The two golden-eyed children emerged from the cavern into the pale, oppressive light of the twin moons hanging in the sky. The air was heavy, thick with the unmistakable metallic scent of blood. But instead of slowing them down, it only pushed them to run faster.

After a few seconds of sprinting away from the cave, Oswin, the sharp-eyed boy with golden irises, briefly wrinkled his nose.

"Gloria, I smell blood," he said, his voice low but steady. Since childhood, his heightened sense of smell had been a source of fascination and respect. It was an innate trait of the Dracknum bloodline, but even among his kin, his sensitivity was exceptional.

Gloria, the girl with a focused expression and impeccably kept hair, tightened her grip on the pendant resting against her chest. Her mind quickly tied Oswin’s observation back to the scene they had left behind.

"That boy..." she murmured, a faint trace of hesitation creeping into her voice.

Oswin exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disbelief.

"He was just a nobody from a collateral branch," he remarked indifferently, his tone cutting and almost cruel. His golden eyes gleamed coldly under the crimson glow of the blood moon.

"Hilda—yes, her loss matters. She could use basic magic. Him? Just a fool who would’ve died either way."

Gloria shot him a quick glance but remained silent. Her fingers still clutched the pendant tightly, as if searching for reassurance.

The scent of blood in the air seemed to intensify, another unwelcome reminder to keep moving.

They ran with all their strength, their steps swift and deliberate. But for a fleeting moment, Gloria glanced over her shoulder, back toward the cavern. A sense of something lost, something unsaid, weighed heavily on her.

"Maybe..." she started, but the words dissolved before she could finish.

Oswin, catching her hesitation, raised an eyebrow.

"Come on, Gloria. There’s no time for regrets."

She nodded, though the unease inside her refused to settle.

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An hour earlier, on the other side of the forest:

"Child," the white wolf’s voice resonated in my mind, firm and commanding. But this time, there was something I rarely heard in her tone—nervousness.

"Something is coming."

I swallowed hard, feeling a shiver run down my spine. "I already know that, even if you didn’t say it," I replied, my voice steadier than I actually felt.

My eyes, uncovered despite the blindfold draped around my neck, turned toward the sky where the ominous Blood Moon loomed beside its pale companion. At first, I hadn’t recognized the significance of what I was seeing, but as I calmed my racing thoughts, the pieces started falling into place.

‘The Blood Moon…’

My mind flooded with memories of the texts and stories Alexander had spent his life studying. Five centuries ago, during the Dracknum family’s zenith, something catastrophic had unfolded. After the eradication of pureblooded magical beasts, the family faced a new threat that endangered the entire world: the Demon Dimension.

The Demon Forest, one of the gateways between dimensions, had become a battleground. Demons and their twisted beasts found ways to escape their personal hells and bleed into our reality through that passage. The Dracknums, wielding their unparalleled knowledge and power, had sealed some of the rifts to prevent the demons from wreaking havoc in our world.

But even with the seal, the threat had never been fully eradicated.

"Child," the white wolf continued, pulling me from my thoughts. "That moon..."

I knew what she was about to say, and it made my stomach drop. The air around me felt thick and tense, as though the forest itself was holding its breath.

The Blood Moon, with its deep crimson glow, was an ominous harbinger—a phenomenon that signified the weakening of the barriers between dimensions. Whenever it appeared, things stirred in the shadows, things that hungered to cross over.

Demons, like malignant phantoms, were preparing to breach our reality, bringing chaos in their wake. But it wasn’t only the demons that needed to be feared.

Under the demonic influence of the Blood Moon, beasts and monsters—especially those whose essence was already tainted with demon blood—became even more dangerous. They transformed into unrelenting storms of fury, driven by an instinct for blind destruction.

Because of the seal, certain parts of the Black Forest had been declared completely off-limits, isolated for one simple reason: those areas were close to the barriers holding the Demon Forest at bay. Even with the seals still intact, remnants of demonic magic lingered in the environment, making the land dangerously unstable.

And now, with the phenomenon of the Blood Moon, what had once been mere speculation was confirmed: the seal—or at least one of its layers—had been breached. The Demon Forest, on the other side, was beginning to stir, answering the moon’s ominous call.

I felt my body tremble—not from fear, but from a strange mix of apprehension and adrenaline. The wind, ever-present, carried the scent of damp earth and crushed leaves, grounding me in the gravity of the moment.

