Two years passed like a slow river winding through the forest.
Alaric, once a small, frail boy barely taller than his own staff, now stood at six years old. His body had stretched just enough to lose some of its baby-roundness, his arms and legs a little sturdier from constant training. His snow-white hair was still a mess, sticking out at odd angles no matter how often he tried to pat it down. His golden eyes shone brighter than ever, though, full of wit and stubborn fire.
He wore a proper tunic now, one stitched neatly by the villagers and tied at the waist with a leather strap. It wasn't fancy, but it fit him instead of sagging like oversized hand-me-downs. His staff had also changed—no longer just a stick handed to a child, but smoothed and reinforced by Kael himself.
He looked… less like a lost child, and more like a boy walking his own path.
Not that Alaric noticed.
"Ughhh, my legs are killing me," he groaned, dragging his feet through the dirt path outside the training yard. "Why do I have to run when I already know I hate running? Isn't that a sign from the universe to stop?"
Beside him, Ryn—now taller than ever, his short dark hair cropped clean and his green eyes sharp—snorted. "It's called training. You'd know if you took it seriously."
"I do take it seriously," Alaric shot back, leaning heavily on his staff like an old man. "Seriously painful."
"You're hopeless."
Alaric smirked, glancing up at him. "And yet, somehow, I'm still keeping up with you. Weird, right?"
Ryn's brow twitched. He didn't admit it, but he'd noticed. The Alaric of two years ago would've collapsed halfway through Kael's drills. The boy beside him now was still complaining, still dragging his heels, but he didn't fall behind. He never quit.
The villagers had noticed, too.
The strange, pale-haired child who once earned only whispers and wary stares now drew different looks. Not quite acceptance—but no longer rejection either. He was proving himself little by little, through sheer stubbornness and the shadow that never left his side.
Ashen walked a few steps behind them, silent as ever. His tall frame hadn't changed a bit since the day he appeared. His butler-like suit remained patched and mended, always cared for with uncanny precision, and his silver-gray eyes never wavered from Alaric's small figure. He was a constant presence, a steady blade at Alaric's back, his silence speaking more than words.
But not everything had stayed the same.
The forest had grown restless.
Hunters whispered of strange tracks at the edges of their territory—prints too large for wolves, too heavy for boar. The air in the Grand Forest felt thicker, charged with a pressure that set nerves on edge.
That morning, Kael had addressed the young trainees in the yard.
"The forest is shifting," he said, arms crossed. His stern voice carried across the children gathered in a rough line. "We don't know why, but we will not be caught unprepared. From now on, your drills will double. You'll learn to fight as pairs, then as groups. Survival means trusting the one beside you."
Alaric had groaned so loudly that half the kids laughed.
"Double?!" He'd thrown his head back dramatically. "Kael, do you want me dead? Because this is how I die."
The older man's gaze had cut through him like a blade. "If you cannot handle this, boy, then you will die."
The laughter had faded quick.
Alaric, cowed only for a moment, had muttered under his breath, "Harsh as always. Someone get this man a hobby…"
Now, hours later, the words still sat heavy in his chest.
He leaned on his staff, golden eyes narrowing at the treeline swaying in the late afternoon light. "…Hey, Ryn. Do you think something's really coming?"
Ryn tightened his grip on his wooden sword. "Kael wouldn't say it if it wasn't true."
Alaric exhaled slowly, his smirk fading. "…Figures."
Behind them, Ashen's pale hand brushed against the hilt of his sword, as though answering without words.
The forest rustled. The wind carried a low, strange cry from deep within.
For the first time in a long while, Alaric didn't joke. His fingers curled tighter around his staff.
Something was changing.
And he could feel it in his bones.
The next morning, Kael called for a patrol.
It wasn't unusual for hunters to circle the edges of the forest, but this time, he brought the children with him.
Alaric stared at the group gathered at the gate and rubbed his eyes. "Wait, wait, we're going? Since when did 'kids who can barely lift their weapons' count as hunters?"
