The wind carried the scent of damp earth and pine as I stood in the clearing behind our home, my body slick with sweat. My wooden training sword was gripped tightly in my hand, my knuckles pale from exertion. Across from me, my father stood with his arms crossed, watching me carefully.
I had been training for weeks now. Every day, every night, pushing myself beyond exhaustion. And though I had grown stronger—faster, sharper, more controlled—I was still not enough.
Not enough to match him.
Not enough to face what was coming.
I could feel it now—a weight pressing on my shoulders, a tension in the air that hadn't been there before. My father's words haunted me.
"They're a warning. A sign that something worse is coming."
And now, I would see it firsthand.
A Restless Village
As I walked through the village that afternoon, I could sense it—a shift in the people's demeanor.
It was subtle at first. The way the merchants spoke in hushed tones, the way the farmers kept glancing toward the tree line, their expressions wary. The village was on edge.
I slowed my steps, listening.
"…haven't seen anything like it before."
"…animals acting strange. Even the dogs won't go near the woods anymore."
"…maybe we should leave. Just for a while."
I frowned. They had noticed it too. The way the forest felt different. The way the usual noises had quieted—as if the land itself was holding its breath.
Something was coming.
I needed to find out what.
The Unwelcome Visitor
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, I stood outside my home, stretching my sore muscles after another exhausting training session.
Then, I heard it.
The distinct sound of hooves against dirt.
I turned toward the village entrance, my eyes narrowing as a lone rider approached. His horse was a deep chestnut brown, its coat slick with sweat, as if it had been running for miles.
The man astride it was tall and broad, clad in a dark cloak that billowed in the evening wind. His face was obscured by the hood, but as he slowed his horse near the center of the village, a hush fell over the people.
I moved closer, standing just outside the crowd that had gathered.
Then, the man spoke.
"…The roads aren't safe."
His voice was deep, hoarse, as if he had been speaking for hours without rest.
An older villager, one of the elders, stepped forward. "What do you mean?"
The man took a slow breath, then lifted his hood.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
His face was pale, his eyes hollow, dark shadows beneath them as if he hadn't slept in days. But that wasn't what made the people recoil.
It was the long, jagged scar running from his forehead to his chin, cutting through one of his eyes. A wound that looked fresh.
I stepped forward slightly, watching him carefully.
"There's something in the forests," he said. His voice was grim, empty. "Something that shouldn't be there."
I felt my blood go cold.
Not just me. The entire village was silent.
He continued, his gaze distant. "It started a few nights ago. My caravan was making its way through the pass when… they came."
He swallowed, his fingers gripping the reins tightly.
"At first, we thought it was just wolves. The howls… they surrounded us, coming from all directions. But then we saw them." His voice dropped lower. "Their eyes weren't right. They glowed. And when they attacked…"
His breath hitched. "They weren't animals anymore."
The villagers murmured among themselves. I clenched my fists.
I knew what he was describing.
Not wolves.
Aberrations.
A Decision to be Made
"Where was this?" my father spoke suddenly.
The rider turned toward him. "A day's ride west," he said. "Near the old ruins."
More murmurs from the villagers.
Ruins. There were no ruins near the village—not that anyone had spoken of.
But my father didn't seem surprised.
I turned to him, watching carefully as he processed the information. His lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers tapping against his arm.
Finally, he sighed.
"We need to see it for ourselves."
I stiffened. "We?"
His gaze flickered to me. "You wanted to learn, didn't you?"
I swallowed. I did.
But this wasn't training.
This was real.
I nodded. "I'm coming."
He studied me for a moment before nodding. "We leave at first light."
The Journey to the Ruins
The next morning, we set out before dawn. My father and I traveled lightly—only carrying the essentials. Water, supplies, weapons.
I had expected the roads to be quiet. They weren't.
Even in the early morning light, I could feel it—the presence of something unseen. The birds were absent. The trees stood still. It was as if the forest itself was waiting.
Watching.
My father noticed it too. His grip on his weapon never loosened, his sharp eyes scanning every shadow, every movement in the underbrush.
Then, as we approached the ruins…
I felt it.
Not just a presence.
A pressure.
It pressed against my skin like a heavy fog, seeping into my bones. Mana. But twisted. Wrong.
I stopped walking, gripping my dagger.
My father glanced at me. "You feel it?"
I nodded. "It's… unnatural."
He sighed. "Then we're in the right place."
The Ruins of the Forgotten
We stepped into a clearing—and I saw them.
Ancient stone structures, half-buried beneath tangled roots and overgrown moss. The ruins had been here for centuries, forgotten by time.
But they weren't empty.
Corpses littered the ground.
Not human.
Beasts.
Wolves, birds, even a bear—all of them twisted beyond recognition. Their bodies were bloated, their flesh marred with the same blackened veins I had seen in the direwolf.
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat.
"What… happened here?" I whispered.
My father's expression was unreadable as he crouched beside one of the corpses, pressing his fingers against its skin.
Then, his eyes darkened.
"The corruption is spreading."
I stiffened.
Corruption.
That word sent a chill down my spine.
And then, before I could speak—
A sound echoed through the ruins.
A slow, guttural growl.
Not one.
Many.
From the darkness of the ruins, figures moved.
Eyes glowing.
Teeth bared.
A pack of corrupted beasts, watching us from the shadows.
Then, in unison, they lunged.