A clan of small ogres feasted on freshly hunted prey deep in the forest. At their center stood a spire-like stone structure.
Three meters tall and two meters wide, its surface carved with door-like patterns gave it the appearance of an alien shrine. Moss clung to its weathered surface—a relic long forgotten.
The ogres ignored the odd monument, too engrossed in tearing flesh from bone.
Then—a sound.
Creeeak—
The stone door swung inward like weathered timber.
Glen stepped through, expecting darkness. Instead, blinding light speared his night-adapted eyes. He shielded his face with a curse.
When his vision cleared, he froze.
Dozens of grotesque humanoids stared back, chunks of raw meat dripping from their jaws.
"Uh… hello?"
"F-FOOD!"
One ogre's guttural cry shattered the silence.
Stone axes and clubs rose as the pack charged.
Well. That's a warm welcome.
Glen flexed his wrists. Talons erupted from his fingertips.
Minutes later, scattered corpses littered the moss. Survivors scrambled into the trees—limbs shattered, bellies torn. Glen had let them flee; rotting ogres would stink up the place.
Where in hell am I?
He scanned the dense woodland. Only his arms had wolfed out, sparing his clothes.
Behind him, the stone door stood open. A portal beneath my basement?
His fingers traced its surface: stone exterior, wood interior. Then he saw it—a circle of glowing runes coiled around his right wrist. The door-handle hand.
Branded when I turned the knob?
Before he could ponder, the door slammed shut.
"No—!"
He clawed at the seam. Solid stone.
Teeth gritted, panic rising—
Breathe. Think.
He pressed his runed wrist against a triangular carving on the monolith.
Fwoom.
The door slid open.
Exit secured.
Now for reconnaissance.
He scaled the nearest peak. Beyond endless emerald canopies, civilization erupted—
Walled city. Gothic spires. Factories belching sulfur-tinged smoke.
A provincial capital?
Glen hurtled downhill. Wind ripped past as half-wolf speed blurred the forest.
At the city's outskirts, he shed his fangs and approached the road. Merchants hauled wares on lizard-beasts large as carts. Horned cats pulled carriages. Soldiers in breastplates leveled muskets at troublemakers.
Glen flagged down a young traveler.
"Hey—where am I? Got lost in the woods."
The youth eyed Glen's worn clothes.
"Kailadelia City. You'd have to be a hermit not to know that."
Kailadelia?
Not just any capital—the Western Crown Jewel. Miles from Byrek. Almost touching the royal domain.
"You alright, mate?"
The traveler waved a hand before Glen's stunned face.
"Just… overwhelmed." Glen forced a grin. "Never seen a proper city before."
The youth muttered "weirdo" and hurried off.
Teleportation magic. Like that animated film…
Glen retreated into the trees.
Previous owner was no ordinary mage. But that dusty cellar…
He's long dead.
Near the gates, a police officer's eagle familiar screeched.
"Wolf-stink! I swear—"
"Impossible," the officer snapped. "Knights purged these woods last month."
Layla smoothed her best dress—azure linen with pearl buttons. A wide-brimmed hat shaded her face as she clutched a basket of precious gifts: smoked ham, honey cakes, spiced cider. All extravagances for her poor household.
Mother insisted.
Delia had fretted over the offerings all morning.
"The gentleman saved my life. This is barely enough."
But Layla's friends had refused to accompany her.
Bonnie—freckled, wide-eyed—peered through her door crack.
"Byrek Town's cursed! Monsters in the mist! I barely escaped!"
Layla laughed, adjusting her hat.
"Fairytales, Bon. That kind man lives there."
"Ask the adults!" Bonnie's voice pitched higher. "They'll tell you—it's a death trap!"
Layla hugged her trembling friend.
"I'll be careful. Promise."
As she walked, doubt gnawed. Why would Glen live in a monster-filled hellscape?
And why has no one else reported it?
She squared her shoulders. The truth awaited in Byrek.