Such a scene made it almost impossible not to draw conclusions.
Wei thought darkly, suspicion tightening in his chest. Was that thing a bandit, one of the horse raiders people whispered about, or was it something else entirely.
A monster.
A man eating monster.
He could not tell.
"Aah."
Chun's soft gasp seemed to answer his thoughts. She was thinking the same thing.
That single, brief sound was enough.
The black clad creature reacted at once.
Slowly, it turned its head.
Beneath the shadow of its hood, Wei could not see its face. Yet he felt it clearly, with a certainty that made his skin crawl.
It was smiling at them.
Wei could almost picture it.
Not a human smile.
The mouth split far too wide, torn nearly to the ears. Two rows of jagged teeth showed through, like broken saw blades. Between them clung dark stains that had not yet dried.
"Rrrh."
A low roar rolled across the square, as if it had crawled up from the depths of hell itself. The sound shook the burned beams and broken bricks around them, sending ash and debris sliding down in soft, brittle showers.
The night wind howled.
It carried dust and the bitter smell of charred wood. The air was thick with ash, mixed with the sickly sweet stench of death. The smell poured into Wei's nose and turned his stomach over and over.
He dropped the shutter of the small window and staggered back, collapsing onto the edge of the bed. He buried his head in his hands and clutched it hard, as if trying to hold himself together.
That was not something he could fight.
It was not even a contest.
It was an absolute crushing force, a difference so vast that resistance felt meaningless.
And yet his mind refused to stop.
Door.
Window.
The low wall behind the house.
He measured distances in his head, counting steps, tracing angles. Every possible route flickered into being as he ran through them one by one.
If it smashed through the door, could he rush out while dust filled the air.
If he climbed out the back window, could he disappear into the trees under cover of night.
Each thought barely formed before he strangled it himself.
The door was too thin.
It was not protection. It was a sheet of wood pasted in front of death, a shameful excuse pretending to be a barrier.
The back window was too low. The moment he went through it, he would be fully exposed, right in front of the creature.
As for the low wall.
He could already see it in his mind. Halfway over, lifted clean off the ground, grabbed out of the air by that massive hand.
Every route lit up in his thoughts, then went dark.
One by one.
No exceptions.
Fear surged like a tide and swallowed him whole. Heavy footsteps sounded outside, drawing closer, slow and deliberate, like beasts circling prey, tightening their ring inch by inch.
Wei froze.
He did not dare breathe too loudly.
All that remained in his ears was the creature's breathing. Low. Slow. Deep. Like wind moving through hollow iron pipes.
Cold crept up his spine and into his chest, numbing his heart, nearly freezing his thoughts solid.
And then.
The footsteps stopped.
Not in front of the door.
They shifted.
Wei's pupils tightened.
He heard the creature moving around the hut. Its heavy steps crossed scorched earth, then scraped over broken stone. It was so close.
For a moment, he was certain it stood just outside the wall, separated from him by nothing more than thin planks.
Its breathing was near.
So near it felt as if it would pour through the cracks at any second.
It was sniffing.
Confirming.
Savoring the moment before the kill.
That lack of hurry was more cruel than any roar.
Then.
Something brushed lightly against the back of his hand.
Wei jerked as if struck by lightning.
He looked down.
It was Chun.
She was shaking.
Not violently, not in a way meant to draw attention. It was the trembling of someone forcing herself to stay still, of control slipping no matter how hard she tried to hold it.
Her fingertips were icy. Her knuckles were white. Still, she clung to the corner of his clothes with all the strength she had.
It was then that Wei truly woke up.
Shame flared in his chest like fire.
For that brief moment, he had only thought about himself.
He drew a deep breath and forced the chaos in his chest down, pressed it flat. In a low voice, barely louder than air, he answered her without words. His hand reached out and rested gently on her shoulder.
Chun looked up at him.
Her eyes held no tears.
No plea.
She simply nodded.
Just once.
Very lightly.
That look steadied his breathing more than anything else could have.
Wei wiped his face with his sleeve. He clenched his teeth and stood up.
The hunting knife slid free from his waist. In the dim light, its blade caught a thin line of cold shine. The glint was brief, but clear.
He stepped in front of Chun without a word. He straightened his back, standing tall, like a rock bracing itself for an oncoming storm.
Outside the door, the footsteps resumed.
This time, their direction was clear.
One step.
Then another.
Each one landed like a blow against his heart.
The floor began to tremble. Dust sifted down from the beams and posts, as if the hut itself were groaning under the pressure of that approaching presence.
His palms were slick with sweat. The knife handle started to slip. He tightened his grip until his fingers ached.
Dry grass rustled overhead. Strands of thatch fell through the gaps and slid into his collar, cold and itching against his skin.
He did not blink.
He did not dare spare even a moment.
He knew it now.
There would be no escape today.
A faint sound came from behind him.
Chun had quietly climbed to her feet. She lifted an old wooden stool and moved to stand at his side.
She was too close.
So close that Wei could feel her heartbeat. Steady, fast, almost matching his own rhythm.
In that instant, he understood something with perfect clarity.
If he fell, she would not even have the chance to run.
The thought drove into his chest like a nail.
"Come on."
The boy suddenly roared.
His shout tore through the heavy air inside the hut.
In that moment, fear gave way. Courage surged up, wild and fierce.
Every retreat, every calculation, every fragile hope was cut away in a single stroke.
If he was destined to be devoured.
Then he would draw his blade and meet it head on.