The forest changed.Torian had thought it silent before, but this was something else—an absence so complete it became
its own presence. Not just quiet. Not just still. It was watching.
He walked beside Skarn, who padded silently at his side, his heavy footfalls muffled by the moss-
covered ground. The beast's wings remained tucked, but even at rest, they twitched—tense, alert.
His thick fur, nearly black in the gloom, shimmered faintly with dew, and his golden eyes scanned
the tree line constantly.
They had been walking since dawn, or what passed for dawn in this place. The sun was little more
than a dim glow behind a ceiling of endless mist. What light reached them filtered through in sickly
shafts, more like the last light of dusk than morning.
Torian said little.
There was no need.
The bond between him and Skarn wasn't something that needed words. After the rescue, the flight
from the cavern, and the naming, something unspoken had settled between them. Torian didn't
command. Skarn didn't serve. They walked together.
Still, unease festered beneath Torian's skin. Every tree they passed seemed too still. Every patch of
shadow stretched too far. The deeper they moved into the forest's heart, the more unnatural it felt.
Even the birds were gone.
Skarn stopped suddenly.
Torian paused beside him. "What is it?"
The beast didn't answer. He didn't growl. Didn't sniff. He simply stared ahead into the wall of trees.
Torian strained his eyes.
Nothing.
Then—movement. A flicker. A shimmer of light that shouldn't have been there, like heat rising from
stone.Torian placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. He didn't draw it. Not yet.
They continued forward.
The path—if it could be called that—twisted along a ridge that curved above a sunken basin. Roots
jutted like bones from the earth. The stone was wet and slick with moss. The mist grew thicker here,
curling around their ankles, swirling like it had a mind of its own.
The shimmer came again.
Torian turned sharply.
Still nothing.
But Skarn's fur bristled.
They weren't alone.
⸻
They made camp near a shallow stone overhang nestled between two fallen trees. It wasn't much,
but it provided cover from the creeping dampness. Torian gathered what dry wood he could find—
mostly sticks and broken branches—while Skarn circled the perimeter, his muscles taut, his ears
flicking back and forth.
When the fire finally caught, the smoke drifted upward like a nervous sigh.
Torian sat cross-legged, hands near the heat, watching the flames. His sword lay across his knees.
His arms were sore. One of the cuts on his leg from the vines had reopened. The makeshift bandage
itched beneath his pants.
He didn't speak for a long time.
Skarn eventually settled near the fire, resting his massive head on his paws. But his eyes remained
open. Watching.
"I saw something," Torian said quietly, eyes fixed on the flames. "Earlier. Not clearly. Just… a
shimmer."Skarn exhaled.
Torian glanced at him. "You saw it too."
A low rumble—not hostile, not alarmed. Acknowledgment.
Torian's fingers tightened on the sword. "It didn't feel like an animal. Or a person. It felt…"
He trailed off.
He didn't have the words.
The fire crackled.
Overhead, branches swayed in a wind that didn't touch the ground.
⸻
He woke to silence.
The fire was dead.
Moonlight—pale and fractured—streamed through the trees in silver ribbons. Skarn was already on
his feet, standing between Torian and the treeline, his back low, his wings arched, his lips peeled
back just slightly.
Not growling.
Not yet.
Torian reached for his sword.
He rose slowly, keeping his movements deliberate, his breathing steady. His heart, however, had
already begun to race.
Something was there.The mist was heavier now, clinging to the ground like a tide. The trees no longer looked like trees.
They looked like statues—pillars of bark and silence.
Then it stepped out of the fog.
A figure.
Tall. Humanoid.
But wrong.
Its body shimmered like water struck by moonlight, the edges blurring and rippling, like it couldn't
hold a shape for long. Its face was smooth—too smooth—without mouth or nose. Only two silver
eyes burned faintly in the mask of its face.
It stopped twenty feet away.
Skarn growled, deep and thunderous.
The figure didn't flinch.
Then another stepped out from the opposite side.
And another behind it.
Three. Maybe more in the mist.
Torian raised his sword.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The first figure tilted its head.
Then—words. But not from a mouth.
From inside.
A voice in his mind, cold and calm."You carry the ember. But you do not understand it."
Torian's blood went cold.
"What do you want?" he asked aloud, voice steady despite the chill in his spine.
"To weigh you. To know your measure. To see if what burns in you is flame—or ash."
Torian didn't respond.
He took a step forward, sword raised.
Skarn moved with him, a half step ahead, his body a wall of muscle and motion.
The figures watched.
Then—movement.
Fast. Too fast.
One surged forward in a blur of light and smoke.
Skarn roared.
The sound shattered the quiet.
He launched forward, slamming into the figure with the force of a battering ram. The
impact knocked it back into a tree, which exploded into splinters. The figure twisted, its
body contorting unnaturally, then vanished in a wisp of light.
Another leapt toward Torian.
He swung.
The blade passed through it like mist.
Pain burst in his chest as the figure's strike landed—a blow not physical, but somethingdeeper, like a hammer made of cold.
He hit the ground, gasping, vision blurring.
The figure advanced.
Skarn barreled into it, sending both crashing into the trees.
Torian struggled to his knees.
His sword was still in hand, glowing faintly now—just barely.
The figure rose, unfazed.
"You are not ready."
It raised an arm, energy gathering at its hand.
Torian gritted his teeth.
"No," he growled.
The ember in his chest stirred.
A flicker.
A breath.
The blade pulsed—once.
Then—release.
A burst of orange light erupted from the steel, slamming into the figure. It staggered,
its form glitching, flickering between real and unreal.
The silver eyes narrowed.
"You are awakening."The mist surged around them—and the figures were gone.
Silence returned.
Only the sound of Torian's ragged breathing and the faint crackle of a dying fire
remained.
He slumped against a tree, eyes wide, chest heaving.
Skarn limped toward him, blood along his side. Not deep—but enough.
Torian looked up at him.
"Thanks," he managed.
Skarn sat beside him, panting, eyes still locked on the treeline.
Torian stared at the sword.
The glow was gone.
But it had been there.
It had answered.
Just for a moment.
He looked at Skarn.
Then at the place where the figures had stood.
And shivered.
They weren't alone anymore.
And the forest was no longer just a place to survive.It was a trial.
And the fire inside him was just beginning to wake.