The woods were quiet, the way I liked them. Sunlight cut through the leaves in dusty streaks, and the air smelled of damp earth and pine. Seres moved ahead of me, her fingers brushing over plants I couldn't name, plucking leaves and roots with a gentle precision I admired. I followed, a borrowed dagger in my hand, my eyes scanning the undergrowth.
We'd been lucky. Horned rabbits were quick, but not quick enough. The first one bolted from a thicket, and without thinking, I threw the dagger. It wasn't a clean kill—the blade caught it in the hind leg—but it was enough. Seres had nodded, impressed. The second and third came easier. By the fourth, Seres had stopped watching altogether, focused entirely on filling her pouch with silvery-leafed herbs called moonveil.
I was just as surprised as anyone. Each time I threw the knife, I expected to miss. But my arm knew the motion, my eyes knew the distance. The blade just… found its mark. Five rabbits. We decided to take two back for stew and sell the pelts of all five. Not a bad first official quest.
That's when we heard it.
A sharp cry, then a scream, tearing through the peaceful woods. It was close. Seres froze, her head snapping up. I was already moving, dagger back in my hand, pushing through a wall of thorny brush.
Two figures stumbled into a small clearing ahead. Boys, maybe around our age, dressed in cheap leather armor that was torn and splattered with dark, wet blood. One was supporting the other, who clutched his side, his face pale and twisted in pain. They weren't just running; they were fleeing. Their eyes were wide with pure terror, scanning the trees behind them as if death itself was on their heels.
The one who could still stand looked up, his gaze locking onto us. Desperate relief flooded his face. "Help! Please, you have to help us!" he gasped, his voice cracking.
I didn't move. My grip tightened on the dagger. The blood on their armor was fresh, still dripping onto the fallen leaves. This wasn't a simple training accident or a scrape with a horned rabbit. This was something else. Something that had chased them deep into these woods and wasn't done yet.
The two boys stumbled into the small clearing, their cheap leather armor shredded and dark with blood. The taller one, his face ashen, was half-carrying his friend, whose leg was a mess of torn fabric and deep gashes. They weren't just hurt—they were terrified, their eyes wild as they scanned the shadows behind them.
Seres was at my side in an instant, her own fear masked by a cool, focused calm. "What happened?" she asked, her voice steady.
"Help us! Please!" the taller boy begged, his voice raw. "It's dire wolves! A whole pack—they came out of nowhere!"
My body went still. Dire wolves. The words echoed in the silent space of my memory, cold and sharp. I knew that name. I knew the weight of it.
The injured boy groaned, slumping against a tree. "We were just... gathering wolf bane herbs for a potion... Rank D quest... thought we could handle it..."
Seres was already moving forward, her healer's instincts taking over. She knelt beside the wounded boy, her hands steady as she assessed the damage. But her eyes met mine over his shoulder, and in them, I saw the same cold understanding.
A Rank D quest. Dire wolves. The same creatures that had nearly killed me. The same creatures I had somehow slain.
The taller boy followed my gaze to the rabbits lying near our packs. His eyes widened slightly, taking in the clean kills. A flicker of desperate hope cut through his panic.
"Y-you're adventurers too?" he stammered. "Please... our friends, Joran and Liam, stayed behind to hold them off. We have to go back! He's still out there!"
The woods, which had felt so peaceful moments before, now felt heavy and watchful. Somewhere in the deepening shadows, a pack of dire wolves was hunting. And now, so were we.
The two boys—Krinish, the taller one, and Samy, the one bleeding badly—were on their knees, their voices choked with tears as they begged us to save their friends. The desperation in their eyes was a raw, physical thing in the quiet clearing.
Seres was firmly against it. "It's already evening," she said, her voice low and urgent as she knelt beside Samy. "The light is fading fast. Going deeper into the woods now is a death wish. Dire wolves are far more dangerous in the dark—their vision is sharper than ours." Her hands, however, didn't stop moving. She opened her herb pouch, pulling out a thick, dark paste. "This will sting," she warned softly before applying it to the deepest gash on Samy's leg. He hissed, his whole body tensing, but the bleeding began to slow almost immediately, the herbal mix acting as a potent coagulant. She quickly tore a strip of cloth from her own tunic and bound the wound tightly. "This isn't permanent. It will only hold for a few hours. You need proper healing."
