The news spread through Iskar like a forest fire. At first, it was only whispers—travelers passing through the village spoke of distant hamlets abandoned overnight, their streets eerily quiet save for signs of struggle. Then came survivors, stumbling into Iskar with torn clothes, frightened eyes, and breathless tales of beasts unlike any seen before.
"Magic beasts," one woman sobbed, clutching her child. Her face was smeared with dirt, her lips cracked from thirst. "They came at night. Silent... coordinated. Like they knew exactly where to strike."
The village square buzzed with hushed conversations. Farmers and merchants who'd spent their lives placidly tending fields now looked over their shoulders as they worked. Children no longer played in the open, their parents keeping them close.
Eryon stood at the edge of the square, listening to the stories. He was used to fear in the village—it came with the beasts that roamed the forest—but this was different. People were scared of something they didn't understand, and that kind of fear lingered like a sickness.
In the middle of it all was Arthon, his sharp gaze flicking from one survivor to the next as they recounted their tales. He asked pointed questions: How many beasts? Were they seen with anyone? Did they speak or communicate? The survivors struggled to answer, their memories muddled by terror.
"They didn't... look natural," a man said, his voice trembling. "Their bodies shimmered, twisted. Like magic was crawling under their skin."
Arthon's expression darkened. Eryon, standing close enough to hear, noticed the tight line of his father's jaw.
---
Back at Home
Later that evening, Eryon found his father pacing in their small home. Celia was seated at the table, her hands clasped tightly together. The warm light from the hearth cast long shadows across the room, and for once, the comforting glow felt oppressive.
"You believe them," Celia said quietly.
Arthon paused, his hand brushing through his graying hair. "I don't just believe them. I know what's happening. Or at least, I think I do."
Eryon leaned against the doorframe, watching his father carefully. He had always admired Arthon's ability to stay calm in the face of trouble, but tonight there was a weight to him that even he couldn't shake.
"What's happening?" Eryon asked.
Arthon sighed. "The beasts—they're not wild. Someone is controlling them."
The room fell silent. Even Celia's breathing seemed to still as the words sank in.
"That's impossible," Celia said at last. "Magic beasts can't be controlled. They're chaos given form. Everyone knows that."
"Everyone," Arthon repeated with a bitter edge. "Everyone except those who've studied the old ways. Forbidden ways." He turned to face them, his expression grim. "This isn't a random attack. This is strategy. Someone's using these beasts to weaken the outer villages. I'd bet my life on it."
Eryon frowned. "Why? What's the point of attacking villages?"
"To isolate the royal capital," Arthon replied. "Think about it. Surround the capital, cut off its food supply, its reinforcements. Then, when it's vulnerable, strike. Whoever's doing this isn't just after power—they're after domination."
Celia shook her head, disbelief clouding her features. "That's... madness. To control magic beasts on that scale... the power it would take—"
"It's happening," Arthon interrupted, his voice firm. "And if we don't act, Iskar will be next."
---
The Elders' Meeting
The next morning, Arthon called a meeting with the village elders. The small hall, usually used for celebrations and festivals, felt stifling as the villagers crowded inside.
Eryon sat in the corner, his arms crossed as he watched his father address the crowd.
"We're not safe," Arthon began, his voice steady but urgent. "The attacks on the surrounding villages aren't isolated. They're coordinated. Someone is using magic beasts as weapons, and if we don't prepare, Iskar will fall."
The room erupted into murmurs. Some nodded in agreement, their faces pale with fear. Others frowned, skeptical.
"Do you have proof of this?" Elder Varek asked, his tone cautious.
Arthon nodded. "The survivors' accounts. The timing of the attacks. And this—" He unrolled a map on the table. "The villages that have been attacked form a perimeter. The next logical target is here." He pointed to Iskar.
The elders exchanged uneasy glances.
"What do you propose we do?" Varek asked.
"Send a warning to the royal capital," Arthon replied. "They need to know what's happening. And we need to fortify Iskar, prepare for an attack."
"Fortify?" another elder scoffed. "With what? Our walls are barely strong enough to keep out stray beasts, let alone an organized assault."
"Then we learn to fight," Arthon said sharply. "We teach everyone—young and old—how to defend themselves. And we gather supplies, build traps, strengthen the ward. We do whatever it takes."
The room fell into an uneasy silence. Finally, Varek nodded. "We'll discuss it."