"Hey…" I started, my voice hoarse and unsteady, my thoughts colliding as I tried to make sense of it all. My throat felt parched, as if every word I forced out scraped against it.

"If the seal is broken…"

She interrupted me with an authority so absolute that the trees around us seemed to bow in deference to her will. Her voice, usually soft, now bore the weight of immense concern, though her stance remained unwavering.

“Do not let fear consume you, child,” she said, her words ringing with a strength that snapped me back to reality.

“You still have a role to play. Don’t think about what could happen—focus on what must be done right now.”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts as I looked at her. Her words were like a flame igniting within me, illuminating the path forward. The wind, now howling with more intensity, seemed to transform into a distant warning, a reminder that time was slipping away.

“And what must be done now?” I asked, my expression serious as I held the pup tightly in my hands.

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Her response was as sharp and clear as a blade’s edge. “It’s simple. We run.”

The white wolf’s voice echoed in my mind, cutting through any lingering hesitation. Without another word, Dr. Wolf crouched low, her muscular body coiled and ready, as if silently inviting me to climb on. I didn’t hesitate, clutching the pup more firmly, its warm, fragile body pressed against my palms.

In one fluid motion, I mounted her back.

Dr. Wolf let out a powerful howl, a sound that resonated through the forest like a command. Almost immediately, the call was answered by the other wolves, their voices rising in unison, a synchronized symphony of readiness. Each movement they made seemed deliberate, every step perfectly aligned with the pack’s rhythm.

And then, without another word, with the pup in my arms, I mounted on Dr.Wolf and we ran.

The speed with which Dr. Wolf surged forward was breathtaking, stealing the air from my lungs and forcing my body to adapt to his pace.

‘Why am I so unlucky?’ I thought bitterly as the pack tore through the dense forest, the world around us blurring into shadows and streaks of light.

The trees and vegetation around us blurred into streaks of green and shadow as we sped through the forest, our footsteps echoing like the relentless beat of a drum. The wind whipped against my face, sharp and biting, while the pounding rhythm of the wolves’ paws against the earth wove a haunting melody that filled the air.

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At the border between the Black Forest and the Demon Forest, Darius stood with his arms crossed, his crimson eyes glinting with irritation as he stared down at the boy kneeling before the natural barrier. His impatience was palpable, the faint glow from the barrier casting flickering light over his sharp features. Beside him, Warwick appeared far less perturbed, his relaxed stance contrasting with Darius’s barely contained frustration.

The boy—his black hair tousled, golden eyes wide with tension—was kneeling on the ground, clutching an ancient scroll glowing faintly with arcane inscriptions. His whole body trembled, beads of sweat trickling down his pale face, leaving streaks in the grime smeared across his skin. His unkempt, dirtied clothes betrayed his frazzled state, as if the weight of his task was grinding him down.

“How much longer are you going to take, boy?!” Darius growled, his voice low and dangerous, carrying the kind of threat that could twist one’s stomach into knots.

The boy swallowed hard, his throat dry, and stammered out a weak response. “It’ll… it’ll take at least… at least another hour.”

His voice barely rose above a whisper, cracking under the strain of the menacing presence looming behind him. He didn’t dare lift his gaze to meet the fiery glare of Darius or the cold, assessing eyes of Warwick. Instead, he kept his focus locked on the scroll and the barrier before him, his hands trembling as they traced the glowing runes etched into the brittle parchment.

The barrier itself was an ominous sight—dense trees twisted together with thick vines, knotted and gnarled around jagged rocks that seemed almost alive. As the boy worked, the barrier began to shift, groaning in resistance. The ancient trees creaked and bent, forming cracks and narrow openings, revealing slivers of the world beyond.

What lay on the other side was nightmarish. A sky stained crimson loomed over barren, blood-red earth, dissected by bubbling rivers of black, tar-like liquid that pulsed unnaturally, as if it were alive. Gnarled, twisted trees with grotesque, face-like carvings in their bark seemed to leer at them, their empty, hollow eyes filled with silent malice. It was a glimpse into another world—a hellish domain that no sane man would willingly step into.

The boy’s breath hitched as his gaze flickered to the other side of the barrier, his instincts urging him to look away. The oppressive atmosphere clawed at his resolve, threatening to crush him under its weight. He bit down hard on his lower lip, the sharp pain grounding him as his fingers fumbled with the scroll’s delicate edges.

