Two soldiers stand outside the watchtower, holding spears in their hands. A gentle breeze blows through the air, and above them, the shadow of the kingdom's flag—bearing the image of a man with the sun behind his head—dances on the wall, flickering in the dim light of the marshal's torch. Suddenly, they notice a shadow rushing toward them. For a moment, fear grips them both. Startled, they brace themselves and point their spears forward, ready for whatever is coming.
As the shadow draws closer, the soldiers grow increasingly tense. Struggling to stay composed, they grip their spears tightly, ready to strike in fear. But as the figure approaches, the marshal's torchlight slowly begins to reveal its form—bit by bit, the shadow takes shape. The soldiers now see that it's a man running toward them. Still unsure and afraid, they hold their ground. The man is just a few meters away now—clearly terrified, he is running as if fleeing from something.
Seeing the man rushing toward them, one of the soldiers steps forward slightly. When the man is just a short distance away, the soldier shouts.
"Stop right there! Who are you?"
The man stops where he is, saying nothing. One of the soldiers squints, trying to get a better look at him, but the darkness—combined with the limited reach of the torchlight—makes it difficult to see his face clearly. The soldiers keep their spears pointed toward him, still on high alert.
After a brief pause, the man finally speaks—his voice shaky, as if he's catching his breath between words.
"I… I'm from the southern part of the Porta region," he says, panting. "My name is Mora."
Porta lies two kilometers away from the watchtower, in the southern part of the kingdom. It's a small region, stretched across a one-kilometer radius, nestled on the outskirts.
The soldier pauses for a moment, thinking.
"Alright… slowly step forward."
The soldiers, still afraid, tighten their grip on their spears and brace themselves—ready to face whatever danger might come. The man slowly steps forward. As he comes into view, they see a thin figure with hair reaching down to his neck, messy and unkempt. He's wearing tattered and dirty clothes. Over his body is a white tunic, now looking grimy from filth, and below, a pair of loose-fitting pants.
After seeing him clearly, the fear slowly begins to fade from the soldiers' minds, and they start to relax. One of them clears his throat and then, in a strict and commanding tone.
"What happened? You look scared. Why were you running so fast?"
The man, still trembling, tries to compose himself. He clenches his fists, as if struggling to speak, fear gripping his voice.
"There is a Dweller…"
The soldiers' eyes widened as if something had choked their throats, fear gripping their hearts. Trembling once again, they tightened their grip on their spears. One soldier tried to speak, but no words came out. His lips quivered, moving soundlessly in the air, almost as if they were trying to form words without ever touching. Finally, he managed to speak—
"Are you sure?"
The man nodded his head. Clenching his fists, he gripped the left side of his chest with right hand in fear.
"And… it has already killed many people."
One soldier looked at the other in fear.
"You go. Get Master Kelfo to the southern part of Porta. I'll go with the man."
The other soldier nodded and told him to be careful. Then, as fast as he could, he took off running—one soldier and the man heading toward Porta, while the other soldier ran in the opposite direction.
***
After some time, they reached the southern region. Their eyes widened at the sight revealed in the torchlight—bodies torn apart, blood smeared across the walls like a gruesome painting. Fear gripped them once again, and they stood frozen, unable to move, as if their legs had turned to stone.
The soldier struggled to move forward, trying to see what was happening, but his body wouldn't respond. Slowly, he began to feel as if his stone-like legs were being swallowed by the ground itself—dragged into the mud.
But the soldier somehow composed himself and forced his legs to move, stepping deeper into the scene—toward the scattered corpses. The man followed behind him, terror still lingering in his eyes.
As they went deeper into the streets, they saw corpses hanging from rooftops and body parts stuck to the walls. With every step, the soldier's legs grew heavier—every cell in his body screamed at him to turn and run. Suddenly, he heard a sound. He raised his hand to signal the man to stop and whispered.
"Did you hear that?"
