The Maywood forest stretched endlessly before Lucian, its shadowed depths drawing him in as he made his way home. The trees were thick and ancient, their gnarled branches weaving together in a canopy that blocked out the last vestiges of daylight. Lucian's footsteps were steady and measured, the sound of his boots crunching against the dry leaves the only noise in the eerie silence. His breath came in sharp bursts, the air colder than he remembered, as if the forest itself was preparing for something.
"Home soon," he muttered to himself, the word a quiet promise.
It had been a long day, and the thought of a hot meal waiting for him at the end of this winding path kept him moving. The journey had been treacherous, with only his hardened wits and his spear crafted from wood and stone keeping him safe. His grip tightened around the shaft of his weapon as the distant rustle of leaves caught his attention. Something moved in the shadows ahead.
Lucian froze, eyes scanning the underbrush.
At first, he saw nothing. But then, from the thick shadows, a shape emerged. The heavy stomp of hooves echoed through the air as a massive wild boar stepped into the clearing, its dark, bristling fur matted with dirt and dried leaves. Its tusks gleamed in the fading light, yellow and jagged, like the sharp end of a butcher's knife. The creature roared! Its beady eyes locked onto Lucian with a ferocity that sent a chill down his spine.
"A boar?" Lucian whispered under his breath,
He could feel the adrenaline surge through him, his heart pounding in his chest. The boar, sensing this, lowered its head, its tusks pointing forward. In a flash, it charged.
Lucian reacted instinctively. With a swift motion, he thrust his spear forward, the sharpened tip of the stone head aimed at the beast's vulnerable underbelly. The boar, quick and savage, twisted its body at the last second, and the spear slid harmlessly across its thick hide with a sickening scrape.
The beast's tusks raked the air, narrowly missing Lucian's side as he jumped back, rolling to his feet in a fluid motion. His breathing was quick, each breath cutting into the silence around him like the wind before a storm.
"Steady, Lucian," he muttered, wiping his sweat.
The boar roared again, more angry than afraid. It lunged again, faster this time, aiming for Lucian. Lucian, his body tense with focus, sidestepped at the last moment, his spear raised to deflect the charge. The force of the animal's strike rattled his bones, but his spear held strong.
He stumbled back, a few steps further, using the distance to his advantage. The boar, relentless, turned with a speed that surprised him, preparing for another assault.
Lucian didn't hesitate this time. He took a deep breath, focusing on the movement of the creature. The spear was an extension of his own will, and with a surge of energy, he thrust it forward again, this time aiming for the boar's chest. The tip found its mark, sliding between the thick ribs with a sickening thud. The boar let out a strangled grunt before collapsing to the ground, its massive form twitching in the final moments of life.
Lucian walked over to the corpse, chest heaving with the rush of victory. His grip on the spear loosened, but he didn't lower it. Not yet.
"That's a good one," he muttered to himself, kneeling beside the animal. He ran a hand through his sweat drenched light brown hair and sighed. "Great! This will be good to eat tonight."
Lucian, wiping his sweat and looking around the darkening forest. The chill in the air was gone now, and the thought of a warm campfire and a hearty meal fueled his mind. He slung the boar's carcass over his shoulder and began walking toward the small cabin.
It wasn't much more than a crude shelter built from timber and old stone. The roof sagged, and the windows were little more than narrow slits, but it kept him alive. The world beyond was full of dangers, and the Maywood wasn't the safest place to dwell, but the cabin had been his refuge for the past few years. It had survived storms, animals, and worse.
As he approached, he squinted through the gloom, making out the familiar shape of the cabin against the darkened trees. He could barely make out the outline of the door, warped and weathered, but it was still standing. The smoke from his chimney curled into the night air, a sign that he hadn't lost everything just yet.
"It ain't much," Lucian said aloud, as if speaking to the cabin itself. "But it's keeping me alive."
The door creaked as he pushed it open, and the warmth from the fire inside enveloped him. He stepped over the threshold, dropping the boar in a corner where he would skin and prepare it later. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, the flickering flames casting long shadows on the walls.
He paused for a moment, listening. The cabin creaked and groaned as it always did, settling in the night. But something felt off. There was a sound, something that wasn't the usual rustle of the wind or the crackle of the fire. A low, guttural growl.
Lucian's hand immediately went to his spear, his heart pounding once more.
"Not again…" he whispered to himself.
The growl grew louder, deeper, and closer.
He had thought the forest had given him respite for the night, but Maywood never let anyone rest for long. Not without cost.