The village hummed with life, a vibrant tapestry of ochre earth and palm thatch. Circular homes, their walls alive with sacred symbols—twisting lines, protective eyes, and the ancestral blessings of Orisha—clustered in a warm embrace.
Above them, smoke from cooking fires ascended in lazy spirals, perfuming the air with the rich scents of okra stew, creamy yam porridge, and the sweet char of roasting plantains. A deep, resonant murmur, the voice of a distant talking drum, pulsed through the very ground, a rhythm older than the first memory.
Yet, at the village's ragged edge, where Leonotis and Gethii now stood, the familiar warmth dissolved into a chill. Here, the well-trodden path surrendered to a wilder domain of scrub and thorny underbrush that clawed at the footpath. The colossal forms of iroko and obeche trees, a dense, ancient wall, swallowed the horizon. The ceaseless symphony of birdsong, a constant companion within the village, dwindled to a cautious, almost fearful silence. Even the wind, when it stirred, seemed to hold its breath.
A single cowrie-marked stone, a silent sentinel etched with a warding charm, stood beside the final homestead. Beyond it lay a land both sacred and deeply feared—the stark, unforgiving border between the known and the untamed unknown.
Gethii was known as the village hero for taking all manner of quests for the local village. He'd do anything from protecting transports across the savannah and forests to simply taking out the trash. This current quest was commissioned by the village chief to take care of some monster that attacked a merchant cart. And Leonotis was finally good enough to accompany him.
Gethii paused, the soft scuff of his sandals on the earth the only sound. He pressed his fingers, briefly, reverently, against the cool surface of the cowrie stone, a silent plea for passage. Then, with a measured breath, he stepped across the threshold.
"Keep your senses sharp, Leonotis," he murmured, his eyes already sweeping the shadowed depths of the trees. "The shrine's protection… it doesn't reach this far anymore."
Leonotis hesitated, a knot tightening in his stomach, before following. His mouth was suddenly dry. Around his neck, the woven necklace Chinakah had braided for him—a small, familiar comfort from home, even if he had inadvertently repurposed her best bedsheet into a tunic—itched against his skin. The fleeting thought of home vanished as a colder gust swept through the branches, bringing with it the metallic tang of iron. And something else, something acrid and disturbing:
Burnt feathers.
Up ahead, the forest grudgingly parted, revealing the shrine clearing. The ancient structure, a relic of forgotten reverence, lay half-devoured by clinging vines and thick moss. Its protective sigils, once vibrant, were now faint, their lines fractured and dull against the weathered stone. Scattered on the damp earth were chicken bones, broken calabash offerings, and melted wax—detritus of faded rituals. But it wasn't the disrepair that sent a jolt of ice through Leonotis.
It was the claw marks. Deep, savage gouges raked across the shrine's base, as if colossal talons had torn through solid rock.
Gethii knelt, his fingers tracing the raw lines. "Too large for any dog. Too sharp for a wildcat. And these…" he gestured to the scorch marks, dark and unnatural, along the outer ring of stones, "…these weren't made by firewood."
Leonotis swallowed hard, the sound loud in the sudden quiet. "Then what?"
Gethii looked up, his gaze heavy. "A creature that doesn't belong here. Not anymore."
"This is where the attack happened?" Leonotis asked, his eyes wide with a mix of trepidation and excitement. He swallowed, his grip tightening on his tree-branch sword. He could almost hear the chaos, the screams, the clash of metal against... something else.
"Over there," Gethii pointed to a set of tracks. "Fox prints, but larger than any fox I've ever seen. And the claws..." He trailed off, his expression grim.
They followed the tracks, the silence broken only by the crunch of leaves under their feet. The air grew colder, the shadows deeper. Leonotis shivered, though he wasn't sure if it was from fear or the chill.
Suddenly, Gethii stopped, his hand raised. "Wait," he whispered. "Listen... Do you hear it?"
Leonotis strained his ears. A faint sound, a low growl mixed with a high-pitched whine, echoed through the trees. It was a sound that made the hair on his neck stand on end.
Gethii drew his sword, the metal whispering as it left its scabbard. The blade gleamed in the dim light, sharp and deadly.
"Stay ready, Leonotis," Gethii ordered, his voice firm. "And keep your eyes open."
They moved forward cautiously, the strange growling growing louder with each step. The trees thinned, revealing a small, overgrown shrine. And there, crouched before it, was the creature.