---
Father and Son
That evening, back at home, Arthon prepared to leave. He packed a small bag with supplies, his movements quick and deliberate.
"You're going alone?" Eryon asked, standing in the doorway.
"I have to," Arthon replied. "I need to find out who's behind this. If I can track the beasts, maybe I can find their source."
Eryon stepped forward, his chest tightening. "I'm coming with you."
Arthon paused, turning to face him. "No, Eryon. It's too dangerous."
"I've faced danger before," Eryon argued. "You saw what I did during the last attack. I can handle myself."
Arthon studied his son for a long moment. Finally, he sighed. "Alright. But you follow my lead. No heroics."
Eryon nodded, determination burning in his chest.
---
Into the Forest
Father and son set off at dawn, the forest thick with mist. Arthon moved with practiced ease, pointing out subtle signs of the beasts' movements—claw marks on trees, patches of scorched earth, faint magical residues.
"Pay attention," Arthon said as they walked. "The forest speaks. You just have to learn to listen."
Eryon tried to focus, but his mind was racing. The weight of his father's trust—and the danger they faced—pressed heavy on him.
---
The Clearing
By dusk, they reached a clearing. In the center was a glowing rune, pulsating with eerie light.
"Stay back," Arthon warned, stepping closer to examine it.
Suddenly, the bushes rustled, and a pack of beasts emerged, their glowing eyes fixed on the intruders.
Arthon raised his hand, summoning a barrier of light. "Eryon, stay behind me!"
But as the beasts attacked, Eryon found himself stepping forward, his heart pounding with both fear and
Eryon clenched his fists as the beasts advanced, their guttural growls vibrating through the clearing. The twisted creatures moved unnaturally, their limbs jerking as if pulled by invisible strings. Shadows flickered beneath their misshapen bodies, their glowing eyes locked on Arthon and Eryon with predatory precision.
"Eryon!" Arthon barked, his hand glowing with golden light as he prepared another barrier. "I told you—behind me!"
But Eryon didn't move. His heart raced, adrenaline surging through his veins as he stared down the nearest beast—a hulking, wolf-like creature with jagged, crystalline spikes protruding from its back. Its maw dripped with iridescent energy, every breath crackling with unstable magic.
"I can't just stand here!" Eryon shouted, his voice shaking but resolute. "You need my help!"
Arthon shot him a sharp glare but didn't have time to argue. The first beast lunged, claws tearing through the air. Arthon spun, his barrier flaring brightly as it absorbed the impact. The force sent a shockwave rippling through the clearing, knocking Eryon backward.
The remaining beasts wasted no time. Two smaller ones darted toward Eryon, their sinewy forms blurring as they moved. Instinct took over. Eryon grabbed his knife, gripping hardly. When the first beast leapt, he swung hard. The creature yelped and stumbled, but its companion pounced immediately after.
Eryon barely had time to roll out of the way, the beast's claws slicing through the dirt where he'd been a moment ago. He scrambled to his feet, gripping the knife harder. His breaths came quick and shallow, his muscles burning as he fought to keep his footing.
"Keep moving!" Arthon yelled, his voice cutting through the chaos. He dodged another strike, his hands weaving intricate sigils in the air. Bolts of light shot from his palms, searing into the largest beast's flank. It howled in pain but didn't retreat, its glowing eyes narrowing with fury.
Eryon sidestepped another attack, his mind racing. His father's magic was powerful, but the beasts weren't fighting like wild animals—they were organized, focused. Whoever was controlling them had trained them to adapt.
Eryon's heart pounded in his chest as he dodged another strike from the smaller beast, its claws grazing his arm. He winced, but there was no time to acknowledge the pain. His father was holding his ground, his magic weaving protective barriers and casting spells with precision. But the beasts were relentless, and each wave of attacks seemed more coordinated, more purposeful.
"Father!" Eryon shouted, struggling to maintain his balance as one of the smaller beasts lunged toward him. He barely managed to sidestep, but the creature's claws raked across his leg, sending a sharp sting of pain through him.
"Focus, Eryon!" Arthon's voice rang out, filled with urgency. He raised his hands, and a blinding flash of light enveloped the clearing, sending the beasts momentarily reeling. The larger beast, its crystalline spikes shimmering with dark energy, staggered back, but the smaller creatures continued their relentless assault.
Eryon's mind raced. The beasts were adapting—attacking with purpose, not like mindless predators. His father had been right. There was something more at play here, something deeper. These creatures weren't just beasts; they were soldiers.
