The morning broke with a hush over Los, the ruined city-turned-village, its people stirring slowly from their slumber. The sun had barely crested the broken silhouettes of ancient towers, yet the streets already bustled with muted activity. Shopkeepers unlatched their wooden shutters, mothers carried water from the well, and the guards shifted lazily at the gates, spears tapping the stone.
Inside the small stone house by the river, Kellen stirred from a restless sleep. Sweat clung to his forehead. His dream lingered—the voices in the hall of light, the strange promises, the mechanical tone calling him Master. He pressed his palm against the mark that trailed down his forehead to his neck. It pulsed faintly, in rhythm with his heartbeat, as though mocking his confusion.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. His foster father, Zorin, still slept on the other side of the house, his snores steady, comforting. Kellen envied that kind of peace. He himself hadn't known a peaceful night in months.
The boy laced his boots, grabbed his satchel, and shouldered his crude spear. His stomach growled; the dried grains left at home would barely last another day. That decided it. Today, he would hunt. He would gather food. Perhaps, if fortune favored him, he would bring back enough not only for the two of them but something worth trading in the market.
"Be back before dark," he whispered to himself, though Zorin could not hear.
Kellen slipped past the northern gate. The guards barely glanced at him; he was just the marked boy, after all. Their eyes lingered with a mix of suspicion and pity. He ignored them.
The path into the forest was narrow and overgrown, framed by twisted branches that arched overhead like skeletal arms. Mist lingered in patches, rising from the damp earth. A crow cawed from somewhere unseen, its cry hoarse and warning.
Despite the forest's dark reputation, Kellen felt something akin to belonging here. Among people, he was a ghost, a target of mockery. Among trees, he was simply another living thing. He could breathe.
As he walked deeper, he muttered softly, "You won't find me here, whispering voices. Not today." His words were a fragile shield against the memory of his dream.
The forest soon embraced him fully. The canopy thickened, filtering sunlight into slivers. The ground was a patchwork of moss and roots. The smell of damp leaves filled his lungs. Birds flitted between branches, bright feathers flashing briefly before vanishing.
Kellen crouched near a bush heavy with berries. He rolled one between his fingers, testing its firmness, then bit into it. Sweetness burst on his tongue, followed by a sharp tang. Safe enough. He picked quickly, filling the pouch at his side. His hands stained purple, he smiled faintly. Zorin will like these.
Not far off, he spotted a fig tree, its branches bowed with fruit. He climbed, the bark rough against his palms, and plucked several, tucking them carefully into his satchel. Juice dripped down his wrist; he licked it absentmindedly.
For a moment, life seemed simple. He was just a boy gathering food, like countless others before him.
But simplicity never lasted in Kellen's life.
Hours passed. The sun rose higher, though its light barely pierced the canopy. Kellen moved with practiced care, placing each step silently, eyes alert for movement. Then he heard it—a faint rustle, the sound of something small in the undergrowth.
He dropped low, peering through ferns. There, nibbling at tender shoots, were two rabbits. Their ears twitched, noses twitching as they chewed.
Kellen's pulse quickened. His grip on the spear tightened. He whispered to himself, "Steady… slow… breathe."
He shifted his weight, every motion deliberate. Then, in a single smooth thrust, he hurled the spear.
The stone tip struck true. The first rabbit collapsed instantly, twitching once before lying still.
The second bolted. Kellen sprang after it, his feet barely touching the ground. His other hand snatched the smaller throwing spear strapped across his back. He exhaled, flung it.
The spear grazed the rabbit, sending it tumbling with a squeal. Kellen lunged, pinning it. The animal kicked weakly. He held it firmly, whispering, "Forgive me. I must eat." Then he ended its struggle quickly, as cleanly as he could.
He tied the rabbits to his satchel. Two rabbits, plus fruits—Zorin would be proud. For the first time in days, Kellen felt a spark of triumph.
He leaned against a tree, catching his breath. "Maybe today isn't cursed after all."
Then the forest fell silent.
Not just quieter—silent. The birds stopped singing. The wind stilled. Even the insects hushed.
Kellen straightened, unease prickling his skin. He scanned the trees, every sense straining.
The ground trembled. Once. Twice.
Then it came.
From between the trees lumbered a bull, massive, monstrous. Its hide was dark, almost black, muscles rippling beneath it like coiled cables. Its horns were jagged, cracked, one tipped with dried blood. Its eyes glowed faintly red, burning with fury.
Kellen's breath caught. This was no farm beast. This was something older, wilder, touched by forces he could not name.
The bull snorted, steam blasting from its nostrils. It pawed the ground, lowering its head.
"No… no, no, no…" Kellen whispered. His grip tightened on the spear, though he knew it would be useless.
The bull charged.
Kellen ran.
The forest became a blur. Branches whipped his face, roots threatened to trip him, but he did not dare slow. The bull thundered behind him, each step shaking the earth.
"Faster! Faster!" he urged himself, lungs burning.
He zigzagged, darting between trees. The bull followed, smashing trunks aside like kindling. Bark exploded, leaves rained down.
Once, Kellen stumbled on a root. He barely caught himself before a horn slashed past, gouging a tree where his chest had been. Splinters rained across his face.
He sprinted harder, fear lending him speed he didn't know he possessed. His satchel bounced violently, the rabbits thumping against his side.
Up ahead, he spotted a slope leading to a shallow stream. Without thinking, he leapt, sliding down mud and rock. Water splashed cold against his legs. Behind him, the bull skidded, bellowed in frustration, and turned away, crashing through another part of the forest.
