The icy breath, still hanging in the air, ran over their skin like a silent warning.In front of them, the blue portal pulsed at an irregular rhythm, electric arcs continuing to streak its edges.
With each pulse, the world seemed to freeze for a fraction of a second. The leaves quivered in a spectral slow motion, as if all the air in the woods had been suspended, held in a breathless pause.
Maïwenn didn't take her eyes off that unstable tear.Her voice dropped, sharp:— Turn around. We're going back. Now!Without waiting, she spun on her heel. Bann and Milo followed in the same movement, their formation tightened, senses alert.No further words were exchanged. The message was clear: the threat was imminent — and their only chance was to prepare, and above all not to face that thing here, in this knot of trees and roots where night had already taken hold.The path was narrow, drowned in shadows.They ran at full speed, breathing short but steady, their footsteps pounding the ground hardened by the cold.The trees passed in a dark tangle, the branches seeming to close behind them.The wind, sharper than on the way there, howled in gusts as soon as they left the forest.— Do we know when… it will strike? panted Bann, his gaze locked on the night ahead.
— No, replied Maïwenn, her voice even harder. And we don't even know if we can stop it.
Milo, focused, clenched his teeth.
— We need to ask for help from the capital. Immediately.— Joey has been above the village since we arrived. We'll use him as soon as we get there.Their pace didn't slow. Each meter brought them closer to the village — to that fragile safety they would have to defend.They knew it. The worst was yet to come.They passed through the entrance and emerged onto the small central square.Without a word, Maïwenn raised her head, then whistled briefly.High in the sky, a black silhouette answered immediately.A crow.Since their arrival, Joey had never left the village sky. He kept circling endlessly, like a living shadow, a black eye hanging above them, tireless, silent.
Tonight again, he was gliding above the alleys, as if he had sensed the group's return.Maïwenn stopped abruptly, between two houses whose walls still bore the marks of the first battle.The crow descended in a spiral and landed on her forearm, its talons gripping firmly around the leather of her sleeve. Its dark, shining eyes fixed on Maïwenn with a cold intelligence.With a quick gesture, she pulled a thin parchment from her satchel. Bann and Milo stayed back, their gazes drifting over the surrounding debris.Here and there, the scars of the fight were visible: collapsed sections of walls, broken enclosures, the ground cracked in places, marked by deep impacts.A pungent odor, mixed with soot and dried blood, still floated in the icy air.Maïwenn rolled her message, sealed it carefully, then tied it delicately to one of the crow's legs.She brought her face close to the bird. Her voice, low and deep, resonated like a silent command:— Head to the capital. Fly fast. And don't falter.The crow immediately let go, spread its black wings, and took off with a powerful leap, cutting through the night sky in a sharp line.Soon, only its shadow slid among the stars.At the same moment, a handful of villagers, dark and nervous silhouettes, appeared at the corner of the square.Some held lanterns, others advanced with hands clasped, anxious.— So?… stammered an old man, his voice trembling. Is it… over?Maïwenn turned to them, her face closed, still marked with blood and ashes.— No, she murmured. The real threat is coming. Prepare yourselves. Warn the others. Go home and barricade yourselves.An icy silence fell. The villagers exchanged panicked looks, before nodding silently.Some immediately rushed toward the houses, others froze, lips trembling, then scattered in turn.Maïwenn didn't waste a moment and addressed her companions directly.— Inside, she said simply.They slipped into one of the spared buildings, an old attic converted for the Guardians, which the village had made available to them.
The wood, soaked with moisture and ashes, still exhaled the acrid smell of past days.Bann closed the door behind them, sliding the bolt without a word. Milo lit an oil lamp placed in a corner.A pale light stretched across the walls, revealing their faces marked by fatigue, dirt, and dried blood.Maïwenn immediately knelt down. With a precise gesture, she opened her bag and spread two blankets on the floor.— We'll take turns keeping watch tonight, she said.I'll take the first shift, Milo you'll be second. But before that… come here.She observed them for a moment, her gaze hardened by exhaustion.— I'm going to heal your most superficial wounds. I have a bit of energy left, but I won't use as much as usual. I need to preserve myself… in case that thing shows up sooner than expected.It's up to you to recover as best you can tonight. I'm counting on you.Without wasting time, the two young men removed their upper layers, keeping only a light garment against their skin.
Their chests and arms, just like Maïwenn's, were marked with cuts and bruises — silent traces of the life-or-death struggle that had taken place earlier in the day.
Maïwenn let the same aura flow that she had given them that morning.However, this time, it had neither the same shape nor the same intensity.It looked more like a calm and peaceful stream, slowly spreading over the wounds.The energy enveloped the injuries, some closed almost completely, others reduced, without fully healing.