"You're here to learn," Kael said flatly, adjusting the strap of his blade across his back. "You'll watch, you'll listen, and you'll remember. Keep your mouths shut and your eyes open."
Alaric raised a finger. "I can manage one of those."
"Which?" Ryn asked, already glaring.
"Eyes closed, mouth open. Perfect balance."
Ryn groaned.
The group set out into the trees, the village shrinking behind them as the forest pressed close. Shafts of sunlight broke through the canopy in long beams, lighting the mossy ground in patches. Birds chattered high above, but their songs felt strained, uneasy somehow.
Alaric trailed behind Ryn, leaning on his staff with every step. "Y'know, I never thought I'd say this, but I miss the training yard. At least there I could lie down dramatically when I got tired."
Ryn shot him a look. "We're barely ten steps outside the wall."
"Exactly. That's ten steps too many."
Despite his words, Alaric's golden eyes were sharp, flicking from tree to tree. He could feel it—something heavy in the air, like the forest was holding its breath.
Ashen walked at the rear, pale and silent. Every so often, his gaze swept the treeline, his silver-gray eyes narrowing faintly. His hand never strayed far from the hilt of his blade.
They walked deeper until Kael raised a hand, halting the group.
Alaric bumped into Ryn's back. "Ow—hey, warn me next time."
"Quiet," Kael said. His voice dropped low.
The hunters spread out, crouching near the ground. One of them pointed at the dirt.
Alaric leaned sideways to peek. At first, he thought it was just a hole—but no. The soil was pressed down, the shape wide, clawed at the tips.
A footprint.
And not from anything small.
Ryn's green eyes narrowed. "…That's huge."
Another hunter spoke up, voice hushed. "Not a bear. Too heavy. Too deep."
Alaric swallowed hard, his usual smirk faltering. His fingers tightened on his staff. "…Sooo… anyone wanna vote on turning back?"
Kael crouched over the print, expression grim. He traced the edge with one calloused finger, then stood. "Fresh. Less than a day old."
The forest grew quieter around them, as if listening.
Alaric licked his lips nervously. "Y'know, I was really hoping the 'strange forest rumors' were just… I dunno, squirrels getting fat."
Ryn gave him a sharp glance. "You scared?"
Alaric forced a grin. "Scared? Pfft, please. I'm just… cautiously realistic. Totally different."
But his golden eyes didn't leave the print.
The patrol continued, slower now. Every snapped twig echoed louder than before, every shadow seemed deeper.
At one point, they found a half-eaten carcass of a deer, torn open, ribs exposed. The stench curled in the air, sharp and rotten.
Alaric gagged, covering his nose. "Oh, gross! Seriously? Did we have to stop and look at it?"
Ryn's face was pale but set. "This isn't normal. Even wolves don't tear like this."
Kael's jaw tightened. He scanned the treeline, then motioned the group back. "Enough. We return."
Relief flooded Alaric's chest. "Finally! I mean—uh—yes, wise decision, captain."
The walk back was heavier. Even the birds had gone silent.
When the village wall finally came into sight, Alaric exhaled so loudly it drew a glare from Ryn. "What? I was just… appreciating being alive."
But even as he joked, his steps quickened. He could still feel the weight of the forest pressing behind them.
Ashen's gaze lingered on the treeline a moment longer before he followed.
That night, whispers spread through the village like fire.
The hunters muttered of tracks too large to be natural, of carcasses torn apart like paper. Mothers hushed their children, eyes darting to the forest's edge. The elder met privately with Kael, their voices low, urgent.
And in their hut, Alaric lay flat on his bedding, staring at the ceiling. His snow-white hair was messy as ever, sticking out at wild angles, and his golden eyes flicked toward the window where shadows stretched long.
"…So. We're doomed," he said flatly.
Ashen, seated beside him like a pale statue, tilted his head.
"I mean, big scary monster footprints? Fresh deer carcasses? The forest going dead quiet? That's textbook horror story setup right there."
