The night came quietly, but not gently.
Darkness pressed heavy on Korrin village, wrapping its crooked streets in shadow. The villagers shuttered their windows and snuffed their lamps.
At the square's center, Rosaria remained seated upon her throne of roses and thorns. A single torch burned on a table of woven vines beside her, its flame flickering softly in the cool wind.
Ethan had grown used to the sight of her by now, the veiled face dripping quiet rivers of blood, the pale hands turning the pages of a borrowed book, the roses blooming where each crimson drop fell. But though he had adjusted, the sight still left his chest tight with an indescribable mix of awe and unease.
Tonight, she had shaped for him something unusual: a hammock woven of vines, stretched between two sturdy thorn-pillars. When he had first lain in it, it had been surprisingly soft, the vines adjusting to his weight with an intelligence that was almost alive.
"You should rest, my beloved," Rosaria said gently, eyes hidden behind her veil as her pale fingers smoothed the book's worn cover. "Your body wanes like the moon. Sleep, and let me keep vigil."
Ethan gave her a small, tired smile. "You're certain it's safe for me to… doze off here?"
Her voice was soft as a lullaby. "Safer than any cradle in the world. My thorns weave beneath every street. If danger breathes, I will taste it before its fangs touch bark or bone."
He sighed, adjusted himself in the hammock, and murmured, "That's… oddly comforting."
She turned another page with delicate grace. "That is because it is truth, my beloved."
And so, he rested.
---
Hours into the night, when the village had fallen into still silence, the first howl came.
It was low, guttural, a sound that seemed to crawl beneath the skin. Ethan stirred in his hammock, blinking awake, but Rosaria's voice reached him before panic could.
"Do not rise," she whispered, calm as still water. "Merely listen."
The sound grew nearer snapping twigs, heavy paws against the soil.
Ethan saw movement at the far edge where where the entrance of the wall of thorns. A beast wolf-like, but far larger than any wolf had right to be emerged from the treeline. Its shoulders were taller than a horse, its eyes gleamed amber, and its matted fur bristled with hunger.
Ethan's breath caught. His instinct screamed to run, to shout, to wake the villagers. Ethan even wondered why the villagers aren't waking up but before he could act, the ground itself stirred.
Black thorns erupted silently from the soil like spears, weaving together in a heartbeat into a wall of roses. The beast halted, snarling, its claws raking the thorns.
Rosaria finally looked up from her book. She raised one pale hand, her smile tender.
"Little wanderer," she whispered. "You should not have come here."
The thorns answered her call. They twisted around the beast's legs before it could leap. It howled, snapping its jaws, but with every thrash, more vines coiled. In seconds it was dragged to its knees, thorns piercing hide, blood watering the flowers blooming from its wounds.
Ethan swallowed hard. He had seen her kill before, but never so quickly, never from so far away.
The beast gave one final, pitiful cry before the thorns cinched tight and a bloom of roses erupted from its throat. Then it went still, dragged lifeless into the square.
Rosaria exhaled softly, as if releasing a prayer. "Sleep now, child. Your blood will feed the garden."
Ethan lay back in his hammock, heart racing. "…That was a large one, wasn't it?"
Her smile was serene. "Merely a stray hound of the night. There will be others."
And indeed, later that night, another came. Smaller, leaner a medium beast with elongated limbs and a shrieking cry. It darted through the treeline toward the village, faster than the eye could follow.
But Rosaria did not even look up this time. Still reading, she simply snapped her fingers once.
From beneath the beast's own shadow, a lance of thorns impaled it through the chest. It shrieked, writhing, before being dragged across the ground like a doll and left in a heap near the first.
The torchlight flickered across the bloody flowers blooming from both corpses, painting the square with grotesque beauty.
Ethan whispered, "…You killed it without even lifting your eyes from the page."
Rosaria's voice was warm, almost playful. "My beloved, must a mother watch every thorn of her garden to know when it grows?"
He shook his head faintly, lying back once more. "That is just... terrifying."
Her smile never wavered. "And yet you rest beside me."
He let out a small, tired laugh. "Guess that says more about me than it does about you."
"Indeed," she said, turning another page.
And with that, the night passed. Ethan slept deeply in the vine-hammock, while Rosaria read silently by torchlight, the bodies of beasts lying in quiet testament to her vigilance.
