In the darkness of the night, heavy hammer blows echoed.
The forge remained lit despite the hour. Mersik, the village blacksmith, struck rhythmically on a still-glowing piece. The echo of the hammer resounded like a deep pulse between the wooden walls.
Sparks flew. The iron screeched.
He wiped the sweat with his forearm and set the tool down on the anvil. Around him, shadows danced in the orange glow of the fire.
Then he heard it.
A crack.
It didn't come from the forge or the tool bench. It came from outside. Brief, but clear. Like a clumsy step on dry leaves.
He frowned. Grabbed an oil lantern, lit it, and approached the hut's back door. He opened it slowly, letting the light slip into the darkness.
"A raccoon again?" he muttered.
Nothing.
Just the damp night. The mist on the ground. The silence.
He sighed in frustration and turned around.
But something froze inside him.
His body tensed. He looked down, confused.
A red line had begun tracing across his abdomen. Just a thread. Thin. Precise. Like a cut made by an invisible blade.
And then… the blood gushed out.
He didn't have time to scream.
Or turn.
Or understand.
The hammer slipped from his hand and rolled across the floor, silencing the night.
—
Lavitz was sleeping peacefully when a sharp knock woke him.
He opened his eyes, still wrapped in the coarse blanket of the shed. Outside, dawn was just beginning to tint the cracks between the wooden boards with gray.
Another knock.
He got up immediately, took his sword —still sheathed— and carefully opened the door.
It was Halven.
The old man looked at him with a furrowed brow, graver than the night before.
"We need to talk," he said.
Lavitz nodded and stepped outside. The air was damp and still, as if the entire forest were holding its breath.
"What happened?"
Halven sighed, his eyes fixed on the ground.
"There was an attack during the night. We found Mersik's body, the blacksmith."
Lavitz froze.
"An animal?"
"No. It was a creature. It entered the village without anyone noticing. Tore him apart. Removed his organs. The brain. The rest of the body… was intact. As if it only wanted certain parts."
Lavitz swallowed hard.
"Do you think it could've been the creature I saw in the forest?" he asked, remembering the being with massive antlers and deep eyes.
Halven shook his head.
"No. What you saw is something else. The Averok are peaceful creatures. They don't attack unless threatened or protecting something. This was different. What killed the blacksmith came to hunt."
"To hunt?"
"Yes. It didn't kill out of defense or impulse. It killed to feed. It might be a dark creature. Something malicious."
Lavitz glanced at the still-silent homes.
"What are you going to do?"
"We leave today," Halven replied without hesitation. "We'll go to Merholt, the same city you were heading to. This place is no longer safe. Get ready. We leave as soon as everyone is ready."
—
Lavitz returned inside, strapped on his sword, and ate some berries he had saved in his pocket from the forest. His stomach still protested, but his body was already in motion.
Outside, the village murmured with farewell.
Open doors. Ropes tied in hurried knots. Children asleep in their mothers' arms. No one shouted. No one argued. Just precise, swift movements, as if everyone understood the danger.
No one took more than necessary.
A sheathed machete. A rolled-up blanket. A small bag of food. Everything else was left behind.
Lavitz stood for a moment in the village center, looking around. Once again, this world reminded him that life here was dangerous and ever-changing. These people had just lost their lives overnight, forced to migrate to a new destination without knowing what awaited them.
—
In the forest, several leagues to the north, something moved among the treetops.
A tall, shadow-thin figure walked slowly among branches and trunks. Its skin was gray and thin, stretched over a withered frame. Every rib protruded precisely under the skin. Its head resembled that of a bat: sharp snout, long, tense ears, eyes black as night.
Its arms hung down to its knees. Its long, crooked legs bent like those of a creature born to stalk.
It breathed silently, sniffing the air from atop a moss-covered tree, watching in the direction of the village now preparing to depart.
—
The march began soon after.
Lavitz positioned himself near the rear, silently watching the group leave the village along the river path. Halven led the way, leaning on his staff. Women and children stayed in the center. The few men with makeshift spears flanked the group.
The village was left behind. Abandoned. Silent.
——
The group stopped at the river's edge, where calm waters reflected the cloudy sky. They had walked for over eight hours without pause. Legs ached, feet throbbed, but no one complained.
