The wind sighed through the twisted branches of the Whispering Woods, carrying with it the scent of earth, moss, and the lingering traces of blood.
Somewhere among the roots and shadows, a lone figure moved.
He was tall — broader than most men, but leaner than the lumbering ogres told of in tavern stories. His skin was the color of darkened stone after a rain, and a single, modest horn jutted from his forehead. Sharp, amber eyes flickered beneath heavy brows as he picked his way through the undergrowth, careful not to step on branches that might snap. His name was Kael.
Kael wasn't like the other monsters who lurked in these woods. He spoke little, laughed less, and wore a face most took for indifference. Even among his own kind, he was a stranger.
The other ogres — the ones that survived — had long since learned to avoid the edges of the forest, where adventurers roamed with steel and flame. Kael, however, had no such fear. Or rather, it wasn't bravery that drew him closer to danger, but a weariness he couldn't name. He crouched beside a stream now, dipping a calloused hand into the cold water. His reflection stared back at him: an unfamiliar face in a familiar world.
Why do they always come here? he wondered. What have we done to them?
A distant voice shattered the stillness. A man's voice, bold and careless.
"Tracks here! Big ones! Might be an ogre nearby!"
Kael's stomach tightened. He glanced around, his mind racing. There were three scents — fresh ones — carried by the breeze. Humans. Armed. Young, by the sharp tang of sweat and iron on their skin. Adventurers, no doubt. Eager for glory.
His grip tightened around a worn stone knife — a pitiful thing, chipped and barely sharp, but the only weapon he owned.
I don't want to kill them… Kael thought, swallowing hard. But I won't let them take me either.
He rose, his body moving with the quiet grace of a creature long used to evading death. Every step a decision between fight and flight. He didn't know how long he could keep running. The humans would never stop. Not while there were stories told of evil lurking in the woods. Not while there was coin to be earned for a monster's head.
Kael wasn't evil. But he was a monster and that was enough of the reason for humans to come after him.
Kael pressed his back against a broad tree trunk, its bark rough against his skin. He strained his ears, tracking the voices drawing nearer.
"Over there! I saw something move!"
A young voice, cracking with excitement. Too eager. Too reckless.
Kael knew these woods better than anyone. Every crooked tree, every hidden hollow. He took a step, then another, moving deeper into the undergrowth — not fleeing, but leading them. Away from the denser parts of the forest where the younger monsters hid. Away from the streams where the faerie beasts drank. He'd lead them to the Old Hollow.
It was a place even the bravest creatures avoided. The air there hung heavy, thick with mist and ancient, bitter sorrow. Legends spoke of things far worse than ogres lurking in its heart. But Kael knew it better than they did. It was his home. Or what passed for one.
The adventurers followed.
He could hear them crashing through the brush, blades scraping against branches, armor clanking. No discipline. No caution.
Good.
Kael burst from cover, a blur of shadow and muscle. A spearhead whistled past his ear, embedding itself in a nearby tree. Without thinking, Kael hurled his stone knife. It spun end over end, catching one of the adventurers — a lanky boy with sun-bleached hair — across the shoulder. The boy cried out, stumbling.
"Damned beast!" another shouted, charging forward, sword raised.
Kael sidestepped, grabbing a low branch and swinging his body up into the trees. The sword struck where he'd stood a heartbeat before, sending up a spray of dead leaves.
"Where is it?!"
"Up there!"
An arrow zipped past, grazing Kael's arm. He grunted, the sharp sting awakening something primal inside him. His heart pounded, a steady drumbeat against his ribs. Blood trickled down his forearm, warm and bright.
Enough.
Kael dropped from the branch, landing heavily behind the nearest adventurer — a girl with close-cropped hair and fierce, pale eyes. She turned too slow. Kael's fist struck her square in the chest, sending her sprawling into the undergrowth.
Two left. But they were ready now.
The larger of the pair, a bearded man in chainmail, swung a heavy axe. Kael ducked low, feeling the wind of the blow as it passed over his head. He drove his shoulder into the man's gut, knocking him off balance, and grabbed the axe's haft. The two struggled, muscles straining.
"Filthy beast!" the man spat.
Kael bared his teeth. "I didn't start this."
With a sharp twist, Kael wrenched the axe away and struck out — but a sudden flare of light seared his vision. A spell. The third adventurer, the boy he'd wounded earlier, raised a trembling hand. A sphere of crackling fire danced in his palm.
Kael's eyes widened.
"No. Not here. Not this close to the Hollow."
But it was too late.
The boy hurled the flame.
Kael barely rolled aside, the fireball grazing his side, igniting the dry undergrowth. Flames leapt up, hungrily devouring the brittle leaves. Smoke filled the air.
The adventurers hesitated. The bearded man coughed, eyes watering. The girl struggled to rise, clutching her ribs.
Kael bolted, deeper into the mist. The Old Hollow awaited.
But as he staggered into the clearing, breath ragged, his senses screamed a warning. Too late, he realized he wasn't alone.
Eyes. Dozens of them. Glowing pale blue in the darkness.
Shapes stirred — not human, not beast. Things older than the forest itself. Creatures of shadow and mist, long forgotten by the world of men and monsters alike.
Kael froze.
A low, guttural voice spoke from the gloom.
"Another intruder… or a sacrifice?" The last thing Kael saw before darkness swallowed him was a hand — long-fingered, bone-white — reaching for his throat.