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Nox had failed.

He had promised his uncle that he would bring Turo back safely. But he had failed miserably. What would he tell him now? That his long-awaited son was dead? How could the old man bear such news?

Turo’s weightless body rested on Nox’s shoulder, his lifeless hands brushing against Nox’s sides as if mocking his grief. The boy felt feather-light now, his frame shriveled, as though whatever had taken his life had also drained the substance from his flesh. Tears pooled in Nox’s eyes. He swallowed hard, sniffing, and wiped his face with the crook of his elbow. He wished, desperately, for a way to undo this—to bring Turo back, to trade his own life if it meant sparing his cousin. But none of that was possible.

He didn’t even know what had happened. What could have happened? He had heard Turo scream and sprinted toward the sound, panic guiding his every step. When he found him lying there—still, crumpled, drained—he couldn’t believe it. For a long moment, he had just stared, convinced his eyes were lying to him. Then he tried to shake Turo awake, calling his name, pleading, even shouting.

But Turo didn’t move.

No animal attack could explain the shriveled state of his body. No wound, no predator. Whatever had done this was beyond Nox’s understanding. But none of it mattered now. Turo was dead, and no answers could change that.

Nox walked through the forest, his steps aimless. Branches brushed against his shoulders, thorns scraped his skin, but he didn’t care. Each step felt heavier than the last, though Turo’s body was so light it might have been a bundle of dried leaves. The strain wasn’t in his muscles—it was in his heart, in the burden of his failure.

“You shouldn’t have gone like this,” Nox muttered under his breath. His voice was thick and cracking with grief. “You should’ve stayed at the campsite.” He pressed his spear into the ground, heaving himself forward. The texture of Turo’s lifeless skin against his own felt like a blade scraping against him, raw and unbearable.

“What will I tell your father, you fool?” His voice rose, trembling with anger and sorrow. Tears spilled from his eyes. He wiped them away quickly, though it didn’t matter. His vision blurred anyway. “What were you thinking? The fence was there to keep you safe!” He sniffed hard, rubbing his arm across his face, but the tears kept coming.

He clutched Turo’s lifeless frame tighter, his pace slowing as his legs burned. The ache in his body was almost welcome—he hoped it would drown out the grief gnawing at him. But it didn’t. It only deepened it.

Every step felt futile, every thought led him back to the same questions. Why did you leave? Why didn’t you listen? Why did this happen? He clenched his jaw, swallowing back another wave of sobs.

Turo had always followed him, ever since they were children. Wherever Nox went, Turo wasn’t far behind. But now, Turo wasn’t following—Nox was carrying him, his body hollow and cold.

He didn’t know where he was going anymore. The forest stretched endlessly before him, each tree blending into the next. He just walked, his mind spiraling into the same thoughts, his heart weighed down by guilt and sorrow.

And then he saw it—a faint yellow glow behind the mass of trees and branches. So dim it seemed it might vanish if he blinked. Yet, despite the grief and despair, Nox felt drawn to it. A new, heavier dread began to coil in his chest, tightening with each step he took.

He tried to ignore it. He pressed forward and emerged into what appeared to be a clearing. No—not quite a clearing. The overgrown grass and bushes hinted that it might once have been open, but time had reclaimed the space. Around its edges, stubbed trees stood unevenly, their truncated trunks sprouting new massive growth. Something about it was unsettling. Nox scanned the area and realized what felt wrong—this wasn’t natural. Someone had cut these trees long ago, hastily and crudely, to force the clearing to be larger.

Who would do this? Nox wondered, his pulse quickening. And why here, in this part of the forest?

His unease only deepened when his eyes landed on the structure at the center. It was made of stone, weathered and crumbling, battered by the elements and the relentless growth of greenery creeping into its cracks. It loomed in the suffocating darkness, its silhouette ominous yet faintly illuminated. The glow. That faint yellow light was seeping out from within, flickering like the flame of a lantern.

Was someone inside?

The dread in his chest surged as Nox moved closer. He could almost hear his instincts screaming at him to turn back, but he pushed on. Whatever lay ahead, it couldn’t be worse than what he had already endured—could it?

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The entrance to the structure was low, partially blocked by a fallen stone beam that had once been part of the ceiling. Nox hesitated. He couldn’t enter while carrying Turo on his shoulder; the body would hit the beam, and it felt too disrespectful to risk jarring it. He set Turo down on the damp grass, guilt prickling at him as if even laying the body on the ground was an offense to his cousin’s memory.

But curiosity outweighed hesitation.

He ducked beneath the beam and stepped into the structure.

The moment he straightened, he wished he hadn’t.

It was Samora.

Her naked body lay sprawled in the dirt, bloody and bruised, her flesh torn in places. Her lifeless eyes stared directly at him, wide and empty, locking onto his very soul. Her fingers were splintered, mangled, as though she’d tried to claw her way out of something—or into it.

