The morning after the Harvest Festival brought with it a calm haze that settled over the village like a soft blanket. Smoke from dying hearths curled gently through the air, and Mirevale's streets were quieter now, lined with half-toppled stalls and streamers fluttering lazily in the wind.
Draven stood at the edge of the green near the well, arms crossed, watching as little Talia ran in circles with a stick, pretending to fight invisible beasts. Her messy hair bounced with every step.
"Too slow!" he called out with a grin.
"I'm not!" she shouted, swinging at a bush. "I almost got the tail this time!"
Draven stepped forward, dropping into a low stance. "Again, then. Show me your hunter's form."
She grinned fiercely and charged him, her stick raised. He sidestepped her with practiced ease, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. "You're strong," he said, "but next time, keep your footing."
Talia pouted, planting her hands on her hips. "One day I'll beat you, you know."
"I'm counting on it," he said, brushing her tangled hair from her eyes. "But I can't play long today. I've got training."
"With Mara and Jareth?"
He nodded. "Haven't trained in days. The forge's kept me busy."
Talia looked disappointed for a moment, then brightened. "Come back after and tell me about your swordfight."
"I don't use a sword," he chuckled. "You know that."
"Then bring me back a tusk!"
Draven saluted her playfully, then turned toward the path leading to the training glade. "Stay out of the forest," he called behind him.
"I'm not a baby!" she yelled back, already stabbing a tree with renewed vengeance.
---
The glade had long been their training ground — a flat stretch of earth ringed by trees just west of the stream, where grass gave way to packed soil and scuffed stones. When Draven arrived, Jareth was already swinging his sword with dramatic arcs, his footwork kicking up dust. Mara sat nearby, sharpening one of her throwing knives with deliberate precision.
"Finally," Jareth huffed. "Thought you'd fallen asleep on the forge."
"Wrestling monsters," Draven said, stretching out his arms. "Talia's faster than you now."
"She's terrifying," Mara agreed, glancing up. "Last week she tried to throw a spoon at me for calling her 'mouse.'"
Draven smirked, pulling off his overshirt and rolling his shoulders. "Let's warm up."
They moved naturally into practice — Jareth with his wide, confident swings; Mara with low, sharp movement, precise as a needle. Draven stayed unarmed, his bare hands shifting into a low guard.
Jareth paused mid-swing. "Still no weapon, huh? You know Garrik's got half a dozen spare blades."
"I move faster without one," Draven replied, dodging Jareth's strike and sweeping his legs with a twist. "Steel slows me down."
He straightened, fists raised, and added, "My body's what I know best — it bends, it breaks, and when it has to, it hits harder than most blades."
He glanced down at his scarred knuckles, then half-smiled. "Besides… I'd rather be forged into a weapon than carry one."
That earned a look from Mara — not mockery, but something closer to understanding. Jareth just shook his head, grinning. "Still think you're mad, but fine. Let's see you dodge this!"
The morning wore on. They trained in sets — paired sparring, target drills, movement forms. Garrik had sometimes watched them in the past, shouting advice in between hammer strikes, but today the glade was theirs alone.
By the time the sun crested overhead, they were slick with sweat and laughing — bruised but sharp. For a little while, the world outside Mirevale faded.
---
The village square was a half-sunken mess of garlands and wooden scraps. Garrik stood in the middle of it, hands on hips, barking at passing villagers and cursing the state of his hammer.
"There you three are," he growled as they passed. "Thought you'd run off to war."
"We were training," Jareth said, tossing a mock salute.
"Training to starve, maybe," Garrik snorted. "We're low on meat after last night. Go hunt something, will you? Take some pride in earning your supper."
Draven caught his eye and nodded. "We'll bring something back."
"You'd better. And take care — wolves've been seen further south."
As they turned to leave, Talia raced up, panting. "You're going hunting?"
Jareth ruffled her hair. "Stay here, beast-slayer."
Draven knelt, looking her in the eyes. "Next time you can come with us. Today… just protect the village."
She smiled proudly. "I will."
---
The forest was cooler than the village, with patches of filtered light dripping through the trees. Birds flitted overhead, and the underbrush was alive with motion. The trio moved in quiet rhythm — Jareth setting traps, Mara tracking prints, Draven keeping their path clear.
