The forest air was unnaturally still. Not even the wind dared to whisper through the trees. Rytha sat slumped against the gnarled roots of an ancient oak, his mind heavy with the weight of Ria's words. The coming trial haunted his thoughts—facing a wild boar felt less like a lesson and more like a death sentence.
His fingers absentmindedly traced the cracks in his sword's hilt as he stared into the sky, squinting against the rising sun. Three black shapes drifted toward the horizon, faint but growing larger with each breath.
At first, Rytha thought they were birds. But as the shapes drew closer, the unsettling truth became clear—these were not birds. The shapes glided unnaturally, too deliberate, too precise. They descended with an eerie grace, shadows stretching across the treetops.
A cold shiver ran down his spine, and an ancient, primal fear gripped him. He scrambled to his feet, heart hammering against his ribs. He didn't know why, but something in him screamed to run—to get back to the sanctuary.
Rytha dashed through the underbrush, branches tearing at his arms and face. By the time he reached the edge of the sanctuary's clearing, his breath was ragged, and sweat dripped from his brow. His eyes widened at the sight before him.
Three figures stood at the entrance to the sanctuary.
The tallest among them wore flowing black robes lined with crimson patterns that shimmered faintly in the light. His hair was dark, falling to his shoulders like shadows draping his form. Twin horns curved just above his ears, polished and sharp. His eyes, crimson like blood, gleamed with quiet menace. Flanking him were two armored figures, their faces hidden beneath helmets forged in the shape of snarling beasts.
And there stood Ria, facing them alone.
Rytha took a cautious step forward, but Ria's gaze snapped to him. Her violet eyes locked with his, and she gave the smallest nod—one that told him, without words, to stay hidden.
He swallowed hard and crouched behind a thick bush, parting the leaves just enough to see.
Ria's voice, calm and unwavering, broke the silence.
"What brings the envoys of hell to my doorstep?"
The leader, the robed figure, smiled with sharp, predatory teeth. His voice was smooth, like silk stretched over daggers.
"My name is Xaros. These are my companions, Daekar and Velis. We are Dyathans." His crimson eyes narrowed. "And we have come seeking a boy—one who, according to our diviners, has conversed with the Prince of Destruction."
Ria's expression did not shift. Her eyes betrayed nothing, though her heart sank at his words.
"A boy? Really, Dyathans? It hardly seems fitting for high-ranking demons to chase after children."
Xaros chuckled softly, his gaze fixed on her like a wolf cornering prey.
"Oh, we know exactly who you are, Saint Quiver Shirohaga. I expected more from the infamous saint than to hide a fugitive."
At the sound of the name, Rytha felt his stomach twist. Saint Quiver? Ria? He gritted his teeth. He knew little of her past, but the weight behind that title felt undeniable—something far more dangerous than he had imagined.
Ria remained still, but her mind raced. Shiro... No, it couldn't have been him. But Garumi... that fool…
Xaros took a step closer, and the ground beneath his feet seemed to darken with each movement.
"Surely you understand, Saint Quiver. If the boy has indeed crossed paths with the Prince of Destruction, he is no longer just a boy. He is a threat. And threats must be dealt with."
Ria's hand rested gently on the hilt of her sword, but she made no move to draw it. Her voice was calm, but steel lined her words.
"I have protected this sanctuary for years, Xaros. Whatever divinations your kind rely on must be mistaken."
Xaros' smile faded. "Mistaken? I doubt that." His gaze flickered to the forest. "I can smell him, Saint Quiver. He's close, isn't he?"
Rytha barely had time to process the words when he felt something cold brush against his ankle.
He glanced down.
A serpent slithered from beneath the bush. Its scales shimmered unnaturally, etched with strange glowing symbols that pulsed faintly. Its eyes—burning orange—locked onto him.
Rytha's heart leapt to his throat. In one swift motion, the serpent lunged.
He stumbled back, narrowly avoiding its fangs. The movement, though slight, was enough.
Xaros' eyes snapped toward him.
Rytha froze.
Xaros' smile returned, but this time it was colder.
"Well, Saint Quiver, it seems you've deceived us after all. Humans truly are liars."
Ria's hand tightened around her sword.
"Step away from him, Xaros." Her voice dropped into something darker, sharper.
Daekar and Velis stepped forward, their armored forms towering over Xaros' shoulders.
"And if I don't?" Xaros asked, crimson eyes burning with amusement.
Rytha's fingers gripped the hilt of his sword. He was no match for them—he knew that—but if he had to fight, he would.
Ria's eyes flicked toward him. Just for a second, but he understood.
He wouldn't fight alone.
The forest held its breath.