The wagon rolled steadily along the stone-paved road, its wooden wheels echoing softly through the quiet night. The pouch hanging at Roman's side was heavy with goblin ears—proof of a completed quest—but the weight in the air felt heavier still.
Roman glanced toward Kaele, who sat silently near the edge of the wagon, his back straight, his gaze fixed on the distant glow of Lester's city lights.
"Today," Roman said at last, breaking the silence, "you did well. You showed us what you've got."
Kaele turned his head slightly. "Thank you… for the compliment."
Roman studied him carefully. "But hear this clearly, kid. Control the rage in your heart. If you don't, someday it'll consume you—and you'll end up dead. Maybe by monsters. Maybe by humans."
Kaele nodded once. "I'll keep that in mind."
Lara smiled faintly. "Your fighting instincts and adaptability are impressive. Especially for someone your age."
Kaele looked down, embarrassed. "Thanks. But you were all amazing. You killed those goblins in the blink of an eye."
John laughed. "That's because we've fought things far worse than green-skinned trash like them."
Kaele smiled at that—but the smile didn't reach his eyes.
Inside, something twisted.
One day… I'll be that strong too.
The thought didn't end there.
And one day… I'll get my revenge.
For a brief moment, Kaele's lips curved upward—sharp, unsettling, almost feral.
Roman noticed.
"Oy, kid."
Kaele looked up. "Yes?"
Roman frowned. "Never smile like that in front of me again. It's creepy as hell."
Kaele stiffened. "Understood, leader."
Nito leaned forward, pointing ahead. "Look—we've arrived."
The wagon passed through Lester's gates. Moonlight spilled across the stone streets, bathing the city in silver. Lanterns glowed softly, merchants closed their stalls, and guards patrolled with relaxed vigilance. It was peaceful—too peaceful.
They dismounted and headed for the guild.
As they walked, Elina's eyes caught something that made her slow her steps.
A tall man passed by them, carrying a heavy sack over his shoulder. Dark liquid dripped from its seams, staining the ground behind him.
"…Creepy," she muttered.
Lara glanced at her. "Did you say something?"
Elina shook her head. "No."
Inside the guild, the atmosphere was nothing like it had been that morning.
The chatter was low. Faces were tense. Even veteran adventurers spoke in hushed voices.
Roman frowned. "Something bad happened."
"What could it be?" Kaele asked.
John crossed his arms. "Can't be worse than what we saw."
"Wait," Lara said. "I'll ask."
Roman handed her the quest report. "Take this. Tell them everything we saw. We'll be upstairs—right corner table."
She nodded and walked toward the counter.
"What business do you have, miss?" the clerk asked.
Lara placed the parchment down. "This is the quest we took this morning."
She explained everything—the village, the blood, the goblins, the dead man they failed to save.
The clerk listened silently.
"…Any survivors?" he asked.
"No," Lara replied. "We couldn't find any."
"And no bodies? Apart from the one?"
"Yes."
The clerk exhaled slowly. "Then the same thing happened on your end as well."
Lara frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Can't you feel it?" he said quietly. "Look around."
She glanced at the guild again. "…Yes. Something terrible happened."
The clerk leaned forward. "Earlier today, six adventurers returned. They took a similar quest two days ago—another village, far south of yours."
"And?"
"They found no survivors. No bodies. Only blood—two or three days old."
Lara's eyes widened. "No monster tracks?"
"None. No dens. No footprints."
He paused.
"What caught their attention was a message written in blood on a stone wall."
"…What did it say?"
Please save us.
Lara thanked him, collected the reward, and returned to her party.
Roman's expression darkened as she explained everything.
"That's why it felt off," he muttered.
"But what does it mean?" Kaele asked.
Lara spoke slowly. "Someone wrote that message. That means they were alive. And likely not alone."
"So they were hiding?" Roman said.
"Yes. And when they saw what happened, they hoped someone would come."
"But then why not write where they were hiding?" John asked.
"That's what scares me," Lara replied.
Elina folded her arms. "There's another possibility."
They turned to her.
"What if there's a cult behind this?"
John blinked. "A cult? For what?"
Elina hesitated. "In the eastern continent… there are stories. Cults that worship the Demon Lord. They offer sacrifices."
For a moment, silence.
Then John laughed. "That's a fairy tale."
Elina's eyes narrowed. "Then find your own answers."
