Wei pointed at the oil lamp resting on his bed.
"My mom always takes this with her when she goes out," he said firmly. "Always. But now it's here. On my bed."
"So what are you trying to say?"
Chun rubbed her temple. Her head was starting to ache again.
That always happened when Wei was about to make a bad decision.
And the worst part was, once he made up his mind, he would see it through no matter what. There was no stopping him.
Lowering his voice, Wei went on mysteriously. "I've noticed my dad's been doing some kind of secret work around the house. I think they're planning to hide us inside."
Outside, the crackling of flames sounded closer than before.
"Your dad's been working on something in secret?" Chun asked. "You don't know where?"
"I'm out running around all day," Wei said carelessly. "How would I know?"
Then he added, "Let's check under the bed first."
Chun wiped her face with one hand and let out a quiet sigh.
She knew Wei too well. That answer didn't surprise her at all.
But she still couldn't stop herself from saying what was on her mind.
"Is it possible," Chun said slowly, "that your mom wanted you to take the lamp and run?"
"I don't think so…"
Wei answered too quickly, and there was little confidence behind it. His voice wavered, as if the calm he showed was something he had forced himself to put on.
Together, they lifted the bed.
The solid wooden frame was heavy, far heavier than it looked. It didn't budge. Beneath it, there was nothing.
They checked the floor next. The planks were raised off the ground, but fitted tightly together. No loose boards. No hidden gaps.
Chun's throat went dry.
"Wei, we don't have much time," she said. "This thatched house—one stray spark and it'll go up in flames."
Wei didn't seem to hear her.
He moved around the room, knocking here, pushing there, fingers tapping surfaces in frantic patterns.
He looked lost.
Suddenly, Wei stopped.
He turned around, pressed his hand against the wooden wall, and shoved hard.
With a low creak, the boards shifted. A narrow gap opened in the wall.
A hidden window.
"So this is the secret project?" Chun asked.
"No." Wei lowered his voice. There was tension in his eyes, mixed with a flicker of pride. "This is my secret project."
Chun froze for a moment, her unease growing.
The houses here were built from stacked logs, sealed tight so not even winter wind could slip through.
Who but Wei would have the time—or the energy—to carve a hidden window into a wall like this?
She almost laughed, but her face had gone stiff. It no longer remembered how.
Wei leaned forward and looked out, scanning the area.
Then, in the next instant, he went completely still.
As if something had nailed him in place.
Wind rushed in through the opening, lifting a loose strand of hair on his forehead. Even that small movement looked wrong somehow.
Sensing something was off, Chun took a careful step closer.
One glance was enough.
The small square outside was silent.
Firelight flickered among broken walls, yet there was no wind.
Even the falling ash dropped in straight lines, unnaturally neat.
A row of bodies lay on the ground.
Too neat.
Not the way people died in chaos.
They were the village's young men.
Every body faced almost the same direction, as if they had been placed there—then adjusted, again and again.
Wei's eyes lingered on them for a split second before he jerked his gaze away.
His stomach tightened.
Not from fear.
From something that didn't make sense.
This place… was too empty.
If this had been a chase,
if it had been a slaughter,
there should have been more disorder.
But aside from the bodies, there were no extra footprints.
No signs of people running in panic.
It was as if—
Everyone who was meant to stay
had already stayed.
Chun's hand clenched around the corner of Wei's clothes without her realizing it.
"Did they…" she whispered, her voice barely there, "not run at all?"
Wei didn't answer right away.
A thought hit him.
If everyone had tried to flee,
why had the alleys been so empty the whole way?
Those creatures seemed to have known already—
who would run,
and who would stop.
The air was still.
Even death felt quiet.
Every body had the same wound in its chest.
Red flesh torn open, blood long dried into thick, dark crusts.
The last thing Chun saw—
standing in front of the bodies—
was a figure.
No.
Not a person.
In the darkness, the thing slowly lifted its head, as if it had heard a sound.
Firelight revealed the shape of a bare skull. Its forehead shone with oil, and from the crown of its head hung a thin braid, swaying like a rat's tail.
Its face was black and glossy, skin stretched tight like stone, without softness or life.
A dead man's face.
Golden arm bracer glinted with a cold, ominous light. The leather armor was scorched and split open, the cracks stuffed with something that looked like oil and blood mixed together.
It was unnaturally tall, a head taller than the biggest man in the village. Its shoulders were as wide as a wall, standing there like a black bear hammered awake by iron.
Its eyes were dead white, no pupils at all, though the corners twitched faintly—
as if it were struggling to keep the act of seeing.
Its hands were smeared with dark, dried blood, streaks slipping between thick fingers. The hands were huge, each knuckle hard and sharp like forged metal.
Cradled in its hands—
was half a heart.
It lowered its head, almost reluctant to swallow the last bite.
The air turned cold all at once.
"Ah—"
A soft sound escaped Chun's throat, born of pure terror.
That single sound was enough.
The creature set its food aside
and lifted its head.
It had seen them.