A vast expanse of purple stretched infinitely in all directions, a space untethered from reality. Elena sat curled up behind thick, rusted chains, her small form swallowed by their presence. The heavy links coiled around her like serpents, binding her in place, though she felt no physical restraint—only the crushing weight of something unseen.
Before her, two figures stood in confrontation.
Varian, his old and battle-worn body as she last saw him, stood tall despite the wear of time. His eye, filled with warmth yet firm in resolve, locked onto the man opposite him.
Grohn, the burly bandit who had tormented so many, sneered with a twisted smirk, his arms crossed in defiance.
"You died because of her," he spat, his voice laced with bitterness. "If it wasn't for her distracting me, the boy wouldn't have escaped!"
He continued, "And if the boy hadn't escaped, you'd still be alive and well... Probably."
Varian's gaze remained steady, unwavering. His face, worn with age and wisdom, carried no anger—only quiet resolve. "No," he said, his voice calm yet firm. "The only one responsible for my death is you, Grohn. You and your men."
Grohn let out a rough laugh, shaking his head. "And yet, if it wasn't for her, none of this would've happened! The boy ran, the guards came, and now look where we are." His smirk faltered for a moment as he gestured around the empty void. "You're dead, old man. And for what? What did it get you?"
Varian closed his eye for a brief moment before exhaling slowly. When he opened it again, it held nothing but certainty. "It was necessary." His voice was steady, carrying a weight that even this void could not swallow. "The bandits lost. The prisoners were freed. And most importantly… Elena was freed."
Elena sucked in a breath, her fingers curling against the cold chains. The words hit something deep inside her, something raw and aching.
Grohn's scowl deepened, but he had no response. The swirling purple around them pulsed, growing darker, as if the space itself reacted to the weight of Varian's words.
Then, suddenly, the void trembled. The chains around Elena rattled. Cracks formed in the endless space, glowing white like fractures in glass.
Varian turned his head slightly, his gentle gaze settling on Elena. There was warmth in his expression, something reassuring.
Then—shatter.
The moment the chains shattered, a deafening silence followed. The void itself seemed to pulse in anticipation.
Grohn took a step back, his breath unsteady. His usual bravado had melted away, replaced with something Varian rarely saw in the man—fear. His lips trembled as he muttered, "Now she's freed."
Varian, at first, didn't understand the weight of those words. He nodded with a small smile, relief washing over him. "Yes, she's free… What's wrong with that?"
Grohn didn't answer right away. Instead, his shaking hand rose, pointing toward Elena. His voice carried something almost like dread. "It's not the kind of free you wanted, old man… Look at her."
Varian turned.
His body locked up instantly.
The girl who had been behind those chains was gone. In her place stood something else—something inhuman.
A grotesque, wolf-like creature with a lean, sinewy frame and fur dyed a sickly shade of green. Its eyes glowed with an unnatural, seething malice, its mouth twisted into a snarl lined with jagged teeth. The weight of its presence made the very air feel suffocating, filled with raw, unfiltered hatred.
Varian felt fear. True, unshakable fear.
He took an instinctive step back—only to realize Grohn had done the same.
Then, the beast moved.
It stepped forward, its sharp claws clicking against the unseen ground. It wasn't looking at Varian. No—it was focused entirely on Grohn.
Before either of them could react, the creature lunged.
Grohn's scream tore through the void as jagged teeth sunk into his hand, ripping away his finger in a spray of dark mist. He staggered back, clutching the wound, his voice a mix of agony and horror.
Varian's heart pounded in his chest as he reached out desperately. "Elena! Stop! Wake up!"
But the beast didn't listen. It wasn't Elena anymore.
Distant screams echoed through the void, calling for her to stop. They were familiar—desperate, pleading—but they barely reached her.
Her vision was clouded, lost in a haze of seething red. She wasn't standing anymore—she was inside something. A new skin. A new home. It had swallowed her whole, taken control of her limbs, her thoughts, her very being. And yet… she didn't care.
The rage was comforting. It wrapped around her like a second soul, pulsing with the only thing that mattered now—vengeance. The urge to rip, to tear, to make him suffer. Grohn.
Because of him, Varian was gone.
Because of him, she was alone.
He had to pay for that.
