I'll call this a special occasion instead of just my inability to condense information neatly. I'm obsessed with making sure characters are involved in telling the story, and also I may get carried away with scene description. Anyway the point is 27 words from a 3000 word chapter. So maybe my goal will be 2500-3000 now. Honestly it is not super difficult, what is hard is ending where I want to end and having the word count be consistent... Enjoy the read!
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They all spent time expertly carving the mantis-like creature, carefully extracting its powerful scythe-like arms. Parts like these could be repurposed into weapons, tools, or even ceremonial artifacts. Its insides, however, were a mess of torn muscle, sinew, and glistening viscera. The slick, greenish ichor that had once been its lifeblood soaked into the dirt, steaming faintly in the cold air. Despite their meticulous search, there was no Central Organ—at least nothing that matched Elder's descriptions. They could only take what they could carry and move on, carefully securing the scythes onto one of the sleds beside leather pouches filled with mosses, berries, and roots.
Keen stood nearby, silhouetted against the fading light, his injury seeming like nothing more than an afterthought. His voice cut through the quiet hum of activity.
"Let's move. Something like this couldn't have driven the Hooded Horns into the inner forest. This was an ambush predator, not something that would chase prey across miles of woods. Whatever pushed them inward...it's something far worse."
The squad set off again, slipping back into formation. Their earlier ease was gone, replaced by a sharp-edged wariness. Every stop and pause was punctuated by flickering glances into the undergrowth. Each snap of a twig, each flicker of movement at the edges of their vision, felt like the beginning of another ambush.
They spotted the omnivorous Hooded Horns grazing in clusters beneath skeletal trees. Normally territorial, the creatures stood eerily still, their heads lowered and eyes wide as if they too felt the unease in the air. The squad gave them a wide berth, not wanting to trigger an unpredictable stampede.
Grey's sight sharpened as faint pulses of orange light lingered at the edges of his vision. They weren't chaotic anymore, but instead distant and lazy—like the ghostly afterimages of regular creatures wandering through the woods. His focus narrowed on their direction, but nothing in them hinted at pursuit or ambush.
Above, the sky shifted from pale blue to streaks of indigo and molten orange. The first hint of sunset spread across the horizon, painting the landscape in a fleeting warmth.
Brawl raised a gloved hand, halting the squad. His voice rumbled through the quiet.
"Keen, we should start setting up camp. If we wait too long, we won't have time to finish before it's pitch dark."
Keen hesitated, his sharp eyes scanning their surroundings. "We haven't moved far enough to meet Spider and Wild's team by dawn. We're still short." He exhaled sharply. "Alright, everyone, take a break while we figure this out."
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As the group settled, Brawl approached Keen. His heavy boots crunched frostbitten leaves underfoot as he studied Keen with a furrowed brow.
"How're you feeling?" Brawl asked, his voice low and even.
"Fine," Keen replied tersely. Then he stepped closer, lowering his voice so the others couldn't hear. "I'm different now, Brawl. I know you've noticed. The scratch—it's nothing. I'm already completely recovered."
Brawl's eyes widened slightly. "Completely? That was—Keen, that wasn't a scratch. That thing nearly gutted you."
Keen smirked faintly. "More than fine. And before you start thinking you'd have been the better choice for the Heart, just remember—you'd have done something stupid and gotten yourself killed already. I could see the arrogant look on you already, charging out alone to the inner woods only to never be seen again."
Brawl snorted, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, yeah. You've always been better at standing still and letting people handle things for you. Why stop just because you're a bit stronger."
The tension softened, replaced by something warmer—something old and familiar.
"Don't forget our deal, though," Brawl added. "Any Central Organs we find—they're mine."
Keen clapped him on the shoulder with enough force to send snow scattering. "Fine, fine only since you asked so kindly."
With that, Keen turned back to the campfire. "We're moving on for a little while longer. Even if danger comes, we'll handle it. The most important thing is not leaving Spider and Wild's team hanging out there alone."
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They pressed on as the light bled from the sky, leaving only moonlight to guide them. The quiet stretched unnaturally long, broken only by the soft shuffle of boots on frozen earth and the creak of leather straps on the sleds.
