[The Holy Empire]
A scrawny figure shuffled down the corridor, his oversized robe dragging on the polished floor. Curses slipped through clenched teeth. "All that old fart's fault! I was so close! So close!" His voice trembled with anger and nerves.
Bony shoulders jerked with each step. His frame looked out of place against the grand hallway. "Kane, come here! Kane, do this! Kane, do that! How annoying!" he muttered, darting glances at shadowed corners. His uncombed hair jutted like straw, and the robe's drooping sleeves flapped as he waved his arms.
A boy stepped into view from behind. His white robes gleamed, threaded with gold. "Who annoys you, Kane?"
"Ah!" Kane tripped over his startle, crashing to the floor. He glanced up, then quickly scrambled to his knees, pooling his robe around him like spilled laundry. "Y-your holiness!"
The child's voice rang, clear as chapel bells. "I asked who annoyed you."
"N-nothing! No one!" Kane stammered, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"I heard you delayed in rejoining your brethren. What detained you?"
"I... I…" Kane's tongue stuck to his dry palate. "Got left behind."
"Left behind?" The boy tilted his head. "Did you find toys out there, in the forest?"
"No! Not at all! I was...trying to find my way back. I got lost." Sweat glued Kane's unkempt bangs to his forehead, and his trembling fingers twisted the oversized sleeves of his robe.
"Is that so?" The boy stepped past Kane's bowed head, then stopped. He turned sharply.
"I heard a strange rumor. Monsters are dying near Dreadhowl Woodland. Bodies torn apart. Cores untouched." He tapped his polished shoe against the stone. "Wouldn't you call that foolish? Leaving the valuable bits behind?"
Kane stayed dormant, his eyes locked on the floor.
The child exhaled through his nose—a sound like winter wind slipping under chapel doors. His footsteps retreated.
When silence reclaimed the corridor, Kane's lips curled into a smile. It spread slowly, hidden in the shadows of his robe.
—
[Gorsmurd's Woodland]
Hmu Hmo wandered through the forest, blood smeared across his skin. Monster gore clung to him, and exhaustion bent his spine. Constant battles had chewed through his memories—he no longer counted how often teeth tore his flesh, nor how many throats he'd ripped to reclaim flesh from bellies.
He moved thoughtlessly, the village tragedy replaying behind his eyelids, drowning out all sights and sounds.
Monsters came. Always. Jaws clamped his arm—pain flared—then his surviving hand plunged through the attacker's eye socket. Bones snapped when he body-slammed the next creature, his splintered ribs becoming daggers for the third.
Each death dumped him somewhere new. Bog slime sucked at his feet. Pine needles pierced his skin. Moss-covered stones scraped his toes. The cycle never stopped—devour, explode, reappear—until "escape" meant nothing but the next wet crunch of fangs meeting marrow.
This time, though, instead of gnashing teeth, there was only an ache—a dull, insistent jab against his ribs.
"Stop. Let me sleep," Hmu Hmo slurred, his eyelids glued shut by dried blood and exhaustion.
"Wake up! Sleepy bones!" His sister crouched, her breath tickling his ear. "I'll eat your pork knuckle…"
"Mine! I'll—"
A sharp poke between his shoulder blades awakened him. A girl loomed above, stick still raised. Their eyes met—she yelped, flinging the branch away as she scrambled backward.
"MONSTER!" A trip. A stumble. She bolted. "MOMMY! MONSTER!" Tiny fists clawed at a woman's fur cloak.
"What is it, Dobby?" the woman asked the terrified girl.
"MONSTER! IT'S HERE!" Dobby wailed, peeking at Hmu Hmo through muddy fingers.
The woman whirled, arms raised defensively—then froze. Before her stood a boy, slumped and filthy. He swayed, barely upright. "A child?" Her gaze darted to the surrounding trees. "Where are your people?"
Hmu Hmo stared at his bare feet crusted with leaf rot. "Where...am I?"
"Dreadhowl Crest." She knelt, ignoring Dobby's whimpers. "You crossed the monster woods alone?" Her dyed hand hovered near his arm but didn't touch the weeping bite marks.
Dobby tugged her mother's cloak. "Smells bad! Rotten!"
The woman's nose twitched. Bile and blood clung to him. Her eyes narrowed at the fresh blood on his temple. "Who treated these wounds?"
Hmu Hmo touched his oozing scalp. "Wounds?"
A howl snapped deep in the woods. Dobby shrieked, setting off a chain of shrill cries from the trees.
