The forest did not rest after the bloodshed. The cries of beasts still lingered in the air, carried on the wind like dying embers that refused to fade. Where Ahayue and Alusya pushed deeper into the woods, the tribal survivors gathered in the ruins of their shattered pursuit, licking their wounds and plotting vengeance.
Of the twenty who had set out, only seven remained. Their hides were torn, their faces marked with claw and fang, but their eyes burned with a hatred hotter than any pain. Among them was their leader now by necessity—Tavak, once second-in-command to the fallen chieftain's son. His armor was streaked with mud and blood, his spear dulled from fighting, but his voice carried iron.
"They cannot have gone far," Tavak growled, crouching low as he touched the earth where Ahayue's boots had pressed. His calloused fingers traced the faint impressions, still fresh, leading into the shadowed green. "The witch's boy and the exile. Both of them must die. The spirits will not forgive us if they live."
Around him, the others muttered prayers, invoking the Moon God's wrath to strengthen their cause. Yet even as their voices rose, there was unease. They had seen too much. The forest itself had risen against them, and the boy—no, the monster cloaked in human form—had struck with a savagery that shook them.
"Maybe…maybe the witch's curse shields him," one younger warrior said, clutching his cracked bow. "We are not meant to hunt such prey."
Tavak seized the boy by the collar and shoved him against a tree. His eyes were wild, rimmed red from sleepless nights. "You would shame your brothers? Your ancestors? That boy carries the sins of the witch in his blood. If we falter now, her shadow will poison the land forever. Do you want that curse upon your children?"
The youth swallowed hard and nodded, though fear still trembled in his eyes.
"Good," Tavak spat, releasing him. He turned to the rest, stabbing his spear into the ground for emphasis. "We are hunters. And hunters finish what they begin. The God watches us even now. We'll bleed this forest dry if we must, but the boy and the girl will fall."
The warriors murmured their assent, though not all with conviction. Still, one by one, they tightened their armor, restrung their bows, and wiped blood from their blades. The hunt was not over.
Meanwhile, far ahead, Ahayue could feel them.
Not by sound, nor sight, but by something deeper. A prickle at the back of his neck, a tug in his chest—like shadows pressing closer no matter how fast he moved. Andalusia's lessons whispered in his mind: "The bond of blood and hatred is a thread. If you cut one, the other may follow."
But the thread had not been cut. And now it pulled tight.
"They're still coming," he muttered, glancing behind him as he and Alusya picked their way across a mossy ravine.
Alusya hugged herself, her small frame almost lost in the oversized cloak Ahayue had given her. Her eyes darted nervously to the trees. "I thought…after the monsters attacked them…they would stop."
Ahayue's jaw clenched. "They won't stop. To them, you're a curse. To them, I'm worse."
His words hung heavy. Alusya bit her lip, saying nothing, but he could see the guilt pooling in her expression. The girl who had been spared when all her family perished—the girl condemned by her own tribe. Even now, she wondered if every drop of blood spilled was because of her.
Ahayue reached out, steadying her by the shoulder. "Don't carry what isn't yours. They chose this hunt. Not you."
Her wide eyes lifted to his, fragile but searching. "…Then what do we do?"
The answer came before he could speak. A wolf's howl split the night air—only this time, not a beast's cry, but the signal of men.
Alusya froze. "They're close."
Ahayue tightened his grip on her shoulder, then let go, scanning the dark with sharp focus. "Closer than I thought. Which means this journey isn't escape anymore." He pulled his knife free, steel glinting faintly. "It's war."
Back at the regrouped camp, Tavak lifted his head at the echo of the howl. A grim smile twisted across his scarred face.
"They're near. And now…" He raised his spear high. "We hunt them as prey no longer. We corner them as sacrifices."
The warriors shouted, their voices rough and ragged, echoing through the darkened forest.
The hunt had begun again.
The forest had grown quieter since the battle, but it was not a peace born of rest. It was the silence of creatures holding their breath, waiting to see which predator would outlast the others. The branches still dripped with the dark reminder of slaughter. Torn leaves and broken claws littered the earth where warriors and beasts had clashed, their remains claimed by the endless hunger of the soil.
