The campfires released their warmth into the air, and silence blanketed the camp.
Sleep had claimed nearly everyone—except for a few guards keeping watch.
Jon… something simmered deep in his chest as he sat in the dark.
Anger and jealousy toward this mysterious newcomer who had stolen the trust he once held… again.
It made him feel as though his inner weakness had been exposed to everyone.
It wasn't just about Boris being strong…
It was about how readily the caravan accepted him.
That gentle smile, hiding unstoppable power beneath it—was the very opposite of everything Jon, the struggling weakling, represented.
He rose slowly, his footsteps slicing through the darkness until he stood before a tree.
Boris sat upright on its high trunk—clearly with no intention of sleeping anytime soon.
Jon spoke in a quiet tone, thick with suppressed rage and a cold smile:
"Do you enjoy sitting there as if you own this place?"
Boris lowered his gaze without replying—as if Jon's provocation meant nothing to him.
"Sometimes, a single image fools people… makes them think you're stronger than you really are."
Jon continued to taunt Boris with sharp, stinging words.
Boris descended silently—despite the height—and his feet touched the ground without a sound.
Jon noticed the faint yellow energy shimmering along Boris's legs.
*Yeah… he's using Koshin…*
Jon stepped closer, his taller shadow swallowing Boris's shorter frame, while Boris's eyes gleamed like polished metal.
"I want to know… are those first impressions real?"
Without waiting for an answer, Jon drew his sword and lunged—a strike aimed straight at Boris's face.
Boris tilted his head slightly—the blade whistled past his hair.
"Are… you looking for a fight?" Boris asked calmly.
"I want the truth!"
Jon struck again.
Once… then twice… then thrice…
The barrage of attacks didn't stop.
*Why… why hasn't a single blow landed?! Why?!*
Every strike either missed entirely or was deflected lightly by Boris's hands—as if he could see the attack before it even began.
"Do you really want this?" Boris asked, his voice still calm.
"Stop pretending you're strong!" Jon shouted, slashing at empty air.
Suddenly, Boris vanished in a swift step, his voice drifting from a distance as he walked away: "We don't want to wake the others…"
*That bastard… he's mocking me!*
Jon's fury ignited.
He accelerated his body using Kora, reached Boris in seconds, and attacked faster than before—but to no avail.
*Does he have eyes in the back of his head?*
The thought crossed his mind, then he pushed it away.
Boris pivoted on his heel, blocked Jon's sword with his forearm, then drove his knee hard into Jon's right side.
Jon stumbled backward a meter, gasping: "You deliberately hit my blind side…"
Boris replied firmly: "This is the real world… against a real enemy, no one shows mercy. Everyone must give their all—that's how the Creator shaped life. Every being must be strong."
"Grrraaah!" Jon roared and lunged once more.
Boris bent slightly, grabbed the front of Jon's tunic, lifted him slightly, then threw him hard onto the ground—dust spiraling around him.
Silence fell.
Boris sat on the grass, gazing at the sky.
Jon lay on his back, staring up at the three moons with his single eye.
"I hate being weak…" he whispered.
"Everyone hates that… no one likes weakness—"
"But weakness is part of being alive. Don't deny it. Accept it. Only then will you become stronger." Boris replied, his face unreadable.
From a high branch— one pair of eyes watched.
From behind closed eyelids— another pair observed.
From a fleeting shadow— a third pair took note.
Three sets of eyes had witnessed the humiliating silence of that nighttime clash.
Two sharp eyes.
Two watchful eyes.
Two curious eyes.
Each drew their own conclusions from the brief encounter.
***
The caravan journeyed on for five full days.
The wagon wheels groaned over rocky paths at times, sank into mud at others.
The lake road ended, and the dense forest swallowed them once more under its shadow.
Its towering trees blocked the sky, leaving only narrow strips of faint light.
Inside one of the rear wagons, a family sat.
In front—a man with lightly yellowish-white skin, crimson irises, and narrow eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Beside him—a woman with dark brown skin, medium-length deep red hair, and yellow eyes gleaming like lemon seeds.
In her lap—a little girl. Her skin lighter than her mother's but clearly of the same tone, her eyes as narrow as her father's.
In the back— a tanned boy lay sprawled over the luggage.
His right eye yellow. His left eye red.
He tilted his head, staring into the gaps between the leaves.
*What exactly did I see…?*
He remembered a scene from a few days past—
the strange boy who'd joined the caravan and effortlessly subdued one of the group's strongest fighters.
*How did he do it? Like this? Or maybe like that…?*
He mimicked random, strange hand movements, then sighed and let his arms drop to his sides.
Takashi watched the leaves dance with the breeze.
"Boring~." He closed his narrow eyes and let the wind touch his face.
His broad-shouldered father, Hao, smiled as he adjusted the horse's reins:
"Nothing's boring, Takashi. Learn from every moment."
Takashi didn't move.
"I've seen people trade and talk a hundred times… it's always the same. But this forest path… it's so boring~~"
His little sister called from her mother's lap, clutching her cloth doll:
"You just don't know how to enjoy things! Be like Boris Bro!"