She looked from Samy's pale face to mine, her expression torn. "We can't leave them, but we can't charge in blindly either." Her decision was swift, practical. "I will take Samy back to the guild. I can move faster if I'm just supporting him. I'll inform them and demand an emergency rescue squad be sent immediately." She turned to Krinish and me. "You two will go see if you can find the others. But," her voice hardened, her pale eyes locking onto mine, "if you are in over your head, if it gets too dark, or if you can't find them quickly—you turn back. Promise me."
I nodded, the weight of the situation settling on my shoulders. Seres handed me her precious herb pouch. "Use this if you find them. The green paste stops bleeding. The blue powder numbs pain." Her fingers brushed mine, a silent plea for caution.
Then I turned to Samy. "Your sword. I need it." My dagger felt insufficient against the memory of dire wolf fangs. Tears streamed down Samy's face, but he nodded, unbuckling the short sword from his hip with trembling hands. "Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Save them."
Krinish, though shaken, stood a little straighter. "I know a little fire magic," he said, a small, flickering flame igniting in his palm. It cast dancing shadows on his determined face. "It won't fight a pack, but it'll light our way and maybe… maybe scare them for a second."
Now armed with Samy's short sword and my own dagger, I watched as Seres helped Samy to his feet, his arm slung over her shoulders. With one last, worried glance, she turned and began half-supporting, half-carrying him back toward the distant glow of the city.
The woods swallowed them quickly, leaving Krinish and me alone in the deepening twilight. The small flame in Krinish's hand hissed and spat, our only shield against the encroaching dark. Somewhere in the shadows ahead, a pack of dire wolves was hunting, and at least two boys were still out there. We began to move, every rustle of leaves sounding like a threat, every snap of a twig making my grip tighten on the sword. We were not heroes. We were just two boys with a flickering light, walking into the wolf's den.
The forest closed in around us, a tunnel of deepening shadows and whispering leaves. Krinish held his palm out, the small flame there sputtering bravely against the growing dark. I glanced back once, just in time to see Seres, a determined silhouette against the fading twilight, half-carrying, half-dragging Samy toward the distant safety of the city gates. She was moving as fast as she could, a testament to her strength, but the distance was still great.
We turned our focus forward, Krinish's eyes scanning the ground and the trees. He was trying his best to remember the path, pointing out occasional scratches on bark he thought were markings and dark, splattered patches on the fallen leaves that were unmistakably blood. Every time he found one, his shoulders would tense a little more.
The silence between us was thick, broken only by our footsteps and the crackle of his fire. I could feel the fear rolling off him in waves. To ease it—or maybe just to hear a voice—he started to talk. The words came out in a nervous rush, a stream of sounds I could barely follow. He used complicated terms and talked about topics I had no context for—guild politics, the best blacksmiths in the lower district, the lineage of some noble house. I caught maybe one word in five.
It hit me then, how dependent I'd become on Seres and the children. Seres always chose simple words, spoke slowly, and used her hands to paint pictures in the air. The kids, especially Mia, would point and gesture, their expressions making the meanings clear. Out here with Krinish, I was lost. I was piecing together his meaning from his anxious tone and the fearful glances he threw into the shadows, not from the words themselves.
My cloak felt heavy then, but not just from warmth. The deep hood that hid my face, that shielded me from the stares that always seemed to find me, was also a barrier. It was keeping Krinish uneasy. He was talking to a shadow, a voice from under a hood, and it clearly put him on edge. He couldn't read my expressions, couldn't see if I was confident or as scared as he was.
His small talk finally landed on a question I could actually understand, his words slowing down as he pointed a finger at me. "What… rank… you?"
I understood that. I held up two fingers. "E rank," I said, the words clear and simple.
The effect was immediate. He didn't look reassured. His eyes widened slightly in the firelight, and the anxious energy around him seemed to sharpen into something closer to panic. He'd been hoping for a higher rank, someone experienced to lean on. Instead, he was stuck in the dark with another E-rank, a guy who could barely hold a conversation. His fire sputtered, and for a terrifying second, I thought it might go out.