Where shadows gathered in a hollow lit by dying embers, seven figures remained. They should have been twenty. They should have been triumphant, returning to their tribe with the exile's head. Instead, they crouched in a circle, their wounds raw and their pride torn deeper than their flesh.
Tavak sat in the center, the firelight catching on the scars across his chest. His voice was gravel, heavy with conviction and bitterness alike.
"We came to end a curse," he said, his tone carrying across the huddle of weary men. "We lost brothers. Sons. But the curse remains. The witch's blood still walks." His hand clenched around his spear until his knuckles whitened. "If we return with nothing, then all their deaths mean nothing."
The warriors bowed their heads, shame thickening the air. Some clutched at charms strung around their necks—bones carved in the likeness of the Moon God. Others stared at the ground, remembering the eyes of the beasts that had torn their comrades apart.
"It wasn't just him," muttered one, voice shaking. "The forest fought with him. The animals went mad. Who can fight a boy and a witch's spirit together?"
A murmur rose, half in agreement, half in denial. Tavak silenced it with a sharp glare.
"The forest is no ally," he spat. "It is a test. The Moon God is watching who will endure and who will falter. Do you think he blesses the coward? Do you think he'll forgive us if we crawl back home with excuses?"
The warriors fell silent.
Tavak stood, straightening his shoulders despite the blood still soaking his side. He looked more beast than man—driven not only by faith, but by pride too sharp to bend. "Our kin will sing of those who fall, not those who hide. We will find the boy. We will tear the exile from his arms. And when their blood feeds this ground, the God will see us worthy."
One by one, the others nodded. Uneasy, yes—but bound by tradition, by fear of dishonor, and by Tavak's iron will.
The hunt was reborn.
Far away, Ahayue halted mid-step, a shiver running down his spine. He looked over his shoulder at the path of moss and broken branches they had left behind. To Alusya, it seemed like he was listening to something she could not hear.
"They're not gone," he whispered.
Alusya hugged her knees tighter as they crouched in the shelter of a leaning cedar. The night pressed heavy around them, filled with the chirps of hidden insects and the rustle of small creatures darting through the undergrowth. Yet for her, those sounds were swallowed by fear. "But the monsters… they killed so many of them. Shouldn't that have been enough?"
Ahayue shook his head. His dark eyes seemed older than his years, shadows lingering in their depths. "Men like them don't stop because of fear. They stop only when they've lost everything. And right now, they still have enough hate left to keep moving."
Alusya bit her lip. His words echoed too closely to her own past. She had seen what hatred could do—how it had turned her tribe against her, how it had torn her family away. She looked at Ahayue, this boy who spoke like someone far older, and whispered, "Then it's my fault they're still chasing us."
Ahayue turned sharply toward her, his voice firm. "No. Don't say that."
She blinked, startled.
"They were hunting me before they ever found you," he said, voice steady though his hands were tightening into fists. "You're not a curse, Alusya. They just want something to blame."
Her eyes stung with tears she refused to let fall. "But if I wasn't here—"
"Then I'd still be running," Ahayue interrupted, softer now. "I'd still be hunted. But I'd be alone."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, filled only by the hush of the forest. Alusya's heart throbbed painfully, but a tiny warmth flickered in her chest. To hear him say she wasn't just a burden—it was like a small light against the darkness pressing in.
But the light flickered quickly. From somewhere deep in the forest, a howl rose—not an animal's natural cry, but a man's signal, sharp and cutting.
Alusya's breath caught.
Ahayue was already standing, his knife flashing in the faint moonlight. His posture had changed, no longer soft, no longer boyish. His shoulders squared, his stance shifted, every part of him honed into readiness.
"They've found our trail."
Alusya's small hand reached for the edge of his cloak. "Ahayue… what do we do?"
He looked back at her, his jaw tight, his gaze fierce. "We stop being the prey."
Back at the survivor's camp, Tavak lifted his head at the answering call from afar. His lips twisted into a cruel smile.
"Good," he growled. "They're close. Close enough that the God himself can taste their fear."
His warriors rose with him, their shadows stretching long in the firelight. Spears, bows, and blades caught the glow as if thirsting for blood.
The forest listened, holding its breath once more.
The hunt was alive again.