Lara raised her hands. "Alright, alright. Let's calm down."
Roman sighed. "This isn't our job. Kingdom knights will handle it."
They parted ways for the night.
Before leaving, Kaele stopped Elina. "Tell me more… about those stories."
"Do you believe them?" she asked.
"I grew up hearing about the Last Hero," Kaele said. "I believe in heroes."
Elina smiled softly. "I like heroes too. I wish I could've seen the Hero fight the Demon Lord."
"One day," Kaele said, "I want to be like him."
"Then I'll be cheering for you," Elina replied.
That night, Kaele lay alone in his room.
He was happy—someone believed in him.
That night, Kaele lay on the narrow bed of the inn, staring at the wooden ceiling above him.
Elina's words echoed softly in his mind.I'll be cheering for you.
It was strange. Comforting. Painful.
For the first time since Tarin's death, someone outside his family believed in him—not out of obligation, not out of pity, but genuine faith.
Kaele's Room
Kaele closed the door behind him and leaned against it.
Silence.
The room was small but clean. Moonlight filtered through the window, illuminating his bed, his armor resting neatly beside it, and his sword leaning against the wall.
He sat down slowly.
Then his hands began to tremble.
Images flooded his mind—blood, screams, green skin, sharp teeth.
Tarin.
Kaele clenched his fists.
Every night was the same.
He saw Tarin laughing. Running ahead. Turning back.
Then—darkness.
Kaele buried his face in his hands.
Tears slipped through his fingers.
"Why…?" he whispered.
Every morning, he woke with tears in his eyes.
But the promise he made that day still burned in his heart.
I will grow stronger.
He looked at his sword.
"Every day brings sorrow and more mysteries," Kaele muttered.
"What the hell is happening to this world…?"
Sleep took him slowly, unwillingly.
But his dreams were still haunted by his fallen friend. Every morning, he woke with tears in his eyes… and the promise he made still burned in his heart.
Far Away — The Elven Kingdom of Elarion
Deep within the untouched heart of the world lay Elarion, the eternal kingdom of the elves.
At its center stood Sylva'Thariel.
A colossal tree so vast that its crown pierced the clouds themselves, its roots spreading for miles beneath the forest floor like veins carrying ancient life. Entire rivers curved around its base, guided by magic older than kingdoms. Its bark shimmered faintly with runes carved by time itself, glowing softly beneath moonlight.
The castle was not built upon the tree.
It was grown from it.
Bridges of living wood spiraled upward, halls carved seamlessly into the trunk, walls breathing gently as if alive. Crystalline leaves floated through the air like drifting stars, illuminating corridors without flame.
Within the Hall of Lunar Boughs, King Sylvaelis Erwyin sat upon his throne—formed from interwoven roots and silver bark, crowned by a natural arch of glowing leaves.
His presence alone bent the air.
Before him stood the Moonleaf Council, summoned only when the balance of the world itself was threatened.
Vaelis Thorneveil stepped forward, his voice echoing through the living hall.
"Let the Moonleaf Council commence."
Minister of Wisdom — Eldrinor Thal'Seris
Tall and slender, his robes were embroidered with constellations that slowly shifted as he moved. His eyes held centuries of memory.
"These disappearances," Eldrinor began calmly, "follow patterns seen during the age of human expansion—"
King Sylvaelis raised a hand.
"Not this time."
The words struck the chamber like a blade.
Minister of Diplomacy — Lysentha Moonveil
Grace incarnate, her silver eyes narrowed. "You are certain, my king?"
"I am," Sylvaelis replied. "The traces found were not human."
A ripple passed through the council.
Minister of War — Vaelorin Ashenleaf
His hand rested on the pommel of his blade, his expression unreadable. "Then whatever did this is bold enough to cross into elven lands… and foolish enough to believe we would not notice."
Minister of Nature — Caelwyn Greenwhisper
The vines wrapped around his arms trembled. "The forest weeps. Spirits are restless. Something profane has touched sacred soil."
Minister of Magic — Myrrhael Starroot
His staff hummed faintly with restrained power. "I sense echoes of forbidden rituals. Old ones. Ones tied to blood and sacrifice."
Silence followed.
The king slowly rose from his throne.
"If this is what I fear," Sylvaelis said, his voice heavy, "then the world is moving toward an age it has forgotten… but which has not forgotten us."
Outside, Sylva'Thariel's leaves rustled violently, though no wind blew.