Cale heard the noise first — something low, sharp, scraping across the forest floor.
He stopped walking.
The forest around him was dead quiet. No wind. No birds. Even the insects had vanished. The fog was ankle-deep, thick enough to hide roots and rocks, and it clung to the ground like it didn't want to leave.
Another scrape. Closer this time.
He turned slowly, one hand moving to the hilt of his sword. His fingers wrapped around the air.
Shit. He'd dropped it back at the ridge after the fall.
The trees ahead shifted. Something big moved between them — not walking, more like dragging itself. Branches cracked. A low hiss came from the shadows.
Then it stepped out.
It was huge. Seven feet, maybe eight. Its body was raw muscle stretched over jagged bone, skin the color of dried blood. Claws too long to be natural clicked together with a steady rhythm, like teeth grinding in anticipation. Its face — if it had one — was a mess of scars and sunken flesh, with eyes that glowed faint yellow, not from light but from something wrong inside it.
A Vorrak.
Cale had heard of them. Thought they were just stories — monsters that stalked old war fields, feeding on corpses and waiting for anything still breathing.
Cale was confused. This was clearly a monster that was in front of him. But such beings were supposed to exist only in fairytales, weren't they? A monster parents used to stoke fear in their kids when they were being unruly.
If it were merely a fairytale, then why was it standing in front of Cale? Was he having hallucinations? No—that wasn't right. This was reality, Cale was sure of it. The Vorrak in front of him was real as well. How else was he supposed to explain the dead hairs standing upright on his hands as if his life was dangling on a thread.
Cale quickly took a stance. He didn't know why but right then, every part of his instinct told him the Vorrak in front of him was very much alive.
And very hungry.
It moved fast. Too fast. One second it was across the clearing, the next it was almost on him. Cale dove sideways, hitting the dirt hard as the Vorrak's claw smashed into the tree where his head had just been. Wood exploded behind him.
He rolled, scrambled to his feet, grabbed a stick — the only thing nearby — and held it like a blade.
The Vorrak stared at him for a second, almost curious. Then it opened its mouth.
The sound that came out wasn't a roar. It was worse.
It was laughter.
Hearing such repulsive sound, Cale wanted to annihilate the abomination more than ever. However, before he could make the first move—to Cale's surprise—the Vorrak lunged at him.
Cale swung the stick.
It shattered on contact.
The creature slammed into him, claws tearing across his chest and throwing him through the air. He hit the ground hard, rolled over a root, and didn't stop until his back slammed into a boulder. He tried to scream, but the breath had already been knocked out of him.
Pain lit up across his ribs. Blood soaked through his shirt in seconds.
He tried to move. Couldn't. His right leg was bent at the wrong angle, and something inside his shoulder had popped where it shouldn't have.
The Vorrak was already closing the distance. Slow now — stalking. Enjoying it.
Cale fumbled at the dirt, found nothing but wet leaves and blood. His vision blurred at the edges. His chest felt tight. He was bleeding out fast.
So this was it.
He let his head fall back. He'd die in some nameless forest, torn apart by something nobody believed existed. No last words. No witness. Just gone.
Then something strange happened.
The Vorrak stopped.
Its head twitched — once, twice — like it had heard something he couldn't.
Then a low, soft sound came from the trees.
Meow.
A small black cat padded into the clearing.
It was sleek, clean, and impossibly out of place. Its eyes glowed faintly — not yellow like the Vorrak, but a sharp, unnatural blue. It didn't hiss. Didn't run. Just sat on a stump and stared at the monster.
The Vorrak turned toward it, suddenly tense.
The cat tilted its head. Its tail flicked once.
Then everything happened at once.
The air cracked — like glass under pressure — and the shadows around the cat twisted. A sound like rushing wind and tearing metal roared through the clearing. The Vorrak screamed, tried to turn—
Too late.
A black tendril of pure shadow burst from the cat's body and pierced straight through the Vorrak's chest. Another slammed into its skull. Then four more struck from every direction, fast as lightning. The creature convulsed, shrieked, tried to claw at nothing, then collapsed in a heap.
Dead.
