Village of Buena, Fittoa Region
Night.
The village slept. No candles glowed in the windows, no rustle stirred inside the houses. Only the faint creak of wood in the darkness hinted that people lived here.
A figure crept down the street on all fours, its silhouette melting into the shadows. Small but broad-shouldered, it moved unhurriedly, pausing, tilting its head. It sniffed the air. In the moonlight, a pair of alert ears flicked.
The creature halted before one of the houses and froze. A faint sound came from within. It stilled.
The clouds parted. Moonlight washed over the surroundings.
A shape took form on the road—its fur bristled, its paws wide and powerful. A dog, but far too large and stocky for an ordinary mutt. It stared into the darkness, ears twitching, tracking movement.
Its eyes flashed red, locking onto something.
"There you are, you beast!"
The dog jerked, baring its fangs. But too late. Steel whistled through the air, and the creature's body crumpled. Its legs twitched. The head rolled aside, coming to rest in a pool of blood.
A tall figure stepped out of the darkness and approached the corpse at a leisurely pace. He grabbed the head by the ear, turned it as if judging its worth, then tossed it away. A kick flipped the body over for inspection.
"Damn it," came an irritated voice. "How long are we supposed to chase this filth? I've got better things to do, and here we are, catching mongrels in the middle of the night like idiots."
Paul wiped the blade of his sword on his pant leg and slid it back into its sheath.
Footsteps approached behind him. Another figure came closer and snorted.
"Can we go home now?" Paul grumbled.
He turned to the newcomer and looked him over. It was an elf in the standard guard armor issued to everyone who joined Duke Boreas's personal guard. Paul wore the same armor.
The elf shot him an annoyed look and listened intently.
"Not yet. Two more are roaming around. This one wasn't alone," Laws said with a slight frown, pointing into the distance.
"More? Seriously?"
"Yes. Focus."
Laws resumed walking, drawing his sword.
"Haaah… Damn it. Instead of being at home, I'm chasing mutts," Paul exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow. His fingers tightened on the hilt. "My wife…"
"Your wife will be fine. Lilia knows what she's doing," Laws cut him off without even glancing his way. He gave a small nod, as if reaffirming his words.
He hadn't finished speaking when a rustle sounded from the bushes. A second later, another rustle—this time from the opposite side. A light scrape of claws on stone. Then a moment of hesitation.
Beasts.
Their swords flashed free.
Laws swung his blade downward in a sharp arc and stepped back. At the cue, Paul lunged forward, dodging a creature's charge and grabbing its hind legs. Laws struck downward to keep it from breaking free; the head rolled across the ground. In the blink of an eye, they killed it without a single sound, leaving behind a dark puddle of blood.
Screee!
A shrill cry pierced the air nearby. Laws whirled, his sword cutting through the night. A burst of wind slashed forward, shredding leaves.
"There!"
A dull thud followed, and the bushes parted to reveal another beast. Blood gushed from the torn side of its neck, soaking its fur.
It staggered, limping as the blood flowed faster. Paul darted in. One clean strike—and its head tumbled toward the still-warm corpse of the first.
"Hmph… Vermin just keep coming, like flies to a carcass…"
They fell silent, studying the bodies. Moonlight pulled the creatures out of the shadows, laying their forms bare.
Their elongated heads, predatory snouts, and rows of small bony protrusions formed a ridge along their spines. Their jaws opened wider than they should, revealing several rows of curved fangs.
Alone, they were more grotesque than dangerous—but in a pack, everything changed.
These creatures had attacked villages near forests and mountains more than once. Though no threat to seasoned warriors, each one could easily tear apart a grown man.
That was why Duke Boreas ordered close surveillance of areas with increased magical beast activity. Paul and Laws served as wardens, guarding the village from such threats. It was their duty, and they had no choice—ignoring danger meant putting people at risk.
"Seems that was the last one," Laws said, kneeling and pressing a hand to the ground. "I don't hear anything else."
"Good. I'm going ahead. Collect the bodies—we'll sell them to the alchemists later," Paul muttered under his breath. He spun around and sprinted off toward his home.
"..."
Laws didn't reply. Silently, he began gathering the corpses of the slain beasts.
***
Paul walked fast, not looking back. His thoughts grew darker with every passing second.
The worry wouldn't let go—but that was normal, wasn't it? Any husband would be anxious leaving his wife alone at a time like this. And yet something scratched at him from within, refusing to settle. He couldn't explain where the feeling came from, but it was there.
What if something was happening right now—something he should be ready for? What if he belonged there, beside her? But duty was duty. He couldn't just drop everything. He couldn't afford such a foolish impulse.
His heart pounded; his palms were slick with sweat. His thoughts tangled, but his legs carried him faster and faster. He reached his house, vaulted over the fence, and shoved the door open without hesitation.
Inside, it was dark. The staircase seemed longer than usual as he bounded up two steps at a time. Silence. Something was wrong. He crept to the first room and pushed the door.
The warm glow of magical lights flickered on the walls. White curtains trembled in the faint breeze. The silence was unnatural. A tight weight squeezed his chest.
Lilia sat nearby—pale, exhausted. Her eyes met his.
"Paul…" The voice came faintly from the right.
He looked toward the bed.
Zenith, drained and weak, lay on the covers. On her chest rested a tiny body. Still. Silent.
The child was dead.
For a moment Paul forgot how to breathe. His legs refused to carry him further, as though something held him back. He knew he had to go to her. He belonged there.
Paul stepped closer and knelt beside his wife. His fingers trembled as he gently touched the small body. The infant's skin was cold, unnaturally pale; tiny fingers didn't curl around his.
Something tore inside him. The world shrank to this room.
"But… why…?" His voice cracked.
"The child wasn't ready. He just… didn't want to live."
Zenith turned away, her shoulders slumping. Her eyes were red, but no tears fell—she seemed too drained even for that. She looked worn and hollow. The spark Paul loved most in her had dimmed.
A hundred thoughts raced through Paul's mind, multiplying by the second.
In the shifting magical light, Paul drew the small body close, realizing how defenseless it seemed.
But just when everything felt final—something impossible happened.
Paul felt a movement. Barely perceptible. A tiny flutter, like the faintest breath, stirring in the baby's chest.
Everything stopped.
Then, from somewhere in that stillness, came a sound.
Soft. Fragile.
But real.
A cry. Weak and broken at first. A heartbeat later it grew louder. Stronger. Then burst into a sharp, clear wail full of life.
His child was alive.
Lilia let out a breath, tension draining from her shoulders. Her gaze darted between Zenith and Paul.
Zenith froze—her lips trembling, eyes wide with disbelief.
"He's alive…" Her voice broke.
She inhaled sharply, but words failed her.
Paul held the infant tighter, feeling him move. Feeling him breathe. The tension ebbed, though fear and pain lingered. He looked at his wife. She covered her mouth with both hands as tears finally spilled down her cheeks.
Then she pressed a hand to her forehead, her shoulders shaking as emotion overtook her.
Paul exhaled slowly. His whole body trembled, overwhelmed. He didn't know how long he knelt there, but the tears he'd held back for so long finally began to fall.
The child cried—his wail echoing through the room, shattering the silence.