The forest was quiet—too quiet for Walter Grefen's liking. Even the dogs, once barking with fervor, had fallen into a tense silence. Lanterns flickered in trembling hands, their golden halos dim compared to the suffocating darkness ahead.
Walter stood apart from the search party, his back slightly hunched and one hand pressing hard against his temple. His mind was spiraling. Not because his son had wasted a priceless heirloom. Not because Tilly had dabbled in forbidden power. But because the boy—his own flesh and blood—had unleashed a Tier 2 summoning scroll in the middle of an unprepared, defenseless forest.
Gods help us.
He'd seen the aftermath of Tier 1 magic before. A burned-out homestead. Charred corpses. The stench of blood and ash still haunted his dreams. But Tier 2?
That wasn't just dangerous. That was cataclysmic.
Walter swallowed hard as Wendy's words played again in his mind. A terrifying monster… it looked like it wanted to eat us… Tilly couldn't control it...
He wasn't a mage—he'd never claimed to be. But he'd read enough, heard enough, to know how the tiers worked. The higher the tier, the more unstable the magic. The more volatile the outcome. And worst of all—the more likely it was that the summoner would be the first to die.
He glanced back at the twenty men and women he'd dragged into the dark. Brave souls, most of them. But apart from him, not a single one carried a weapon above Tier 0. They might as well be swinging sticks at a dragon.
His breathing quickened. A cold realization clamped his chest: if they encountered that creature now, it would be a massacre.
He couldn't tell them. Not all of it. Not yet. Fear would shatter them. But he had to pull back. Regroup. Think. He needed Thornmere's mages, their enforcers—hell, he needed anyone with real magic to come down here before it was too late.
Turning sharply, Walter barked orders with a voice that carried weight:
"Everyone, pull back. Maintain formation. We're heading to the ridge point for the night."
A few confused murmurs rose up, but his tone allowed no room for debate. Only when he was sure they were moving did he allow himself to exhale.
His son had started something the village could never handle alone.
And if they didn't act fast—Tilly might not be the only one swallowed whole by what was now roaming the forest.
---
The torchlight wavered in Walter Grefen's grip, the shadows flickering across his face as he scanned the tight circle of men and women around him. The canopy above had grown darker, as if the stars themselves refused to witness what was to come.
Thormans village had always been an outpost—nothing more. A buffer zone for Thornmere Town. Its purpose was defense, early warning, sacrifice if necessary. Everyone here knew that, even if they liked to pretend otherwise. But this was no border raid. No wild beast wandering too close to the village pens.
This was a goddamn Tier 2 monster.
And Walter wasn't going to let his people die for pride or ignorance.
He turned to one of the younger men—a lean, sharp-eyed runner named Hallen. "You're fast. You know the roads. Get to Thornmere now. Wake the town chief. Tell him Thormans is facing a Tier 2 summoning. Tell him it's loose. They'll know what that means."
Hallen blinked, startled. "Tier 2? Are you sure?"
Walter ignored the question and pushed a sealed scroll into Hallen's hand. "This'll verify my command. Now move. If you delay, we all die."
Hallen took off, boots thudding against the forest floor, torchlight vanishing behind trees.
But not everyone was ready to run.
"What the hell are we retreating for?" growled Danek, a brawny farmer who wielded one of the enchanted spears. "We've got numbers! We've got weapons! You expect us to wait for Thornmere like cowards?"
A few murmured in agreement. The scent of fear was being smothered by bravado.
Walter's jaw tightened. "You think this is about guts? You think your Tier 0 spear is going to scratch something brought in with Tier 2 summoning magic? You'd do more damage waving a goddamn cooking ladle."
He was just about to say more when—
ROAAAAAARRRR!
It came from deep within the forest—so deep it should have been muffled. But the sound ripped through the trees like a curse. Low, ancient, and hungry.
The search party froze.
Then came the aura.
Like a dam breaking, a wave of raw, unfiltered energy surged through the forest. Trees groaned, the very ground seemed to pulse, and half the search party were flung off their feet as if the air had turned into an invisible fist.
Walter hit one knee, gripping his sword for balance. His lungs tightened. Cold sweat dripped down his brow. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore—his hands were shaking.
This... this wasn't a beast.
This was a force.
A presence that warped the very rules of the world around it.
The rest of the search party, those still standing, were pale and wide-eyed, clutching their weapons like children clinging to toys in the dark. Danek, who had been yelling only moments ago, had dropped to one knee, staring into the darkness ahead with terror wide in his eyes.
Walter stood, though his legs trembled. He knew he needed to say something—anything to hold them together.
"We're not fighting this thing," he said hoarsely, voice low but firm. "Not now. We hold our position. We wait for Thornmere. If we move recklessly—we all die."
No one objected this time.
---
Kael thrashed violently out of the same nightmare that had haunted him for years. The cold sweat clinging to his skin was nothing compared to the cold in his chest. That dream—no, that memory—clung to him like a parasite.
His mother, collapsing with blood blooming on her dress like a red flower. Her eyes wide, glassy, full of unshed tears. His father's roar—a primal bellow that had once made even Kael cower—echoing like a thunderclap through that cursed night. And the laughter... that twisted, vile laughter from their killer, drilling itself into Kael's brain like a barbed worm.
He shot up in bed, eyes wide—only to immediately regret it.
The sunlight streaming through the window lashed at his retinas like white-hot whips. He instinctively raised a hand to block the glare, blinking rapidly as the bright light blurred his vision.
It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust—and then the confusion really began.
This wasn't his room.
The bed he sat on was larger, softer. The linen sheets were clean and smooth, unlike the itchy patchwork blanket he was used to. The air here didn't stink of smoke and old straw. It smelled faintly of lavender. There was even a small carved cabinet beside the bed and a polished mirror hanging from the far wall. Whoever lived here... had money. Or at least, order.
Kael's instincts screamed.
He threw the covers aside and planted his bare feet on the floor, already scanning the room for danger or exits. No chains. No guards. Just a pitcher of water on the nightstand and a folded tunic set neatly on a stool.
He stood shakily. His body felt like a single giant bruise. His chest, especially—where the creature had clawed him—ached so badly that it nearly dropped him to his knees. But when he ran his fingers across the spot... there was no wound. Not even a scar.
What the hell?
His thoughts spun.
The forest. Tilly. The summoning.
He could still hear the wet crunch of branches, the maddening hum of the runes on the scroll, the guttural chant echoing in the dark. He remembered Saria trembling beside him. And that... thing. That black, formless horror that Tilly had conjured like a fool playing with power he couldn't possibly understand.
He remembered the fear. The pain.
Then... rage.
He could still feel it somewhere inside—like a dormant volcano, quiet now, but not extinguished. Whatever happened last night was a scary manifestation of magic.
He hadn't just survived.
He had changed.
But how? Where is the monster now? Where's Saria? Where are the others?
The door suddenly creaked open.
Kael instinctively turned, his right hand closing into a fist, his left bracing instinctively like he was still fighting. But the person who entered wasn't hostile.