The beast growled, its glowing eyes locked on Eryon. Its massive frame shifted in the moonlight, muscles rippling beneath dark, bristling fur. Around them, the forest was silent, as though the world itself held its breath.
Eryon could feel the heat of his own breath, short and shallow, matching the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat. His knife felt pitiful in his hand—nothing more than a scrap of metal against this hulking creature. But he held it tight, his knuckles white with tension.
The injured mages were still sprawled behind him. He could hear one of them moan faintly in pain. If he ran, the beast would finish them. If he stayed, it would likely finish him.
But Eryon stood his ground.
The beast lunged.
It was faster than he expected—more a blur of motion than an animal. Eryon threw himself to the side, his shoulder slamming into the dirt as the beast's claws swiped the space he had just occupied. He scrambled to his feet, panting, just as the beast whirled around to face him again.
He waved the knife in front of him, though it felt laughably inadequate. "You want me, don't you?" he said, his voice shaking. "Then come on!"
The beast snarled, lowering itself into a crouch. Its eyes gleamed with something more than animal rage—something calculating.
The creature charged again, but this time Eryon was ready. He waited until the last moment, then dove to the side, slashing out with his knife as the beast rushed past. The blade scraped against its flank, drawing a thin line of blood.
The beast roared, the sound echoing through the clearing. It turned, slower this time, and for a moment Eryon thought he saw hesitation in its glowing eyes.
He gripped the knife tighter. His hand was trembling, but he ignored it.
"I don't have to win," he muttered to himself. "I just have to keep it busy."
---
The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. The beast attacked in a flurry of claws and teeth, and Eryon dodged and ducked as best he could. He landed a few more slashes with his knife, each one a tiny victory that left the creature bleeding, but it was clear the beast was wearing him down.
His arms ached. His legs felt like they might give out at any moment. His breaths came in ragged gasps, and the knife felt heavier with every swing.
The beast seemed to sense his fatigue. It prowled in a slow circle around him, its growls deep and menacing, its eyes glowing brighter in the dim light.
Eryon backed toward the injured mages, his mind racing. He could feel the roots of a plan forming—something desperate, but maybe enough to survive.
---
"Eryon!"
The shout startled him, and he glanced toward the sound. Tarik was stirring, his face pale and bloodied but his hand weakly raised. Sparks of fire flickered at his fingertips, barely visible.
"Distract it!" Tarik croaked. "I'll—"
The beast roared, cutting him off, and lunged at Eryon again. This time, it was too fast.
Eryon raised his arm in instinctive defense, and the beast's claws raked across his forearm. Pain exploded through him, and he cried out, falling to the ground. The knife slipped from his grasp, skittering across the dirt.
The beast loomed over him, its glowing eyes burning with triumph.
Eryon's mind raced. No knife. No plan. No chance.
But then he saw it—the faintly glowing remnants of the ward etched into the ground. The beast stood directly over it, its massive paws pressing against the faint runes.
"Tarik!" Eryon shouted, his voice hoarse with pain. "The ward—use it!"
Tarik groaned, forcing himself upright. He extended a trembling hand toward the runes, his fingers glowing faintly. The remnants of the ward began to pulse, the faint light growing brighter.
The beast hesitated, its ears flattening as it sensed the magic stirring beneath it.
"Now, Tarik!"
With a final surge of effort, Tarik unleashed the remnants of his magic into the ward. The runes flared to life, and a burst of energy erupted from the ground. The beast howled in pain as the magic engulfed it, its body writhing as the chaotic energy clashed with its own.
Eryon scrambled backward, shielding his face from the blinding light. When the flare finally subsided, the beast lay still, its body smoking faintly.
---
Eryon sat in the dirt, his chest heaving as the adrenaline slowly drained from his body. His arm throbbed where the beast had clawed him, and he could feel warm blood soaking his sleeve.
Tarik collapsed back against the ground, his strength completely spent.
"That," Tarik muttered weakly, "was the stupidest plan I've ever seen."
Eryon let out a breathless laugh, wincing as the movement tugged at his wounds. "It worked, didn't it?"
Tarik didn't respond. He had already passed out.
---
The trek back to the village was grueling.
Eryon fashioned makeshift splints for the mages' injuries and used every ounce of strength he had left to carry them, one by one, closer to safety. The journey took hours, the sun rising high by the time they reached the edge of the forest.
Villagers rushed to meet them, gasping at the sight of the injured group. Eryon handed Tarik off to the healers, who immediately began tending to his wounds.
"You fought the beast?" one of the villagers asked, their voice filled with disbelief.
Eryon nodded faintly, too exhausted to speak.
"What happened to it?"
"It's dead," Eryon said, his voice hoarse. "But there might be more."
The words hung in the air like a dark cloud.
---
That night, Eryon sat alone on the hill overlooking the village. His arm was tightly bandaged, and every movement sent fresh waves of pain through his body. But it wasn't the physical wounds that weighed on him.
The beast's glowing eyes haunted his thoughts. The way it had moved, the way it had hesitated as though it were studying him—those weren't the actions of a mindless animal.