Takashi turned slowly, his voice dripping with sarcasm:
"Boris? That show-off who acts all creepy?"
"He's not showing off, and he's not creepy!" Mina puffed her cheeks, then jumped beside him.
"He's good at everything… talks to the leaders, fixes wagons, plays the flute, and fights!"
Takashi laughed and flicked her cheek.
"Aww, my little sister's fallen for the scary guy."
Her face flushed. "He's not scary! Even Zofia Sis admires him!"
Takashi's cheeks reddened for a split second. His jaw tightened slightly, his eyes narrowing—as if merely hearing others admire Boris sparked a tiny ember of jealousy within him.
Suddenly, he burst into laughter, raising his eyebrows:
"Wow, he'll be crowned king of the caravan soon! Maybe we should build him a throne on the wagon—and the kids'll form an army to take over! Maybe he'll even reveal his true form.... as the Silver Shadow—"
"Takashi!" His mother's voice—strong and commanding—cut through his teasing.
Takashi froze at her reprimand. She continued:
"Haven't I told you before? Don't be mean. Silver eyes have always existed among all dominant races—humans, elves, and Cebuans alike. Never say such things again."
Takashi tensed and lowered his head.
Mina, arms crossed despite a small smile betraying her lips, said:
"Mama, he's just jealous—that's why he makes excuses."
His father, listening with a gentle shake of his head, added:
"If you want to improve, start paying attention to your surroundings… not just the sky. And stop comparing yourself to others."
Takashi stretched out again, then cast a sidelong glance toward the front of the caravan.
There sat a boy with silver eyes, a girl with black rabbit ears nestled in his lap—and beside them, the girl with closed eyes, Zofia.
His little sister grinned innocently:
"Hmm? Watching Zofia's Sis again, Big Bro?"
His face flushed instantly. His jaw clenched for a moment before he forced a smile to ease the awkwardness.
His mother chuckled as she watched him:
"Oh? Has my little Takashi finally grown up?"
His cheeks burned even more.
He said nothing.
He pulled a piece of wood from his pocket and began carving it quietly—as if trying to carve away his thoughts.
At the front of the caravan, inside the second wagon, Boris gently patted Sonia's head.
"Hmm~ mmm~" Sonia made soft, contented sounds.
Zofia asked from the side, her head turned toward Boris:
"Are you used to doing this?"
"Hmm? I guess so. I've always liked caring for kids. She loves being petted," Boris replied, glancing toward Sofia.
"Mmm! I'm not a kid!" Sonia protested.
"Yes, yes, you are not a kid~" Boris continued stroking her head.
"I want to be pampered too, Boris Bro!" a little boy beside Boris chirped.
Boris extended his hand: "Of course~"
The scene was undeniably warm—and a few children in other wagons watched with quiet envy.
Anton's voice came from the driver's seat:
"You're truly beloved by the children…"
"That's not fair…" Sofia called from the front wagon.
"I wanted to sit with Boris Bro, Sonia Sis, and Zofia Sis…"
"I drew the lot fair and square, hee hee~" laughed the Cebuan-turtle boy sitting beside Boris.
"Don't tease her, Saty," Boris said, patting his head.
"Hee hee~ yes~" Saty replied obediently.
As the sun set, the caravan halted to rest.
A few meters ahead of the stopping point, a strange fog began creeping slowly from between the trees.
The men busied themselves setting up sleeping spots and lighting campfires.
Children laughed and played around Boris, while Sonia dozed off on his shoulder.
Saty said, "There's a lot of fog."
The children paused, watching the mist.
One asked innocently, "Is that bad?"
The boy was human—brown skin, narrow eyes, blue hair, and violet irises.
Boris patted his head and smiled, trying to reassure them:
"Don't worry. It's just a natural phenomenon."
But inwardly… he considered far graver possibilities.
It was normal for Kona phenomena to intensify mid-season—especially during the Full Blue Moon.
The real danger lay in what lurked within the forest.
He raised his eyes and saw a hawk perched on a tree—they exchanged silent glances.
"Is something wrong, Boris Bro?" Mina asked, her golden irises and narrow eyes full of curiosity.
He smiled gently: "Nothing, Mina."
"Anyway… would you like me to play something for you?"
"Yes!" the children cheered with joy. They gathered in a circle around Boris, who leaned against the tree.
Sofia requested: "I want the same melody from last night! I loved it so much!"
Boris nodded, then began playing his flute—a harmonious, gentle, soothing tune that rose softly in delicate notes.
At that moment, Boris opened his eyes and looked toward the hawk—
*Leo, Lia… listen…*
***
Kalu sat on the edge of his wagon, his knuckles white from gripping the cracked wood.
Before him, the dirt path vanished into a thick, motionless wall of fog—silent and uniform.
He exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself:
"…This anxiety won't leave me."
Tamer stood beside him, arms crossed, his eyes analyzing the fog with sharp focus.
After a long silence, he replied quietly:
"I feel it too. And it's not just the fog."
Kalu pulled a worn leather map from his coat—its edges frayed from years of travel.
