The forest didn't want me there.
The trees weren't just twisted—they leaned unnaturally toward the path, branches low like claws, roots arched above the soil like ribs from a giant beast's corpse. Fog crawled low, thick and oily, clinging to my legs as I pushed deeper in. Everything was silent. No birds. No insects. Just the soft crunch of my own footsteps and the occasional whisper of leaves shivering for no wind.
The sword in my hand—Abyssfang—purred with something that felt way too close to hunger.
"I'm not feeding you," I muttered.
It didn't answer, but it didn't stop pulsing either. I could feel it, like a second heartbeat in my arm. Or maybe that was Kaer.
I didn't know how far I'd run. Minutes? Hours? It was hard to tell in a place where the sky was a smear of grey and the shadows didn't move. My breath fogged the air. My legs ached. My horns itched. I was starting to think I was safe from the knights, at least—until I tripped on something that growled.
I hit the dirt with a grunt.
The thing I'd stumbled over shifted. Slowly. Like it had been sleeping.
And then it uncoiled.
It was all bone and fur, long-limbed and sinewy, with a jaw that opened way too wide and eyes like burning coins. It didn't look like a forest creature. It looked like something a forest had coughed up after digesting a nightmare.
It sniffed the air.
Then it hissed.
Abyssfang flared to life in my grip, shadows rippling down the blade.
"Don't," I whispered.
The creature lunged.
I didn't think—I just moved.
The sword pulled my arm, faster than I could react. It met the monster's lunge mid-air and sliced through it in one brutal, sweeping arc. No resistance. Just a shudder of shadow, a shriek that made the trees groan, and then silence.
The thing crumpled. Melting, almost. Its body hissed like oil on fire, then dissolved into black smoke.
I stared, panting.
That wasn't me. That was Kaer. Or the sword. Or both. I hadn't fought. I'd barely flinched.
My hands shook.
"Okay," I said quietly. "I get it. I'm dangerous."
A rustle behind me.
I spun, blade up.
Not a monster.
A person.
She stood at the edge of a ridge, watching me with wary, curious eyes. Hooded cloak, leather armor, one hand near a dagger. Pale hair, darker skin. A scout, maybe. Or a thief.
Or worse—a witness.
Her eyes drifted to my horns, then to the sword.
"You're him," she said.
I didn't know what to say. Lying seemed impossible when I looked like this.
"I'm not," I said.
She didn't blink. "Then why did the forest let you in?"
"What?"
"No one walks into the Dreadwood and lives. Especially not alone."
Great. So I'd somehow stumbled into the cursed forest. Of course I had.
"Listen," I said slowly, lowering the sword. "I'm not who you think I am. I'm not a god, I didn't ask for this, and I have no idea what I'm doing."
She stepped closer, not lowering her guard.
"But you are Kaer Xal'zhur."
"No," I said. "I'm just… in his body."
She studied me. "You killed that thing like it was nothing."
"I didn't mean to."
"You carry a cursed blade."
"I didn't choose it."
"And you're not screaming in madness from touching the black flame."
I blinked. "That's… a thing that happens?"
"To mortals," she said.
A beat of silence passed.
Then she said, "You should come with me. Before others find you."
"And why would I do that?"
She hesitated. "Because I'm not here to worship you. Or kill you."
"What's left?"
"I want to know if a god can change."
I stared at her.
Not because of what she said—plenty of people in the last few hours had said weird things to me—but because of how she said it. Calm. Focused. Like she was testing me. Like she already knew the answer and was just waiting to see if I'd admit it.
"You want to know if a god can change?" I repeated.
"I want to know if you can," she said.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Scrubbed a hand down my face. It still wasn't my face. The texture was wrong—rougher, scaled near the jaw. I could feel Kaer's essence leaking through my skin, whispering through the cracks in my thoughts.
"I don't even know who I am right now," I admitted.
She studied me again, then turned and walked into the trees like she expected me to follow.
I hesitated.
Then followed.
The Dreadwood grew darker the deeper we went. The mist thickened. The trees thinned. Strange shapes moved just out of sight—some huge, some impossibly small—but none of them came close. It was like they were watching. Waiting.
"Do you live out here?" I asked.
"No one lives in the Dreadwood," she said. "Not for long."
"Then where are we going?"
"There's a ruin. Safe enough. The forest avoids it."
"Because?"
She glanced at me. "It remembers you."
I didn't like the way she said that. As if I'd done something here before. As if Kaer had.
The ruin turned out to be a half-buried watchtower, long overgrown, with stones blackened by old fire. The air around it felt heavier somehow. Still. She led me into the broken doorway, kicked aside a few loose bones I really hoped weren't human, and sat on a ledge like she'd done this before.
I remained standing. Still gripping Abyssfang.
"So," I said. "You going to tell me your name?"
"Lirien."
"Okay. Nice to meet you, Lirien. I'm…" I hesitated. What was the point of giving her my Earth name? Nobody here would believe I was 'Eric'. Not with horns, claws, and a demon sword in my hand.
"…Call me Kaer, I guess," I muttered.
"Fitting," she said softly.
"No," I said. "It's not."
I sat down, finally, the sword resting across my knees. It didn't purr this time. It hummed. Like it was listening.
"I was a normal guy," I said. "I had a job. A tiny apartment. I ordered takeout four times a week and played games to avoid doing my laundry. I don't know magic. I don't want followers. I'm not a god."
"You have Kaer's body," Lirien said.
"Yeah. That's the problem."
"And his weapon."
"I threw it at a paladin. It came back."
She blinked. "…That's actually kind of impressive."
"It was a panic move."
Silence stretched between us for a moment.
Then she said, "You feel him, don't you?"
I froze.
She nodded. "The old ones… they don't die. Not completely. They sink. Sleep. Wait. If he's inside you, he'll try to wake up."
"I know," I whispered.
"Then you should leave," she said simply. "Before he does."
I looked at her. "That why you brought me here? To talk me into disappearing?"
"I brought you here," she said slowly, "because if you're not him—not fully—then maybe there's a chance to stop what's coming."
My blood ran cold.
"What's coming?"
She looked out through the broken stones of the tower. Into the forest. Toward something I couldn't see.
"They're rallying," she said. "Cultists. Warlocks. Star-chained prophets. Every dark corner is stirring again. Because they think their god is awake."
"I'm not," I said. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't summon myself."
"But someone did," she said. "And if they dragged you here by accident, it means something worse: they didn't know what they were unleashing."
A long silence fell between us.
The sword in my lap buzzed.
In the distance, something screamed.
I didn't know what I was becoming.
But I knew now—I wasn't the only one afraid of it.
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