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the terror creeping into his mind—the suffocating dread of failure, the heavy stares of the men behind him, and the suffocating presence of the malevolent world beyond the barrier. But the task demanded his focus, and no amount of fear could be allowed to stop him. Still, the trembling of his hands betrayed the fragility of his composure, and the clock was ticking.

‘I’m a noble, a noble,’ the boy repeated to himself like a desperate mantra. ‘If only I had passed the judgment that year…’

He shook his head quickly, trying to push away the dark thoughts. ‘Damn it, even if I had passed, what guarantee was there that I wouldn’t have been discarded? I was always... disposable.’

“That’s too much time!” Darius barked, yanking the boy out of his spiraling thoughts. His voice cracked like a whip in the heavy silence.

“In one hour, the Dracknum reinforcements will be here.”

Warwick, however, remained unfazed. A low chuckle rumbled from him, dripping with disdain.

“More fun for us,” he remarked, stretching his arms as if preparing for a show. His jet-black eyes gleamed in the dim light, a predatory grin curling across his broad, rugged face.

The boy shuddered at Warwick’s words. The threat embedded in his tone made the boy hasten his movements, though his mind was a chaotic swirl of fear and regret. The barrier continued to weaken, each crack spreading like a harbinger of the chaos to come.

Darius turned to Warwick, his expression skeptical. “Fun? Don’t be stupid, Warwick. The Dracknum won’t send recruits—they’ll send veterans.”

Warwick shrugged, completely unconcerned.

“Recruits or veterans, it makes no difference. They all bleed the same.” He smirked, his arrogance practically radiating off him.

“Besides, why does it bother you so much? Don’t tell me you’re afraid?”

“Afraid? Me?” Darius snapped, his voice filled with indignation. “Not even in my worst nightmares!” He narrowed his crimson eyes, his tone turning sharp.

“Warwick, let me remind you again: what part of *professional discretion* do you not understand?”

As the two exchanged barbs, the boy remained focused on his task, though his hands trembled—not just from exhaustion, but from the mounting fear clawing at him. The scroll felt impossibly heavy in his grip, and the oppressive, nauseating energy seeping through the cracks in the barrier made it even harder to concentrate.

‘Why me?’ he thought, struggling to block out the sickly, acrid smell escaping from the barrier.

‘Why did my brother send me here? He knew this was suicide.’

He allowed himself one last bitter thought before forcing his focus back onto the glowing inscriptions.

‘If I survive this… if I get what’s mine by right… I’ll make him pay.’ His golden eyes gleamed with newfound resolve, a flicker of rebellion burning in their depths.

Meanwhile, the barrier continued to part, revealing more of the hellish landscape beyond. The jagged crimson skies stretched further into view, and the grotesque, twisted trees seemed to lean closer, their etched faces grinning in silent malice.

And then there were the shadows—those fleeting, unnatural movements beyond the barrier. They weren’t trees. They weren’t tricks of the mind.

Something was there, watching, waiting.

And time was running out.

Crunch-crunch.

The sound of dried leaves being crushed echoed through the shadowy forest. It was subtle, yet enough to set Warwick and Darius on edge, their sharp ears catching the disturbance immediately.

Clap-clap.

The crunching was followed by the deliberate sound of slow applause, like someone savoring a theatrical performance. The two men froze, their argument forgotten as the tension thickened in the air.

“Quiet! Someone’s coming!” Darius hissed, spinning around to face the direction of the sound.

Warwick narrowed his eyes, his instincts kicking into high alert. “How did we not notice them earlier?” he muttered, his tone low and edged with suspicion, his gaze scanning the dark treeline.

The boy clutching the scroll swallowed hard, his concentration wavering as a chill crept over him. The presence approaching from the shadows made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Each step seemed to echo louder in his ears, and his trembling hands betrayed the growing panic he was fighting to suppress.

The rhythmic sounds came from the direction of the Black Forest—steady, unhurried, as if whoever was approaching held no fear of what awaited them. The slow, mocking applause continued, each clap punctuating the deliberate footsteps.

Then, a voice cut through the silence. It was smooth, polite even, but tinged with an unsettling condescension that made it impossible to ignore:

"You’ve truly caused a plethora of confusion, haven’t you?"