~ ☆ ~
The night sank deeper into an abyssal black. The forest stood in a suffocating silence, as if the very trees were holding their breath to witness the tragedy unfolding beneath their roots.
No matter how desperately Arzel tried to shroud his mother and himself beneath his cloak, he could not mask the ethereal scent of the Silvent blood. It was a sweet, intoxicating fragrance—a beacon that called out to the predator through the dark.
The obsidian beast advanced with a calculated slowness, the sound of its heavy paws crushing the dry undergrowth echoing like a death knell. Atop its back, the soldier's laughter cut through the gloom like the edge of a rusted blade.
"No matter how deep you bury that wretched nature of yours, I would find you even in the depths of hell!"
Arzel had never known this feeling before—the crushing weight of having to hide. In the suffocating darkness of his mind, the silhouette of his grandfather, Os, materialized. Standing tall in his majestic royal regalia, his voice echoed with the iron authority of a fading era.
"A true warrior never hides! Even if you hold nothing but a stick, look your enemy in the eye for the sake of your honor!"
Arzel's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm of terror and helplessness. He wanted to scream, to rise and fight, but the thought of the fragile life in his arms anchored him to the shadows. He remained paralyzed, a boy drowning in a sea of impossible choices.
The soldier drew a sharp breath and unleashed another whistle. The sound was so shrill, so unnatural, that it made the skin crawl and the nerves catch fire.
The forest remained deathly still. The only sound left was the rhythmic, guttural heaving of the beast's lungs—a wet, heavy sound that grew closer with every passing second.
Arzel pulled Mithian tighter against his chest, tucking her glowing hair beneath the fabric of his cloak with trembling fingers. He clung to a shred of hope that felt as thin and fragile as a spider's silk.
Suddenly, a shimmer of light broke the darkness.
A creature emerged from the thicket—a celestial doe with a coat of shifting blue and white that pulsed with its own inner moonlight. Three small, elegant antlers curved back from its head, framed by a pair of delicate, tufted ears. Its twin tails swayed like silk ribbons in a slow-motion dance.
The creature drifted toward Arzel. Its eyes, deep and vast like the cosmos, locked onto his. It leaned in, its velvet nose twitching as it caught the scent of the dying mother.
"Go away... please..." Arzel sobbed, his voice a broken, jagged whisper. "Run!"
The doe ignored his plea. As it leaned closer to Mithian, its eyes began to cloud with ancient memories.
Years ago, Mithian would sit upon an overgrown altar deep within this forest. Her long blue-and-white gown would spread out like a sanctuary for the woodland creatures. She would hum a melody so pure that even the most savage predators would sit side-by-side with their prey just to listen. Her gentle hands had once caressed the very ancestors of this doe.
Recognizing the fading warmth of its guardian, the creature's cosmic eyes filled with shimmering tears. It looked at Arzel, whose hands were feebly trying to push it away.
Arzel's strength finally shattered. He collapsed over his mother, burying his face in her neck. A broken, muffled cry escaped him, his chest heaving with the effort to stay silent.
The celestial doe leaned down and softly licked the salty tears from Arzel's cheeks.
"Go! Don't throw your life away! Leave!" Arzel choked out, his throat burning.
The doe offered a final, melancholic nuzzle before turning its head. Beyond the tree, the hot, rancid breath of the obsidian beast was now audible. It was right there.
"Hey! They called you an invincible little monster, but look at you now...!" the soldier mocked, his voice dripping with venom.
The air turned electric with tension. Arzel felt the end approaching, a cold shadow falling over them.
But in that heartbeat, the celestial doe didn't run. It leaped from behind the tree, throwing itself directly into the path of the hunter.
Arzel's eyes nearly burst from their sockets as he watched the creature step into the open.
"No! What are you doing?! Run!" he hissed in a panicked whisper, the words catching in his dry throat.
The soldier gasped, his eyes widening in shock at the sudden, blinding burst of celestial light. But the obsidian beast acted on raw, predatory instinct. With a single, brutal lunging snap, its jaws clamped shut around the radiant creature.
A sickening, wet crunch echoed through the clearing as the light was extinguished.
The force of the kill nearly unseated the soldier. Snarling in frustration, he yanked the heavy chains, forcing the beast's massive head back and away from the mangled remains.
"Damn it! CURSE YOU... AAAAQH!"
Blinded by rage and the sudden distraction of the kill, the soldier assumed the 'scent' he had been following belonged to this creature all along. He wrenched the beast around, retreating back the way he came, his face twisted in a mask of fury at the wasted time.
Arzel, trapped in a metaphorical room of despair with no doors or windows, watched the last fading glimmers of the doe vanish into the beast's maw.
A new wave of agony washed over him—the crushing guilt of another life lost to protect his own. He felt small, wretched, and cursed.
He curled into a ball around his mother, his weeping turning into a hollow, jagged sound that echoed in the dark roots of the tree. His chest heaved with broken, muffled sobs, the air leaving his lungs in ragged gasps as he clung to her cooling body.
The soldier, retreating along the path, collided with a group of scouts mounted on their looming Amaroks.
"Hey! Are you coming from that sector?" they called out, their voices sharp with suspicion.
"Yeah, what of it?" the soldier snapped, his face still twisted in a lingering snarl.
"We can feel something... a lingering presence over there," they replied, exchanging uneasy glances.
"It was just a Celestial Doe!" the soldier spat.
"A what...?" The group erupted in a barrage of questions. "You didn't catch it? Do you have any idea what those fetch on the black market?"
"DO YOU THINK I'M AN IDIOT?" the soldier bellowed, his rage boiling over. "If this cursed Amarok hadn't torn it to shreds... K-hh...!"
"Hey, calm down! It's fine," the others began to soothe him, though their eyes held a mocking glint. "Tough luck, brother. Better luck next time!"
