Shadows danced wildly as the beasts lunged forward, their twisted forms shimmering with unnatural magic. Their growls vibrated through the air, a symphony of primal fury and dark power.
Eryon tightened his grip on his knife, his heart pounding like a war drum. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but he planted his feet, refusing to yield.
The first beast—a hulking, wolf-like creature with crystalline spikes—charged directly at Arthon. His father raised both hands, summoning a wall of golden light that shimmered like glass. The beast struck it head-on, a flash of sparks erupting as its claws scraped against the barrier.
"Stay behind me, Eryon!" Arthon barked, his voice a sharp command.
"I can fight too!" Eryon shouted back. The defiance in his voice was born from desperation. He could see the strain in his father's movements, the weight of protecting them both.
The smaller beasts darted toward Eryon, their glowing eyes locked onto him like a predator's gaze. He ducked under the swipe of one creature, its claws narrowly missing his head. He spun, slashing his knife across its flank. The blade tore through its shimmering hide, and the beast let out a high-pitched screech before stumbling back.
Another beast lunged at him from the side. Eryon barely had time to react, his body moving on instinct. He rolled to the ground, dirt and leaves clinging to his sweat-soaked skin. The creature's claws raked the air above him, missing by inches.
"Keep moving!" Arthon yelled, his voice strained as he fended off the larger beast. His golden barrier cracked under the force of its relentless assault.
But Eryon's attention was elsewhere. His focus narrowed as the second smaller beast charged again. He sidestepped and lashed out, his knife biting deep into the creature's shoulder. It howled in pain, but before Eryon could recover, its claws raked across his face. it cut him from the temple all the way to his jawline.
Agony burst through him like lightning. The force of the blow sent him sprawling to the ground. Blood streamed down his face, hot and sticky, blurring his vision. He could feel it dripping from his chin, pooling on the dirt below.
"Eryon!" Arthon's shout was raw, laced with fear. The sight of his son's blood seemed to ignite something in him. He thrust his hands forward, and a burst of golden light erupted from his palms, slamming into the larger beast and sending it hurtling back.
Eryon forced himself to his feet, his body screaming in protest. The pain in his face was excruciating, but he pushed it aside. The beasts weren't slowing down, and his father needed him.
"I'm fine!" Eryon called, though the words came out as a strangled gasp. His voice wavered, betraying the lie.
The beasts regrouped, their movements sharper, more calculated. Eryon realized with a sinking feeling that they weren't just mindless predators. They were soldiers, following a strategy. And whoever was controlling them was close. He could feel it.
The Cloaked Figure's Revelation
From the edge of the clearing, a figure emerged, cloaked in shadows. Their movements were slow, deliberate, as if they reveled in the chaos unfolding before them.
Arthon turned, his eyes narrowing. "You," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
The figure tilted their head slightly, a faint smile playing on their lips. "Impressive, Arthon. I expected the beasts to tear you apart by now. But I see you've retained your talents."
Arthon's hands glowed faintly, ready to cast another spell.
The figure ignored the questions, their gaze shifting to Eryon. " your son is brave, isn't he? Reckless, too."
Eryon's hand tightened around his knife, his bloodied face twisting into a snarl. "Who are you calling reckless?" he spat.
The figure chuckled softly, the sound sending a chill down Eryon's spine. They reached into their cloak and pulled out a small, glowing stone. Its dark energy pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat.
"This," the figure said, holding the stone aloft, "is the key to everything. The world is changing, Arthon. And those who resist will be swept aside."
Arthon's jaw tightened. "You're controlling the beasts. This is your doing."
The figure smiled. "Controlling? No. Guiding, perhaps. Enhancing. They're tools, nothing more. Tools to bring about a new order."
"We'll never bow to you," Arthon growled.
The figure's eyes gleamed. "Oh, you'll bow. Maybe not today. But soon." They waved a hand, and the beasts surged forward once more, their snarls filling the air.
The beasts struck with renewed ferocity, their claws and teeth a blur of motion. Arthon and Eryon fought side by side, a desperate, bloody dance. Eryon's movements were clumsy, his strength waning, but his reflexes kept him alive. Every swing of his knife, every step he took, was fueled by sheer willpower.
"Fall back!" Arthon shouted, grabbing Eryon by the arm.
