The monster's body still smoked where it had fallen. Torches flickered against its massive frame, shadows stretching long across the dirt. The stench of blood, ash, and fur filled the night air.
The hunters pulled back, their arms heavy, their breaths ragged. Some leaned on their spears, others simply dropped to the ground. It was over.
But the silence that followed was strange.
All eyes drifted not to Ashen—the one who struck the final blow—but to the small boy slumped beside Ryn, a staff still clutched weakly in his hand.
Alaric's head lolled forward, his snow-white hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His golden eyes were half-shut, but faint threads of mana still shimmered around him like a fading echo of the spell.
No one had missed it.
Kael's jaw tightened. His broad frame moved slowly toward them, spear tip dragging against the dirt. The torchlight caught on the scar that ran down his cheek, making his sharp expression all the harsher.
"That boy," he said flatly. "He used magic."
The hunters murmured among themselves. Some voices carried awe.
"Never seen a child cast like that…"
"He slowed the beast. Saved lives."
Others whispered uneasily.
"Magic that twisted the ground like that…"
"Is it natural? No child should wield power like that."
Ryn straightened where he sat, bristling as the murmurs grew. He put an arm in front of Alaric as though to shield him. "He saved us. You all saw it!"
Kael's eyes narrowed. "And you saw what else it did. Roots and rot, life and decay at once. Power like that is dangerous—especially from a child."
Alaric groaned faintly, lifting his head just enough to glare weakly. His golden eyes, dulled by exhaustion, still carried their sharpness. "You're welcome… by the way."
A ripple went through the hunters—some startled laughs, some dark looks.
"Cheeky brat…" one muttered, though not without grudging respect.
Ashen finally stepped forward. His pale figure loomed behind Alaric, his blood-smeared blade already sheathed. His suit was torn at the edges, yet his composure was flawless, as if battle had barely touched him.
His silver-gray eyes swept across the gathered villagers. "The boy is alive. The village stands. That is what matters."
The quiet weight of his voice cut through the murmurs.
Kael didn't look away. His grip on the spear tightened, then loosened again. "…We'll speak of this in the morning. Elder should hear it first."
The hunters exchanged uncertain glances but slowly dispersed, dragging the beast's carcass away, dousing torches, and carrying the wounded back toward the houses.
Only Kael's gaze lingered on Alaric, sharp and unreadable, before he too turned away.
Ryn exhaled hard, his shoulders slumping. "You're insane, you know that?"
Alaric tilted his head against Ryn's shoulder, smirking faintly despite his pale face. "Yeah. But admit it—I was amazing."
Ryn rolled his eyes, but his grip on Alaric's arm tightened protectively.
Ashen said nothing, though his hand briefly rested against Alaric's shoulder, a silent weight that steadied him. His eyes softened, if only for a flicker, before he turned toward the shadows again.
The night was quiet now. But Alaric knew—quiet never lasted long.
Morning came slowly.
Alaric woke to the smell of woodsmoke and herbs. His body ached everywhere, as if he'd been trampled by the beast instead of just nearly eaten by it. His snow-white hair was sticking out worse than usual, strands falling into his golden eyes when he sat up.
Ryn was already there, arms crossed, sitting on the floor beside his bed. The boy's tunic was rumpled, his wooden sword leaning against the wall within reach. His green eyes narrowed the moment Alaric stirred.
"You're awake. Finally."
Alaric blinked at him, then yawned. "…Morning. Did I save the village, or was that just a really vivid dream?"
Ryn frowned. "You saved it. And nearly got yourself killed. Again."
Alaric smirked weakly. "So… you're saying I looked cool?"
Ryn groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You looked like an idiot."
Before Alaric could reply, the door slid open. Ashen stepped inside, his pale figure as composed as ever despite his torn suit now being neatly mended. His silver-gray eyes met Alaric's for a moment, unreadable but steady.
"The Elder has summoned you," he said. His tone carried no weight of choice—it was simply what would happen.
Alaric sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the bedding. "Great. Trial by old people. Just what I needed."