The beast—her—lunged forward again, drawn to his suffering. His screams filled the space, raw and frantic. He stumbled back, clutching his bleeding hand, his eyes wide with terror. But even through the pain, he still pointed at her, voice trembling with something between horror and realization.
"The Green Savage!"
The words hit her like a sudden gust of wind, breaking through the fog.
That name.
He had called her that before.
Savage? Green?
The beast stilled.
The rage didn't vanish, but something stirred beneath it. A faint whisper of doubt. She wasn't like that… Right?
No.
She refused to believe it.
She wasn't a beast.
She wasn't some mindless creature driven by hatred.
She was right.
This was justice—her justice.
Grohn was the monster here, not her. It was because of him that Varian was gone, because of him that so many had suffered. So why should it matter what she did to him? His body deserved death.
Some might have taken him away peacefully, might have given him a clean end. But not her.
She would make sure he felt terror. True terror. She would carve suffering into his flesh, make him understand what it meant to be helpless, to have his life slowly stripped away. Death wouldn't be his punishment—it would be his mercy, a release he would beg for by the time she was finished.
With a snarl, she lunged again. Her wolf-like jaws snapped shut around his ear, tearing away half of it in a spray of blood. Grohn's scream ripped through the purple void, raw and broken.
And she relished it.
She had shattered the chains with her own hands. She had allowed the beast to take her.
Now, she was the beast.
She smiled, jagged wolf-like teeth bared in twisted delight.
This was nice.
She loved it—loved watching him writhe in agony, hearing his screams, feeling his fear. She wanted more.
He deserved more.
She stepped forward, ready to sink her fangs into him again, to drag out his suffering, to make him beg—
But before she could—
Schhk.
A blade flashed.
Grohn's head was severed in an instant.
It tumbled to the ground with a dull thud, his lifeless body crumpling beside it.
The beast froze.
Her prey was taken.
He was dead.
She should feel happy, right?
This was justice. He had deserved death, and he got death. So why…
Why did she feel empty?
It wasn't because he was gone.
No.
It was something else.
Because it wasn't by her hands.
She didn't just want him dead. She wanted to end him herself.
And even that… was taken from her.
And then, she heard it.
A soft sigh.
The sound drifted through the purple space, barely a whisper, yet it carried weight—a force that wrapped around her like an unseen hand.
In an instant, the beast was gone.
The jagged teeth, the claws, the overwhelming hunger for violence—all of it vanished.
She looked down.
Her small hands trembled. No fur, no fangs. Just Elena.
Chains slithered around her limbs once more, binding her in place. Caged again.
Why?
Shouldn't the monster be the one locked away?
But if she was the one in chains…
Did that mean she was the monster?
Elena shook her head, clenching her fists.
No. That wasn't possible.
She was just a little girl.
She was no monster.
...
Elena's eyes fluttered open, the remnants of the dream still clinging to her thoughts like a fading mist. Her breathing was uneven, but as she focused on her surroundings, she found herself atop a horse, swaying gently with its steady movements. The warmth of the armored figure behind her was a quiet reassurance, a reminder that she was no longer alone in that purple abyss.
The guard—the same one who had promised Varian he would protect her—held the reins, his grip firm yet unintrusive. His presence offered a fleeting sense of security, something she hadn't felt in a long time. She knew, deep down, that it wouldn't last. Once they reached Jarustam, he would go his own way, leaving her to whatever fate awaited her in the city.
But for now, she allowed herself to lean into that comfort, just a little. Just for now.
Elena glanced around, taking in the scene around her. The rhythmic clatter of hooves filled the air as the guards rode alongside her, their armor glinting faintly under the overcast sky. The carriages rumbled behind them, carrying the freed prisoners—some silent, others murmuring among themselves. Further back, the captured bandits sat bound and slumped in defeat, their fates uncertain but undoubtedly grim.
Turning her gaze forward, she noticed the change in the landscape. Earlier, the dense forest had stretched endlessly, an overwhelming sea of towering trees. But now, the path ahead was beginning to widen. The trees grew sparser, and beyond them, an open space loomed, vast and unknown.
Yet, even as they neared the clearing, Jarustam was nowhere in sight. The city still remained a distant mystery, hidden beyond the horizon.
Elena shook her head, trying to shake off the unease creeping into her thoughts. She had heard of Jarustam before—her brother, Lance, had once mentioned it. He had been there for work.
