The morning sun was bright, warm, and deceptively gentle. Birds sang in the trees as though the world were untouched by darkness. Yet the peace lasted no more than an hour.
By midmorning, the ground shook.
Another beast came crashing out of the woods but this one is the size of an ox, its hide mottled black and green, tusks long as spears. It charged straight into the village outskirts, snapping a fence in half.
It didn't make it three steps farther.
Rosaria didn't even lift her head from her book. A single twitch of her wrist and black vines exploded from the earth, curling around the monster's legs like serpents. The creature shrieked, a sound halfway between a roar and a desperate cry, before being yanked violently sideways. Its massive body slammed into the dirt with bone-snapping force.
The vines tightened. Thorns tore through hide, muscle, and bone with wet cracks. Crimson roses bloomed instantly from every wound, their petals glistening with the beast's blood. The animal convulsed once, twice, then stilled.
Rosaria turned a page in her book with blood-slick fingers, her voice as calm as a Sunday prayer.
"You may rest now."
By noon, she had slain three beasts, all medium-sized, all dangerous enough that a hunting party of ten men would have struggled. To Rosaria, they were distractions, nuisances, flies swatted aside between passages of scripture.
Ethan stood nearby, arms crossed, watching. The sight no longer shocked him but if anything, it unsettled him more that he was getting used to it.
When Halden approached, wiping sweat from his brow after helping drag one of the carcasses, Ethan finally asked the question that had been weighing on him.
"Halden," Ethan said slowly, "tell me something honestly. Is this… normal?"
Halden blinked, following Ethan's gaze to the three fallen beasts. His weathered face tightened.
"No. Not even close."
Ethan raised a brow. "You sound certain."
"Because I am." Halden's voice was grim. "I've lived in Korrin nearly thirty years. We see maybe one beast of that size every few months or two if the season is unlucky. But five in two days? That's not natural." He spat into the dirt. "It's wrong."
Ethan's eyes slid back toward Rosaria, who was humming softly as she read. The corner of his mouth twitched.
"…Wrong," he murmured, "or drawn?"
Halden frowned. "Drawn?"
"You said it yourself it's unnatural. And since Rosaria arrived, the beasts haven't stopped coming." Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, his brows knit together. "What if it's her they're after? Or what if… she's what attracts them?"
Halden followed his gaze again. For a long moment he said nothing, then exhaled hard through his nose. "Maybe. Maybe not. But I'll tell you one thing, Ethan. If she is the reason they're coming… I'd rather have her here killing them than face them without her."
Ethan let out a low hum of agreement, though unease lingered in his chest. He couldn't deny Halden's logic, but it didn't stop the knot tightening in his stomach.
Rosaria didn't so much as glance up. She turned another page, lips curving faintly as though she'd been listening all along.
By the end of the day, their spoils were gathered. From the three beasts, they harvested one shimmering silver-grade aether core. Ethan held them in his hands briefly, the weight strange, the glow casting his face in warm light.
Halden whistled. "one silver cire, Gods be good…"
"Yeah…" Ethan muttered, sliding the cores into a cloth pouch. His mind wasn't on the wealth. It was on Rosaria who hadn't once looked away from her book since the fighting began.
As he turned to leave, her soft voice drifted to him, gentle but heavy enough to freeze him mid-step.
"Ethan."
He paused. "…Yeah?"
Her veil tilted slightly. "There's an army coming."
His stomach dropped. "…What?"
"They will reach this village within half an hour."
The words settled like ice in the air. Ethan dragged a hand down his face, frustration etched into every line. He let out a long, tired sigh.
"Of course they are," he muttered bitterly. Then, louder: "Should we meet them? If this army is up to no good, I don't want the village to be part of the casualties."
Rosaria finally closed her book. The roses around her swayed as though stirred by an unseen wind. "Then we meet them."
Ethan hesitated. He didn't want to go himself. He didn't want to leave Rosaria alone either. And most of all, he didn't want to be defenseless in a world where monsters lurked in every shadow. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"…Damn it."
---
The Virehall army marched like a tide of steel and leather. A thousand soldiers moved in grim silence, the thud of their boots a steady pulse through the earth.
At the front, Captain Drevas rode tall, eyes narrowed as a scout approached.
"Report," Drevas demanded.
The scout saluted. "Captain, we've sighted two figures on the forest ahead. A man and a very tall woman."
Drevas' scarred mouth curled faintly. "Two people? That's hardly an obstacle. Send a pair of scouts. Remove them."
The soldier bowed, then vanished back into the treeline.
---
Ethan stood with Rosaria at the forest's edge. The air was tense, heavy with the scent of pine and earth. His hand hovered near his sword hilt, though he knew all too well how little good it would do compared to the woman beside him.
The first scout appeared like a shadow, rushing Ethan with deadly silence. Ethan barely had time to flinch.
A thorned vine erupted from the ground, faster than sight. It wrapped around the scout's torso mid-charge, snapping bones with a sound like dry twigs.
Ethan gasped as the man was yanked off his feet.
Rosaria extended her hand. The trapped scout was dragged toward her like a puppet. His limbs thrashed, knives flashing but before he could throw them, vines sprouted from Rosaria's pale skin itself, lashing out like whips. The blades clattered harmlessly to the dirt.
"Do not struggle," she cooed, her voice tender.
The man's muffled scream was cut short as her hand clasped his face. From her palm, vines burrowed inward with sickening ease. They pierced eyes, mouth, and skull. Crimson flowers bloomed from the cracks in his skin, petals wet with brain and blood.
Ethan clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to look away.
Four more shadows dropped from the trees. Poisoned darts and knives flew through the air, whistling toward them.
Rosaria's arms spread like a priestess blessing her flock. Dozens of vines burst from her flesh, intercepting the projectiles mid-flight. Metal scraped harmlessly against black thorns.
The scouts paled. One turned to flee.
Too slow.
A vine lashed around his ankle, dragging him screaming across the dirt. Another coiled around his throat, tightening until his neck bulged purple. Rosaria's thorns slid into his flesh, blossoms blooming from his cheeks, his tongue, his chest.
The others fought desperately. Two charged with curved blades, trying to cut at the vines, but each the vines are tough and more thorns grew instantly, sharper, hungrier. One scout was caught around the waist and lifted into the air, flailing as his ribs cracked one by one. Another was pinned to a tree, vines spearing through his shoulders and thighs like crucifixion nails.
Rosaria approached him slowly, humming like a mother's lullaby.
"Bleed beautifully."
Her palm pressed to his chest. Vines erupted from inside him and out of his stomach, his throat, even his eyes each sprouting into roses that glistened with fresh gore. His scream broke into gurgles, then silence.
The last scout stood frozen, shaking violently. His dagger slipped from his hand. He fell to his knees.
Rosaria tilted her head, the faintest smile curving beneath her veil. "We may keep this one," she said softly. "He will tell us what we need to know."
Her vines snapped around him, binding arms and legs tight. The man wept openly, his voice a high-pitched stammer of pleas.
Ethan exhaled shakily. His heart pounded, but not from fear of death. From the sheer, inescapable reality that rosaria who is towering and blood-weeping on his side.
---
Back on the road, Captain Drevas frowned as the minutes dragged on. His jaw tightened.
"Where are my scouts?"
No answer came.
His eyes narrowed. With a sharp gesture, he raised his hand. "Double the march. If the scouts have failed, then we face something worth our steel."
The army quickened its pace, a thousand boots thundering in unison.
And ahead, in the shadow of the trees, two figures waited.