Something was happening in the forest.
And he couldn't shake the feeling that it was only the beginning.
Eryon's bandaged arm throbbed with a dull ache. He sat atop the hill overlooking the village, his gaze lost in the expanse of dark forest beyond the fields. The stars above offered little comfort tonight. Their faint, unwavering light seemed indifferent to the chaos of the previous evening.
The beast's glowing eyes haunted him, flickering to life in his mind whenever he closed his own. It wasn't the fear of its strength or savagery that unnerved him most—it was the way it had paused, its gaze locked with his, as if it recognized him.
He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers tracing the edges of the cloth binding his wounds. The gash on his arm was shallow compared to the deeper questions tearing at his thoughts.
"You're not going to find your answers in the stars, boy," a voice croaked behind him.
Eryon turned sharply, wincing as the movement tugged at his injury. The old man stood a few paces away, leaning heavily on his walking stick. The moonlight illuminated the deep creases in his face, his expression a mix of weariness and quiet calculation.
"Old man," Eryon said, startled. "What are you doing here?"
The man huffed as he eased himself down onto a nearby rock. "I could ask you the same. You've been up here every night since you could walk. Always looking, always wondering." He gestured toward the forest with a knotted hand. "Tonight feels different, though. You've got the look of someone who's seen things they weren't meant to."
Eryon hesitated, his gaze flickering back to the dark treeline. "The beast…"
"Ah," the old man said, his voice softening. "The corrupted one."
Eryon's head snapped toward him. "Corrupted? What do you mean?"
The old man's expression turned grim. "That creature wasn't natural, boy. It was something twisted—tainted by magic that doesn't belong to this world."
The weight of the words pressed down on Eryon. He thought of the beast's eyes, the way they had lingered on him, the brief flicker of intelligence.
"What could twist a creature like that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The old man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stared at the forest, his eyes dark with memory. "There are forces older than these lands, older than the magic we take for granted. Most of us live our lives pretending they don't exist. But they're out there, boy. Watching. Waiting."
A shiver ran down Eryon's spine. "You think something's out there? In the forest?"
The old man gave a low, humorless chuckle. "Think? No, I know. And if that beast was just the beginning, this village isn't nearly as safe as it thinks."
---
The village was restless the next morning. The aftermath of the attack clung to the air like a storm about to break. Farmers worked quickly, their eyes darting nervously toward the forest. Traders loaded their carts with supplies as though preparing to flee.
Eryon wandered through the square, his bandaged arm tucked close to his side. Whispers followed him wherever he went.
"That's him," someone muttered. "The one who faced the beast."
"He shouldn't have been out there," another voice added. "It's not his place."
Eryon clenched his fists, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground. The whispers stung more than he cared to admit, but he had no energy to fight them.
"Eryon!"
He turned to see Elder Noran approaching, flanked by two other elders. The village's leader had an imposing presence, his sharp features framed by a cloak of deep green.
"Elder Noran," Eryon said, straightening instinctively.
"We need to speak," the elder said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
---
The elders' chamber was dim and quiet, the air heavy with the scent of burning herbs. Eryon stood in the center of the room, his arms at his sides. Elder Noran watched him with a piercing gaze, the other elders seated behind him in silence.
"You fought the beast," Noran began, his voice steady. "Tell us what you saw."
Eryon hesitated, his mind racing to piece together the events of the previous night. Slowly, he recounted the encounter, from the beast's glowing eyes to the moment it hesitated before him.
"It wasn't just attacking," he said finally. "It was… watching. Like it was trying to understand me."
The room fell silent.
Elder Lyssa, seated at Noran's left, leaned forward. "This is no ordinary magic beast," she said. "If what you're saying is true, then it was sent."
"Sent?" Eryon echoed, his stomach twisting.
"Magic doesn't twist itself," Noran said. "Something—or someone—did this. We've strengthened the wards, but if this corruption spreads, the forest could overwhelm us."
The elders exchanged grim looks.
Eryon found his voice. "What are you going to do?"
"For now, we hold the line," Noran said. "The forest is dangerous enough without sending people into it. We'll fortify our defenses and keep watch."
Eryon's jaw tightened. It wasn't enough. He could feel it in his bones. But the elders were set in their ways, and he knew better than to argue.
---
The days that followed were tense. The village braced for another attack, reinforcing the wards and doubling patrols. Eryon tried to throw himself into his work, but his thoughts kept drifting to the forest.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he found himself back on his hill. The forest loomed in the distance, its shadows deep and impenetrable.
The old man's words echoed in his mind.
"There are forces older than these lands… watching, waiting."
"What are you hiding?" Eryon murmured, his gaze fixed on the dark expanse.
The wind shifted, carrying a faint sound—a low growl, barely audible.
Eryon's blood ran cold. His hand moved to the knife at his belt as he scanned the treeline.
But the sound was gone, leaving only the rustle of the trees.
Eryon stood there for a long time, his heart pounding. Though the forest was silent, the pull toward it was undeniable. Something waited in the shadows, and he wasn't sure if it was calling him—or hunting him.