Morning in Blackwood Village always came slowly. The mist that rolled from the forest clung to the rooftops like pale sheets, and the dew-stained fields glittered faintly in the dawn light. Chickens squawked from pens, and children's laughter could sometimes be heard drifting from the square as mothers prepared breakfast.
But on this morning, the usual rhythm felt… off.
Aiden sat on the edge of his cot, staring at the bandages Garron had wrapped around his arms. His body ached with phantom pain—the kind that lingered not from wounds, but from the memory of them. His sword leaned against the wall, cleaned and sharpened, yet its gleam seemed to accuse him.
He hadn't slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Dire Wolf Alpha's burning gaze, then the way its body disintegrated into essence, pouring into him. That unnatural power still throbbed faintly in his chest, like an ember refusing to die out.
He dragged a hand through his hair and forced himself to stand. Today, more than ever, he had to look normal.
Outside, the village was already stirring. Farmers carried tools over their shoulders, women traded goods in hushed voices, and hunters sharpened their blades at the communal forge. Yet Aiden noticed the way some glanced toward him as he passed. Not openly hostile, not quite suspicious—just curious.
Whispers followed him like shadows.
"…came back with Garron, didn't he?"
"…but he was just a boy…"
"…they say the Alpha's howl stopped all of a sudden…"
Aiden kept his head down, jaw tight. He had thought the silence Garron requested would shield him, but it seemed rumors had a way of birthing themselves. In a small village, secrets never stayed buried for long.
"Aiden!"
The voice snapped him from his thoughts. It was Lira, the baker's daughter, waving at him from the well. Her smile was bright, her brown hair tied back with a strip of cloth. "You're walking already? After what happened?"
He blinked, trying not to flinch at the directness of her question. "I'm fine."
She huffed, planting her hands on her hips. "Fine? Garron said you nearly got torn apart. You should be resting!"
He forced a thin smile. "Resting won't make me stronger."
Her frown deepened, but before she could reply, an older villager ushered her away, muttering something about "not bothering the boy." Aiden caught the older man's sidelong look—half pity, half unease.
His chest tightened. This was what Garron had warned him about. Attention. Curiosity. And eventually, fear.
He turned away, heading toward the training grounds near the edge of the village.
The training field was little more than a clearing, but it was where the hunters drilled their youth. Straw dummies lined the perimeter, and logs had been fashioned into rough targets for archery. A few other young men were already there, sparring under the watchful eye of Garron.
The hunter captain's presence was like a shadow looming over them all. His expression revealed nothing, yet Aiden swore he could still feel the weight of last night in Garron's gaze.
"Back already?" Garron's voice carried across the field as Aiden entered.
"Yes, sir," Aiden said.
The others paused their sparring, glancing between him and their captain. Some with admiration, others with disbelief. Aiden ignored them, gripping his sword as if it anchored him.
"Good," Garron said simply. "Then show me."
Aiden stiffened. "Show you?"
"Your swing. Your stance. Whatever you did last night that let you walk away." Garron's eyes bored into him. "I want to see it."
Aiden's throat went dry. This was dangerous. If he revealed too much—if the unnatural sharpness in his movements showed—then Garron would know. But to hold back would make him look weak, and weakness would only fuel more whispers.
He stepped into the center of the field, facing a straw dummy. His grip on the sword tightened until his knuckles whitened. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, recalling the way he had fought the Alpha. The speed. The precision. The instinct that hadn't felt entirely his own.
But he couldn't unleash all of it. Not here.
When he opened his eyes, he swung—not with the unnatural fluidity that burned in his veins, but with enough speed and power to cleave the dummy clean in half.
The field fell silent.
The other youths exchanged looks, muttering under their breath. Aiden caught fragments:
"…that wasn't luck…"
"…no one his age swings like that…"
"…what is he…?"
Garron, however, remained unreadable. He studied the cleaved dummy, then Aiden, before giving a curt nod. "Better. But don't mistake strength for mastery. A dull blade still cuts if swung hard enough. Your job is to become sharp."
"Yes, sir," Aiden replied, though the words barely reached his lips.
Training resumed, but the glances never stopped. Every strike Aiden made, every step he took, was observed, whispered about, catalogued in the villagers' minds.
By the time the sun dipped toward noon, sweat plastered his shirt to his skin. His body screamed with fatigue, though somewhere deep inside, that ember of stolen power urged him to push further. To fight longer. To devour more.
But he couldn't. Not here. Not with eyes watching.
When Garron finally dismissed them, Aiden lingered behind, pretending to sharpen his blade while the others drifted away. His heart pounded with frustration. He needed the forest. He needed solitude. He needed to grow.
But then, as the last youth left, Garron's voice cut through the quiet.
"You're not telling me everything."
Aiden froze. Slowly, he turned to face the man. "I told you—I got lucky."
Garron stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I've fought Alphas before. Luck doesn't leave their corpses in ash. Luck doesn't put that kind of edge in a boy's eyes."
Aiden's breath hitched. He tried to speak, but Garron silenced him with a raised hand.
"I don't know what's inside you, Aiden. And maybe I don't want to know. But I'll tell you this—if you can't control it, it'll destroy you. Or worse, it'll destroy us."
The words struck like a hammer blow. Aiden's chest tightened, guilt and fear swirling in a storm he could barely contain.
Garron's gaze softened for just a moment. "You've got potential. Maybe more than anyone else here. But potential cuts both ways. Don't forget that."
Then, without another word, Garron turned and left, leaving Aiden alone in the field.
The boy stared at his sword, the reflection of his glowing eyes flickering faintly in the steel. His grip tightened until his hands shook.
He wanted strength. Needed it. To survive. To grow. To one day face the sealed demon whose heartbeat echoed faintly in the forest.
But at what cost?
And how long could he keep the whispers from turning into accusations?
For the first time since he had awakened his dormant power, Aiden wondered if silence alone would be enough.
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