But her abdomen.

Nox’s breath caught in his throat as he stared.

Her abdomen was shredded. Torn wide open, her innards spilling out in grotesque chaos, a mixture of blood and dirt and viscera. It was horrific, inhuman—a sight so gruesome it struck something primal in him, shaking even his warrior’s resolve.

He gagged, a bitter, acrid taste rising in his throat. His body reacted faster than his mind; he clamped his hand over his mouth and stumbled out of the structure, barely making it past the threshold before vomiting violently.

The sickening splash echoed in the silence, but the sound turned to something horrific as he realized what had happened.

He had vomited on Turo.

The bile and fluids had splattered across Turo’s lifeless body, defiling it in a way that sent a fresh wave of nausea and shame through Nox. He staggered back, his mind reeling.

What have I done?

His knees buckled. He collapsed to the ground beside Turo, choking on his sobs, his body heaving as he cried. His hands trembled, his face crumpled under the weight of everything he’d seen and done.

He had failed Turo. He had failed Samora.

He sat cross-legged on the forest floor, grief pouring out in uncontrollable wails. He clutched at his chest, as if he could physically hold himself together while his soul was being ripped apart.

“What was that?” he whispered through clenched teeth, his voice breaking. “What the fuck was that?”

And then he remembered.

The baby.

Samora’s baby.

Nox froze, his breath caught in his throat. He didn’t remember seeing a baby beside Samora—or did he? His mind raced, but no sound, no cry, no trace came to him. Where could the baby have gone? It didn’t make sense, none of it did. Grief clouded his thoughts, dulling his senses further, making him feel as though he was forgetting something crucial. Something obvious.

Then it hit him. The gaping hole in Samora’s belly.

A thought—absurd yet monstrous—crossed his mind.

Could it have been the baby? Could it have clawed its way out of Samora’s body?

Was it possible… that it had killed Turo?

The back of his neck prickled. A creeping, cold sensation crawled over his skin as though unseen eyes were watching him, waiting for the moment to pounce. His fingers instinctively tightened around the spear he had left beside Turo. Grabbing it, he turned sharply, his posture defensive, his breath quick and shallow. The stone structure loomed silently in front of him, the faint yellow glow of the lantern flickering inside.

Maybe the monster is still in there.

Nox inhaled shakily, steeling himself. He wouldn’t let it escape. Not after what it had done to Turo and Samora. Not after it had destroyed his family. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped toward the entrance.

But his steps faltered.

Earlier, he had entered without knowing what lay inside. Now, he knew. And the sight was burned into his memory, impossible to forget even with his eyes closed.

Still, he pushed forward.

The spear trembled slightly in his grip, but his resolve hardened with every step. As he ducked under the fallen stone beam and entered the structure again, he forced himself not to look at Samora. But his resolve betrayed him. His eyes drifted to her torn, bloodied body despite his efforts. Her lifeless eyes stared at him as if accusing him, asking why he hadn’t come earlier to save her.

Guilt twisted like a knife in his chest, but he forced himself to focus.

The monster.

He had to find it. He scanned every nook and shadowed corner of the small structure with the lantern’s faint glow. His breath echoed in the silence, but nothing moved. There was no one. Just him and Samora’s broken corpse.

The silence was deafening. It pressed against him, suffocating, as though the world itself had died.

If the monster isn’t here… then where is it?

A sudden realization struck him like a blow. Without pausing to think, Nox sprinted out of the structure and into the forest.

His comrades were still out there.

What if the monster had gone after them?

He couldn’t bear it. Losing Turo and Samora was already more than he could handle. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—lose anyone else.

The forest blurred around him as he ran, but it wasn’t long before panic set in. He was running in circles, disoriented and aimless. The trees all looked the same. Frustration boiled over. He punched a nearby trunk, the bark scraping his knuckles, and stomped hard against the ground. But no amount of fury would guide him.

Exhaustion crept in. His feet ached, muscles burning with every step. Just as he was about to give up, he noticed something: a branch hanging partially snapped, still clinging to the tree. His heart leapt. It was his trail—his marker to find his way back to camp.

He thanked the gods under his breath and began to follow the broken branches, his steps quickening.

Relief swelled in his chest as he approached the campsite, but it shattered the moment he saw what lay before him.

The fence.

The fence he had built to keep Turo and Dias safe—it had been torn apart.

Bhola and Khotal stood at the edge of the wreckage, their faces pale, their hands wringing with unease.

Nox’s heart sank. His throat tightened as he swallowed the rising dread.

He forced himself forward, stepping past the remnants of the torn fence. His eyes darted toward the centre, even though he already knew the answer.

Dias was gone.