Halven ordered a short rest.
Villagers spread out naturally. Some men descended to the shore with improvised ropes, trying to catch fish. A few women went to the forest's edge, gathering berries or dry branches to light a small fire. Others simply rested on stones or under trees, drinking from the river or sharing pieces of bread and salted meat.
Lavitz quietly moved to a more secluded spot, beneath a thick oak growing in a bend in the land. He sat on an exposed root, pulled the book from his clothes, and carefully opened it, flipping through the pages until he found a section marked with a double ink line: The Warrior's Path.
The text was clear. Direct.
"The warrior's path begins with the formation of the mana crystal. This structure condenses from mana absorbed directly from the environment, accumulating in the user's chest until it becomes a small, tangible crystal. Though its origin is magical, its strength is physical. The crystal responds to the body."
"When first formed, the crystal is white. That color doesn't represent its power, only its level. As the warrior strengthens and continues absorbing energy, the crystal changes color —just like a mage's mana core."
"With each evolution, the bearer gains more strength, agility, speed, resistance, and defense. However, the mana crystal is less powerful than a magical core. For example, a mage with a white core may be four times stronger than a warrior with a white crystal."
"Once one of these centers —core or crystal— is formed, the other becomes permanently inaccessible. If someone forms a core, they can never develop a crystal. And if they form a crystal, the mage's path is forever closed."
"This is because both structures emit energy constantly, but in different ways. If they coexist in the same body, their emissions interfere, creating unstable resonances. The result: overload, mana explosion, or chaotic inflection that destroys the user from within."
Lavitz read a few more paragraphs: chronicles of old battles, notes on mana flow through the nervous system, breathing techniques to stabilize energy flow in the body.
As he flipped the pages, life around him continued.
A child laughed, chasing a frog with a stick. Someone whistled by the riverbank. Another shouted about catching a fish. The river's sound mixed with murmurs of those sharing bread and fear alike.
Lavitz was carefully turning another page when he sensed a presence behind him.
It wasn't a loud sound. Just that feeling of being watched. He slowly turned his head.
A girl stood a few steps away, half-hidden among the low oak branches. She had dark hair braided on the sides and a ragged dress barely covering her knees. She looked at him with curiosity and a hint of shyness, gently swaying on her bare feet.
"What are you reading?" she asked after a few seconds, her voice barely a whisper.
Lavitz blinked, surprised by her sudden appearance, but answered with a slight smile.
"A book."
"What kind of book?"
He thought for a second.
"A book of stories."
She took a step closer.
"What kind of stories?"
Lavitz closed the book partially and looked at her calmly.
"Stories about little girls."
Her eyes widened.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Can you tell me one?"
Lavitz smiled more warmly and motioned for her to come closer. She hesitated, then walked to him and sat on the exposed root, hugging her knees, expectant.
He put the book away and cleared his throat.
"There once was a girl who always wore a red cloak with a hood. Everyone called her Little Red Riding Hood…"
His voice flowed gently between the murmur of the river and the creaking branches. The girl listened intently, eyes wide, hands resting on the ground, barely breathing. She giggled when the grandmother confused the wolf, frowned during the tense moments, and nearly clapped when the hunter appeared.
When he finished, Lavitz stared in silence at the gray horizon beyond the trees.
"And you?" he asked softly. "Where are your parents?"
The girl's smile slowly faded. She looked down, playing with a small stone near her foot.
"They died two winters ago," she said quietly. "There was a nasty flu in the village. Many got sick. They… didn't make it."
Lavitz said nothing. He just looked at her with respect.
"Since then, the village chief takes care of me… and the others too. A little bit each. Miss Thalia lets me sleep at her house when it's cold. And sometimes they give me bread even if it's not my turn. They're good people."
Lavitz nodded slowly.
The girl looked up at him.
"Did you lose yours too?"
He hesitated. But didn't lie.
"Yes."
She looked at him in silence, as if understanding something that couldn't be spoken aloud.
Then she stood up and brushed the dust from her dress.
"Thanks for the story."
"Anytime," Lavitz replied.
And the girl, with a small smile, ran toward the others, who were already rising to continue the journey.
Lavitz remained alone, the book closed on his lap and a strange warmth in his chest.
In a world where everything seemed to break, there were still moments like this.