Krinish's voice was a tight, nervous thread in the dark as he pointed a trembling finger toward a trampled patch of undergrowth. "We were here," he began, the words spilling out as if he needed to confess. "Gathering moonveil herbs. The quest said the area was safe." He swallowed hard, the memory tightening his features. "Then we heard it. A roar, deep and guttural. Not from one throat, but many. A pack of dire wolves, running from the west, straight for us."
He looked at me, his eyes wide with the residual shock. "We knew this part of the forest. It's supposed to be quiet. No dangerous animals. But the howls… they were getting closer. We thought—we hoped—maybe it was just a lone wolf, or a small one separated from its pack. Something we could handle."
He shook his head, a bitter, frustrated gesture. "Joran, our leader, he said running without preparing was foolish. That if we broke formation, we'd be picked off one by one. He thought maybe it was an injured wolf, driven from its territory by other adventurers. 'Think of the money compared to herbs,' he said. 'A lone wolf pelt is worth more than a week of foraging.'" Krinish's voice cracked. "We were so stupid. We all agreed. We decided to stand our ground and fight what we thought was a Rank E threat."
The memory was clearly torturing him. "But the howling got nearer, and the sound of footsteps… it wasn't a few. It was many. We realized our mistake too late. There was no time to run, no time to form a proper defense. The first wave hit us—three wolves, fangs bared. We managed to kill two, and we badly injured the third, but Samy got torn up in the fight."
He gestured to his own leg, mimicking the injury. "Before we could even catch our breaths, the second wave came. Five more wolves, eyes glowing in the shadows. Joran and Liam… they saw Samy was done for. They told me to get him out, to find help. They stayed behind to hold the line." His voice dropped to a haunted whisper. "I just ran. I didn't look back. The last thing I heard was Joran shouting for us to go, and the snarls closing in." He looked into the dark trees ahead, as if expecting to see his friends' ghosts. "It was a dumb decision to stay. And now they're paying for it."
Krinish lunged forward, a raw sound of desperation tearing from his throat. I knew the danger as well as he did now—the metallic scent of blood was thick in the damp air, a clear sign the fight had been vicious. I grabbed his arm, my fingers digging in. "Alone. Danger. Wait," I bit out, the three words a stark command.
He froze, the logic cutting through his panic. He understood, but his entire body remained a tightly coiled spring of angst and urgency. We weren't even sure if we would find his friends alive, let alone be able to rescue them if the situation was too grave. Besides, I had promised Seres we wouldn't engage if it was dangerous. Our main priority was to see if we could save the two and return safely.
Just then, a loud chant echoed from the tree line ahead—"[Flare Shot]!" A ball of fire shot into the sky. It was followed by the sharp whistle of "[Wind Slash]!" Krinish's eyes widened. "That's them!" he gasped, and before I could stop him, he broke into a dead sprint toward the sound, all logic abandoned.
I cursed under my breath. There was no choice now. I tightened my grip on the borrowed short sword and rushed after him.
We burst into a small, trampled clearing. The scene was dire. Liam, a swordsman, was on one knee, his blade notched and arm bleeding heavily as he desperately fended off two Dire Wolves. Joron, the source of the magic, was pale and leaning against a tree, his mana clearly spent after the last two spells ,he was pale and leaning against a tree, his mana clearly spent. Three dire wolves circled them, low and snarling, while a fourth lay motionless near Joron's feet—a casualty of their last stand.
Krinish didn't hesitate. He charged at the closest wolf, his own sword raised high. It was a reckless, emotional move. The wolf turned, jaws snapping toward his unprotected side.
In that moment, something shifted. The world turned blurry as my instincts took over. My focus narrowed until only the threat remained. My hood fell back, and the cool night air touched my face. I felt my eyes dilate, sharpening Krinish's form and the wolves' movements in the dim light. A strange, cold clarity washed over me.
I moved without thought.
Samy's short sword felt light in my hand. I didn't shout or yell. I simply stepped between Krinish and the lunging wolf. My blade came up in a short, precise arc, meeting the beast's throat mid-lunge. The impact jarred my arm, but the strike was clean. The wolf fell with a gurgling whine, its momentum spent.