Their mocking laughter echoed through the trees as they wrenched their Amaroks around. The massive beasts growled, their heavy paws thudding against the earth as they turned.
"We must have been sensing the blood of the doe after all."
"Yeah, forget it. We've done enough 'touring' for one night anyway!"
Their voices faded into the darkness, leaving only the rustle of the wind. Inside the hollow, Arzel forced his sobbing to a halt. With a grim, newfound resolve, he carefully hoisted his mother onto his back once more.
As he stepped out, his eyes lingered for a silent moment on the crimson stains left by the Celestial Doe. A wordless gratitude passed through him—a secret bond forged in sacrifice.
The brief rest seemed to have ignited a dormant spark within him. He began to run, his legs moving with a sudden, frantic agility. The obstacles that had once felt like mountains—fallen trunks, suffocating vines, and treacherous ravines—now seemed to yield before his desperate pace.
Yet, even as he sprinted, he ground his teeth together. The hatred for the world and the terror for his mother's life remained a jagged blade in his chest.
The forest spirits continued their maddening, high-pitched titters from the shadows, but Arzel ignored the throbbing in his head and pushed forward. The forest grew denser, the canopy weaving together to shut out the treacherous moonlight.
In the absolute gloom, Arzel's cursed nature became his only lantern. His silver hair didn't just look white; it was like liquid starlight flowing over his shoulders, illuminating the path ahead.
But Mithian's hair was fading.
Like a Silver-Leaf Lily reaching the end of its bloom, her shimmering, star-dusted tresses were losing their luster, turning into a dull, lifeless grey. As her hair brushed against his face in a rhythmic dance, memories began to flicker before Arzel's eyes like dying embers.
He saw a younger Mithian, sitting in a field of flowers with a tiny Arzel in her lap. Her long gown was spread out like a silken blanket over the grass.
"Arzel, look at this meadow," she had whispered with a radiant smile. "Only here, in the Silvent Gardens, do these Silver-Leaf Lilies grow. They are so delicate... so pampered."
The gentle wind had played with her hair then, making it shimmer like a thousand diamonds under the midday sun.
"If you mistreat them, they stop growing. They lose their color and fade away," she continued.
The young Arzel hadn't looked at the flowers. He had been too captivated by the celestial beauty of his mother's face, convinced that no garden in the world could ever compare to her.
The memory shattered as Arzel felt the weight on his back grow heavier. He was losing that ultimate beauty, and he didn't know whether to scream at the heavens or weep into the dirt.
"Mom! Just a little longer! Please...!"
His breath came in ragged, painful gasps as he vanished into the heart of the forest.
The deeper Arzel pushed into the sunless woods, the more he felt as if he were sinking into a swamp of pure shadow. Every muscle screamed; the deep, unhealed gash on his shoulder throbbed with a rhythmic, searing heat, dragging him toward the brink of collapse.
Yet, he ground his teeth together. His breath escaped in ragged, icy plumes that vanished into the dark.
Occasionally, he adjusted his grip on his mother's weight, treating her fragile frame as if she were a butterfly that might shatter if held too loosely. Caught between the tides of fury and helplessness, his mind focused solely on Mithian—an obsession that blinded him to the dangers lurking in the periphery.
That ignorance nearly cost him his life.
A razor-sharp object whistled through the air, cutting the silence. Lost in thought, Arzel reacted a split second late. He wrenched his body aside, feeling the cold kiss of steel as a hidden blade sheared off a lock of his silver hair.
He skidded to a halt, eyes wide, darting frantically across the lightless thicket. The whispering forest suddenly went mute, as if the very wind were terrified of what was coming next.
Arzel whirled around just in time to see another flash of steel aimed directly at his throat.
He tried to dodge, but the weight of his mother on his back made him clumsy. Realizing he couldn't move in time, he twisted his torso to act as a living shield for her. The blade bit deep into the side of his wounded shoulder, ripping open the jagged scar left by the previous sword strike.
Arzel stumbled, his legs trembling as they fought to hold his ground. A dark, visceral rage bubbled up within him—a silent, roaring scream.
If only she weren't in danger, I would tear them all apart!
But he quickly suppressed it. Now was not the time for "if onlys."
He carefully leaned Mithian against the hollow of a massive, ancient tree. Standing before her like a cornered wolf, he snatched up a heavy fallen branch, gripping it so hard his knuckles turned ghost-white. His teeth ground together with a sound like crushing stone.
Then, he saw it.
Behind the trunk of a distant titan tree, a small silhouette emerged. A tiny figure clung to the bark, peering out from the shadows.
Though it was no taller than Arzel's knee, the sheer weight of its Soul Pressure made the strength of the Amaroks feel like a single drop of water compared to a boundless, dark ocean.
The air grew heavy, suffocating. Arzel felt as if an invisible mountain were pressing down on his spine, forcing his spirit toward the dirt.
The creature shifted, its form half-hidden, and opened its eyes. Arzel froze. He had never encountered a gaze—or a power—like this.
The eyes were a vivid, bleeding crimson. In place of pupils, twin crescents of fire burned with an eerie light, and at the center of each crescent sat a black void that promised an endless descent into the abyss. The rest of its body remained a blur of shadow, refusing to step fully into the light.
Trembling under the crushing spiritual weight, Arzel lowered his center of gravity. He clutched the wooden branch with both hands, positioning his entire body as a barrier between the monster and his mother.
In the midst of the terrifying silence, a voice drifted through the trees—small, hauntingly calm, and tinged with a strange loneliness.
"Hey..."
"Will you play with me?"
The creature spoke from its hiding spot, its massive, unblinking eyes fixed on Arzel with an expression that was both deadly serious and desperately pleading.
~ ☆ ~