Despite Elder's warnings about the density of predators in the Prowling Forest, they encountered nothing. No signs of larger beasts, no fresh kills, no tangled orange trails illuminated by Grey's strange sight. The absence of danger felt far worse than the presence of it.
Finally, as night wrapped the forest in thick shadows, Keen raised his hand.
"Here," he said. "We camp here. The older of us will rotate watch. Serene, Shot, Grey—you three rest."
Shot immediately bristled. "I'm not a rookie, Keen. I can—" Brawl silenced her with a look, the firelight casting deep shadows across his weathered face.
Grudgingly, they set to work. The pelt tents were erected quickly, and the fire was coaxed into life. Soon, the camp settled into an uneasy quiet, broken only by the occasional crackle of burning wood.
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Shadows danced across frost-bitten bark, and the faint scent of charred wood mingled with the sharp bite of pine and winter air. The camp had settled into an uneasy quiet.
But Grey couldn't sleep. The trails—the flickering orange threads—still lingered at the edges of his vision, whispering to him.The creature from earlier still haunted him: the way it had scattered its aura deliberately, like a trickster leading prey into a snare. It hadn't just been a fight—it had been a lesson.
And Grey wasn't done learning.
His chest tightened as he thought of the trails. They had led somewhere—twisting into the dark, vanishing beyond the camp. Something was pulling at him, an instinct gnawing at the edge of his thoughts. Something out there wants to be seen.
Grey waited in silence until the final shift, just before dawn. Fleet moved cautiously, each step deliberate, his faint red glow flickering sporadically—like dying embers catching a brief breath of life. His focus remained sharp, eyes scanning the forest with the careful attention of a predator. The forest's beauty—a tapestry of silver moonlight and ink-black shadows—stood in stark contrast to the dangers that lurked within it.
Grey watched Fleet for a long moment, then adjusted his breathing: slow, shallow, merging with the natural rhythm of the night. The dying fire nearby crackled softly, its faint light dancing across Fleet's silhouette.
When Fleet turned his attention to rekindling the fire, Grey slipped away, one careful step at a time. Shadows clung to him, wrapping him in their cold embrace as he glided between the trees. Each movement was fluid, silent, the forest floor muffling his footsteps. Above him, faint orange trails stretched like veins of flickering embers, chaotic and bright, cutting paths through the night as though beckoning him deeper into the darkness.
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Grey moved silently through the trees, his breath steady and controlled as he tracked a vivid orange trail. The glowing thread pulsed faintly ahead, weaving between tree roots and stretching toward something fresh—something recent. He didn't rely on the glow entirely, keeping his other senses sharp. His eyes flicked between branches, his ears tuned to every snap, creak, and faint whisper of wind through the underbrush.
As the light intensified, Grey crouched low, pressing himself into the frozen earth. He pushed the trails to the edges of his vision, forcing himself to focus on what lay ahead. Inch by inch, he crept forward until muffled voices broke through the brittle silence.
"Why'd I let ya dr—'ere, Drake? Ha— found—thing but some dem—core."
The voice cut through the night like a shard of glass—low, sharp, and edged with irritation. Grey froze, his breath catching in his throat. Voices. Humans? No, not from the village—the words were strange, twisted, spoken in a tongue both familiar and alien.
Another voice answered, calmer but no less foreign. "Wit—danger, there's no reward. We—gotta keep mov—in' to find a—mon crystal."
The word demon slipped through the broken phrases like a splinter under Grey's skin. His eyes darted to the faint glow coming from one figure's hand—a small orb, faintly illuminated, cradled in their palm. Dull, pale, unimpressive compared to the brilliance of the Heart of Radiance. He glanced toward the beast lying motionless at their feet. Was that the demon they spoke of?
Whoever these strangers were, they weren't from his village. Their words were sharp, strange—almost garbled in his ears. And their clothing... sleek, smooth, shimmering faintly in the moonlight. No fur, no coarse stitching—just flowing lines and material that caught every flicker of light like ripples on water. It was a fabric Grey recognized from long ago, something the old man had worn.
