feet seemed to know where to fall, even without looking. He could see clearly—more clearly than anyone had a right to in this level of darkness. Shapes were sharper, movement crisper. He didn't understand it, and he didn't care to. It had always been this way, even when he was young. Night simply never frightened him—it made sense to him, in a way the daylight never did.
Behind him, Saria was struggling.
"Kael," she whispered harshly for the third time, clinging to the edge of his sleeve to steady herself. "We should go back. This is madness. We're not even supposed to be out here."
He didn't answer. He hadn't answered the last two times either.
She stumbled again, catching herself against his shoulder before falling flat.
"Kael, please."
Still no response.
He pushed forward, eyes locked on the group ahead. They were no more than a dozen paces in front now, torchlight flickering as they marched deeper into the forest's jaws. The sounds of their laughter had died down to murmurs—now replaced with nervous shuffling and forced jokes that didn't quite land.
Saria kept close behind him, brushing branches away and breathing a little harder with every step. She glanced sideways at Kael's face, but it was unreadable—stony, focused. She had known him for almost five years now. Since the strange boy and his stepmother had moved into their quiet village, carrying only a battered cart and a quiet darkness that clung to them like a second skin.
No one welcomed him—not really. The other boys tried to fight him, but they learned quickly that Kael never backed down. He didn't play games, didn't laugh, didn't beg for friendship like the others did. He took punches without flinching. Gave back twice as hard. That's who Kael was.
Except—Saria had seen something else.
She'd seen it the night his stepfather broke a bowl over Kael's head during dinner, and Kael hadn't even lifted a hand to defend himself. She'd seen it when he disappeared into the woods for hours, only to come back with bloodied knuckles and a faraway look in his eyes. She had seen the quiet, heavy way he sat by the river sometimes, like he was trying to remember something painful that didn't want to be remembered.
He wasn't just angry. He was hurting.
And that was why she stayed.
"Kael," she whispered again, a little softer now, like her voice was carrying something fragile.
Still, he said nothing.
They pressed deeper into the woods, the canopy thickening overhead until the stars vanished entirely. The group ahead had stopped again—maybe to check for tracks, or maybe because they were finally realizing how far in they'd gone.
Saria clung closer now, her breath rising in little puffs of unease. Every twig snap made her shoulders jump. The torchlight was growing dimmer, their scent strong in the still air.
And Kael? He was watching—not the boys, not the trees, but something… further. Something that hadn't made itself known yet.
But he could feel it. Something ancient, something buried in the bones of this forest.
Something like a memory that was about to wake up.
---
The deeper they went, the quieter it became.
Kael's steps slowed as he noticed the group ahead had halted. The tall teenager—Tilly, if he remembered the name right—had separated slightly from the others and was pacing slowly between the surrounding trees. His torch flickered against the bark, illuminating splashes of orange and black across the gnarled wood. But it was his movements that caught Kael's attention—too slow, too deliberate, and far too focused for someone who was supposed to be just "hunting."
Kael narrowed his eyes.
"Something's off," he muttered under his breath.
Saria, still hugging her arms and shivering slightly, glanced up at him. "What did you say?"
Kael didn't answer. His mind was already turning over thoughts with a sharp, quiet intensity.
Tilly was examining the trees—not just looking for animal tracks or nests, but studying them. The way his fingers trailed over the bark, his head occasionally tilting like he was trying to match a memory to a shape. This wasn't hunting. This was searching. For something specific.
Kael's frown deepened.
There was something stupidly brave—or suicidally reckless—about heading this deep into the forest under a veil of darkness. While wild animals might be sluggish and slower to react, they weren't blind. In fact, most of them thrived in the dark. Wolves, shadowcats, bone-crawlers—they all hunted better at night. Their eyes glowed, their instincts sharp, and their senses honed over centuries of nocturnal predation.
Humans? Not so much.
Especially not teenage boys who still thought the worst thing in life was a bruised ego.
Kael's eyes moved slowly across the others. They were growing restless. One was fiddling nervously with his torch, another looked back the way they came. But not Tilly. He moved with intent. Purpose.
And that was the problem.
Kael squinted, staring at the glow that painted half of Tilly's face. It didn't show fear. It didn't show hope, either. It showed… anticipation. Like someone waiting for a sign. A pattern. A marker.
"What the hell are you looking for…?" Kael muttered to himself.
Saria shifted beside him. "Kael. I don't like this. This isn't just some dumb hunt anymore."
He said nothing.
A sharp gust of wind rustled the branches overhead. The torches danced, their flames wavering like they were nervous too. The leaves whispered secrets above them in tongues older than the kingdom itself.
Kael took a step forward, just enough to peer more clearly at the tree Tilly was standing near. The bark was dark and split near the base, revealing an odd, jagged scar across its trunk—like it had once been branded with a mark, or a rune long eroded by time.
Kael's breath caught.
Tilly bent over, brushing dirt away from the roots of the tree. Then, as if realizing he was being watched, he glanced over his shoulder.
For a brief second, their eyes met.
And in that second, Kael knew two things:
Tilly wasn't here for sport.
And he didn't want witnesses.
---
Kael stiffened in the underbrush, eyes narrowing as the group's leader—the tall teenager called Tilly—knelt to the forest floor.
The nervous boy who had just voiced concern hovered awkwardly beside him, but Tilly didn't respond with anger or argument. Instead, he calmly reached into his hunting bag and retrieved something Kael hadn't expected to see: a scroll.
Not just any scroll.
Its edges glowed faintly with a dull blue light—runes scorched along its trim like a chain of coiled serpents, writhing just beneath the surface. Even from a distance, Kael could feel the weight of it. Something old. Something unnatural.
The nervous boy leaned closer as Tilly pulled out a second, smaller parchment and handed it to him without a word. Then Tilly rose slowly to his feet, his back straightening, face illuminated in amber firelight.
Kael watched, unmoving, his jaw tense.
Tilly's voice rose, calm but brimming with that self-righteous conviction only fools and zealots possess.
> "This is it," he said. "After tonight, we won't just be nobodies with wooden spears and empty dreams. We'll have something real. Something they can't ignore."
A hush fell over the other teens.
Then he said it:
> "After tonight… we'll be worthy of admission into the Royal Magic Academy."
A ripple tore through the group.
Gasps. Whispers. Wide eyes turned to one another, disbelief mingled with the hot spark of wild ambition. One girl clutched her torch tighter. A boy with a freckled face stared at the scroll like it was the gateway to paradise.
Kael's chest tightened.
That scroll… it's magical. And dangerous.
His instincts screamed it. But worse than that… it was ominous. He didn't know how he knew—he just knew.
A short boy with a hunting knife strapped to his hip stepped forward. "Tilly… what do you mean? You found a spell that… what, gets us in?"
Tilly chuckled, a low sound that didn't match the boyish face beneath his shaggy hair. "Not quite," he said, tossing a cocky glance over his shoulder. "We're going to show them we belong. This forest hides old things. Forgotten things. But I've got the map. The incantation. The offering."
He handed his torch to the girl beside him—who took it, pale-faced, eyes never leaving the scroll—and opened it wide with both hands.
Then he nodded to the boy holding the parchment. "Read it," he commanded.
The boy hesitated. "Tilly, what if it's—?"
"Read it," Tilly repeated, sharper now.
And the boy obeyed.
His voice trembled as he spoke, stammering syllables that didn't belong to any tongue Kael had heard before. The air around them shivered—like a taut thread being pulled too far.
Kael didn't move.
But his blood… it howled.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
Something was wrong here.
Not just with the ritual… but with him.