The smell of rot and damp earth clung to the night air.
Sir Rovan tightened his grip on his sword as he and his company crashed through the gnarled treeline. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back. This was no ordinary woodland—this was the Ebon Hollow, the forbidden forest crouching on the borders of the kingdom like a coiled serpent.Even the boldest hunters gave it wide berth. Even seasoned knights spoke of it in hushed tones.But the beast had driven them here, and retreat meant death.
"Keep formation!" Rovan barked. "Don't scatter in this cursed place!"
The beast crashed through the undergrowth, towering and antler‑crowned, hide plated with jagged bone. It struck with the force of a falling tree, scattering men like leaves.
Rovan's unit fought desperately, blades flashing in torchlight. Every step was a gamble—the roots shifted, branches clawed at them. The Hollow itself felt alive.
"Drive it back!" Rovan roared. "Toward the ridge! We end it here!"
The fight rolled deeper until the beast's hind legs slammed against an old oak. Rovan hewed at its trunk to clear space for a killing blow. The ancient tree shuddered, groaned, then crashed to the earth with a thunderous crack.
A strange sound followed. Not the beast. Not the wind. A low, human groan.
"…nnnh… too loud…"
The knights froze. Even the beast hesitated, snorting, pawing at the ground.
From beneath the tangle of fallen branches, a figure stirred.
He rose slowly, brushing leaves from his shoulders, movements unhurried. The moonlight caught his face: young—no more than twenty—hair wild and shadowing half‑lidded eyes. A battered liquor gourd dangled from one hand. On his back, a long sword in a plain scabbard; at his hip, a shorter blade.
"By the gods…" one knight whispered. "A man… out here?"
Relief sparked. A survivor! Perhaps another lost soldier, a wanderer—anything was better than another horror.
"You there!" Rovan called, stepping forward, voice cracking. "Stand with us! The beast—"
The stranger's gaze slid over them. Not wide‑eyed. Not afraid. Just… irritated. He took a slow drink, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and sighed.
Rovan's stomach turned cold. That sigh carried no relief, no camaraderie. Only annoyance.
The beast roared, lunging again. The stranger moved.
It was not a charge. Not frantic. Just a step forward, almost lazy.Steel whispered as his long blade cleared the sheath. A casual sweep——and the beast's horned head parted from its body in a clean, wet slice. The monster's body stumbled a few steps before crumpling, ichor pooling in the ferns.
The knights gaped, stunned.
Then the stranger's gaze shifted to them.
A flick of his wrist. A knight's shield split. A heartbeat later, the man behind it toppled lifeless, head rolling across the moss.
Another step. A flash of silver. Another scream cut short.There was no rage in the stranger's eyes. No smile. No reason.Just motion—smooth, precise, and pitiless.
Rovan's world tilted as the clearing became a butcher's floor. He staggered back, slipping in blood. The survivors broke, scrambling toward the trees. The stranger didn't pursue. He didn't need to.
He crouched, retrieved his gourd, and took another drink.Then, amidst the corpses of beast and man alike, he sat back against the fallen oak, eyes sliding shut as though returning to a dream.
"…shouldn't have woken me…" he muttered, barely audible.
And with that, he was still again.Unknown. Unnamed.A shadow at the edge of a forest even nightmares feared.