The forest was quiet again, almost unnaturally so. The kind of silence that followed bloodshed.
Aiden's chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, his hand still gripping his sword though his arms trembled too much to lift it. The clearing reeked of iron and burnt ash, the remnants of the Dire Wolf Alpha scattered across the soil like a dark smear of dust.
And in front of him stood Garron.
The man's frame was broad, hardened from years of battles in the forest. His leather armor bore scars from claws and blades alike, and his left cheek carried the faint pale line of an old wound. His torch threw an amber glow over the scene, shadows carving deep lines into his face.
For a long moment, Garron simply stared.
Not at the wolf's remains, not at the shredded trees, but at Aiden himself. His gaze weighed heavily, as if he were peeling back every layer of boyhood innocence to see what truly lurked beneath.
"What in the hells happened here, Aiden?" Garron's voice was steady, but there was an edge buried in it. A command wrapped in the guise of a question.
Aiden's throat constricted. The words wouldn't come.
If he told the truth—that he had absorbed the essence of the Alpha, that he had devoured it—then what? Would Garron believe him? Or would he see him as a monster?
He looked down at his bloodied hands, then quickly clenched them into fists. His heart still thundered with stolen strength, every beat reminding him of the secret he could not afford to reveal.
"I…" His voice cracked. "It attacked me. I—I fought back."
The lie tasted bitter, but it was the only shield he had.
Garron's eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, boots crunching against the leaves. "You fought back? A boy your age, with nothing but a village-forged sword, against that?"
His torchlight fell across the claw marks raked deep into the soil, gouges so violent that even seasoned hunters would have struggled to stand against them. His gaze drifted to the faint glow in Aiden's eyes—too subtle for anyone else to notice, but not Garron. He didn't miss details. Ever.
Aiden swallowed hard. "I… got lucky."
Silence. Garron stared at him a moment longer, then shifted his gaze to the ashes that had once been a beast of nightmare. His jaw tightened.
"No one gets lucky against an Alpha."
The weight of the statement pressed down on Aiden like a hammer. He fought to hold Garron's gaze, to keep his face steady even as guilt gnawed at him.
But then, Garron did something unexpected. He let out a slow sigh, the tension in his shoulders loosening. "Still, you're alive. That's what matters."
He extended a hand. "Come on. You're half-dead on your feet."
Aiden hesitated, staring at the calloused palm offered to him. Part of him wanted to recoil, to keep his distance, to protect the fragile secret thrumming inside his chest. But exhaustion weighed too heavily on him, and suspicion would only grow if he refused.
He placed his hand in Garron's.
The man hauled him up with effortless strength. "You've got spirit, I'll give you that. But spirit alone doesn't kill something like this. Don't let it get to your head. Whatever happened tonight…" Garron's eyes flickered, sharp as a blade, "…you'd best be careful. The forest watches. And so do men."
Aiden shivered, unsure if the words were a warning or a test.
Together, they made their way back through the woods. The night stretched long, every rustle in the underbrush making Aiden's nerves twitch. With each step, he replayed the fight, the devouring, the way power had burned through his veins like molten fire.
He should have been proud. He had done something no one in the village could have. But pride was smothered by fear. Fear of discovery. Fear of what this power might make him.
By the time the village's faint lantern lights shimmered in the distance, his body felt like it was made of lead. Garron kept a steady pace beside him, silent now, though Aiden could feel the man's eyes on him every so often. Measuring. Weighing.
When they finally reached the outskirts, Garron stopped.
"Don't speak of this to anyone," he said quietly. "Not the elders. Not the other hunters. Not even the children who look up to you." His expression was unreadable in the dim light. "Do you understand?"
Aiden blinked. "You… want me to keep it secret?"
"I want you alive," Garron replied simply. "And secrets keep men alive. Remember that."
The words lingered in the air like smoke as Garron turned and strode off toward the hunter's barracks.
Aiden stood alone, staring at the village that had been his only home since his parents died. He had thought the hardest part of his new life would be growing strong enough to protect himself. But now, he understood.
Strength was only half the battle.
The other half was silence.
He tightened his grip on the sword at his side, feeling the faint thrum of stolen essence pulsing in his veins. His reflection in the blade's surface showed tired eyes, but beneath the fatigue, that faint, unnatural glow still flickered.
A reminder.
Of what he had done.
Of what he had become.
And of the weight he now carried alone.
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