He carefully spread it over his knee, then tapped a spot on the map with his finger.
"We're here," he said. "Terrible timing for this phenomenon to hit us now…"
Tamer didn't flinch—but his jaw muscles tightened.
"Then we prepare for the worst," he said. "Not just wolves… but even the chance of bandits using this fog to their advantage…"
Kalu swallowed. "Yes… and if that boy—Boris—is right…"
"Then tonight isn't just dangerous," Tamer finished. "It could be a massacre."
Silence settled between them—heavy as the fog itself.
Kalu rubbed his temple. "And worse… we can't even rely on Kona tonight."
Tamer's fingers twitched—unconsciously releasing a wisp of Kona that quickly dissipated.
"The Blue Moon is full," he whispered. "I won't be able to Chant…"
"And Lunara is full too," Kalu added bitterly. "Which means all Bloody Wolves—or even any beasts—will be stronger now." He gave a dry laugh. "At least we're not the only ones—."
At that moment, soft footsteps approached.
Imenata appeared behind them—her usual warmth dimmed by silent dread.
"The mid-month dread is back, isn't it?" she asked, though her voice betrayed her own fear. "So—what's your plan for dealing with two nights of full Lunara?"
Kalu and Tamer exchanged a quick glance.
Kalu looked away, then sighed. "Well… we're thinking too. We're worried about both Lunara… and Lunana."
She frowned. "The Red Moon—I understand that. But why fear the Blue Moon?"
Tamer interjected gently but firmly:
"The Full Blue Moon disrupts Kona. I won't be able to Chant. If danger comes… I'll be practically useless—to the whole caravan, at least."
Imenata's eyes flickered with understanding, then resolve.
"I see. But don't worry about getting lost in the fog—you have that Kona tool that guides through mist, and we'll tie ropes between wagons. We'll move slowly and stay close. We've done this before."
Tamer nodded. "Yes… that's the plan."
Kalu didn't speak. His gaze drifted to the rear wagon—where Garin slept, unaware, beside barrels of raw Kora.
He kept that fear locked behind his teeth.
Instead, he said quietly:
"There's more. Boris believes the Bloody Wolves don't just hunt… they're led by something intelligent."
Imenata's breath caught. "A conscious wolf? Impossible! They don't exist in the wilds, right?"
"He's certain," Kalu said. "He says he's 96.45% sure."
She blinked. "Exactly 96.45%?"
Kalu shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what that number means… but I'm worried by how confident he is."
Before she could reply, a new voice cut through the tension—calm, deep, instinctively focused:
"If Boris says that, then we believe him."
Anton emerged, a damp cloth in his arms, his yellow eyes sharp.
Imenata turned to him, hand on her chest. "Danger? From Little Boris? He's nothing but kindness! He plays with the children, fixes wagons, helps—"
"I don't mean danger to us," Anton interrupted gently.
"I mean… the kind of danger that walks too quietly." He paused. "When I look at him, my gut tells me—this boy is dangerous."
Tamer nodded slowly. "That's the truth I believe too."
Kalu carefully folded the map, then stood. When he spoke, his voice was no longer weary—but firm, wrapped in hardened resolve.
"Anton's instincts have saved us more times than I can count. If he says Boris's words carry this much weight… then we'll act as if it's true."
He looked at Tamer. "Gather all fighters. Warn them about tonight."
Then, softer, to Imenata:
"And keep the children close to you."
The fire behind them crackled.
Above, the three moons hung—silent, unmoving.
***
At exactly midnight, Anton stood at the front of the caravan.
He bore the weight of the forward watch alone—alert to every movement or sound that might signal danger.
The oil lamps swayed gently in the breeze, while most of the caravan sank into deep, exhausted sleep after a long day of travel.
Only a limited number of guards remained awake—but tonight, there were more than usual.
And more importantly.. they were far more vigilant, as if something invisible demanded their wakefulness.
Anton murmured, barely audible:
"I have a very bad feeling…"
This wasn't just passing worry—it was a pressure on his chest, weighing down his breath.
His eyes never left the thickening fog to the north—
That fog, like a gray wall devouring the light.
Tonight was exceptional—mid-season.
Saturated with an unease whose source he couldn't name.
The sky above was clear, star-filled, luminous.
High above…
The red moon, Lunara, was full—announcing mid-month.
The blue moon, Lunana, was also full—marking mid-season.
This conjunction always occurred… yet the red moon always signaled a heavy night.
The fog began seeping slowly into the camp—cold, touching earth, sand, and feet.
But it carried no Kona energy or trace—just natural humidity.
Anton tightened his grip on his nunchaku until the veins on his hand stood out beneath his skin.
He tried leaning on its solidity to calm his trembling heart.
He was certain inside… this night would not pass in peace.
And on the other side of the camp…
Far from the lights and the guards' eyes…
A boy slowly stepped out from between the tents—his silver eyes glowing with mysterious calm.
His steps were steady, quiet—he knew exactly where he was going.
He walked confidently toward the forest, never looking back.
As if the darkness itself parted to let him pass…