"Come." The woman's hand extended toward him. "Stay close. Steps where we step."
Hmu Hmo stumbled after them, his hands brushing the damp cave walls. The path narrowed, leading to a hidden crevice. Dobby tugged her mother's arm whenever loose rocks crumbled.
"Careful," the woman warned. The ground sloped, and Hmu Hmo's bare toes slipped on a wet stone. When darkness fell, a faint blue light emerged from her satchel—woven tightly from strips of leather and sinew.
Dory whimpered at high-pitched screeches. "Monster nest!"
"Just rock swallows," her mother corrected but quickened her pace.
Hmu Hmo's nostrils flared. Smoke. Wildflowers. Then—voices. Dozens.
The cave spat them into sudden daylight. His blistered feet sank into warm ash soil. Above, stone jaws ringed a circular sky where sunlight poured like honey over thatched huts.
"Home," the woman said. Distant lizard-like shrieks echoed through the volcanic throat above them.
"Daisy, Dobby. Are you back?" a shout rippled across the rocky wall of the crater. "Huh, who's this?" the man questioned upon spotting Hmu Hmo trailing behind them.
"We found him outside the crest. He had been injured by the monsters," Daisy answered. "Quick, we need to take him to the doctor."
"Daisy! Are you out of your mind?! Why are you bringing in an outsider? What about the rules?"
Another figure approached the commotion. "What's going on, Paul?" he inquired.
"Daisy brought in an outsider," Paul briefed him. "We will have to—"
"He's just a child!" Daisy interrupted. "We can't! Bryn, we must not—he's just a boy," she pleaded.
"I know, Daisy. I know. We'll take him to the chief and let the council decide," Bryn reassured her.
They led Hmu Hmo toward an imposing hut. Its timber bones, reinforced with granite muscles, stood defiant against the crater's prison walls. History crawled across every beam in whorled carvings.
Inside, torch flames licked the space—all shadows banished. Every council member's face lay exposed under the light as they turned toward the boy.
Ten elders sat on the wooden benches—five on each side, forming a ring around the central open space. At the front, the chief's chair rose slightly above the rest, its legs cloaked in soft rabbit pelts, their tawny fur dappled with white crystal beads that rattled against tiny bones strung together from hare paws.
Hmu Hmo stood rooted in the open space, the spot where both the accused and the honored received judgment. The elders whispered amongst themselves, their glances sliding away from him like skipping stones. Only the chief remained still and silent.
"This is nonsense!" An elder slammed his palm on the carved bench. "Look around! These walls cage us because of them. Outsiders can not be trusted!"
Another stroked his beard thoughtfully. "It was reckless, yes—but Daisy saved a child. What blame exists here?"
"A child? Without knowing his origins, how can you tell if he's a child or a breast?" a woman countered sharply.
"How do we find out?" came a snap from the left benches. "Steal his thoughts? Spill his blood?"
"Who he is means nothing," growled the first elder, his staff grinding into the floor. "All outsiders bring ruin! We must get rid of him!"
A younger councilor leaned forward. "So we butcher children now?"
The debate's tempest swallowed Hmu Hmo. Voices clashed above his head—hawk shrieks versus bear growls—until speakers and sides blurred into dissonance. His skull throbbed from the rising noise. Spit landed on his cheek as hands gestured furiously.
THUD! A palm struck the carved wood, sending vibrations through his feet.
The chief's beaded armrest rattled, and silence fell like a garrote.
"Done barking?" The chief rapped his knuckle against the beads. "Eyes see but don't think." His finger pointed at the crystal foundation beneath their benches—ten dull, lifeless stones. "Even termites stir them to life. The boy bleeds fear, yet the stones stay darker than grief."
An elder's knuckle pressed against her lips. "Can he be…?"
"All things hold mana," the chief murmured. "Leaf. Beetle. Rot. All but—"
"M'tis." A councilor spat the word like poison. "Lower than weeds. Only fit to be monster fodder."
Another elder softened her voice. "Look at him. He's still drenched in gore."
"Could be a trap," warned another elder, tracing a scar on his neck. "Spies. Or something worse."
Low murmurs spread like kindling sparks. "Danger… for all."
"Enough!" the chief silenced the rising panic. "If hunters knew our place, they'd send swords, not starving children." His gaze swept over Hmu Hmo's gore-covered form. "No spells bind him. The boy stays."
The chair groaned as he leaned back. "But if he crosses the borders..." His eyes slid to the ritual blades mounted on the walls. "You know what must be done."