The moon hung low that night — vast and pale, like an eye that refused to blink. Mist trailed through the trees in ribbons of silver, brushing against Cael's shoulders as if to guide him forward. The bouquet of forget-me-nots had long since wilted in his hand, their petals darkened to the color of old bruises.
Each step echoed softly, swallowed by the damp earth. The forest breathed around him — slow, deep, alive.
"Show yourselves," he said quietly. His voice barely disturbed the stillness.
A faint rustle answered, followed by laughter — high, thin, like the cry of something small and broken. Shadows twisted among the trunks. Their eyes shimmered red.
"Demons," Cael whispered, drawing his blade. "Your masquerade ends tonight."
He advanced. The figures scattered, giggling, whispering his name as they fled deeper into the fog. He followed, the world narrowing into a tunnel of breath and heartbeat.
Then — a cry. Close to a human's.
He ran toward it, branches slashing at his face. A woman knelt by a fallen body — her hands slick with blood, her eyes wide and terrified.
"Please-" she began.
The rest drowned in the hiss of his blade.
When it was over, only silence remained. The woman lay still, her face serene beneath the moonlight. The other body — a man, perhaps her husband — stared sightlessly at the stars.
Cael wiped the blood from his cheek. "The demons take such convincing forms now," he murmured. "Even their tears look real."
From behind him, a soft voice spoke:
"Holy Lord."
He turned. Elior stood among the trees, his white robes untouched by dirt, a lantern glowing faintly in his hand.
"You've done well," the priest said. "The Goddess is pleased."
Cael bowed his head. "Then my duty is not in vain."
Elior smiled — too gentle, too practiced. "Not in vain. Never in vain. But you must return now. The villagers are waiting."
As they walked back through the forest, the mist thickened. Cael glanced once more at the clearing — the two shapes still slumped together beneath the moonlight. For a moment, he thought he saw them move. But the fog closed in, and they were gone.
At the village gate, the bells began to toll again — deep, slow, rhythmic. Almost like a warning of danger.
The sound felt like a heartbeat. Never stopping.