The two young men dressed again in silence, then thanked their team leader.Maïwenn, her face even more marked, remained motionless for a moment, her features drawn, before catching her breath.Bann, seeing her state, offered to take the first watch.But Maïwenn refused with a simple gesture. Her response was a silent, indisputable order.He didn't argue.She crossed the door without a sound, gently closed it behind her. She sat on the porch, back against the wall, eyes fixed on the shifting darkness.Slowly, she slid her hand under her tunic and took out a small tarnished metal medallion.She opened it delicately, as one would open a secret. Inside, a small yellowed photo showed a young boy, his shy smile lighting up his eyes. Next to him, Maïwenn, younger, embraced him with a protective arm.
Her gaze softened, almost imperceptibly.She closed the medallion with a light click, squeezed it in her hand, pressed her forehead against her knuckles.Her lips brushed the cold metal, a trembling breath passed between her teeth. A silent vow. A silent prayer.Then she reopened her eyes, once again hard and sharp, and tucked the medallion against her chest.Inside, Bann and Milo lay down immediately, each trying to find some rest before dawn.The hours trickled by slowly. In turn, each fell into a heavy sleep, punctuated by indistinct nightmares.Whoever was keeping watch listened for the slightest vibration, the slightest abnormal shiver coming from the forest.Outside, the wind rose again, pushing long moans between the branches.The shadows danced, but the thing did not come.Not yet.
He had gotten up even before the rooster thought of crowing and well before dawn. It had been a long time since he had slept so well… Not a nightmare, not a sudden jolt awake. A gentle night, almost comforting.He told himself that, now that the danger was finally gone, he could allow himself this luxury. And it had done him a world of good.Today was the first Friday of the month. The day of his great harvest for the hundred-flower soup. A recipe he prepared each month, but this time… he would make a whole pot, for the entire village.Under his grumbling and his old grouchy airs, he did like them, those idiots. They all called him "Old Gribou," but in reality, his real name was Grimbald… no one really used it anymore.Even if those stubborn villagers drove him crazy, he watched over them in his own way.He grabbed his old wicker basket and his small sickle. He closed the door gently, without a sound.The village was still sleeping. No one saw him leave. So much the better, he liked when the morning belonged to him.Heading toward the edge of the forest, where those rare and fragile flowers grew.He was already muttering into his beard, his leg creaked with each step… But today, he felt strangely light.
At dawn, the pale light slid over the still silent village.A slight noise made the watcher turn his head. Milo tightened his grip on the guard of his wakizashi, ready to draw.Then, he recognized the silhouettes.Mata and Yahiko.The latter carried a wooden basket filled with goods.— My mother is sending this, he simply said, approaching.Milo slowly released the guard of his sword and nodded. He opened the door slightly to let them in.Inside, Maïwenn was already up. She was finishing applying an ointment to a large bruise marking her stomach.
As for Bann, he got up from his bedding, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He straightened up with a grimace, his muscles protesting each movement. Obviously, all his pains were far from healed.
No one spoke right away. The fatigue, the tension, the cold — everything still seemed frozen.They sat around the small table.The meal was simple, silent. Only the crunching of the bread, the clinking of the cups, and the slow breath of their breathing filled the atmosphere.Maïwenn finally broke the silence:— You will greatly thank your mother.Yahiko nodded, hesitating. The question gnawing at him slipped out despite himself.— So… the threat is gone?He already knew the answer. Milo's attitude when they arrived, his look… everything had warned him. He didn't want to hear it, but he had to know.Bann shook his head, his jaw clenched.— No. The threat is still there. And it's even greater than we had expected.
He sighed, ran his hand over his face, exasperated.— Surprising that you're not already aware… We had asked the villagers to warn everyone last night. But some preferred to barricade themselves rather than warn their neighbors.He straightened slightly, his gaze hardened.— Listen to me carefully, both of you. Get ready. Warn your mother, Yahiko. Today and the coming night are going to be very long. We sent a message for reinforcements, but they won't arrive before tomorrow morning.Mata swallowed, pale. He tried to hide his distress, but his fingers clenched on his knees betrayed him.
To mask his fear, he suddenly straightened up and said in a firm tone:— Can you tell us more about these monsters… these "Yokaï"?Maïwenn stared at them for a long moment. Her gaze was so piercing that even her apprentices froze.— First… I want to tell you that you have shown rare courage. What you accomplished a week ago… few adults would be capable of it.She paused, her eyes landing on Yahiko.— But what is coming… has nothing to do with what you faced.She inhaled, her voice grew graver.— These monsters came through a portal. Normally, it should have closed after our victory yesterday morning. But this time… it stayed open. It changed. It evolved.Something is going to come out. Over there… and it's beyond us.She set her hard gaze on them.— You won't stand a chance. Even we… we still don't know how to stop it.Mata turned pale, torn between fear and a quiet rage. Would he relive the nightmare that had destroyed his family ten years ago?Yahiko, for his part, remained frozen. He had no expression left. The news crashed onto him like a hammer blow. Even these Guardians, capable of annihilating two demons where they had nearly died, doubted…He felt his hands grow clammy, his heart hammering in his chest. His thoughts spun in loops, crashing into each other without finding a way out."If even they… Then we…"
A voice whispered in his skull, acid, terrifying. He saw again his mother's face, Fumi's light laughter… Everything suddenly seemed fragile, ready to collapse.
