One Week Later
A week had passed since Riya was torn from his side. Merlin had not stopped moving. Each day bled into the next as he drifted from one patch of ground to another, chasing rest that never seemed to last. His body survived on scraps—the supplies he had stolen away, fish he caught with clumsy hands, bitter berries, and whatever else nature reluctantly offered. What truly kept him going, however, was something that had nothing to do with food or water. It was stubborn determination, the kind that gnawed at him even when his stomach couldn't.
That morning, after forcing his way through a choking line of trees, the forest suddenly broke open, spilling him into a wide field. Grass swayed like green waves, flowers dotting the stretch with quiet colors. Merlin blinked at the sight, stunned. After so many days surrounded by dark bark and tangled branches, the open air felt unnatural—too exposed.
He walked for minutes, drinking it in, until a hill rose in front of him. His tired legs carried him up. When he reached the crest, he froze. Shapes—figures—were standing there. Humanoid, distant, silent. They didn't speak, didn't gesture to each other, didn't move like people at all. They only looked down at him, their heads tilting in eerie unison.
Merlin's throat tightened. If these were ordinary humans, they would've whispered, pointed, something. But these… things only watched.
Cautiously, he stepped closer. The wind carried no words, only silence. His eyes strained to pick out details. Not people. Definitely not people. His chest locked as one of them lifted its hand, extending it toward him as if in invitation.
Merlin stumbled back, his pulse hammering. Then it moved—a single step forward. That was enough. He bolted.
Branches whipped his arms as he ran into the forest, not back the way he came but deeper, to somewhere—anywhere—else. He didn't stop until his legs screamed. Panting, he chose a small clearing, pitched his tent, and forced himself to call it "home," at least for the night.
By afternoon, hunger gnawed again. He followed the sound of water, stumbling toward a river where silver fish darted beneath the surface. He crouched low, ready to try his luck, when movement at the bank made him freeze.
A man was already there. Odd-looking, broad-shouldered, fishing rod in hand.
"What are you doing here?" the man asked, his tone more curious than harsh. "You're too little to be out here on your own. Are your parents nearby?"
Merlin stayed silent, his eyes fixed on him.
"What's your name, boy?"
"…Merlin," he muttered at last.
The man smiled. "Merlin, huh? Well, I'm Fred. But everyone calls me Fred the Fisher." He stretched out a hand, friendly, waiting for a shake. Merlin didn't move. He only stared.
Fred chuckled awkwardly. "Suit yourself. Tell you what, Merlin—why don't you come with me? It's not safe being out here alone."
Merlin's eyes widened. His voice burst out faster than he intended: "You live around here? Are there other people? Is it… a town?" His words tumbled one after the other, desperation cracking through his guard.
"Yes, yes, and yes," Fred said with a laugh. "So, do you want me to take you?"
Merlin hesitated. "O-okay."
They walked together, retracing a path Merlin dreaded—toward the hill where he had seen those shapes. His stomach twisted. Every step closer, his fear pressed tighter against his ribs.
At the gate, two of the humanoid things stood like statues. Fred spoke to them in a strange, rolling language Merlin had never heard. The things stepped aside. Fred waved him in.
Merlin obeyed, though every instinct screamed not to. Inside, the scene defied everything he'd been told. The creatures—those not-quite-human things—were working alongside people. Carrying baskets. Hammering wood. Walking shoulder to shoulder as though this was… normal.
His father's voice echoed in his memory. They are a threat.
His teacher's warning. Never trust them.
Yet here they were, living side by side. Nothing made sense.
Fred led him to a modest house. "Go inside, make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."
Merlin stepped across the threshold, unsure whether to sit or flee. He stood rigid, fists clenched, while Fred slipped away into a building nearby.
Inside that shadowed place, a voice murmured from the dark:
"Do you have the boy?"
Fred lifted hi
s head. "Yes," he said. His eyes gleamed. "I got him."