But the man didn't respond. As the silence stretched, the soldier turned around to look at him—and froze.
His eyes widened, and fear clenched his entire body. He couldn't breathe.
The man was gone.
Only the corpses he had passed earlier remained, lying cold and lifeless.
Then, as he slowly tilted his head to the left, eyes drifting upward toward a nearby rooftop, his skin turned pale.
There—sitting on the rooftop—was the man.
But he was no longer alive.
His head had been crushed, as if two hammers had struck it from both sides at once.
As fear slammed into him like hammers, his legs froze—heavy as stone.
But that same fear pushed him forward.
He ran.
Ran like he had never run before.
As he ran, crossing street after street, he noticed a shadow keeping pace with him—on the next street over, running parallel, as if it were his reflection sprinting alongside. But as he approached the next intersection, turning toward the right, the shadow vanished.
And then—
A sudden thud echoed behind him, the sound of something heavy falling.
His mind urged him to look back, to see where the sound had come from—
but the fear flooding his body made every cell scream: Don't look.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young boy standing at the doorway of a house, waving at him—gesturing for him to come inside.
As the soldier was approaching the house, a shadow suddenly appeared on the rooftop—right above where the boy had been standing.
Seeing it, the soldier froze.
At first glance, the shadow looked human…
But the soldier knew—It wasn't human.
At least, not anymore.
As the shadow leapt toward the soldier to kill him, he suppressed his fear as much as he could—though he was still scared to death.
But he refused to die like that.
In a desperate, almost futile attempt, he summoned everything he had learned. Channeling his energy into the spear, he hurled it toward the shadow.
The spear struck.
It pierced through the shadow's abdomen, creating a hole in its body.Unbalanced, the shadow stumbled and crashed toward the soldier—but he dodged just in time.
Without wasting another second, the soldier ran toward the house as fast as he could. He dove inside, and the boy quickly slammed the door shut behind him.
Just then, before the door was closing, in the last moment...In the faint light, the soldier saw something—claws, no larger than a finger, tightly gripping the embedded spear…
trying to pull it out.
After the boy shut the door, the soldier leaned against the wall and slowly sat down, breathing heavily.
A little relief washed over him, easing the edge of his fear—but confusion still clouded his mind.
The soldier looked at the boy with a mix of confusion and fear, and the boy, equally terrified, stared back at him.
Both of them sat there, eyes locked—a faint fear lingering in their expressions, and an uneasy silence hanging between them.
Breaking the silence, the soldier adjusted his posture—straightening his left leg while folding his right, then resting his right hand on his knee.
"It might be rude of me to ask after you just saved my life… but how come that thing outside isn't entering your house?"
The boy looked a little confused, scratching his head.
"I… I don't know," he said. "It's tried a few times before, but… it just seems like it can't enter my house."
The soldier furrowed his brows, staring intently at the boy—deep in thought.
He opened his mouth to speak… but then closed it again.
After a moment of silence
"Why didn't you save the others?"
The boy looked down in shame, clenching his fists tightly.His voice was low as he said,
"By the time I woke up from the commotion… it was already too late."
Seeing the boy's expression, the soldier spoke gently
"Don't worry. It's not your fault."
He paused for a moment
"Where are your parents?"
Suddenly, a look of sorrow appeared on the boy's face—but he quickly forced a slight smile to hide it.
"They're in the Second City," he said softly.
The soldier looked confused once again, his brows tightening in thought.
"When are they coming back?"
A flicker of fear and sorrow crossed the boy's face. Then, with a small shrug of his shoulders.
"I don't know… They left two years ago."
After hearing that, a trace of sadness and pity appeared on the soldier's face.
He opened his mouth to speak—but just then, a sound echoed from outside.
Both the boy and the soldier instantly became alert.
They leaned in slightly, focusing their ears—trying to catch a clearer glimpse of the sound coming from outside.
Their eyes widened in shock, they could hear the faint sound of a little boy crying outside.