They found signs of deer, caught two rabbits, and speared a wild bird by the stream. It felt almost too easy.
Jareth grinned, hefting the game over his shoulder. "We'll be heroes when we get back."
"I'd settle for a full plate," Draven muttered.
As they started back, Mara slowed. Her eyes narrowed.
"You see that?" she asked, pointing to a row of deep gouges in a tree trunk — longer than any claw should've been. Nearby, shrubs were flattened, and the air smelled faintly… wrong.
"Wasn't here earlier," she whispered.
They moved cautiously now, silent except for the crunch of leaves. Draven felt the hairs on his arms rise.
Then the trees exploded.
A massive shape burst from the underbrush — a beast twisted and wrong. It looked like a boar, but bloated and warped. Its skin was scarred and patchy, its tusks jagged like shattered bone, and its eyes glowed with a sickly pale-blue light.
"What in the gods' names—" Jareth barely got the words out.
"Move!" Mara shouted.
Jareth lunged without hesitation, drawing his sword. He swung at its flank — metal met hide — crack! His blade snapped in half.
"Dammit!" he cursed, stumbling back.
The beast snarled and turned — its eyes locked on them, seething.
Draven didn't flinch. He ran forward and threw a punch — a heavy, brutal strike that cracked against the beast's face.
It staggered. Just for a heartbeat.
Then it let out a blood-chilling roar and charged.
"Draven, get back!" Jareth shouted.
Too late.
The beast rammed its tusks beneath Draven's ribs and launched him. He crashed into a tree with a sickening thud, bark shattering on impact. He hit the ground hard, coughing blood, dazed and gasping for air.
"Draven!" Mara cried.
The beast thundered toward him, snorting fury.
Mara's hand snapped — a blade flew, striking the creature's front leg. It howled. Another knife sank into its neck. It reeled, enraged but off-balance.
"Go for the eye!" she yelled.
Jareth grabbed the broken sword hilt and leapt. "Die already!" he roared, ramming the shard into the beast's eye.
It shrieked, flailing wildly.
Draven groaned, pushing himself up through pain and blurred vision. He wiped blood from his mouth.
Jareth saw him and shouted, "You good?!"
"No," Draven growled, "but I'm not done."
The beast bucked Jareth off. Draven let out a roar of his own and charged.
He leapt onto its back, wrapped his arm around its thick neck, and drove his elbow into its spine.
Once.
Twice.
The beast screeched and tossed him off. He hit the ground hard but rolled back to his feet, eyes blazing.
"Keep it busy!" he shouted.
Mara threw her last knife — it sank deep into the beast's underbelly. "It's bleeding!"
Jareth rammed into its flank, screaming, "Finish it!"
Draven surged forward, grabbed the beast's twisted hide, and with a shout, slammed his knee into its jaw. Then again. He circled behind, muscles burning, blood dripping.
He gritted his teeth.
"I. Said. Down!"
With a final, thunderous blow, he struck the back of its neck and drove it into the dirt. The creature collapsed beneath him — twitching, then still.
Silence.
Draven stood over it, chest rising and falling like a war drum. His arms were cut, face bruised, ribs aching — but he was alive.
And they had won.
---
They lay still for a moment, panting. The forest was deathly quiet.
"What… the hell was that?" Jareth finally said.
Draven wiped blood from his lip. "Not a normal boar."
Mara stood over the carcass. "Its eyes were wrong."
They dragged its body back on a sled of branches. It was slow, heavy work. Garrik met them near the edge of the village, brows raised.
"Where'd you find that?"
"Came out of nowhere," Draven said.
Jareth added, "Charged us. My sword didn't do a thing."
Garrik crouched beside the beast, examining the hide. He ran his fingers over the snout — paused.
Something shimmered beneath the fur. A faint, glowing mark — like an old scar — pulsed once, then faded to nothing.
"Hm."
He stood slowly. "Boars don't act like this," he murmured. "And they don't come this far north."
"What could've drawn it?" Mara asked.
Garrik didn't answer immediately.
"Could be… nothing," he said finally, turning away. "Beasts go mad sometimes."
But as the trio walked off, his eyes lingered on the trees. His jaw was tight. His fingers curled.
Something wasn't right.
Something had changed.