His breath shortened. He lowered his head, unable to meet anyone's gaze.
Maïwenn broke the silence in a firm tone:— I repeat. Do not take part in this fight. You, Yahiko… protect your mother, your sister.She turned to Mata.— And you… protect your friend.A heavy silence fell over the room.Mata inhaled, raised his head.— I won't be hidden away. Not this time.His fists clenched against his knees.— Ten years ago, I was too young. Powerless. My parents died that night. Everything I've done since… it's for this moment.He locked his gaze into Maïwenn's, without trembling.— A week ago, we fought a bear, right before the demon. I was exhausted. But now… I'm ready. Even if I have to die, I will fight. I will protect this village.Yahiko lowered his eyes. He didn't need to speak. Mata was saying out loud what he thought, what he also felt — even if they didn't always agree.
Maïwenn sighed deeply, closed her eyes. When she reopened them, her gaze softened. She focused on Yahiko, studying him for a moment, as if she were seeing through him.
— Your "power"… We know you're hiding something…— Your friend knows… but your mother? Your sister? Do they know?
Her voice had neither reproach nor gentleness. A simple statement, cold and bare.Yahiko froze, shocked. This question shook him more than anything. He had never talked about it. Never to strangers.His mind started spinning. How did they know? Had Mata spoken? No… he trusted him. He took a deep breath, lowered his eyes and, after a few seconds, shook his head no.— Good, breathed Bann. There are things we keep to ourselves.— You're not like the others. We saw it. We felt it.— You carry a rare energy, added Maïwenn. Not yet mastered, not yet shaped. But it's there.— Work on it. In silence. In secret. And if one day you have to use it… do so without hesitation, said Milo, his mouth still full of bread.— Milo is right, concluded Maïwenn. But for now… touch it only as a last resort. Without control, power is nothing. As long as you don't master this power, you put your life in danger.A gust made the shutters tremble. They all exchanged a glance.Then, slowly, each one stood up, lost in their thoughts. The day was beginning. And with it… a race against time.
All day long, the village bustled in a feverish frenzy.The inhabitants, trembling but determined, had begun to reinforce the main entrance, which usually remained always open, without gate or barrier.
They had torn doors from inside the houses, recovered loose planks, and dismantled entire pieces of furniture or partitions.
Some had even cut the few thin trees that still grew in the alleys or near the pens, for lack of anything better.
Anything that could stand upright was transformed, recycled into reinforcement or stake.
Little by little, they assembled a semblance of a wall, nailing, tying, stacking in haste. Behind this improvised barricade, they piled up everything they could find: heavy stones, broken furniture, barrels, empty crates… everything became a makeshift obstacle. Everything that could delay the inevitable.
A second group was busy around large steaming pots. The oldest women and a few men stirred decoctions of wild flowers, bitter roots, and grated bark. Medicinal potions, poultices, everything that could heal or soothe… if indeed there would still be anyone left to save.
Further away, a last group was cobbling together makeshift weapons.Some spears, hastily carved from dry wood, barely stood upright.Others had brought out old axes meant for chopping wood, or worn-out swords with blades dulled for years.
There were also improbable reinforcements made from old rusty tools, twisted iron bars, or patched-up pieces of metalwork.
A few improvised daggers were even dipped in mixtures of toxic sap or extracts of poisonous mushrooms, in the hope that each blow, however clumsy, might at least weaken the enemy.
Despite these preparations, despite the sweat, the faces remained pale, the gestures jerky. Terror floated everywhere, an invisible mist that weighed down every breath.
Yahiko and Mata ran from group to group, carrying wood, comforting a child, pulling a cart of stones.They helped tirelessly, even though, deep down, they knew no barricade would hold long against what was coming.At one point, while helping prepare the improvised weapons — dipped in mixtures of roots and bitter decoctions — Yahiko frowned.Old Gribou, usually, would have been the first to supervise these preparations. He was the only one who really knew how to measure, to recognize the right roots, to grumble at those doing everything wrong.— Have you seen Gribou today? asked Yahiko to Mata, wiping the sweat beading on his forehead.— Now that you mention it… no.A heavy silence settled. Yahiko clenched his jaw.— Okay. Keep helping. I'll check if everything's okay.He ran to the old hunter's house. He knocked once. Nothing. A second time. Silence.