Krinish could only stare, his own sword hanging limp at his side. The hooded figure—the quiet, strange boy he'd met in the woods—was moving in a way that made no sense. This wasn't the clumsy, hesitant swing of an E-rank novice. This was something else entirely.
His hood had fallen back, revealing a face that was shockingly young, yet etched with a focus that was utterly terrifying. And his eyes… they glowed. A faint, ethereal gold that cut through the twilight like lanterns. They weren't human. They were the eyes of a predator, calculating, seeing everything. Was this really the same E-rank recruit who had followed him out here?
The short sword in the boy's right hand was a blur, deflecting snapping jaws with sharp, metallic clangs. The dagger in his left was a viper, striking out to gouge deep cuts into matted fur. He fought alone against the two remaining wolves, a whirlwind of controlled, lethal motion. His arms crossed in an X, blocking a lunge from one beast before the dagger in his other hand slashed outwards, opening the wolf's flank. He moved between them, never staying still, using their own momentum against them. It was a brutal, efficient dance, and Krinish and the others could only watch, frozen in awe. This wasn't a fight; it was a execution.
With a final, fluid motion, the boy ducked under a paw swipe and drove the short sword up into the second wolf's chest. It collapsed with a whimper. The last wolf, enraged, leaped. But the boy was already moving. He threw the dagger. It wasn't meant to kill; it was a distraction, clattering off the beast's skull, making it flinch and turn its head. That was all the opening he needed. He sidestepped, the short sword flashing in a clean, horizontal arc. The wolf's charge ended abruptly, its body sliding to a stop at his feet.
Silence descended, broken only by the boy's steady breathing. He stood amidst the fallen beasts, a slight grimace on his face as he glanced down at a set of fresh claw marks bleeding through his trousers on his thigh. But he was standing. He had won.
A wave of pure relief washed over Krinish. They were safe. This stranger, this… monster in human form, had saved them.
But the feeling was shattered by Liam's raw, panicked scream. "RUN!"
Krinish turned to see his friend, pale and bleeding, trying to push himself up with his good arm. His eyes were wide with a terror far greater than any the wolves had inspired.
"Krinish, you idiot, run!" Liam rasped, grabbing a fistful of Krinish's leather collar with surprising strength. "If you don't run, you will all be killed! The dire wolves aren't the real threat! It's the Wraith! Even they were running from it!"
Wraith? The word meant nothing to Krinish, a storybook terror. But the sheer, unadulterated horror on Liam's face was real.
The hooded boy turned at the commotion, his glowing golden eyes shifting from the dead wolves to Liam, then following Liam's trembling finger pointing past the treeline.
The air grew cold. A deep, unnatural silence fell, suffocating the forest sounds. From the shadows between the trees, a figure emerged. It was tall and vaguely human, draped in tattered, ghost-white cloth that seemed to absorb the fading light. It had no face, only a deeper darkness within its hood. It floated just above the ground, silent and weightless. In its hands, it held a scythe of dark, pitted steel that seemed to suck the warmth from the very air around it.
The boy—Krinish didn't even know his name—stood his ground, turning fully to face the new threat. He raised his bloodied short sword, his body tensing for another fight.
He never saw it move.
One moment the Wraith was ten paces away. The next, it was simply there, having covered the distance without a sound. The dark scythe swung in a wide, impossibly fast arc.
There was no time to block, no time to dodge.
The boy's eyes widened, the golden light in them flaring in shock and pain as the spectral blade passed clean through his chest.
He didn't cry out. There was just a sickening, hollow thump of impact. He was lifted off his feet for a second, thrown backwards like a discarded doll. He landed hard on his back in the middle of the clearing, the short sword skittering from his limp grasp.
The Wraith hovered for a moment, its faceless gaze seeming to sweep over the other three frozen adventurers, as if considering them. Then, it began to glide slowly, silently, toward the boy's motionless form.
Krinish could only stare, his mind refusing to process what had just happened. The fearless fighter who had torn through dire wolves without a scratch… had been cut down in a single, effortless blow.