"When the body breaks, hunger fills what the heart has lost."
⸻
The forest had gone silent.
Even the wind seemed afraid to move through the trees. Frost clung to the windows like thin white scars, and the air inside the house was heavy with the scent of smoke and fear.
Lin Wuji sat by the fire, his eyes fixed on the door. His father, Renwu, had not returned from the traps. It had been two days.
Baozhai tried to keep her voice calm, but her hands shook as she stirred the pot. "He'll be home soon," she said again.
Wuji didn't answer. He could feel the lie in her voice. Even Meilin, small as she was, had stopped asking questions. She just held her wooden wolf close and watched the shadows shift across the floor.
Outside, the sky was a dull gray. The storm had passed, but the cold that followed was worse — still, sharp, endless.
That evening, just as Baozhai went to light the lantern, a howl split the horizon.
It wasn't the cry of any wolf they knew. It was deeper, angrier — like the mountain itself had found a voice.
Baozhai froze. "Close the shutters."
Wuji obeyed. His heart pounded against his ribs.
The sound came again, closer this time. Then another joined it. Then another.
Meilin whimpered. "Mother…"
"Under the table," Baozhai whispered, grabbing the kitchen blade. "Now."
⸻
The first strike hit the house like thunder.
The wall splintered. Plaster fell from the ceiling.
Wuji caught only glimpses — a blur of fur, claws tearing through wood, eyes gleaming like molten coins.
Then Renwu burst through the front door, breath ragged, sword slick with blood. "Get away from them!" he roared.
The creature turned, snarling.
Renwu swung his blade — a perfect, desperate arc — and struck deep into its neck. Black blood spattered across the walls. The wolf staggered, howling, but didn't fall. Its claws came down in a blur, tearing across Renwu's chest.
"Father!" Wuji screamed.
He rushed forward, but his mother caught him, shoving him toward Meilin. "Take her! Run!"
The beast lunged again, jaws wide. Wuji raised his arm in panic. Pain exploded as its teeth sank into his hand.
He cried out — a sound raw and animal. He could feel the heat of its breath, the sharpness of its hunger. Then, with one final jerk, the wolf tore free and turned its fury on Baozhai.
Her voice cut through the chaos. "Wuji! Run!"
It was the last thing she ever said to him.
⸻
He ran.
Snow and smoke blurred together. The air burned his lungs. The screams of the village echoed behind him — the sound of walls collapsing, of people crying out, of everything he knew being devoured.
The beasts were everywhere — shadows moving through the firelight, faster than men, stronger than any nightmare.
Wuji stumbled through the snow, clutching his bleeding hand. The wound pulsed with heat, like something alive was crawling beneath his skin.
He looked back once — just once — and saw his home collapse in flames.
Through the fire, he glimpsed his mother's silhouette, blade in hand, standing between him and the beasts.
Then she was gone.
⸻
He kept running until his legs gave out. The forest swallowed him. Branches tore at his clothes, his hair, his skin.
At last, he saw a shape through the haze — a crooked house half buried in snow, its door hanging open.
He fell inside, slamming the door shut behind him. The floorboards groaned under his weight. His breath came in gasps.
He pressed his back against the wall, staring at the blood dripping from his fingers. The bite was deep — the flesh torn but already closing, threads of skin knitting together before his eyes.
"What…?" he whispered.
He tried to stand, but dizziness took him. His stomach twisted violently. A terrible hunger filled his chest — not normal hunger, but something deeper, darker, consuming.
He crawled toward the hearth. No fire burned there. Just the faint scent of rot and something metallic.
Then he saw it — a rat, stiff and half-frozen in the corner.
His mind screamed no, but his hands didn't listen.
He grabbed it, teeth sinking into flesh before he even realized what he was doing. Warm blood filled his mouth, salty, thick. The sound of it chewing filled the silence.
When the last bite was gone, he dropped what was left and stared at his trembling hands, horrified.
"What's happening to me…"
His voice broke. The bite on his hand throbbed once — then went still. The skin had healed completely, smooth except for a faint crescent scar.
Wuji stared at it until his vision blurred. His heart slowed. His eyelids grew heavy.
He crawled into the corner and curled up beside the ashes of a dead fire.
And then — nothing.
⸻
Days passed.
The storm covered the village in silence. Smoke no longer rose from its chimneys. The snow hid everything — the blood, the bodies, the tracks.
But in the heart of the forest, one house still stood.
And inside it, a boy slept, his breath shallow but steady.
When the riders came, they moved with caution — silver cloaks bright against the frost, the sigil of the crescent moon glinting faintly on their armor.
The leader, a tall woman with gray eyes, dismounted first. "Spread out," she ordered. "If there are any survivors, we find them."
They searched the ruins for hours, finding nothing but the dead.
Until one of them called out, "Here!"
The woman followed the sound, boots crunching through the snow, and stepped into the old cabin. The air was thick with cold and the faint stench of blood.
In the corner lay a boy — pale, motionless, his hand wrapped protectively against his chest. Dried blood stained his mouth.
She knelt beside him and pressed two fingers to his throat. A heartbeat, faint but steady.
"He's alive," she murmured.
Her gaze fell on the scar along his hand. The mark glowed faintly under the touch of her torchlight, as if something beneath the skin remembered pain.
"What happened here?" one of the men asked.
The woman rose slowly. "Whatever it was… it isn't finished."
She turned to her soldiers. "Get him on the horse. We're taking him back."
⸻
As they carried him into the light, the wind rose again.
The trees whispered, their branches bending low.
The woman looked once toward the valley below — to the ashes and silence where a village had once stood — then back to the unconscious boy in her arms.
His lips moved faintly, forming a single, broken word.
"Run…"
The Order captain's expression hardened.
"Ride," she said.
And the Silver Order rode through the snow, carrying the last living child of a lost village — unaware that the thing within him had already awakened.