Without thinking, Yahiko pushed the door open, ready to be yelled at for months by that grumpy old man. But it didn't matter.
The room was empty. Cold. The chair near the stove, the old table, the neatly made bed… everything seemed in its place.
A smell of cold ashes still floated, mixed with that of a forgotten soup, slightly sour. An isolated creak of the wood echoed, sinister, in that church-like silence.
But the old man was nowhere to be found.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. Then, suddenly, a flash hit him.— Wait… what day is it? No… The hundred-flower soup…
He remembered. Every first Friday of the month, Gribou left before dawn to gather rare herbs near the forest, to prepare his ritual soup.
— No doubt, no one warned him… He must have thought it was all over…Heart pounding, Yahiko dashed out. He spotted Mata, who was talking with Milo near a cart.— Gribou! He's not there! I'm sure he went into the forest! No one must have warned him last night… like us! He thought it was all over, that everything was settled after the battle!
Mata's eyes widened and he turned pale. He cursed, his voice vibrating with anger:— Damn those cowards… They should have warned everyone!
Milo, beside him, clenched his fists, his gaze dark.Bann, alerted by the commotion, approached quickly.— What's happening?Yahiko repeated, panting, out of breath. Bann inhaled deeply, ran a hand over his face, exasperated.— It's too late… The whole village is barricaded. Impossible to get out now. We have to wait.Yahiko and Mata immediately protested. There was no way they would leave the old man outside, left to fend for himself.Without hesitation, they turned back, rushing to Yahiko's house to gear up. They intended to go after him, no matter what.Dusk was already settling in, tinting the sky with thick shadows. Soon, they wouldn't be able to see anything if they didn't hurry.But suddenly, in front of the house porch, a deafening crash resounded from the forest.They turned their heads, just in time to see a blue flash surge from between the trees and shoot into the sky.It was so powerful, so overwhelming, that one might have thought it would split the sky in two, slicing the night with an unreal and blinding light.
A second rumble followed, monstrous, rolling through the village like a shock wave.The walls trembled, so did the inhabitants, frozen in terror.
The makeshift protections creaked dangerously, ready to give way at any moment.
Then, the screams soon broke out.Piercing shrieks, heart-wrenching sobs. Some villagers fled, stumbling, others stayed frozen, pinned in place by a primal fear.
Suddenly an oppressive silence fell, almost unreal.The whole village seemed suspended, frozen in a suffocating anticipation.Everyone held their breath, their gaze fixed on the entrance.
The minutes stretched on. Five… seven… at most.
Some inhabitants, pale, clung to pieces of wood or held tools turned into makeshift weapons against their chests. Others murmured broken prayers, unable to look away.
Then, a final crash resounded.
A brutal explosion-like blast tore through the air. The dry and relentless sound of splintering wood echoed immediately.
The entrance defenses had just been pulverized in an instant… reduced to splinters, swept away like mere twigs.
Then came the footsteps. Heavy. Slow.Each of them resonated in the earth… and down into the bones.
A strange clicking could be heard, a wet and metallic sound, like a bucket of water dripping, over and over.
In the darkness, a mass appeared. Deformed. Inhuman.The thing advanced, slowly, until it revealed itself in the light of the first torches.
The Yokaï must have stood around two meters tall. Its entire silhouette evoked a nightmare sculpted to kill.Its skin, parchment-like and cracked, seemed to tear with each movement, revealing black veins pulsing with a vile energy. Deep, gaping, poorly closed scars crisscrossed its chest and arms, like trophies from past battles.
Two twisted horns, similar to those of an ancient demon, dominated a misshapen skull. Its red, fixed eyes burned with a hateful, predatory glow, piercing anyone who met its gaze.
Its body, sculpted in an excess of abnormal muscles, appeared inhuman — a monster shaped for pure destruction. Every fiber, every contour beneath its skin evoked raw, immense strength, utterly devoid of humanity.
Yahiko and Mata were nailed to the spot. Their legs started trembling violently.It wasn't only the nightmarish appearance of this creature that paralyzed them, nor the black aura of hatred emanating from its body…
No.
What pierced them with terror, what almost stole their breath… wasn't the monstrous mass, nor the hatred radiating from this thing.It was what it held in its left hand, raised like a grotesque, bloody trophy.
Old Gribou's torso.Cleanly cut diagonally, the entire chest still hung, the severed arms dangled limply, like two dead weights.The Yokaï held it by the head, its claw deeply sunk into the eye socket, piercing the old man's eye like a broken puppet.The face, frozen in an expression of absolute horror, seemed to still scream, trapped in a final agony.
Blood dripped from the mutilated body, drop after drop, leaving a crimson trail with each step of the monster.