Aiden woke to the sound of crackling fire.
His eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion. The ceiling above him was wooden, rough-hewn but sturdy, familiar. His nose caught the faint scent of herbs and smoke.
"…He's awake!" a voice called.
He tried to turn his head, but pain shot through his ribs, forcing a groan from his lips.
The door creaked open, and a small figure rushed in — Elara, the herbalist's granddaughter. Her wide eyes brimmed with worry as she set a wooden tray down beside him.
"You're alive… thank the spirits," she whispered.
Alive.
The word echoed in Aiden's foggy mind. He remembered the Alpha, its golden eyes, the crushing weight of its fangs. He remembered stabbing his broken blade into its eye, the blood, the roar — and then darkness.
Yet here he was, bandaged, breathing.
"How…?" His voice was hoarse, cracked.
Elara fussed with the tray, refusing to meet his eyes. "The hunters found you near the forest edge. You were half-dead, covered in blood and wolf fur. We thought—" She stopped, swallowing hard. "We thought you wouldn't wake up."
Aiden's lips twisted faintly. Neither did I.
---
The door opened again, this time with more weight. Old Man Roderic, the village chief, stepped inside. His frame was bent, his hair silver, but his eyes were sharp, cutting straight to Aiden's soul. Behind him came Bran, captain of the hunting team, his arms folded across his chest.
"So," Roderic began, his voice gravelly. "You went into the forest. Alone."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Bran's gaze was cold, though not without a flicker of respect. "You killed Dire Wolves. Too many for it to be luck. What exactly are you hiding, boy?"
Aiden closed his eyes briefly. His ribs ached with every breath, his body begged for rest, but he could feel their eyes drilling into him.
"…I fought," he said simply. "If I hadn't, I'd be dead."
Bran's jaw clenched. "Don't play dumb. Those wolves were Rank 3 — and the Alpha, a Rank 4. No villager's brat should've come back alive, let alone leave corpses behind."
Elara flinched at the harsh words. "He's injured! He doesn't need—"
"Quiet," Bran cut her off.
Roderic raised a hand, silencing them both. His eyes never left Aiden's face.
"There was a time," the old man said slowly, "when this village was more than it is now. Hunters, warriors, mages… bloodlines meant something. But that time has long passed. Our strength has dwindled. And yet…" He leaned closer, his wrinkled face sharp in the firelight. "…yet you return from the forest bearing the wounds of battle that should've killed a grown man."
The silence stretched.
"What are you, boy?"
---
Aiden's throat tightened. The truth burned within him, unspoken. The devouring power, the flicker of something ancient in his veins — the pulse of the sealed dragon. If he told them, even a fraction of it, everything would change. Fear. Suspicion. Worse, greed.
"…I'm nothing," he said finally, his voice flat. "Just someone who didn't want to die."
Roderic studied him for a long moment, then leaned back with a sigh.
"Perhaps that's true. Or perhaps it's not. Either way…" He tapped his cane against the floor, the sound sharp. "Your recklessness has stirred whispers. There are eyes in this forest you do not yet understand. Tread carefully, boy. Survive too many impossible battles, and even allies will wonder if you're truly human."
With that, he turned and left, Bran following with one last sharp glance.
---
Silence returned.
Elara sat by his side, her small hands fussing over the tray of herbs. She avoided his eyes, but her voice trembled when she spoke.
"They think you're dangerous. But… I don't."
Aiden looked at her, surprised.
"You're stubborn, reckless, and stupid," she said softly. "But you're also the only one who tries to fight. I…" Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "…I don't want the village to lose you too."
For a moment, Aiden had no words. He looked at her, at the trembling of her hands, at the fear and the hope tangled in her eyes.
Then he leaned back, exhaustion pulling him down again.
"…Thanks."
---
That night, as the village slept, Aiden's dreams burned.
The Alpha's roar. The golden eyes. The pulse of the dragon within him.
And behind it all, a whisper. Ancient, guttural, echoing through the depths of his soul.
Devour. Grow. Rise.
Aiden woke in the darkness, drenched in sweat, his bandages soaked. His breath came ragged, his heart pounding.
The power within him stirred restlessly, as though the fight had only awakened a fraction of it. He clenched his fists, staring at the ceiling.
"…I can't stop now."
If he was going to survive — if he was going to uncover the truth of this power — he had to grow stronger. Strong enough to face even the Alpha without fear.
The village wouldn't protect him. The forest wouldn't spare him. And whatever slept within his blood was only just beginning to wake.
---
Meanwhile, in the forest, the cloaked observers from before stood before a fire of their own.
The slim one, a woman, traced patterns in the dirt with a stick, her eyes thoughtful. "The Alpha should've killed him. Instead, it retreated. You felt that, didn't you?"
The warrior grunted. "I felt it. That boy… he's not ordinary."
The woman's lips curved faintly, though not in amusement. "Not ordinary is an understatement. That was no human aura. It was something older. Something dangerous."
The warrior threw another log on the fire, sparks flying. "Do we report it?"
A pause.
"…No," she said finally. "Not yet. If we do, others will come. And the boy will be torn apart before we know what he is. Better to watch. For now."
The flames flickered, casting their shadows long across the trees.
The game had only just begun.
---