The haunting hoots of owls echoed throughout the forest, and although Michael tried his best to remain courageous, the eerie darkness was still something he couldn't get used to. Shrubs, bushes and logs were his common obstacles in the dark, grazing against his clothes and tripping him as he approached the shelter while carrying his harvest for the day.
The shelter was just a simple tent, with two sturdy sticks dug into the ground and a giant tarp covering from above. Michael set down his sack of food and warmed up by the fire, noticing the absence of his mother.
'It is already night. When will she come back?' he wondered. Shrugging off the subject temporarily, he fed a Suller who was lurking nearby with cherries out of boredom. Sullers were little black puffs that spawned in the most deserted and dark areas, and though they seem harmless due to their size, they normally attack in groups, and their preferred method of attack is suffocation.
Michael's mother had once lured a Suller out of hiding with a cherry, and that's how the boy knew they had an affinity for the fruit. He watched as the Suller munched on the food tastefully, whizzing up and down in excitement. Michael smiled.
"Maybe monsters aren't so dangerous after all," he said to himself. "But I should still stay away from those wolf-like Drewls."
Seeing that his mother still did not return, Michael went ahead and cooked dinner. He ate his portion and waited again, but as the crackling fire began to dwindle due to insufficient wood, Michael had a bad feeling that his mother may be in trouble.
'I can't shout for her, since it will attract attention,' he thought. 'She said she was going north to find wood today, but it's been a while since—'
He felt something hit his ankle. When Michael looked down, he saw that it was the Suller hitting him repeatedly, and when it realized it grabbed his attention, it bounced off to the west, hopping frantically.
"It... does it know where she is?"
Michael was astounded, but only after careful hesitation did he follow after it. The Suller was probably hungry and may lead him to nowhere, but he figured he should at least see where it was going. The Suller also paid frequent visits to the mother and son, so he decided to give it the benefit of the doubt.
After some time of chasing, the Suller slowed to stop, and bounced on the spot as though looking around. Michael approached the opening, and felt a surge of nausea winding up from his stomach.
A carcass of a Drewl kin lay sprangled, crimson blood flowing from its chest and staining its pure white fur. Its slitted pupils had shrunk in terror, frozen in time, and its mouth hung wide open, exposing the yellowed fangs inside. Michael averted his eyes from the corpse and swallowed, disgust and fear reclaiming his courage.
But something else caught his attention. The Drewl didn't smell of rotten flesh, as Michael expected. Closing his eyes, he sniffed again, and this time he was sure.
"It smells like... perfume?" He muttered, puzzled.
"Michael! Run!"
He whipped around, and saw his mother rushing towards him, arms flailing and seemingly horrified. Michael was about to call out to her until he noticed her frenzy.
"Run! Run!" she shouted.
He heeded her words and ran. As he did so, Michael looked back, and saw under the moonlight that her hair and clothes stuck to her body oddly, as if she had been doused with some sort of liquid.
He stopped at a distance from the corpse, watching his mother catch up to him. But as she came closer, Michael caught the whiff of the same perfume emanating from her, and when she stepped over the carcass, the familiar growl of a Drewl reached his ears.
Michael watched in horror as his mother was snatched from thin air, reappearing again in the fangs of a grown Drewl. The beast threw her to the ground and salivated, a distinct feature that separated them from normal wolves, in which their saliva contained chemicals that would make one paralyzed.
The woman lay still, partly in her own fear, and partly because of the effect of the chemicals taking place. Michael was about to cry out to her when she raised a finger weakly, and breathed her last word.
"Run."
He clasped his mouth and fell to the ground, quaking and shivering as he heard the Drewl devour his mother viciously, the sound of flesh ripping apart and her horrid screams ringing in his ears. He had shut his eyes the moment his mother lay on the ground, and as her voice softened to nothing, Michael released his hand and gasped for air, hyperventilating.
A pair of boots entered his vision, made of leather and laced with gold. Michael looked up slowly, too stricken to say a word—but he didn't have to, for the next moment he was knocked unconscious.
—
Darian's eyes darted around as he walked back and forth from the window repeatedly. By right, Alina—his Merry—should have arrived. She was so desperate to see him. But even after waiting for thirty minutes, he still did not meet the despicable child.
"She was so excited to see me, and now she's late," he scoffed. "I really can't understand girls."
There was a knock on the door, and Darian sighed, finally meeting his guest. But his guest turned out to be taller, and had the voice of Master Willdyer, who said solemnly, "Come down. There's something you need to see."