Eryon's eyes darted across the clearing, searching for any advantage. He noticed something. the shadows were shifting. There, in the corner of his vision, he saw a figure. The faintest outline, barely visible through the trees.
Someone was watching them.
"Father!" Eryon called out, but his voice was lost in the noise of the battle. He had no time to explain. He acted on instinct, darting toward the edge of the clearing, moving quickly and quietly.
Arthon, absorbed in the fight, didn't notice his son slipping away. He was too focused on keeping the beasts at bay. The last thing Arthon needed right now was for Eryon to put himself in more danger, but there was no stopping the boy. Eryon was already moving with purpose, his knife held in a steady grip as he approached the edge of the clearing.
As he neared the shadows, Eryon's pulse quickened. He could make out the figure more clearly now—a cloaked figure, standing just beyond the reach of the light, hidden in the trees. The figure was tall, slender, and unmoving, as though they were waiting for something.
A sudden growl snapped Eryon out of his thoughts. One of the smaller beasts had broken off from the pack, its eyes fixed on him. Eryon didn't hesitate. He hurled himself forward, his body reacting faster than his mind could process. The beast leapt at him, but Eryon was already rolling to the side, narrowly avoiding the attack. His knife flashed as he slashed across the creature's flank, leaving a trail of glowing blood.
The beast howled in pain, but instead of retreating, it turned and made another leap, faster this time. Eryon gritted his teeth, trying to steady his breath, his muscles burning from the exertion.
Suddenly, there was a loud crack as the trees behind him splintered, and the cloaked figure stepped into view, holding their hands out toward the beasts. The air shimmered, and the creatures froze mid-strike, their bodies jerking and twitching as if caught by an unseen force. The magic was palpable, dark and suffocating.
"That's enough," the figure said, their voice cold, as though commanding the beasts like a master to their pets.
Eryon froze, his heart racing as he took in the scene. His father's barrier was holding the remaining beasts at bay, but now they were no longer charging blindly. They were standing still, their glowing eyes locked onto the figure with an eerie obedience.
"You!" Arthon's voice rang out from the center of the clearing. He had seen the figure now. "Who are you? What do you want?"
The figure turned slowly, their face still obscured by the hood of their cloak. "I'm just a messenger," they said, their voice smooth and almost amused. "But my master has a message for you, Arthon."
Arthon tensed. Eryon could see the recognition flash across his father's face, the way his posture stiffened. He knew this person, or at least the type of person they represented.
"Your master?" Arthon's tone was grim, but there was an undercurrent of tension, of something darker. "You're the one controlling these beasts, aren't you?"
The figure tilted their head slightly, a faint smile playing at the edge of their lips. "Not controlling them, no. That would be too simplistic. I'm guiding them, using them. As tools, yes—but not mindless tools. They have a purpose."
"A purpose?" Eryon spat, his voice rising with anger. "You're using them to destroy villages—innocent people are dying because of you!"
The figure's smile faded, replaced by a hard, calculating gaze. "Innocence is irrelevant. The world is a game of power, Arthon. Only those who are strong enough to wield it deserve to survive."
Eryon's anger flared. "So you're willing to let everyone else suffer just so your master can have control? That's madness!"
The figure didn't answer right away. Instead, they reached into the folds of their cloak and pulled out a small, glowing stone, holding it up for Arthon to see.
"This," the figure said, "is the key. The thing that will decide the fate of your world."
Arthon's eyes narrowed, and Eryon felt a chill run down his spine. The stone—whatever it was—was pulsing with dark energy. It was clear that whatever their adversary had in mind, it wasn't just about controlling beasts anymore. It was something far greater.
"You have a choice, Arthon," the figure said, lowering the stone. "You can stand with the old ways, with your precious villages and your futile resistances. Or you can join us. We could use someone like you."
"I'll never join you," Arthon growled, his fists clenched at his sides. "You'll never get what you want."
The figure's eyes flashed briefly with a dangerous glint. "We'll see about that."
With a swift motion, the figure raised their hands, and the beasts once again surged forward, but this time under their own power, no longer frozen in place. They attacked with renewed ferocity.
Eryon's heart pounded as he watched his father prepare for the coming onslaught. This wasn't just an ambush. This was a challenge—one that would test them in ways they hadn't anticipated.
And in that moment, Eryon knew the true nature of the battle they were about to face wasn't just against magic beasts—it was against something far darker, something far more dangerous.