Morning came veiled in mist.
Thalden's Hollow lay silent beneath a damp sky, the village shrouded in an uneasy calm. Villagers moved with urgency and caution, speaking in hushed tones and keeping weapons close.
Instructor Braedon stood in the village square, issuing orders.
"You two," he said, pointing at Eryon and Alice. "Scout the forest's eastern edge. No heroics. Mark trails, report anything strange. If it's just a wolf, fine. If not, you fall back."
Eryon and Alice exchanged a brief glance. Tension remained between them, but it was no longer sharp. It had cooled into a reluctant understanding.
They set out together, blades at their sides.
The forest greeted them with silence. Not peaceful silence—dead silence. No birds. No wind. Even the underbrush was still.
"Feels like we're walking into a grave," Eryon muttered.
Alice nodded. "Stay close."
They moved carefully, eyes scanning the gnarled trees. Strange symbols marked some trunks—claw marks too large for any known beast, and in places, the earth was scorched.
After an hour, they reached a narrow clearing near a dry creekbed.
That's when they saw it.
A carcass—half a deer, splayed open. But not eaten.
Burned.
"This wasn't for food," Alice said, kneeling beside it. "It's a message."
Eryon turned slowly, sensing something behind them.
And saw nothing.
Then the wind shifted.
And the smell hit them—rot, ash, and something wrong. Not decay, but corruption.
"Move!" Eryon shouted, drawing his sword.
A blur burst from the trees—a beast too fast, too low to the ground, covered in armored black hide and glowing red veins. Not natural. Not of this forest.
It struck like a whip. Alice rolled aside, slashing at its flank. Sparks flew, but the blade didn't cut deep.
Eryon circled wide, trying to flank it. The beast hissed—a sound like metal grinding—and leapt toward him.
Flames erupted instinctively from Eryon's hands, forcing the creature back.
Alice struck again, this time landing a clean hit across one of its legs. It screeched and vanished into the trees.
They didn't chase it.
They didn't need to.
It had already shown what it wanted.
They returned to the village in silence.
Braedon listened with a grim expression.
"Not a beast," he said at last. "A construct. Something forged, not born."
Eryon felt his pulse quicken. "Forged by who?"
"That," Braedon said, "is what you'll help us find out."