The wind howled through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Aldric Vael pulled his tattered cloak tighter around his thin frame, his small fingers stiff from the cold. He crouched beneath a fallen log, his breath shallow, his pulse drumming in his ears.
He had learned to be silent.
For weeks—perhaps months—he had been alone in this vast, unforgiving forest. At first, he had tried to count the days, carving lines into the bark of an old oak with a sharp rock. But eventually, hunger, exhaustion, and the need to survive had dulled his sense of time.
His parents had left him here.
Not because they didn't love him. Not because they wanted to. But because they had no choice.
He still remembered the night they disappeared. His father, grim-faced and battle-worn, had knelt before him, gripping his shoulders tightly.
"You must stay here, Aldric," he had said. "No matter what happens. No matter what you hear. Do you understand?"
His mother had kissed his forehead, her touch lingering as if she wanted to memorize the feel of his skin. There had been fear in her eyes—not for herself, but for him.
And then… they were gone.
He had heard the sounds of battle in the distance. The clash of steel. The guttural roars of creatures he did not yet understand. Then—silence.
He had waited for them to return. Days passed. Then weeks. Hunger clawed at his belly, and thirst burned his throat. He survived on rainwater and bitter berries, some of which made his stomach cramp for days. He had tried to hunt, using a sharpened stick as a spear, but he was no warrior.
He was just a child.
And yet, he had not died.
Not yet.
Tonight, however, death was close. He could feel it.
The forest was unnervingly quiet—no chirping insects, no rustling leaves, no distant cries of night birds. The air itself felt heavier, pressing against his chest like an unseen force.
Then he saw them.
Two golden eyes, gleaming in the darkness like embers beneath a hood of shadow.
Aldric's heart stilled. He tightened his grip on the rusted knife he had scavenged days ago, though he knew it was useless.
The creature emerged from the trees, stepping into a sliver of moonlight.
At first glance, it looked like a man—tall, gaunt, draped in a tattered cloak. But Aldric knew better.
Its face rippled, flesh shifting unnaturally. Its mouth stretched wider than any human's should, revealing jagged teeth meant for tearing. Its fingers twitched, long and clawed, eager to sink into flesh.
A Veydir.
Aldric had only ever heard of them in whispered tales. His father had spoken of them as creatures hiding among men, walking in secret, blending into the world of humans until their hunger took hold. His mother had warned him that they were always watching, always waiting.
Now, one stood before him.
And it was hungry.
Aldric held his breath, pressing himself lower against the log. Maybe if he stayed still, it wouldn't see him. Maybe if he prayed hard enough, it would disappear.
The Veydir sniffed the air. Then, slowly, its head turned toward him.
Aldric's stomach twisted.
It saw him.
The creature lunged.
Aldric scrambled back, dirt and dead leaves flying beneath his hands as he tried to run. But he was small, weak, and the Veydir was faster.
It was nearly upon him when a blur of movement descended from the trees.
A flash of silver. The sound of steel slicing through flesh. A wet, gurgling snarl.
Then silence.
Aldric dared to open his eyes.
The Veydir lay motionless on the ground, black ichor pooling beneath its twitching body. Standing over it, blade still dripping, was a man.
Tall and cloaked in black, he had an air of quiet menace. His face was partially shadowed, but Aldric caught the glint of silver in his eyes—cold, calculating, inhuman.
A Grimm.
Aldric had never met one before, but he had heard the stories. Grimms were the hunters of the hidden world, the ones who saw the monsters lurking beneath human skin. They were ruthless, relentless, feared by Veydir and men alike.
The Grimm kicked the corpse aside, then turned toward Aldric. His gaze swept over him—his ragged clothes, his trembling form, his small, dirt-streaked hands still clutching the useless knife.
"You shouldn't be out here alone, boy." His voice was rough, edged with something unreadable.
Aldric swallowed hard. "I… I have no one."
The Grimm studied him for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he sheathed his sword and extended a hand.
"Not anymore."
Aldric hesitated. He had learned not to trust strangers. The last time he had trusted someone, they had vanished into the night, leaving him to fend for himself.
But this man was different.
The Veydir had feared him. He had saved Aldric without hesitation.
And most importantly—his eyes. Those silver eyes saw him in a way no one else had.
Aldric slowly reached out, his small fingers brushing against the Grimm's calloused palm.
A firm grip closed around his hand.
And in that moment, his fate was sealed.
The last forsaken Grimm had been found.