"I don't like this," Renrou muttered, his voice low but tense. He scanned the trees, eyes darting from shadow to shadow. "It's too quiet."
Nicolas nodded in agreement but said nothing. His grip tightened on his spear as they pushed deeper. He had heard the stories of the Gloamwood, how hunters sometimes disappeared into its depths, never to return. But he wasn't afraid—not of the woods, at least. He had faced far worse, and if there were Wesen hiding here, he would find them. Or they would find him.
They walked for hours, their pace steady but cautious. The deeper they ventured, the more the forest seemed to change. The trees grew thicker, their roots and branches intertwining to create an almost maze-like structure. The air grew damp and heavy, the mist swirling in thicker patches around them. Occasionally, they came across strange markings on the trees—deep gouges in the bark, as if something large and clawed had passed through. Nicolas knelt beside one of the markings, tracing his fingers over the rough edges. It was fresh.
"We're close," he said quietly, standing up and adjusting his pack.
Renrou didn't respond, but the tension in his posture was clear. He scanned the area around them, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
By midday, they had found a small clearing surrounded by towering oaks, their branches thick with tangled vines. It was as good a place as any to rest, though neither boy felt comfortable in the open. They sat with their backs against one of the massive trees, eating in silence. Nicolas chewed on a piece of dried meat, his eyes never leaving the shadows that lurked beyond the clearing. His mind wandered back to the night his village had been attacked—the screams, the smell of smoke, the terror of it all. He clenched his fists, pushing the memories away.
"We should keep moving," Nicolas said, his voice tense. "We need to find something before it gets dark."
Renrou nodded, wiping his hands on his trousers before standing. "Yeah, before they find us first."
They pressed on, the light fading faster than they expected. The trees cast long, skeletal shadows across their path, and the air seemed to grow colder with every step. Nicolas could feel it—the sense of something watching, lurking just beyond sight. The Wesen, if they were here, were close. His pulse quickened, but he kept his expression calm. He had to stay focused. This was what they had come for—to fight, to test their limits.
As dusk settled, they reached a particularly dense part of the forest where the trees were so tightly packed it was hard to see more than a few feet ahead. The mist swirled thicker here, almost like a living thing, obscuring their view. Nicolas slowed his pace, raising his spear slightly. He could feel the tension building in his chest, the same feeling he had the night of the attack. It wasn't fear—not yet—but a heightened awareness. The forest seemed to pulse with hidden danger.
"We'll make camp here," Nicolas said, glancing around at the surrounding woods. "But stay alert. We're not alone."
Renrou nodded, his face pale but determined. He had been through enough with Nicolas to trust his instincts. Together, they set down their packs and prepared for the night, both knowing that their true test was only just beginning.
Nicolas sat down on the damp forest floor, his back pressed against the wide trunk of a towering oak. The tension in the air had settled for a moment, but both he and Renrou knew better than to let their guard down completely. The woods could be deceptive. As dusk crept in, the mist thickened, weaving through the trees like silent specters.
Reaching into his pack, Nicolas pulled out the book. It was an odd thing to carry in such a dangerous place, but for him, it was more than just a book—it was a record, a piece of history, and a reminder of what he had lost. The cover was thick and rough, made from the hide of a slain beast, stitched together with coarse thread. The leathery texture was darkened from years of use, the surface marred by deep creases and scars that told their own stories. The edges were worn, as though the book had seen many travels, and the weight of it was solid in his hands.
Renrou glanced at it, his brow furrowed in curiosity. "I still don't get why you lug that thing around," he muttered, resting his hand on his sword hilt as he kept watch. "It's not like it's going to help in a fight."
Nicolas didn't respond immediately, his fingers tracing the weathered surface of the cover. He took a deep breath, then slowly opened the book to the first page. The hinges creaked, the sound oddly loud in the quiet of the forest. On the first page was a drawing, carefully sketched in black blood ink. It depicted a massive Wesen, a monstrous creature with the body of a bear, its thick fur bristling, and its claws extended as if in mid-attack. The creature's eyes gleamed with a primal rage, forever frozen in its ferocity.
Nicolas' gaze lingered on the image, his expression hardening. He had drawn this himself, though the memory of that day still clung to him like a scar that hadn't quite healed. He was just a baby when the bear Wesen had attacked his village. He didn't remember much—just flashes of claws, the terrified screams of the villagers, and the stench of blood. Somehow, he had survived, but not without help. His hand moved to the side of the page where a few lines of faded script detailed the story: The first kill, when I was a baby, the bear Wesen that terrorized the village. Saved by my mother and the hunters.