Darian was confused. His father rarely spoke to him in such tone. As he followed the master, Darian couldn't help but feel nervous again—was it something to do with Michael? Did they overhear their conversation yesterday?
Master Willdyer led him outside to the meadow, which was a few meters away from Witherblaire Forest. Darian was about to ask why his father brought him to the very place he was warned not to go, but he needn't ask for he had no breath to.
Michael was tied up with a rope, severely beaten as shown from the bruises on his arms and swollen eye. His white outfit was trashed and dirtied, as though someone had threw him into a mud pond and rolled him around for fun. He was on his knees, with two guards flanking on the sides, and extremely close to the mouth of the forest.
"Who is this boy, Darian?"
The heir turned to the questioner and found that it was Sir Felluor, taking a puff of his cigar, his line of vision directed at Michael. "Tell me, who is he?"
Darian clenched his fist to stabilize his emotions. "I do not know, grandfather."
Sir Felluor then switched his vision to Darian sharply, catching the boy off guard, and successfully penetrating into Darian's mind. The grandmaster chuckled. "So Michael is his name."
There was no acting tough now. Darian got on his knees and clasped his hands, begging. "Please, grandfather. Let him go. He didn't do anything wrong."
"You're quite right. He didn't do anything wrong, it was you," Sir Felluor said, grinning towards Alina beside him who adorned a pair of leather boots laced with gold. "You didn't listen, Darian. So this is your punishment."
Darian's eyes widened in terror as his grandfather ordered, "Terrell, blind him."
"No, Father, don't!" He pleaded, turning to latch himself on Master Willdyer's shoes. The man didn't dare to look at his son, and instead conjured wavering energies of light. As he aimed for Michael, he said softly, "I'm sorry, boy."
Light flashed from his palm like laser and hit Michael right in between the eyes, and the boy cried in pain as blood trickled instead of tears.
"I can't see! Darian! Darian!"
"No, stop! Stop hurting him! I'll listen! I'll listen," Darian cried, but Sir Felluor just yawned.
"Oh, you'll listen? Well it's a little too late for that."
Darian groveled on the grass. "Grandfather... Grandfather please, please just let him go... please—"
"I can't just yet, dear boy," he said, and sneered as the climax of the show came into play. "Because you haven't had your turn yet!"
The heir looked up, tears streaming and dumbfounded. "W-What?"
Sir Felluor snapped his fingers. "You're going to blow his ears out, Darian!"
Darian had read before about people being so paralyzed with fear, that they couldn't move to save themselves. He always thought that was stupid, because a human's fight or flight response would automatically trigger upon danger, so he believed it was just a phrase people used to overtly dramatize themselves.
But now, he was feeling first-hand of the paralyzation, and he couldn't move, no matter how much his conscious mind wanted to. His palm and knees were rooted to the ground, unmovable, as the words his grandfather sang rang throughout his ears.
Finally, after a few seconds, he could control his motor system and got up, attempting to run towards Michael and grab him so they could escape. But it turns out, he was just playing his part because his actions meant that they didn't need a guard to bring him over.
As Darian secured his grip on Michael's waist, the boy tried to drag him away, but was cut short when the nearby guards grabbed on Darian's hands and forced him to cover Michael's ears. Darian tried to resist, but the guards' hold was as firm as stone.
"Do it, Darian. Make him deaf." Sir Felluor had come up to the first row to enjoy the show. "You demonstrated extraordinary powers earlier, didn't you? Now it's your time to shine."
"No!" He shook his head vigorously, still trying to fight. "I won't do it! You can't make me!"
The grandmaster twirled the cigar with his fingers, unamused. "You're always wrong, Darian. This is why you should pay attention in class. I can, and will make you do it."
He pressed the burning cigar onto Darian's neck, sizzling through his skin. The spark of pain made Darian lost his sanity momentarily, resulting in a spontaneous burst of sound waves from his palms. Darian regained consciousness when he felt warm liquid gushing his hands, and he whimpered when he finally realized what he had done.
"No... Michael..." he mumbled in defeat, and felt even more so when the blinded, deafened boy just looked, not answering.
Sir Felluor yanked the heir away from his friend, removed the cork from a bottle and dumped the perfume on Michael. A guard then picked him up and threw him into the forest, his limp body still visible to the audience at the meadow.
Darian just stared as Michael rolled around to get up, his face filthy with dirt and blood. As the glowing, slitted pupils of a Drewl advanced on the oblivious boy, growling menacingly, Michael said his last word.
"Darian?"
Needless to say, Michael shared the same fate with his mother.