Stitched across the chest of one figure was an image in gleaming gold thread. A great serpent, but unlike any he had seen before. Its sinuous body curled in elegant arcs, with talon-like claws stretched out in poised menace. A thick mane of fur bristled along its neck, flowing as if caught in an eternal wind, and long, delicate whiskers extended from its sharp, angular face. Its eyes, though just embroidery, seemed to glint with a predatory intelligence, and its mouth was frozen mid-snarl, baring curved fangs that seemed ready to strike.
It reminded him of the Serpent King he had once seen—raw and untamed, coiled in shadow and hunger—but this creature felt different. Refined. Regal. Its ferocity wasn't wild chaos but something deliberate, something sharp-edged and undeniable.
It was... terrifying.
But it was beautiful too, in a way Grey couldn't quite describe. A predator carved from gold and stitched into eternity.
I have to tell the others, Grey thought.
But as he shifted to move, his boot pressed down on a twig. Snap.
The world froze.
The strangers spun toward him. The faint red flicker of their glow flared brighter for a brief moment before fading again. Around their hands, vibrant orange orbs of light erupted into existence, swirling like embers caught in a storm before solidifying into sharp, crystalline blue speGrey's instincts screamed.
He dove sideways as the spears shot forward with a whistling crack, embedding themselves into the tree behind him with splintering force. Shards of ice rained down around him, biting into his skin and clothing.
"Stop!" he shouted, stumbling into the clearing and raising his bow. His hand was already steady, an arrow nocked and aimed between them.
The man called Drake hesitated, the glow around his hand flickering. The other lowered his arm, the magic—or whatever it was—dissolving into faint sparks of light.
"A per—n," Drake said, his voice carrying a faint note of surprise.
Grey's chest heaved, but his arrow stayed taut against the bowstring. "Wait. Please."
Drake and his companion exchanged glances before fully lowering their hands. The tension in the air thinned slightly, but Grey's instincts remained coiled tight, ready to snap.
"Who a— you?" Drake asked, his voice uneven, the words rough and broken in a way Grey could barely understand.
"A hunter," Grey replied flatly.
Drake mouthed the word as if tasting something foreign and unrefined. "A hunter." He scoffed, shaking his head. "Do you kn— where—e strong demon—c beast is?"
Grey's eyes flicked between the two men. Strong? Was he crazy? There were plenty of strong beasts here. His gaze darted to the forest around them, and he gestured vaguely to the shadows and the tangled threads of orange light lingering there.
For a heartbeat, silence hung heavy in the clearing.
Then Drake's mouth twitched. His companion let out a sharp, barked laugh, and Drake followed suit. Their laughter was loud, brittle, unnatural in the quiet night.
Grey flinched as the sound grated against his ears, his senses roaring with danger. Their laughter wasn't just amusement—it was something else. Something sharp-edged. Something mocking.
"No," Drake said between gasps of laughter, his grin crooked and manic. "A strong demon. Very, very strong." He exaggerated the word with wide gestures.
And then Grey understood.
Grey's chest tightened as he realized it—they know. They know about the wolf.
But deep down, something itched at the back of his mind. The wolf wasn't just a beast. It was more. It was something ancient, something powerful. Something wrong.
His realization must have shown on his face because Drake froze, his sharp eyes locking onto Grey with sudden intensity.
The other figure's shoulders stiffened, his fingers twitching. Drake's voice dropped, low and sharp:
"He knows someth—. No one ca— be all—ed"
It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.
The companion didn't even lift his arms, but the orbs moved—sharper, faster, converging into pointed shards of ice.
His fingers moved on instinct, loosing the arrow.
It struck true, embedding itself in the man's eye socket with a wet crunch. The foreigner crumpled wordlessly to the ground, lifeless.
Drake flinched, his eyes wide with shock, but it lasted only a heartbeat. His hands began weaving strange patterns in the air as light flared and ice shards began forming in rapid succession.
Grey ducked behind a tree as razor-thin icicles hissed past him, embedding into bark and earth. Splinters and frost stung his face as he dared to peek out, loosing another arrow.
