As the boy stood frozen, his heart pounded against his ribs. The futility of running cemented his legs to the forest floor. His trembling hand reached inside his coat, fingers brushing the hilt of a dagger. With a sharp breath, he unsheathed it, the metal glinting faintly in the muted forest light.
There was no time for fear. Frail as he was, powerless compared to the predator stalking him, he resolved to fight. Like the rest of his caravan, he would go down swinging. Life as a merchant was fraught with danger; no one lasted long without accepting the risks. He had known this day might come. What he hadn't known was that he would face it alone.
He tightened his grip on the dagger, its familiar weight grounding him. His family had always said bravery wasn't about strength but about standing firm when fear screamed at you to run. Now, with no one left to stand beside him, Rain would hold true to that lesson.
But the beast didn't charge. The guttural growl he'd braced himself for never came. Instead, the air grew still. The acrid scent of blood that had lingered for what felt like hours began to fade, as though retreating into the depths of the forest. Rain's knuckles whitened as he scanned the underbrush, his eyes darting between shadows. He knew better than to lower his guard. Fenars were cunning and cruel. They took pleasure in stalking their prey, savoring the moments before striking.
A faint rustle behind him made his breath catch. Slowly, he turned, dagger raised, only to find nothing but shifting leaves. His pulse quickened. The predator was toying with him.
"Who are you looking for?"
The voice was light, almost playful, yet it carried a strange authority. Rain spun on his heel, the dagger slicing through the air in a swift, instinctive motion. His body moved before his mind could process the words.
Too late, he realized the voice didn't belong to the beast.
The blade was fast, and his arm had already committed to the strike. His eyes widened in panic as he registered the figure standing before him—a girl, slightly shorter than himself, with crystalline eyes that seemed to pierce through him.
Time slowed.
The girl's hand moved effortlessly, her fingers catching the blade mid-swing. The dagger froze between them, its edge resting harmlessly against her skin. The casual precision of her movement was unnerving. She didn't flinch, didn't recoil. She merely stood there, her grip steady, as though catching knives was as ordinary as breathing.
Rain staggered back, his legs unsteady. His mind raced to reconcile what had just happened. The girl's attire caught his eye: a flowing dress, pristine despite the forest's grime. Her feet hovered above the ground, enveloped in a black substance that writhed and coiled like living shadows. Tendrils of the same dark matter slithered up her legs, their movements serpentine and deliberate.
She tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Strange way to greet someone," she said, her tone tinged with amusement. "What's your name, by the way?"
Rain's mouth went dry. "Wh-Who… What are you?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the shadows, which seemed almost sentient, responding to her every movement.
"A demon," his mind whispered. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He had heard stories of creatures like her—malevolent beings that preyed on the weak, luring their victims with false comfort before revealing their true, monstrous nature. His caravan leader had warned the children countless times, describing demons as the ultimate predators.
The girl's crystalline gaze remained fixed on him, unblinking. Rain tightened his grip on the dagger, his knuckles aching. "I won't let you take me, demon!" he shouted, his voice cracking. He yanked at the blade, trying to free it from her grasp, but her hand didn't budge. It was as though the steel had fused with her fingers.
Desperation flared in his chest. He pulled back his free hand, curling it into a fist. If the dagger wouldn't work, he'd fight her barehanded if he had to.
Before his punch could connect, she released the blade and stepped back. Her movements were unhurried, almost bored, as though she were indulging him in a game he had already lost.
"I'm not a demon," she said flatly, brushing imaginary dust from her dress. Her shadow rippled beneath her as she spoke. "If anything, I scared one away." She crouched, her fingers disappearing into the darkness at her feet. When she rose, she held a sword—a blade larger and more weathered than Rain's dagger, its edge jagged and stained.
"See?" she continued, holding the weapon aloft. "I took this from the Fenar."
With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the sword at Rain's feet. The blade landed with a dull thud, stirring a cloud of dirt and leaves. Rain stared at it, his mind reeling. His eyes darted to his own weapon, then back to the sword. Both bore the same intricate imprint on their hilts—a symbol of his caravan's craft.
Rain's heart sank. The sword's presence confirmed his worst fears. The Fenar hadn't just attacked his caravan. It had destroyed it.
His thoughts spiraled. If this girl wasn't a demon, then what was she? No ordinary child could face a Fenar and live, let alone frighten it away. Yet here she stood, calm and unscathed, as though the encounter had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
Exhaustion weighed down on him, its pull irresistible. His legs buckled, and he sank to the ground, the dagger slipping from his grasp. The fight drained out of him, leaving only a hollow resignation.
"If you're going to kill me, just do it," he murmured, his voice barely audible. His body slumped forward as sleep overtook him, his mind surrendering to the darkness.
When Rain awoke, the sun was high, its rays filtering through the canopy above. The forest, which had seemed so menacing the night before, now felt oddly serene. He stretched, letting out a long yawn, and rubbed his eyes.
Then it hit him.
He was alive.
His heart raced as he scrambled to his feet, his gaze darting around in search of the girl. Relief mixed with unease as he spotted her perched on a rock nearby, her shadow stretching far below her like a dark tapestry.
"You're finally awake," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "So, what's your name?"
Rain hesitated, the events of the previous night rushing back to him. The dagger, the Fenar, the girl's impossible strength—it all felt like a fever dream. Yet the sword at his feet, its bloodstained blade glinting in the sunlight, was proof enough that it had been real.
"Rain," he said at last, his voice steadying. "Rain Trinlo. From Trinlo's Merchant Guild."
The girl nodded, her expression unreadable. "Rain," she repeated, as though testing the name. "Well, Rain Trinlo, I'm Aris Verum Umbra."
She stood, her shadow coiling around her like a living thing. "And you," she added with a faint smile, "owe me your life."