As Bael pressed forward through the snow still stained crimson, oblivious to the invisible eyes tracking him from the shadows, the cabin wore only a fragile mask of calm.
A couple of hours had passed since he left home.
In one of the back rooms, the dim light of a single candle rested on a small wooden table, casting long, gentle shadows that barely stirred with the faint movement of air.
Elia slept deeply in the bed, wrapped in a thick wool blanket; her breathing was calm, rhythmic, almost inaudible. Her childlike face looked peaceful, untouched by the crushing weight the world carried around her.
Seated in a chair beside the bed, her mother watched her in silence. A tender—almost painfully protective—gaze softened the hardened lines of her face. Her hands rested crossed in her lap, motionless, as though the slightest movement might shatter the delicate balance of the girl's sleep.
Suddenly, the stillness cracked.
The shadows in the corners of the room began to flicker with restrained violence, as if an unseen force were shaking them from within. It lasted only a heartbeat; then the darkness stilled once more. From the deepest gloom, in the corner farthest from the candle, two feminine figures emerged.
They wore black cloaks that seemed to drink the light itself. Deep hoods completely hid their faces. They materialized without a sound, as though the shadows had spat them into the world.
The mother didn't flinch. She continued gazing at Elia for a few more seconds before speaking, never taking her eyes off the child.
"Speak."
Her voice was low, serene, yet carried absolute authority.
One of the figures bowed her head even deeper in total submission.
"Everything is done, my lady. At this very moment, they should be on the verge of meeting."
The woman let out a soft, almost melodic hum and gave the tiniest nod.
The second figure stepped forward. She reached beneath her cloak and drew out a small envelope sealed with black wax. She approached with silent steps and offered it with both hands, as reverently as one would present a sacred relic.
"My lady, this letter comes from Lady Bani."
For the first time, the mother lifted her gaze.
She studied the messenger for a long moment, assessing her in silence, before taking the envelope with steady, precise fingers.
She opened it without ceremony. Her eyes scanned the lines quickly. Another soft hum escaped her lips as she read. When she finished, the letter began to dissolve: the edges turned translucent, the paper crumbled into flecks of black ash that scattered into the air and vanished without a trace.
She rose with measured movements and walked to the window. She looked outside, where snow continued falling silently over the endless forest.
"You may withdraw."
The words were curt, final.
In an instant, the two figures sank into the shadows as though the floor itself were reclaiming them. In the blink of an eye, they were gone.
The room returned to silence, broken only by the almost imperceptible crackle of the candle.
The woman stood motionless for a few moments, staring at the night sky through the fogged glass. Then her gaze drifted southward—toward the invisible point where Bael had departed hours earlier. Though the distance was vast, she seemed able to sense him, to feel every single one of his steps.
"Do not disappoint me, my son," she murmured in a flat, cold voice, the tone of someone pronouncing an irrevocable verdict.
She returned to the bedside. She paused, watching Elia: hair spilled across the pillow, still eyelashes, tiny hand curled into an innocent fist.
She leaned down slowly and began to stroke the girl's hair with a gentleness that brutally contrasted with the hardness of her earlier words.
"Be the hero your sister wishes for," she whispered, her voice now tender, almost breaking. "After all… neither you nor I would want her to have to take your place."
A faint, barely perceptible smile curved her lips. She leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss to the child's cheek.
Carefully, she lay down beside her on the bed. She wrapped a protective arm around Elia and closed her eyes, letting her daughter's warmth envelop her completely.
Meanwhile, Bael continued on his way.
Only a few minutes had passed since he left the massacre behind. He walked unhurriedly, slow and carefree steps, listening to the rhythmic crunch of snow beneath his boots.
Though the hunters had called this zone a "hunting ground," it had long since ceased to be one. His mother had turned the land surrounding the cabin into a vast playground for her two children—a territory where only those she permitted could enter… and very few ever left alive.
Bael lifted his eyes to the overcast sky.
"What's the world like beyond this mountain?" he whispered to himself.
Despite the happiness he found living with his mother and sister, a sharp curiosity about the outside world had always gnawed at him. His mother had never allowed them to leave this place. His only windows to the beyond were dusty books in the library and the brief interrogations he had conducted on the first intruders foolish enough to cross the invisible boundary.
The blizzard began to intensify.
Bael raised a hand to his forehead to brush away the accumulating flakes. He stopped. Ran his fingers over his skin again.
"Sweat?"
He frowned.
"That's impossible."
The cold was biting, glacial. Yet his breathing quickened for no apparent reason. Within seconds his clothes were soaked beneath the layers, his heart pounding with excessive force.
"What is this?"
The pressure slammed into him all at once—as though his mother stood before him, releasing only a fraction of her true power. He looked around: nothing. Just snow, trees, and fog.
Then he heard it—the dull, heavy sound of something being dragged across the ground.
From the mist emerged a humanoid figure. Tall, with long black hair that flowed like liquid shadow. A long sword trailed behind it, carving a deep furrow in the snow.
A monster.
Bael's hand went to the hilt of his sword and gripped it tightly.
"Rank 4," he muttered.
Impossible. His mother would never allow a creature of that level to roam free here.
Unless…
"Damn it. Another death test."
The figure stopped in front of him.
It was humanoid, yes—but its red eyes held no life: dull, empty. An undead.
Bael tightened his grip again. Undead did not appear in this region naturally. Someone had brought it here on purpose.
And there was only one person capable of summoning monsters inside her territory.
"I see," Bael thought, loosening his hold slightly. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm.
"She wants me to break through the rank. I've been stuck at advanced Rank 3 for too long. Time to step into Rank 4."
"Why can't I do it the normal way?"
He knew his mother. He knew she loved him—just as she loved Elia—but he also knew that if he died here and now, she would not intervene. She would not save him. She would watch, evaluate, and move forward.
He inhaled deeply. Adjusted his stance.
"I have to do it. If Mother sent it, it's because she believes I can. I won't disappoint her."
His thoughts crystallized in an instant. A bead of sweat slid down his forehead and fell to the ground.
Suddenly, a shockwave erupted simultaneously from the north and south.
Both the undead and Bael vanished from their positions.
Bael was fast: he drew his sword in one fluid motion and swung with all his strength.
But the undead was faster.
Before Bael could complete the arc, he barely managed to cross his blade in guard.
The clash of two swords rang out like thunder in the snowy forest.
In an instant, both figures recoiled.
The undead retreated several steps with supernatural stability.
Bael, on the other hand, crashed back-first into a massive pine. The impact gouged a crater in the trunk; splinters flew in every direction as snow swirled wildly around him.
He rose slowly, spitting blood, eyes locked on the figure already advancing again—dragging its sword with the same lethal calm.