"We can't just—"
"Now!" Arthon roared.
They retreated, stumbling through the forest as the beasts pursued them. Arthon cast a final barrier, buying them precious seconds to escape. When they finally broke through the tree line, the beasts stopped, as if an invisible leash held them back.
Eryon collapsed to his knees, his body trembling. His face throbbed, and the blood loss was making him dizzy. He barely registered his father's hand on his shoulder, steadying him.
Return to Iskar
When they stumbled into the village, they were met with gasps of horror. Villagers crowded around them, their faces pale as they took in the bloodied, battered pair.
"Eryon!" Celia's voice cut through the murmurs. She pushed through the crowd, her hands flying to her mouth when she saw her son's face. "Oh, gods, your face…"
"It's nothing," Eryon mumbled, though his knees buckled as he tried to stand. Celia caught him, her arms wrapping around him tightly.
"Nothing?" she cried, tears streaming down her face. "You're covered in blood! That… that scar…"
Villagers murmured in agreement, their voices tinged with concern and fear.
"What happened?" Elder Varek demanded, stepping forward. His eyes flicked between Arthon and Eryon, taking in their injuries.
Arthon's voice was heavy as he recounted the events in the clearing. The villagers listened in stunned silence, their faces growing paler with every word. When he finished, the weight of his words hung thick in the air.
"The beasts will come here," Arthon said grimly. "We need to be ready."
A Grim Decision
The next few days were a blur of activity. Arthon and Eryon worked tirelessly, teaching the villagers how to fight, setting traps, and fortifying the village's defenses. Eryon threw himself into the work, ignoring the pain in his face. But the scar was a constant reminder, and he caught villagers stealing worried glances at him whenever they thought he wasn't looking.
"They're scared of me," he told Celia one evening, his voice quiet.
"They're scared for you," she replied, gently brushing her fingers along his scar. "They see what you've been through, and it frightens them. But it also inspires them. You're stronger than you know, Eryon."
He didn't feel strong. But as he looked at his reflection that night, the jagged scar running from his temple to his jawline, he vowed to live up to his mother's words. The fight was far from over, and he would be ready.
Far from the village, in a cavern lit by the eerie glow of the stone, the cloaked figure knelt before a towering shadow.
"They survived," the figure reported, their voice filled with both respect and trepidation.
In the cavern, the cloaked figure stood before the towering shadow, the dark stone pulsing faintly in their grasp. The air around them seemed to grow colder as the shadow's presence deepened, its voice resonating with an ominous authority.
"You failed," the shadow rumbled, its voice low and powerful, a subtle growl that sent vibrations through the cavern walls.
The cloaked figure didn't flinch. "They survived. But only for now."
The shadow's form seemed to shift, an unsettling ripple of darkness flowing through it. "You let them escape?"
"Yes," the cloaked figure admitted, their tone unwavering. "I decided not to kill them. Not yet."
There was a long silence before the shadow spoke again, its voice growing colder. "Why? You had them at your mercy. Why spare them?"
The cloaked figure lifted their head slightly, their eyes gleaming with a mix of strategy and cold calculation. "Killing them would be too easy. They are strong, yes, but it's their potential that matters. The boy especially—Eryon—he carries the bloodline I need. The bloodline that could one day be bent to my will."
The shadow seemed to consider this, its immense form rippling like a cloud of smoke. "And you think that leaving them alive will change anything?"
"I know it will," the cloaked figure said, stepping forward, the stone pulsing in their hand. "I can use their fear, their confusion. They will come to realize that they cannot run forever. Arthon, the boy—they will be forced to make a choice. When that time comes, they will be ready to accept what's coming for them."
A low growl of frustration emanated from the shadow. "You think you can break them, make them kneel before you like everyone else? They are not like the others you've crushed. They are strong in ways you may not understand."
The cloaked figure's lips curled into a smile. "We shall see. I will guide them, break them slowly, until they are no longer a threat. And when that happens, when they realize that resistance is futile, they will come to me on their own terms."
The shadow fell silent, its dark presence thick in the air. Finally, it spoke, its voice softer, but laced with warning. "You gamble with this. Do not make me regret it."
"I won't," the cloaked figure replied with cold certainty. "They will fall. And when they do, the world will bend to my will."
