Instructor Kael Rourke disliked silence.
Especially this kind.
The Red Tree towered above the base camp, its massive trunk glowing faintly from within, veins of molten mana pulsing beneath bark older than recorded history. Its crimson leaves rustled even though there was no wind.
That alone was wrong.
Rourke stood with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on the glowing runes hovering above a stone table. Each rune represented a student group—steady lights meant stable mana signatures.
One had gone dark.
He frowned.
"That's not funny," murmured Instructor Hale beside him, a thin woman with hawk-like eyes. "Tell me that's just interference."
Rourke didn't answer. He reached out and tapped the rune.
Nothing responded.
"Group Seven," he said quietly. "Four students."
Another instructor swore under their breath.
"They should still be well within the safe zone," Hale said. "No high-tier beasts roam that close to the base."
Rourke's jaw tightened. "Unless something else is moving."
As if in response, the Red Tree pulsed.
Once.
Then again.
A low vibration rolled through the clearing, deep enough to be felt in the bones.
Rourke's hand dropped instinctively to the blade at his hip.
"Run another check on the tree." he ordered.
Instructor Marek checked the glyphs carved into the ground around the tree. His face drained of color.
"...Its totally different."
"How much?"
"When we first checked the tree was almost dormant. But now it's like, it's connected to everything. But it's power is concentrated on something, some kind of beast. I think...that's what's killing the students."
Rourke exhaled slowly. "Damn it."
Three weeks.
That was all it had taken for first years to start dropping.
He turned his gaze outward, toward the forest paths branching away from the Red Tree. The Red Forest loomed thick and watchful, its shadows stretching unnaturally far.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," Hale said. "The tree isn't known to be hostile, I thought it was created by the gods."
"Yes," Rourke replied grimly. "But the 'why' doesn't matter, we need to get the students out."
Another rune flickered.
Then dimmed.
Silence fell like a blade.
"Another group?" Marek whispered.
Rourke slammed his fist onto the stone table. "That's it."
"We're not allowed to leave the base," Hale reminded him sharply. "The rules—"
"To hell with the rules," Rourke snapped. "If we wait any longer, we won't be retrieving students. We'll be retrieving corpses."
The Red Tree pulsed harder now, its glow deepening to a violent crimson.
From the forest, a sound drifted in.
Not a roar.
Not a howl.
A scream—cut short mid-breath.
Hale paled. "That didn't sound like a beast."
"No," Rourke said softly. "It didn't."
Rourke turned back to the runes.
Two dark. One flickering.
"Sound the warning," he ordered. "Recall any group close enough to hear it."
"And the rest?"
Rourke looked at the forest.
At the shifting shadows.
At the paths that no longer felt like paths at all.
"...Pray they're strong," he said.
Far from the base camp, deep where the trees grew twisted and roots clawed at the earth, something dragged a bloodied pack across the forest floor.
Cracked beast cores littered the ground.
Drained.
Useless.
The thing paused, lifting its head as if listening.
Then it smiled—
And the Red Forest closed in around it.
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