Ryn grabbed his arm and hauled him up with surprising strength. "Come on. You don't get to be lazy today."
The Elder's house was at the center of the village, larger than the rest but plain in its construction. Its wooden beams were worn smooth, its roof patched carefully, and herbs hung drying along the outer walls.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke from a small brazier. The Elder sat cross-legged behind a low table, his lined face shadowed in the dim light. Kael stood off to one side, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
The moment Alaric entered, whispers rose from the few hunters who had also gathered. Their gazes pressed down on him—some wary, some curious, all heavy.
Alaric scratched the back of his messy head, trying to look bored instead of nervous. "…So. You wanted to talk."
The Elder's gaze lingered on him. His voice was calm, low. "We saw what you did last night. No child your age should command mana like that. Tell me, boy… where did you learn it?"
Alaric hesitated. His heart thumped once, hard. He couldn't say I have an adult's soul. He couldn't say I trained in secret with the undead butler you all think is just a servant.
His golden eyes flicked toward Ashen.
The pale man stood silently behind him, posture straight, expression unreadable. His presence was steady, but it gave no answer.
Ryn stepped forward suddenly, his small shoulders squared. "It doesn't matter where he learned it. He saved us. Without him, the beast would've killed more of us. You all know that."
The room shifted with murmurs. Some nodded, others frowned.
Kael's eyes narrowed further. "Power like that is not only salvation. It is danger. If he loses control…"
Alaric cut him off, his voice sharper than expected. "I did control it. And if I hadn't, you'd all be dead. So maybe a little 'thank you' before the interrogation?"
The words hung heavy. Bold, reckless—too bold for a boy his age. But they were his.
The Elder did not scold him. Instead, his gaze grew heavier, as if peering through the small body to weigh the soul inside. At last, he spoke quietly.
"Very well. Gratitude is owed. You fought for the village, and you live as part of it now. But know this—power carries weight. From this day, you are no longer just a child here. We will watch you… and judge you by what you choose to do with that strength."
The hunters bowed their heads. Kael's scowl remained, but he said nothing more.
Alaric swallowed, throat dry, but forced a grin anyway. "Guess I'm moving up in the world. Babysitter to monster slayer in one night."
Ryn elbowed him hard, but the corner of his mouth twitched with a smile.
Behind them, Ashen's silver eyes lingered on Alaric for a moment longer, softer than before.
The meeting ended, but the weight of it clung to Alaric as he stepped out into the daylight.
The village was alive with the sound of repairs—hammers striking wood, ropes tightening, voices calling across the square. Hunters carried sharpened spears, mothers fetched water, children peeked from doorways.
And everywhere he went, eyes followed him.
Some were wide with awe.
"That's the boy who slowed the beast."
"He saved the hunters. Maybe he's blessed."
Others narrowed with unease.
"No child should twist the ground like that."
"It wasn't natural… it felt wrong."
Alaric shoved his hands into his tunic pockets and hunched his shoulders, trying to ignore the whispers. His snow-white hair caught the sun, making him stand out even more against the villagers' earthy tones. His golden eyes narrowed as he muttered under his breath.
"Great. Now I'm either a hero or a curse, depending on who you ask. Love that for me."
Ryn walked beside him, chin high, glaring at anyone who stared too long. "Ignore them. You did the right thing."
Alaric sighed. "Yeah, well, the right thing comes with a lot of staring. I liked it better when nobody noticed me."
Ashen followed silently behind, his tall figure as calm as ever, his black suit freshly mended. Yet his presence was subtly closer than before, as though daring anyone to come too near. His pale gaze swept over the villagers once, cool and steady, and the whispers quieted under its weight.
But even with Ashen's shadow guarding him, Alaric felt the shift.
He was no longer just the quiet boy with the strange guardian.
He was something else now—someone the village would talk about in hushed tones, someone they'd look to in fear or hope.
Alaric kicked a stone across the dirt path and muttered, "…Guess keeping my head down isn't an option anymore."
For the first time in a long while, his laziness wasn't enough to hide him.
The world had seen.
And it would keep watching.