For a heartbeat, pure silence filled the air.
Then the creature lunged.
It burst from the shadows with a shrill cry, its form little more than a blur of motion and ragged cloth. Instinct overtook thought. Fenix let out a sound that he would later vehemently deny was a ridiculously high pitched scream.
He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the impact, for claws or teeth or something far worse.
One second passed.
Then another.
Instead of pain, there were sounds of struggle. Grunting. Fabric tearing. A sharp gasp that did not belong to him.
Fenix hesitated, then cracked one eye open.
What he saw made his breath hitch.
Aeris stood before him, one arm locked firmly around the wrist of a little girl. She could not have been older than seven or eight. Dirt streaked her face, and tears poured freely from her wide eyes, yet her grip on the small knife she held was unyielding.
Her expression was twisted into something fierce and desperate, far too old for a child so young.
She struggled violently, trying to stab, to fight, to survive.
Aeris spoke softly, urgently, in a language Fenix did not recognize. The words flowed quickly, strangely melodic, carrying a tone that was neither harsh nor commanding.
With a swift motion, Aeris wrenched the knife from her hand and flung it far into the undergrowth. Then, without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms.
The child froze.
Then she broke.
Her small body shook as sobs tore free, fists clutching desperately at Aeris's robes as though he were the only solid thing left in the world.
Aeris held her tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head, murmuring quiet reassurances in that same unfamiliar tongue.
Fenix stood there, utterly unsure of what to do with his hands, his feet, his heart.
Then reality crashed back into him.
The clearing.
The bodies.
The blood.
He swallowed hard and stepped forward, tapping Aeris lightly on the shoulder. When the winged boy glanced up, Fenix gestured shakily around them, then motioned toward the treeline.
They could not stay here.
Understanding dawned instantly in Aeris's eyes. He nodded once, gratitude flickering across his expression, before gently guiding the child toward another clearing farther away, where the trees grew thicker and the ground was less stained by death.
When they were gone, Fenix released a breath he had not realized he was holding.
His gaze drifted back to the devastation.
Houses stood half collapsed, their wooden frames blackened and charred. Ash clung to the air, stinging his lungs.
Entire families lay where they had fallen, some reaching toward one another, others frozen mid attempt to flee.
Children.
His chest tightened painfully.
Who could have done something like this.
A sudden hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Fenix flinched violently.
And no, he absolutely did not let out a ridiculously high pitched scream for the second time that day.
Definitely not.
He spun around, heart pounding, only to be met with familiar dark green eyes filled with concern.
Relief flooded him so suddenly his knees nearly gave out.
"Oh," he breathed. "It is just you."
The weird, clearly not human stranger who claimed to know his brother's personal knight.
Wait.
Before Fenix could fully process the absurdity of that the situation he was in, Aeris was already moving past him.
His gaze was distant now, solemn, as he stepped into the center of the ruined clearing.
He knelt on one knee and pressed his palm flat against the blood soaked earth.
The ground trembled.
A low, muffled rumble echoed beneath their feet as the soil before him sank inward, forming neat, shallow hollows. One by one, more followed. Dozens of them. More than fifty graves shaped carefully into the earth.
Fenix understood immediately.
Swallowing hard, he joined Aeris.
Together, they lifted each body with care.
Every movement was deliberate, reverent.
Fenix forced himself not to rush, even as his arms shook with strain and nausea churned in his stomach.
As he carried them, he noticed something that filled him with a quiet, sick horror.
Every wound was precise.
Clean cuts placed over vital areas, designed not to kill swiftly, but slowly.
Painfully.
Each face was frozen in agony.
Fenix's hands trembled as he laid the last body to rest.
Aeris placed his hand to the earth once more. This time, a distant roll of thunder echoed through the forest as the soil gently folded back over the graves. Small stone markers rose from the ground, each etched with a name, simple and final.
Fenix bowed deeply, head lowered, hands clenched at his sides.
When he straightened, his expression had hardened.
"Who," he began, then paused, forcing the words past the tightness in his throat, "who would do such a terrible thing?"
Aeris looked at him.
Not with anger.
Not with fear.
But with pity.
He turned away without answering, casting a single glance over his shoulder, a silent command to follow. Then he disappeared into the trees.
Fenix remained still for a long moment.
The sick, hollow feeling returned, coiling in his stomach.
This was not his first time seeing death.
Assassins and corpses had always lingered at the edges of palace life, shadows that followed the royal family wherever they went.
Death had been something distant, something acknowledged and endured.
But this felt different.
Suddenly, he was five years old again.
Hiding in the palace garden.
Everyone gone for his brother's ceremony.
His hands clamped over his mouth to smother his sobs as he crouched behind the hedges, staring at a lifeless body sprawled across the stone path.
His first kill.
He looked down at his hands now, remembering how blood had once soaked into his skin, sticky and warm.
Slowly, deliberately, Fenix clenched his fists.
Whatever lurked in this forest.
Whatever horror waited ahead.
He would survive.
Drawing in a steadying breath, he followed Aeris into the trees once more, leaving the graves behind.
But not the memory of them.