---
Morning brought the smell of smoke from hearths and bread baking in ovens.
Ethan stretched as he stepped down from the hammock. His body felt more rested than it had in weeks.
Halden arrived not long after, flanked by two wary villagers. He glanced at the beasts' corpses in the square, his face paling slightly.
Ethan approached him respectfully. "Chief Halden. Two beasts came in the night one large, one medium. Sister Rosaria dealt with them swiftly."
Halden's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "So I see."
Rosaria, still seated on her throne, gave him a serene smile. "Your village did not stir once. That is good. Sleep unbroken is a blessing."
Halden cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes… a blessing. And the payment?"
Ethan stepped forward gently. "The beasts should be worth something, shouldn't they? Their hides, their bones, I heard their aether cores worth the most."
Halden gave him a long look, then finally sighed. "Yes. For the large one and the medium, five gold coins in total." He reached into a pouch and counted them carefully before offering them.
Ethan accepted with both hands and bowed slightly. "Thank you, Chief."
Rosaria's eyes lingered on the coins as if they meant nothing. She turned another page of her book.
Ethan pocketed the payment, then asked, "Chief Halden… may I trouble you with something? The books I've read don't give me much of the world's history. Could you tell me what you know?"
Halden hesitated, then gave him a measured look. "Have you read about the encounter with the… advanced civilization?"
Ethan shook his head. "No. Nothing like that."
The chief's lips tightened. "I suppose most texts avoid it now. A century ago, a craft... a floating craft unlike anything on this soil has entered the skies above Eryndor. Its owners called it a supercruiser spaceship. But it was heavily damaged, fleeing some… enormous magical beast. They settled here, for a time. They brought technology that is strange, shining tools, weapons that spat death from afar. Their soldiers could kill silver-rank humans with ease. Their leader… it is said he could contend with an emerald ranker."
Ethan's brows furrowed. "…And what happened?"
Halden glanced uneasily at Rosaria, who was quietly reading, then continued. "War. The empires coveted their technology, Virehall foremost among them. Blood ran across the continent. In the end, the settlers were too few. They were slaughtered. Their leader fell to an emerald rankers. And their technology… destroyed, stolen, yet never understood. To this day, no one knows how to use what scraps remain."
Ethan absorbed this in silence. "…And why no more civilizations since?"
"Because the world itself is a prison," Halden said grimly. "The seas are haunted by beasts of platinum rank. The skies are no kinder. And beyond…" He shook his head. "One settler swore space itself is worse. Abyssal beasts roam it, devouring fleets like insects. Only some divine barrier shields our world of Veyra from their gaze."
Ethan frowned deeply, pointing upward. "Then… how did this whole continent end up here, in Veyra?"
Halden's shoulders sagged. "It happened a century and a half ago. The ground shook. The sky tore like paper. And when the storm passed… Eryndor was no longer where it once was. We were here. In this prison of beasts."
Ethan went quiet, the words heavy in his chest.
Halden studied him carefully, then asked softly, "Tell me… is your Sister Rosaria a platinum rank?"
Ethan froze. His eyes flicked toward Rosaria. She sat serenely, veil dripping blood, absorbed in her book, as though none of this mattered.
Finally, Ethan looked back at the chief and said carefully, "…That's a secret."
Halden gave a thin, humorless smile. "Fair enough."
---
Far away, in the capital city of Elarion, six adventurers stepped into the guildhall.
Garrick sat across from the guildmaster, Derk, a heavyset man with sharp eyes and the weight of an emerald-rank aura pressing faintly in the room.
"So," Derk said, leaning forward, "this woman you speak of, you're certain she's in Korrin?"
Garrick nodded grimly. "That's the word. But… Korrin is under the Black Crows now, isn't it?"
Derk's lips pressed thin. "Yes. The empire granted another one to them. Do not act so surprised their leader is emerald rank. Even I would hesitate to confront him. If she is there… then perhaps she and the Crows will clash."
Garrick raised a brow. "…And if they do?"
Derk exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. "Then expect that Korrin is already destroyed. Two emeralds meeting is never gentle. And if she wins…" He tapped his desk. "…then we will need to prepare for a force greater than the Crows themselves."
The room fell into heavy silence.