Far to the south, deep within the woodland jungles, the lands of the Beastmen begin to stir. The Nyshara Wilds had never known silence.
The trees reached toward the sky. Light filtered through their leaves in shifting gold, falling in thin ribbons that vanished before touching the ground. The air smelled of rain and fruit and old bark.
Moss spread thick across the roots, soft as wool, and the soil trembled faintly beneath the weight of moving life. Paws, hooves, and claws passed through the green.
The insects sang in a low steady hum, a thousand shadows passing through the underbrush, the leaves fluttered, the air shimmered and the flowers danced as the insects moved like dust in sunlight and somewhere far beyond the trees, a river was flowing ever peaceful, the sound of crashing water against the shore, always present.
Deer drank from the water, their antlers forming tiny droplets as the morning dew clung to every surface, Fox kits played and wrestled in the grass, rolling, biting, and darting off again, disappearing behind bushes only to dart off again a moment later.
At the heart of it stood one people. The Lirakai. Beastmen of the South. Children of the Wilds. They were not guests in this forest. This was their home.
The village of the Trel'Kari lay woven through the trees, half hidden by bush and vine. Their homes were grown more than built, shaped from bark, clay, and riverstone. No walls marked their borders. No gates guarded their paths. The Wilds had always taken care of them, and they in return took care of the wilds.
Smoke lifted from morning fires. The scent of root and fish hung thick in the air. Hides stretched on racks near the edges, and beside them the carved totems. Prayers for balance, calm winds, For another day of peace.
In Trel'Kari lived three races of beastman, The Harakir, The Nyrekai And the Varesh.
The Harakir were known as the elders, Great Towering beasts, Their horns and Antlers casting shadows beneath them, as their hooves carved craters into the earth. They were the Protectors of the forest, and the keepers of wisdom.
The Nyrekai were as quick as the shadows, slipping through the forest without a sound or trace, their fox bright eyes silently watching, waiting for a moment to pounce. They were the hunters, the silent watchers of the forest.
And the Varesh, the Wolfkin, raised their howls in song at the first sign of dawn, They were guardians, scouts, warriors of the forest, and they were first to sense it, the shift in the air, the faltering of the breeze, something in the forest hesitated but only for a moment.
The Harakir Chieftain standing at the center of the village felt it moments later, a shifting under his hooves, the absence of wind pressing against his antlers, he turned his gaze toward the trees, his eyes narrowing, breath slowing, nearby a group of Nyrekai huntresses came to a halt crouched on thick branches above, their tails flickering, ears pinned back, one bared her fangs slightly.
At the Villages edge The Varesh tensed, their fur standing on end, something was wrong and it was getting closer, the roots of the forest groaned not the wind or beast but from a shifting of the earth, the ground itself shook, and the Varesh took small hesitant steps back toward the village, their eyes never leaving the tree line.
A wrongfulness spread through the soil, A pulsing like a heartbeat beneath the earth. The Chieftain inhaled slowly, the weight of something unseen pressing against him, His golden eyes flickered toward the sky, not with curiosity, but with fear, His voice when it came was steady, but there was a small crack in it that couldn't be mistaken
"Gather the young."
The Beastman moved without hesitation, without question. The Nyrekai leapt from their perches, vanishing into woven homes to wake the children. The Varesh held their stance at the edge of the village instincts screaming at them to flee. The Harakir bowed their heads, fingers pressing against sacred carvings in the trees.
The pulse rolled through the earth as something underneath shifted. The first crack split the air, A single tree shuddered and collapsed, its base split in two, A beetle skittering on its surface froze, its tiny legs twitching, and without warning it fell. Dead. the roots of the trees recoiled, leaves that were drifting in the air curled inward and blackened, then turned to ash. The Chieftain turned.
"RUN!"
At that moment the Lirakai Fled, Mothers lifting their children, whispering prayers to the forest, the Elders hesitated, their fingers brushing carvings on totems, then they turned leaving behind centuries of memory, They were not elders, not warriors or scouts they ran as pray. they knew this was something they could not fight.
From its perch high in the canopy, the crow had watched everything, it saw the deer as their antlers cut through the brush, eyes wide with terror. It saw the foxes and the wolves, Their once playful yips now haunting cries that echoed through the forest.
And it saw the Lirakai, Their totems abandoned, the youngest desperately holding on to the fur of the elders. And then it saw what they were running from. The first to change was a young fawn, It was too slow. Its legs buckled as it fell midsprint, The fawn let out a wrapped guttural cry, the sound of something wet and ragged came from its body as its flesh twitched.
The bones in its legs shattered, not from injury, but from something pulsing inside. Its ribs snapped outward, piercing through its skin, a cracking sound, its jaw unhinged, its wide dark eyes boiled red. Then it laid still for a moment. And when it moved again it was not to flee, but to hunt.
A deer screamed nearby, legs giving way, it hit the ground with a loud "thump" as its eyes rolled white, something unseen poured into its veins, flesh began to twitch, bones snapping, reshaping into something that did not resemble the deer.
The Crows talons tightened around the branch, its wings opened wide, it needed to fly. Then pain, a deep sickening spike of all consuming agony dug into the crows bones and tore them apart. Its talons grew, tearing through the branch, its muscles convulsed, tore, reknit themselves into something unnatural. A massive pressure building up within the crow as if it would burst from the inside. Then the first crack, A splintering snap at the base of its beak, it screeched, but the sound came out twisted, mangled. Its beak split, and widened, bone and cartilage twisting over each other and peeling back like a flower of deep red exposed flesh, and in that flower, rows of teeth where none should be.
Its wings snapped open and fell apart, feathers falling and drifting like dead leaves, revealing pulsing sinew, its veins blackened, tendrils spreading through its wings like fractures on glass. The last thing it saw was a fox. It was small. It was weak. And the crow was hungry.
The thing that had once been a crow launched itself from the branch, its grotesque wings beating the air. The wind screamed around it as it plunged downward faster than it had ever flown.
The fox turned, but it was too slow. The creature slammed into it, its talons piercing deep.
The fox shrieked, its small body twitching, then its legs twisted and snapped apart, patches of fur fell away, peeling back to expose blackened flesh. It stopped shrieking, it rose again and it hunted.
The thing that had once been a crow understood, it must hunt, More creatures would flee, and soon the Nyshara wilds would belong to them, But the crow had to go, it was getting hungry again, the foxes are still hiding, the deer are still running, and the Children are still crying.
The creature spread its wings, and then it hunted.
And far beyond the Nyshara Wilds, behind towering mountains, beyond rivers that had once shaped empires.
no other race knew what was coming. Not the elves, who had sealed themselves behind their rivers of magic. Not the dwarves, who had buried themselves deep beneath the stone. Not the humans, who fought to survive in a world that had long forgotten them.
But soon, they would.
End of Chapter 0