h dew and the scent of pine as the sun filtered through the towering trees of the Verdant Fang Woods. Birds chirped warily, their song thinner than usual—a subtle silence lingering in the canopy.
Derick, Lina, Aro, Fen, and Bran moved swiftly through the underbrush, each of them armed with crude weapons and supplies for gathering herbs. Bran led the way, keeping his eyes low, pointing toward the south cliffs with exaggerated certainty.
"We'll be there soon," he muttered.
Derick nodded, but something gnawed at him. The forest felt… still. Too still.
No insects. No rustle of beasts.
Even the wind had stopped.
The Sudden Attack
They reached the clearing near the cliff face, where Bran had claimed spiritroot glowed on the rocks. But there was nothing.
Only stone. And shadows.
Lina tensed. "There's no spiritroot here."
Bran opened his mouth to respond—when a sudden roar shattered the silence.
Two Nightfang Hounds exploded from behind the trees, their bodies streaks of black muscle and glowing red eyes. One lunged directly at Aro. He barely raised his arm before the beast slammed into him, tearing into his shoulder.
"AMBUSH!" Derick yelled, drawing his blade.
From the trees above, three demon assassins dropped down like shadows. One aimed straight for Lina, twin daggers flashing. Derick intercepted him, blocking with his short sword, the impact jolting his arms.
Fen was thrown back by the second Nightfang, its claws raking his side. He screamed, collapsing into the dirt.
From the ridge above, a cold, inhuman voice echoed through the trees.
"The boy lives… but not for long…"
The Shadow Seeker descended like a drifting wraith, its form rippling between reality and mist.
Master Shen's Arrival
Just as Derick was about to be overwhelmed, a flash of silver cut through the air.
Master Shen emerged from the trees, his robe billowing, eyes sharp with fury. His blade arced through the neck of one demon assassin, black blood spraying as the creature fell, twitching.
"Get back!" Shen roared.
Derick leapt to Fen, dragging him toward cover. Aro, arm shredded, tried to crawl.
"Lina—fall back!" Shen ordered.
She moved to cover Bran, but the boy stood frozen, mouth agape. It was clear now. He hadn't expected the demons to kill so many.
"I didn't know… they said… I didn't mean for this—!"
Derick's eyes locked onto him in that moment. He understood everything.
Bran was the traitor.
The Fight and the Price
Master Shen fought with the precision of a man who had lived a hundred battles. He struck a second assassin low, crippling its legs before gutting it cleanly.
But the Nightfang Hounds were faster.
One caught his leg in its jaws, throwing him against a tree. Bones cracked.
Still, Shen rose.
He stood between the children and the demons, even as blood soaked his robes.
"RUN!" he shouted.
The Shadow Seeker drifted closer, its whisper curling through the air like a ghost:
"You cannot protect them all, old man..."
"I only need to protect one," Shen muttered, then stabbed his sword into the ground.
A seal exploded beneath his feet—a sacrificial technique.
The blast of spiritual force surged outward in a flash of white-blue light. It sent the demons reeling, the hounds whining, the Shadow Seeker screeching in fury as it was forced back into the Veil.
The forest trembled.
Escape
Derick, eyes burning with tears, grabbed Fen and Aro. Lina helped him drag them down the cliffside into a narrow tunnel only they knew—an escape path Shen had once shown them for emergencies.
Behind them, Bran tried to follow, but Lina shoved him away.
"You don't get to run with us," she spat.
Bran fell back, stunned, as the others disappeared into the darkness.
They ran.
Through roots and mud. Through pain and dust. The mountain cried above them as energy clashed between Shen and the remaining demons.
They emerged near a shallow stream deep in the woods—broken, bleeding, and alive.
But Shen was gone.
Silence and Firelight
That night, they made camp in a hollow under tree roots. Fen moaned in his sleep. Aro's arm had been wrapped tightly in bark and herbs.
Lina sat in silence, staring into the fire.
Derick sat beside her, his arms covered in cuts and bruises, his heart hollow.
"He knew," Derick said quietly. "He knew they would come."
"He saved us all," Lina whispered.
No one spoke of Bran.
No one asked what happened to him.
The Morning After
At sunrise, Derick walked away from the camp alone.
He stood at the edge of a nearby cliff, looking back toward the southern ridge where Shen had made his last stand. Smoke still rose faintly in the distance.
Derick clutched the letter of passage hidden beneath his tunic.
The world was changing.
There would be no more mistakes. No more blind trust. The war had come to them, and now it was time to grow stronger—or perish.
He turned back toward the camp.
Toward the others.
And the vow was simple.
"We will survive. We will rise. And we will remember."