Darkness had settled over the ancient forest surrounding Padas City like a heavy cloak, the silver moonlight filtering through the canopy of leaves to cast eerie, dancing shadows on the forest floor. The air hung thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, occasionally punctuated by the calls of nocturnal creatures that echoed through the stillness.
Three swordsmen patrolled the outer perimeter, their footsteps deliberately quiet as they moved between the towering trees. Their right hands rested casually on the hilts of their swords, left arms swinging freely at their sides, eyes constantly scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. These men were the city's first line of defense against the demons that lurked in the shadows, waiting for any opportunity to prey upon the unwary.
Rol, the youngest of the three, tugged at the collar of his uniform with his free left hand as sweat trickled down the back of his neck despite the cool night air. I should have eaten before this shift, he thought anxiously. Now I'll be distracted the entire patrol. His stomach growled loudly, breaking the silence that had stretched between them for the past hour.
"It's quite tiresome to keep watch here," he remarked, rubbing his stomach with his left hand while his right remained vigilant on his sword hilt. His eyes darted hopefully toward his companions. "Do any of you have food?"
Mando, the largest of the three with broad shoulders and a full beard, chuckled softly. He was a veteran of many such patrols, his weathered face bearing the small scars that spoke of past encounters with the forest's dangers. Unlike Rol, whose nervousness was palpable, Mando moved with the easy confidence of a man familiar with his surroundings. The boy needs to learn that preparation is key to survival out here, he thought with amusement. Still, we were all young once.
"Luckily, I have some Puto with me, freshly cooked by my wife!" Mando exclaimed, his deep voice warm with affection as he mentioned his spouse. He reached into his pack with his left hand, his right never straying from his weapon, and withdrew a small cloth bundle. He unwrapped it with careful movements of his thick fingers to reveal several white rice cakes that gleamed in the moonlight. The sweet aroma wafted through the air, making Rol's mouth water instantly.
Ram, the third member of their patrol, rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile at the sight of Rol's naked longing. Ram was lean and wiry, with sharp features and alert eyes that never seemed to miss anything. He had been silent for most of the patrol, focused entirely on their surroundings. Always the same with these night shifts, he thought, Rol forgetting to eat and Mando playing the father figure.
"Wow, you're fortunate to have a wife," Ram remarked, a hint of envy coloring his normally detached tone. "I don't even have one." As if on cue, his stomach released an audible growl that seemed to echo through the trees. Ram placed his left hand on his midsection, his right hand remaining steadfastly on his sword. Looking slightly embarrassed, he thought, Betrayed by my own body. "My stomach seems to be singing. Mando, perhaps..."
Before Ram could finish his request, Mando shook his head in mock exasperation. "You're pitiful," he teased, though there was no real malice in his words. These two would starve without me, he thought fondly. "Next time, bring your own provisions, Rol." Despite his admonishment, Mando's eyes crinkled with good humor as he extended his left hand, offering several pieces of the rice cake while his right hand maintained its vigilant position. "Here, take this."
Gratitude flooded Rol's face as he accepted the food with his left hand. "Thank you, brother Mando..." he said, wasting no time in devouring the sweet treats. The puto practically melted in his mouth, and he closed his eyes for a moment to savor the taste, momentarily forgetting the potential dangers lurking in the darkness around them. This is divine, he thought. Almost worth the terror of night patrol.
Mando turned to Ram, whose pride was warring with his hunger. "What about you, Ram? Would you like some?" he offered, holding out the remaining pieces in his left palm while his right hand remained close to his weapon.
Ram's expression remained stoic, though his eyes betrayed his desire. "I'm still full, thanks," he lied, straightening his posture and patting his empty stomach with his left hand as his right stayed alert on his sword hilt. I will not be seen as weak, he thought stubbornly. Even over something as trivial as food.
Pride will be the death of him someday, Mando thought with amusement, carefully rewrapping the remaining food with his left hand and tucking it back into his pack with practiced movements. But I respect his—
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the unmistakable sound of an infant's cry pierced the night air, high-pitched and desperate. The sound came from their right, somewhere deeper in the forest. It was so unexpected, so out of place in this dangerous forest, that all three men froze for a heartbeat before instinct took over.
In perfect unison, they drew their swords with their right hands in one fluid motion, the steel blades gleaming cold and deadly in the moonlight. Each man assumed a defensive stance, backs forming a triangle as they scanned the surrounding darkness with renewed vigilance.
"Did you hear that?" Rol whispered, his earlier hunger forgotten as adrenaline surged through his veins. His right hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, and his breath came in quick, shallow bursts. A baby? Out here? Impossible, his mind raced.
"Yes, it came from the right," Ram confirmed, his voice low and tense. His left hand now clutched a small dagger he'd pulled from his boot, while his right maintained a perfect grip on his sword. His eyes narrowed as he peered into the dense undergrowth. "I knew something was amiss in this area." This feels wrong, he thought, every sense heightened. No child should be out here. As he spoke, he glanced behind him and noticed a subtle movement in the shadows at Rol's feet—something sinuous and unnatural that didn't belong on the forest floor, sliding silently toward the young guard's left ankle.
Rol noticed Ram's suddenly intense stare directed at the ground near him. Panic flared in his chest as he interpreted the look as a warning. "Why are you staring at me? Is there something here?!" he exclaimed, his voice rising with fear as he looked wildly around, his left hand clutching at his chest while his right maintained a death grip on his sword. Oh gods, it's coming for me, isn't it? His mind screamed.