Lance…
The moment she remembered his name, something clutched at her heart, tightening like a vice. Her mind wandered, unbidden, to a darker memory—her mother's death.
A spear of wind. A lance of air.
That young man in the black cloak, the Black Tower member, had played with them like a predator toying with its prey. He had learned her brother's name, and with a cruel smile, he had unleashed his Air Lance Art, piercing her mother right before her eyes.
Her brother's name… Once, it had been a source of warmth. Now, it was tainted. Tarnished.
If she thought of Lance, she would think of her mother's death. And it hurt. It hurt.
She couldn't even let herself remember him without pain. All because of that Black Tower member.
The young girl shook her head again, trying to push away the thoughts clawing at her mind. She couldn't think about the city and what awaited her. She couldn't think about Lance—his name only led back to her mother's death. She couldn't think about the bandits or the camp, because that meant thinking about Varian, and he was gone.
Then... what could she think about?
Her tongue brushed against something.
Small. Stringy. Stuck between her teeth.
A sickening realization settled in her gut. Flesh.
Her stomach churned. The taste was still there—metallic, raw. The memory of ripping, tearing, devouring.
Grohn's ear. His finger.
Her throat tightened, but she didn't spit it out.
Because if she did…
That would mean it was real.
It was stuck in her teeth.
She refused to believe it was real, but her thoughts dragged her back to the dream. Back to that moment when the monster vanished… and the chains returned.
No. She wasn't a monster.
Her breathing hitched as panic clawed at her chest. Desperate, she shoved her fingers into her mouth, scraping, tearing at the remnants, forcing herself to spit out whatever was left. But it wasn't enough. Some still clung to her, stubborn, as if refusing to leave.
Her breaths turned ragged. Her hands trembled.
The guard behind her must have noticed because his hand suddenly ruffled her hair, firm but gentle.
"Calm down," he muttered.
She didn't know him. He was just a guard—a stranger who wouldn't care about her once they reached the city.
But right now, in this moment, he was here.
He was real.
And that simple touch, that quiet reassurance, was enough.
Slowly, she began to calm down.
Elena swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lingering taste in her mouth. Her body still trembled slightly, but the guard's steady presence behind her kept her from spiraling further.
She looked down at her hands—small, fragile, yet stained with something unseen. She flexed her fingers, as if expecting them to still feel the warmth of fresh blood. Nothing. But that didn't make it any less real.
Her gaze shifted forward, watching the horses ahead move in unison, their riders silent. The freed prisoners sat huddled in the carriages, their eyes vacant, exhausted. The captured bandits, bound in chains, sat with slumped shoulders, their expressions ranging from hollow to seething rage.
Elena's fingers twitched.
She could still feel it. The beast. It had been there, had taken over—had enjoyed it.
She shut her eyes.
No. That wasn't me. It wasn't me…
A gust of wind brushed against her skin as the trees thinned. The dense forest was breaking open, revealing a vast horizon. The sky ahead stretched wide, everything painted blue with some white here and there.
And just beyond the clearing, barely visible in the far distance, were the towering walls of Jarustam.
Elena clenched her jaw, forcing herself to swallow. It was gone now—the taste, the feeling, the proof. It never happened. She was in control.
She had to believe that.
Her fingers curled into small fists against her lap as the horse rocked beneath her. She wasn't a monster—she wasn't. Grohn deserved it. Every second of it. If she hadn't done it, he would've just kept hurting people. If anything, she had shown mercy.
Then why did it feel like she had lost something?
Her gaze flickered toward the surrounding guards, the freed prisoners, the captured bandits. Did they know?
A few glanced her way, but none lingered. One of the former prisoners—an older woman with hollow eyes—held her gaze a little too long before looking away. Did she see? Did she hear?
Elena forced herself to breathe. They don't know. They weren't there when it happened. They didn't see the chains break. They didn't see the green beast.
She was just another child among the rescued. That's all they saw.
But then she looked forward. And she saw it.
The walls of Jarustam.
Towering gray stone, its gates wide enough to swallow them whole.
Something tightened in her chest. What happens when I arrive?
The guards would drop her off, and then what? Where would she go? Who would she be?
She had no home. No family. No one left.
A cold emptiness settled inside her. She clenched her hands tighter, willing herself not to tremble.
She wasn't a monster.
Then why did she feel like she was about to be caged again?
—End of Chapter.