Cale blinked. Blood ran into his eyes.
The cat hopped off the stump, walked over the smoking corpse of the Vorrak, and sat next to him.
It looked up at him calmly.
Meow.
Then it licked its paw.
_______________
The first thing Cale felt was the weight in his chest — heavy, like someone had stacked bricks on his lungs. The second was the dull, aching throb across his ribs and down his leg.
He opened his eyes.
His room. The same cracked ceiling. The same warped wooden beams. The smell of boiled herbs and burnt cloth hung in the air.
"Cale?"
A small voice, right beside him.
He turned his head — slowly — and saw Lukas sitting on a stool, legs tucked up, face pale. His little brother he quite adore—although Cale usually did not show him too much affection.
"Lukas…" Cale's voice came out dry, broken.
Lukas blinked hard. "You're awake!" he yelled, scrambling to his feet. "You're really awake! Wait—!"
He turned and bolted out the room before Cale could say anything else.
A few seconds later, the front door burst open and footsteps pounded up the hall. His parents came in together — Tobias first, still half-dressed from the hunt, and Rebek just behind, face flushed and eyes wild.
"Cale!" Rebek rushed to his side, dropping to her knees. She pressed a hand to his forehead, then his chest, checking for gods-know-what. "Can you breathe? Are you in pain? What hurts?"
Tobias stood by the foot of the bed, arms crossed. His voice was quieter, but rough. "We thought you were dead, boy."
"I was… in the woods," Cale said, his throat raw. "There was something—something followed me. I didn't see it coming. It had claws, and these… yellow eyes, and—"
"A Vorrak," Tobias muttered.
Rebek shot him a look.
Tobias looked back, jaw clenched. "What? You want to lie to him now?"
"A Vorrak?" Cale's voice dropped. "Those stories you used to tell me when I was young… So they are actually real?"
Tobias nodded once. "I found you lying next to it. It was already dead when I got there. Burned straight through. Like something cored it from the inside."
"And the cat—" Cale stopped. "There was a cat. A black one. It—"
"Enough," Rebek said softly. She stood, brushed his hair back gently. "Lukas shouldn't hear the rest."
As if on cue, Lukas peeked around the doorframe. "Can I come back in?"
"No," Tobias said firmly. "Go outside. Play near the river. Don't go past the old stump."
"But—"
"Now, Lukas."
The boy huffed, gave Cale one last worried glance, and vanished down the hall.
When the door shut, Tobias pulled the stool closer and sat. Rebek didn't move from Cale's side.
"We weren't going to tell you yet," Tobias began. "We thought maybe it would skip you."
"But it didn't," Rebek said quietly.
"Didn't what?" Cale looked between them.
Tobias sighed, long and slow. "You weren't the first Varn to see a Vorrak and survive."
Rebek was quiet. Her hand didn't leave Cale's.
Cale stared at them both. "You knew. All this time—you knew, and you never told me?"
"We wanted to," Rebek said gently. "But you were just a boy. And then you grew up, and you never showed signs, and we… we hoped it skipped you."
"Skipped me?" His voice rose. "You talk like it's a disease."
"It isn't," Tobias said sharply. "But it gets people killed just the same."
They stared at each other. Years of silence and secrets hung in the air like a blade.
Rebek took a breath. "Your father and I are descended from the Veyrathi — the Seer's Line. A clan that could speak with a kind of being most people feared, even back then. They're not gods. But they're not animals, either."
Cale's brow furrowed. "The cat."
"A Yvelin," Tobias said. "One of the Yvelari. Divine creatures — older than written language. Every one of them has a domain. Power that defines them. That cat, the one that saved you? It's not here by accident."
"They don't show themselves to just anyone," Rebek added. "Only those with the old blood. A contract can't be forced. It's an agreement. A bond."
Cale's voice was low now. "And you were going to tell me when? After I died in the woods?"
"We thought we were protecting you!" Tobias barked.
"No." Cale looked at him, eyes hard. "You were protecting yourselves. You were afraid."
No one answered.
The room felt colder.
Then Rebek said, "Do you want to know how the contract works?"
He didn't respond right away.
But then: "Tell me."