"Easy there, don't shout..." Mando cautioned, his sword raised in his right hand, left arm extended to maintain balance. His experienced eyes scanned methodically for the source of the threat, every muscle tense and prepared for combat. Stay calm, he willed himself. Fear makes you careless.
"I'm sorry, brother Mando," Rol apologized, attempting to control his breathing and steady his nerves. I can do this. I can be brave. But before he could say anything more, a pale, tentacle-like appendage shot out from the undergrowth, wrapping around his left ankle with lightning speed.
Time seemed to slow as horror dawned on Rol's face. He opened his mouth to scream, but before any sound could emerge, the tentacle yanked with incredible force, pulling his feet out from under him. His sword clattered uselessly to the ground from his right hand as he fell, both arms flailing desperately to grab onto something—anything—that might save him. Help me! His mind screamed, though no words passed his lips.
Mando lunged forward with his left hand outstretched while his right kept his blade ready, fingers straining to grasp the fabric of Rol's uniform. Ram simultaneously dove with his left hand extended, his right still clutching his sword, but the creature's speed was otherworldly. It dragged Rol into the darkness with such velocity that he was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving only disturbed foliage and his abandoned sword as evidence of his presence.
"ROL!!!!!" The terrified scream echoed through the forest, followed by an abrupt, sickening silence that was somehow worse than the cry itself.
Mando and Ram stood frozen for just a moment, the implications of that silence settling heavily upon them. No, no, no, Mando thought, his heart pounding against his ribs. Not another young one taken.
It happened so fast, Ram's mind raced. There was nothing we could do.
Then, as if released from a spell, they burst into action, charging headlong in the direction of Rol's disappearance. Their boots pounded against the forest floor as they crashed through underbrush and leaped over fallen logs, desperation lending them speed. Mando led the way, his massive frame bulldozing through obstacles, while Ram followed, using his left hand to slash away branches with his dagger, his right hand holding his sword at the ready.
"Here's where the voice is coming from!" Ram shouted as they burst into a small clearing. Both men skidded to a halt, their blood turning to ice in their veins at the sight before them.
Rol's body lay sprawled on the forest floor, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. His right arm was bent backward at the elbow, his left leg contorted impossibly beneath him. His skin was a ghastly white, drained completely of blood, and his eyes stared sightlessly at the canopy above. There was no blood pooled beneath him, no visible wounds—just a hollow husk that had once been their friend.
Mando fell to his knees beside the body, his sword still gripped tightly in his right hand as hot tears streamed down his weathered face. He reached out with his left hand to close Rol's vacant eyes. "May the gods guide your soul home, brother," he whispered, his voice thick with grief. I should have been faster, he thought, guilt washing over him in waves. I should have protected you.
Ram remained standing, his face a mask of stone, but his eyes burned with a cold fire of rage. His grip on his sword tightened in his right hand until his knuckles whitened, the only outward sign of the fury churning within him. His left hand still held the dagger, poised and ready. I will avenge you, Rol, he silently vowed.
The moment of mourning was shattered when the sound of childish laughter—not crying—drifted through the trees from somewhere to their left. The sound was innocent on the surface, but carried an undercurrent of something ancient and malevolent that raised the hairs on the backs of their necks.
It's taunting us, Mando realized, rage beginning to displace his grief.
Mando rose slowly to his feet, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his left hand, his right maintaining its grip on his sword. His grief transformed into grim determination as he turned to Ram. "Ram, I'll handle this," he declared, his voice steady and resolute. "Make your way to the gate and report everything that happened here."
Ram's eyes widened in disbelief. "But Mando, I can't risk losing you like Rol!" he protested, the stoic mask slipping to reveal genuine concern. His left hand tightened around his dagger while his right held his sword steady. Not you too, he thought desperately. I can't be the only one to return.
Mando placed his heavy left hand on Ram's shoulder, his gaze steady and sure, his right hand still gripping his sword. "If it comes to that, I trust you to tell my family that I love them." The words were simple but carried the weight of a final request. Please understand, he thought. This is the only way.
"But Mando—" Ram began, unwilling to abandon his last remaining companion to face the horror alone.
"Move!" Mando cut him off, his voice suddenly sharp as a blade. "He's almost here! Hurry!" His right hand released his standard sword and moved to the massive weapon strapped to his back, a sword so large that most men would struggle merely to lift it. His left hand pushed Ram firmly in the direction of the city.
With no other choice and the understanding that warning the city might save countless lives, Ram nodded once, sharply. He sheathed his dagger with his left hand, keeping his sword ready in his right. He then clasped Mando's forearm with his newly freed left hand in a warrior's farewell before turning and sprinting toward the city gate, every step heavy with reluctance. This isn't right, his mind screamed as he ran. But I have no choice.
As he departed, Ram glanced back one last time over his shoulder to see Mando standing tall in the clearing, a solitary figure bathed in moonlight. To his surprise, a confident smile played across Mando's bearded face as he drew his enormous sword with both hands and prepared to face whatever horror had claimed Rol's life.
May the gods grant you strength, brother, Ram thought as he raced through the forest, the sounds of combat already beginning to echo behind him. With every stride, his right hand clutched his sword while his left occasionally brushed away tears he refused to acknowledge.