Kellen collapsed beside the stream, gasping. His entire body trembled. "That… that wasn't normal," he whispered. His voice shook. "No beast should be that strong…"
He forced himself to his feet, staggering. He couldn't return the same way. He would have to find another route home.
The new path wound deeper, darker. The light seemed dimmer here, as though the trees themselves leaned inward, smothering the sun.
Then came the smell.
Sharp. Metallic. Heavy. The scent of blood.
Kellen gagged, pulling his sleeve to his nose. But the further he walked, the stronger it grew. His gut twisted. Something was wrong.
The first body appeared suddenly—a deer, torn open, entrails spilled. Flies buzzed greedily.
Kellen staggered back, bile rising in his throat. "What… what did this?"
Another body lay just beyond—a wolf, throat crushed, ribs shattered. Then a boar, its skull split. Then more.
Soon, corpses littered the ground in dozens. Deer, wolves, bears, elk—all slain, left to rot. Their wounds were grotesque, unnatural. Some were crushed as though by immense weight. Others were cut with precision too clean for claws or teeth.
Kellen's breath came fast. His hands shook. "This… this isn't hunting. This is slaughter."
He forced himself onward, though every instinct screamed to turn back. Something compelled him—morbid curiosity, or perhaps the faint pulse of the mark on his skin, urging him forward.
Then he saw it.
The clearing opened like a wound in the forest. And at its center lay a corpse unlike anything Kellen had imagined.
It was a bird, yet no bird he knew.
Its body stretched at least fifteen meters long, wings broken and sprawled across the ground. Feathers, black as obsidian, littered the clearing, each one longer than Kellen's arm. Its beak was massive, cracked open, jagged like a blade, large enough to swallow a man whole. Its talons were curled, each claw the size of a sword.
Kellen's legs nearly gave way. He stepped closer, eyes wide, unable to look away. Awe and terror battled in his chest.
The air around the creature was cold—unnaturally cold. His breath misted though the day was warm. He touched one feather; it burned with icy chill. He recoiled, shuddering.
"What are you…?" he whispered. His voice cracked, barely audible.
The mark on his forehead pulsed violently, as though reacting. His chest tightened. The air grew colder, sharper.
Kellen froze. He could not move. His body refused to obey.
From the treeline, darkness shifted. Not the darkness of shade, but something deeper, blacker. A shape taller than a man, yet formless, rippling like smoke. Its edges bled into the trees, but its gaze was unmistakable. It was watching.
Kellen's heart pounded painfully. Sweat poured down his back. His throat locked; he couldn't scream.
The shadow moved.
That broke him.
With a strangled gasp, Kellen tore free of his paralysis. He ran.
He ran without thought, without direction. Branches tore his skin, blood streaked his arms, but he didn't stop. His lungs burned, his vision blurred, but still he ran. He didn't dare look back. The sense of pursuit pressed on him, heavy, though he heard nothing but his own frantic steps.
At last, the forest thinned. Light broke through. The walls of Los appeared ahead.
He stumbled into the outskirts as night fell, clothes torn, face streaked with dirt and blood. The guards at the northern gate rushed forward, spears ready.
"Kellen? What happened?" one barked.
Kellen collapsed to his knees, gasping. Words tumbled out, broken: "Corpses… so many… a beast… no, not a beast—something else… shadows…"
The guards exchanged wary looks. One crouched, gripping his shoulder. "Slow down. What did you see?"
Kellen's eyes burned with tears. "Hundreds of animals… slaughtered. A bird—giant, bigger than houses. Dead. And… something else. In the trees. Watching me. I—" His voice broke. "It wasn't human."
The guards paled but forced calm. "Stay here. We'll investigate in the morning." Their tone was cautious, doubtful. He could see it in their eyes: they didn't believe him. He was just the marked boy, the outsider.
But fear flickered there too.
Kellen staggered away, ignoring their questions. He needed to get home.
Zorin opened the door before Kellen could knock. The old man's eyes widened at the sight of him—scratched, trembling, pale as ash.
"What happened?!" Zorin demanded, pulling him inside.
Kellen collapsed into a chair, shaking. Words spilled out in a torrent. "The forest… rabbits… then a bull—huge, monstrous. I ran. But then—corpses, Zorin, hundreds. All torn, crushed. And at the center… a bird. Fifteen meters, maybe more. Dead. Cold as ice. And then—then…" His voice faltered, tears stinging his eyes. "A shadow. Blacker than night. It looked at me. I couldn't move. I thought I would die."
Zorin knelt, gripping his shoulders firmly. His eyes were grave. "Did it follow you?"
"I don't know," Kellen whispered. His whole body trembled. "I didn't look back."
Zorin studied him for a long moment, then sighed heavily. "There are things in this world that should never be disturbed, boy. You must stay away from that part of the forest."
"But it's real," Kellen insisted. His voice cracked with desperation. "I'm not making it up!"
"I believe you," Zorin said quietly. His tone was heavy with something unspoken. "And that's what frightens me most."
Kellen stared at him, searching his eyes for answers. But Zorin said no more.
The mark on Kellen's forehead pulsed again, faint but insistent, as though it too had witnessed the shadow—and recognized it.
That night, Kellen lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the corpses, the colossal bird, the shadow in the trees. His body trembled with memory.
Sleep would not come easily.
And deep within, a voice whispered: This is only the beginning.