The wind moved quietly across the abandoned valley, stirring loose dust and brittle grass that had long since turned pale under the harsh sun. Broken stone houses stood scattered across the empty land like the remains of forgotten memories. Roofs had collapsed years ago, and wooden beams rotted slowly beneath the open sky. No smoke rose from chimneys. No voices filled the air. The village had been dead for almost a decade.
Yet one figure still walked its silent paths.
A boy stood near the center of the ruins, his dark cloak shifting slightly with the wind. At first glance he looked no different from any other traveler wandering the frontier lands. He was tall for his age but still carried the lean frame of youth. His black hair fell unevenly across his forehead, and his eyes were sharp and steady in a way that did not belong to someone so young.
He was sixteen years old.
His name was Hex.
And this ruined village was the graveyard of everyone he had ever loved.
Hex stood beside the remains of an old stone well. The circular structure was cracked down one side, and weeds grew between the loose stones. The rope and bucket that once hung from its wooden frame were long gone. Only the weathered stones remained, worn smooth by years of wind and rain.
He reached out and placed a hand against the cold surface.
The stone felt lifeless beneath his fingers.
Just like the village.
Just like the people who once lived here.
This was where everything ended.
Eight years ago.
Hex had no memory of his parents.
The elders had told him what happened when he was younger. They said monsters attacked a caravan traveling between settlements. His parents had been among the defenders who stayed behind to hold the creatures back while the rest escaped. The survivors claimed his father fought until he could no longer stand, and his mother carried the infant Hex through the wilderness until she reached safety.
Both of them died before the next sunrise.
Those stories were all Hex had.
No faces.
No voices.
No memories.
His parents existed only as fragments of words told by strangers who eventually disappeared from his life as well.
The only person Hex truly remembered was his grandfather.
The old man had been a hunter who survived long enough to grow gray in a world where few lived past middle age. He was not famous, nor particularly strong compared to real warriors, but he understood the wilderness and the monsters that roamed it.
More importantly, he understood how to stay alive.
That knowledge kept Hex alive as well.
From the time Hex could walk, the old man trained him.
Not gently.
Not patiently.
But with a harsh urgency born from experience.
He taught Hex how to move quietly through tall grass and broken stone. He taught him how to recognize the tracks of predators and the signs of approaching danger. He showed him how to set snares and sharpen blades and ration food.
Every lesson came with the same words.
"Strength is the only thing this world respects."
Hex believed those words.
But belief did not make him strong.
The village itself had been small, barely more than thirty houses gathered near the base of a mountain ridge. It existed because of a narrow river that cut through the valley and allowed crops to grow in otherwise unforgiving soil. Hunters brought meat from the surrounding forests while traders passed through a few times each year.
Life was difficult, but it was stable.
For a while.
Hex spent most of his days training under his grandfather's watchful eye. The old man believed idle children became dead adults, and Hex rarely had time to play.
Still, there had been moments of happiness.
Most of those moments involved a girl named Liora.
She lived only a short distance away and often followed Hex during his training sessions despite the old man's constant complaints. Liora had bright eyes and quick movements that made her seem older than she really was. Even as a child, she possessed a natural coordination that impressed the hunters.
She learned quickly.
Faster than Hex.
And she was not afraid of hard work.
The two of them grew up side by side, spending long afternoons running through the fields or practicing with wooden training blades while the sun sank behind the mountains.
Everyone in the village believed Liora would become a warrior someday.
Hex believed something else.
He believed he would protect her.
It was a childish promise, made with the simple certainty only children possess. He spoke those words with absolute confidence, convinced that determination alone would shape the future.
Liora always laughed when he said it.
Not mockingly.
Just gently.
As if she already knew the truth.
"I'll protect you instead," she would reply.
Those words annoyed him every time.
Because even then, Hex understood something he did not want to admit.
She was stronger than him.
The day the monsters came began in silence.
Too much silence.
The birds disappeared first.
Then the insects.
Even the wind seemed to slow as if the valley itself sensed what was approaching.
Hunters standing watch along the outer fields were the first to notice movement near the tree line. By the time warning shouts reached the center of the village, dark shapes were already emerging from the forest.
The attack came without mercy.
Massive creatures crashed through wooden fences and stone walls alike, scattering villagers in every direction. The monsters moved with terrifying speed despite their size, bodies covered in thick scales that deflected ordinary blades.
Panic spread faster than the creatures themselves.
People ran blindly through narrow paths between houses, carrying children and supplies, desperate to escape.
Hex remembered the noise most clearly.
Screams.
Roars.
Splintering wood.
Metal striking bone.
The sounds merged into something overwhelming and endless.
His grandfather grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward the forest.
"Stay close!" the old man shouted.
Hex did exactly that.
Fear left no room for hesitation.
They ran along a narrow trail that curved between thick clusters of trees, moving as quickly as the uneven ground allowed.
For a brief moment, it seemed like they might escape.
Then something moved ahead of them.
A creature stepped into the path.
It stood taller than a grown man, its body thick with black scales that caught the dim light filtering through the trees. Its jaws opened slowly, revealing rows of jagged teeth slick with saliva.
Hex stopped moving.
His legs locked in place no matter how desperately he tried to force them forward.
Terror rooted him to the ground.
His grandfather stepped in front of him without hesitation.
The old man lowered his stance and raised his spear with steady hands that did not betray the danger before him.
"Run," he said.
Hex could not.
The fight lasted only seconds.
The monster lunged forward with explosive speed.
The spear struck first, driving into the creature's shoulder, but the blow lacked the power needed to penetrate deeply. The monster roared and swiped downward with a claw large enough to tear through flesh and bone alike.
The old hunter tried to dodge.
He was too slow.
The impact threw him across the dirt path.
He hit the ground hard and did not rise again.
Hex watched everything happen without moving.
Without helping.
Without even screaming.
His mind refused to accept what his eyes were seeing.
The monster turned toward him.
And Hex understood he was about to die.
Then someone slammed into him from the side.
The force knocked him off his feet and sent him rolling across the ground. Pain flared along his shoulder as he came to a stop against a tree trunk.
When he looked up, Liora stood between him and the monster.
Her hands shook slightly as she gripped a small blade meant only for training.
She should not have been there.
She should have escaped.
But she had come back.
The monster advanced.
Liora moved first.
She darted forward with surprising speed, slashing at the creature's leg and drawing a line of dark blood across its scales. The monster roared and snapped at her, but she twisted aside just in time.
For a brief moment, hope appeared.
Then it vanished.
The creature struck again.
This time it did not miss.
The claws drove straight through her chest.
Her body went still.
The blade slipped from her fingers and fell into the dirt.
The sound it made was small and final.
Liora looked toward Hex.
Her eyes were calm despite the blood filling her lungs.
"You have to live," she whispered.
Then she pushed herself forward, trapping the monster's claws inside her own body.
Just long enough.
Just enough time.
Run.