Drake swiped his hand, and a translucent wall of ice erupted between them. The arrow partially pierced it but stopped short of hitting flesh.
Grey didn't wait. He surged forward, pulling his knife out as he closed the distance between them. Drake's frantic gestures sparked more lights in the air, but they were slower, less focused.
A faint crackle—something sharp and thin—caught Grey's ear, but he was no longer only relying on his ability, he twisted sharply, narrowly avoiding a needle of ice that grazed his shoulder.
But Grey didn't stop.
He slammed into Drake, knife raised high. For a brief moment, their eyes met—Drake's filled with disbelief and fleeting terror.
"Wai—" Drake began, but Grey's knife carved through his throat in one clean motion. Blood sprayed across Grey's hands, hot and thick, soaking into the earth below.
Drake collapsed, clutching at his neck, choking on wet gasps until he stilled completely. His wide, unseeing eyes stared upward as the forest went still once more.
Grey stumbled back, the knife trembling in his hand. His chest heaved, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as the weight of what he'd just done slammed into him.
Before, it had been animals—beasts. But this? These were people.
No, he thought, his knees buckling beneath him. Don't think about it. Don't stop now. You'll die if you stop now.
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to move, to breathe. The others didn't know. They had no idea people were here—people from outside.
With shaking hands, Grey crouched and began searching the bodies, his movements methodical despite the adrenaline flooding his veins.
The satchel was heavy, its contents unfamiliar. Strapped tightly across the man's waist was a belt with strange tools attached.
The first thing he noticed was a thin rod, barely longer than his forearm. It was smooth, straight, and felt oddly warm despite the cold air around them. When his fingers brushed its surface, he thought he caught a faint glow—like a dying ember deep within the wood—but it faded so quickly he wondered if he'd imagined it. Dismissing it as a trick of his tired eyes, he tucked it aside.
The next tool was a knife, and this one held his attention. The blade gleamed with an unsettling sharpness, like water frozen mid-fall. It was flawlessly smooth, with no chips or uneven edges, and caught the faintest light in a sharp gleam that almost hurt to look at. Stone didn't do this. Bone didn't do this. It was something else entirely—something made with impossible precision.
The handle was just as strange—smooth, dense, and cold as ice. No sinew binding, no leather wrapping—just solid, unyielding perfection. It felt heavy in his hand, not from weight but from the importance it carried.
The third tool was claw-like, curved and sturdy. Its edge was flat, and the tip came to a precise point. It reminded him of a talon, but it wasn't natural—it was shaped, controlled, designed for a purpose. Likely for digging, he guessed. Scraping roots, maybe. Harvesting plants.
Grey turned the knife over in his hands, staring into its polished surface where his reflection stared back, fractured by the blade's edge.
How could something like this exist? The question hummed in his mind. These weren't tools made by rough hands carving stone against stone or binding bone with sinew. These were crafted with knowledge and skill far beyond his world.
Shaking off the feeling, he tucked the tools away carefully along with the orb dropped earlier. Whatever these were, they were important. And they were not from here.
Grey found similar items on Drake's companion. His gaze lingered on the lifeless body, his arrow still lodged deep in the man's eye socket. He couldn't bring himself to retrieve it. His stomach twisted as he turned to leave, but something held him back.
The clothes.
They would need proof—evidence to show the others. Information was everything now.
Suppressing a shudder, Grey began to strip the garments from the two bodies. Drake's robe was heavy with blood, sticking to his fingers as he peeled it away. The other cloak—clean, untouched by violence—belonged to someone who could've been his peer in age.
Grey stood there for a moment, the cold night air biting at his face. His breath misted in faint clouds as he forced himself to look away from the bodies.
He inhaled deeply, shoulders trembling from something deeper than exhaustion. Then, clutching the strange garments tightly, he turned and slipped back into the shadows, disappearing from the moonlight's pale glow as he made his way back to camp.
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It was really interesting to dive into a battle with actual magic. I hope that people notice a few key points I tried to point out subtly. If you liked, comment, follow, vote/like the story and chapter. Look forward to the next one tomorrow.