Back in Iskar, Arthon and Eryon struggled to regain their bearings. The village had been shaken, but there was still a sense of resolve among the people
Eryon stood alone on the hill, the cool night air brushing against his skin as he gazed up at the sky. The moon hung high, casting a pale glow over the village below. The stars, scattered across the vast expanse, twinkled like distant eyes watching over him, indifferent to the turmoil of his thoughts. His scar still throbbed, a constant reminder of the battle he had barely survived. Yet it wasn't the pain that weighed on him now—it was the unanswered question that kept circling in his mind.
Why had they spared him?
Why had the cloaked figure, the one controlling the beasts, chosen not to kill him?
Eryon's hand subconsciously reached up to touch the jagged scar on his face, feeling the rawness of it beneath his fingertips. His mind replayed the events of the clearing—the beasts, the attack, the terrifying figure in the shadows—and how, just when he thought it was all over, the figure had pulled back, allowing them to escape. He could still hear the growl of the beasts in his ears, the sting of the claw that cut across his face, the raw panic in his chest. But even more than that, he could hear the figure's words echoing in his mind.
The night seemed endless, the quiet broken only by the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. Eryon's thoughts drifted, his gaze still fixed on the heavens above. There was something strangely beautiful about the night sky—so vast, so constant, so far removed from the world below. It was as if the stars themselves could see everything, witness every decision, every choice, and yet remained unmoved. Perhaps that was how the cloaked figure saw him, Eryon thought—just another speck in the grand design.
The sound of footsteps behind him broke the silence, and Eryon didn't need to turn to know who it was. His father's presence was unmistakable.
"You're still out here?" Arthon's voice was soft, but it carried a weight that came from years of experience.
Eryon remained silent for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the stars. "I couldn't sleep," he said quietly, his voice distant.
Arthon stepped beside him, standing in the cool night air. He didn't ask why—he knew. The same weight hung over them both, the unspoken fear of what was to come. They both knew that the moment they had narrowly escaped in the forest wasn't the end. It was only the beginning.
"I was thinking about what happened," Eryon continued, his voice low. "Why didn't they just kill us? Why didn't they finish it when they had the chance?"
Arthon stood beside him, looking up at the sky, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Because they have a different plan for you, Eryon," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "They spared you for a reason."
The words hung heavy in the air. Eryon felt a chill crawl down his spine. "A reason? What reason could they possibly have?"
His father sighed, his breath visible in the night air. "They see something in you. Your bloodline, your strength. It's not about you just being in their way. You're more than that. You're a piece they want for something bigger."
Eryon turned his gaze to his father, his heart pounding. "What are they going to do to me? To us?"
"I don't know," Arthon admitted, his voice thick with uncertainty. "But I'm not going to let them control you, Eryon. Whatever they want, we'll fight. We'll stand together."
Eryon closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of his father's words sinking in. "It's not just us they want. It's me. But I don't know if I'm strong enough to fight whatever they're planning."
"You're stronger than you know," Arthon said, his hand gently resting on his son's shoulder. "We're in this together, Eryon. We've been through worse before, and we'll face this together. Whatever happens, I'll be by your side."
Eryon didn't respond right away, staring out at the horizon. The sky was still vast and indifferent, the stars glowing coldly above. In that moment, he realized that the world was far bigger than anything he had ever imagined. And yet, despite the vastness, he felt smaller than ever—caught between forces far beyond his control, a pawn in a game he didn't understand.
But he wasn't ready to surrender. Not yet.
He looked up at his father, his voice steady despite the fear churning in his chest. "I'll fight. But I need to understand what they want from me. What I need to do to stop them."
Arthon gave a small nod, his face grim but resolute. "We'll find out. We'll figure it out together."
Eryon turned his gaze back to the stars, the weight of his thoughts pressing against him like a storm. He couldn't afford to be weak, not now. The figure had spared him for a reason, and that reason could mean the difference between life and death—not just for him, but for everything and everyone he cared about.
And that thought made his blood run cold.
As the two of them stood together, gazing at the night sky, Eryon realized that the true test was only beginning. The cloaked figure's decision to let them live had not been a mercy—it had been a challenge, a cruel game they would be forced to play.
But Eryon wasn't ready to lose. Not yet.