He rolled onto his side, propping his cheek against his hand. "You'd think getting a second life would mean less stress, but nooo… I get monsters knocking at my door. Figures."
Ashen didn't reply, but he reached out, adjusting the blanket over Alaric's shoulder.
The boy blinked, then smirked faintly. "…You really don't have to do that every time, y'know."
Still, his chest warmed, and he let the silence stretch.
Outside, the forest whispered.
And the village waited.
The night air was colder than usual.
A pale moon hung above the village, spilling silver light across rooftops and fences. The forest beyond stood silent, its canopy dark and unmoving, as though the trees themselves were holding their breath.
Alaric sat cross-legged on his bedding, chin in his hands. His golden eyes were wide awake, despite the late hour.
"Can't sleep," he muttered. His snow-white hair was sticking up worse than usual, and his staff rested against the wall within arm's reach. "Too quiet. Way too quiet. I hate quiet."
He flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling. His chest felt heavy, like something unseen was pressing down on it. "Great. First time in years I actually want to fall asleep, and my brain's like, 'nope, here's all the ways you're probably gonna die tomorrow.' Thanks, brain."
Ashen stood near the door, sword in hand, his pale figure framed in moonlight. He hadn't moved for hours, perfectly still like a statue. His silver-gray eyes were fixed on the window, watching the tree line.
That didn't help Alaric's nerves.
"Hey," Alaric whispered, voice just loud enough to carry. "You're way too stiff. If I wasn't already anxious, seeing you like that would make me worse."
Ashen's head tilted slightly, but he didn't respond.
Alaric groaned, tugging the blanket over his head. "Ugh, fine, be the spooky bodyguard. Don't mind me. I'll just be over here, imagining monsters with claws bigger than my whole torso."
But even under the blanket, he couldn't block it out.
The silence.
The stillness.
And then—
A sound.
Low. Deep. Carried faint on the wind.
Alaric froze, blanket clutched under his chin. His golden eyes widened in the dark.
"…That wasn't my imagination."
It came again—a distant, rumbling growl that seemed to rattle the air itself.
Alaric sat up so fast he tangled in the blanket and fell back with a thud. "Ow! Okay, not the time!" He scrambled upright, hair sticking out in every direction.
Ashen was already moving. He stepped outside without a word, sword flashing silver in the moonlight.
Alaric stumbled after him, clutching his staff. The night air hit cold against his skin, his breath misting.
The village was waking. Doors creaked open. Lanterns flared to life one by one. Kael appeared at the training yard, blade at his hip, barking orders for the hunters to form up.
And there, beyond the fence—
The trees shifted.
A shadow passed between the trunks, massive and heavy. Branches cracked, leaves shivered.
The growl rolled again, deeper this time, closer.
Children huddled near their homes, wide-eyed. Mothers pulled them back inside. Hunters lifted spears, their faces pale but steady.
Alaric's hands trembled around his staff. His golden eyes locked on the treeline, trying to pierce the dark.
"…It's real," he whispered. "It's really here."
Ryn appeared at his side, wooden sword clutched tight. His green eyes were sharp, but his jaw clenched hard enough to tremble. "…Don't freeze now."
Alaric forced a shaky grin. "Freeze? Me? No way. Totally calm. Cool as ice. Yup. Definitely not about to pee myself."
Ryn didn't even roll his eyes this time.
Because the sound came again—
Closer.
Louder.
The earth itself seemed to hum with it.
Kael's voice cut through the fear, firm and commanding. "Everyone inside. Hunters, with me."
Alaric's staff wavered. His chest tightened.
Ashen stepped forward, blade raised, silver-gray eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight. His figure stood tall and cold, the line between man and specter blurred.
The treeline swayed. Leaves shook.
And then, for a heartbeat, two massive golden eyes gleamed from the dark.
Alaric's breath caught.
"…Oh." His voice cracked. "That's… not good."
The eyes blinked once, slow and deliberate.
Then the forest split with the sound of a massive snarl.