Before I go anywhere, I need more information. A man who acts before he knows the lay of the land is a man who ends up dead. Though I was once a King’s man, I have lived as a sellsword long enough to know that preparation is everything.

Preperation in advance has kept me alive just as much as my spear has.

Greyhaven’s barracks sits squat and heavy near the northern edge of town. It’s an old stone building, patched and reinforced with timber where the years have worn it down.

Unlike the rest of Greyhaven, it has the air of something meant to endure. The wooden palisade surrounding it is damp and splintering, but still standing. A handful of guards loiter near the entrance, their armor mismatched and well-worn.

These aren’t city soldiers, just men who learned to fight through necessity, not training.

I step through the gates, my boots scuffing against the dirt-packed ground.

A few guards glance my way, but they don’t stop me. That tells me enough, they’re either understaffed or don’t consider a single armed man much of a threat.

Inside, the barracks smells of sweat, oil, and damp wool.

A long hall stretches ahead, lined with weapon racks and cots shoved against the walls. A few men sit on benches near a table, sharpening short knives and playing at dice. They glance up as I enter, measuring me with their eyes.

One of them, a broad-shouldered man with close-cropped hair and a notched sword at his hip, stands.

"You lost, stranger?" His voice is rough.

"Not lost," I say. "Just looking for information."

His looks down at my spear, then back to my face. "You'd be better off asking around the tavern."

"Just came from there." I reach into my belt pouch, pulling out a silver piece and setting it on the table. "I pay for what I take, and if this goes well, it won't be the last time."

The men exchange glances, then the broad-shouldered one sits back down. "Ask your questions."

I take a seat across from them, resting my spear against my leg. "Tell me about the missing boy. And the livestock. Anything else strange?"

A wiry man with a scar running from his temple to his chin leans forward, rubbing at his stubbled jaw. "Started about two weeks back. First, just a few goats, then a cow, then a whole pen of pigs from one of the old one's farm. Thought it was just wolves at first, but, decided against it."

He shakes his head. "No tracks. No sign of how they got in or out."

"And the boy?" I ask.

The broad-shouldered man, who I’m starting to think is in charge, frowns.

"Keagan. Eight years old. Went missing four nights ago. His father swears he heard something in the fields that night, something breathing heavy, something big. But no one saw a damn thing."

"No tracks for that either?"

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"None. Like the earth swallowed him whole."

Animals leave tracks. Men leave tracks. The only things that don’t are things that shouldn’t exist.

Monsters, not beasts.

"And what have you done about it?" I ask.

The man scowls. "What do you think? We’ve been riding patrols, keeping watch. But we can’t guard every farm, every night. People are scared. Hell, I’d be lying if I said my own men weren’t."

"Has anyone else been attacked"

The scarred man shakes his head. "Maybe, but nobody else is saying anything. Whatever’s out there, it doesn’t leave witnesses."

I sit back, considering. Something is hunting the outskirts of Greyhaven, something that moves without sound, kills without warning.

"What do you think it is?" I ask, watching their faces.

The broad-shouldered man exhales sharply through his nose. "Some say demons. Others say a cursed beast. I say I don’t know, and that makes it worse."

A silence falls over the table. Outside, the wind howls, rattling against the wooden walls.

I break the quiet. "If I take this job, I won’t do it blind. I need a guide, someone who knows the land well."

The scarred man grins, though there’s no humor in it. "We all know the land. Doesn’t mean we want to walk out to our deaths."

"I don’t need volunteers," I say. "I need a tracker. Someone who can move quiet, someone who’s seen the farms up close."

The broad-shouldered man drums his fingers against the table, thinking. Finally, he nods. "Hale. Best we’ve got. He’ll take you as far as the edge of the fields."

"Good." I stand, taking the silver piece back before they can think twice about it. "Then I leave at dawn."

They don’t stop me as I go. Outside, the air is colder, the sky dark with thick clouds.

Something has come to Greyhaven before me, I need more research.

Cold wind howls through Greyhaven’s streets, moving through the gaps between wooden slats and under doors.

The streets empty quickly, frontier folk know better than to linger in darkness.

I find a secluded spot near an old storefront, where a newly lit lantern casts just enough light to work by.

I take a slow breath, and settle myself against on a bench.

From the inner pocket of my cloak, I pull out a flask.

It is old, older than me, and smooth from years of handling. The silver glows faintly under the moonlight, the engraved crest nearly worn away.

An artifact, one of the few things I kept from my past. A gift from a fallen prince, a man I once swore to follow until death.

I unscrew the cap and take a slow swallow. The liquid is warm, burning in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol. It is enchanted, never empty. A relic of a life I buried.

I tuck it away, rolling my shoulders to shake off the ghosts, then kneel in the flickering lantern glow. From my pack, I pull free an old leather-bound tome, The Bestiary.

The cover is scarred, darkened with age and use. The pages inside are magic, blank until spoken to.

I bring it close to my mouth and speak.

“No sound. No tracks. What leaves no sign but takes in the night?”

The ink stirs, swirling across the page.

One word at a time, one shape after another. Three pages blacken as if burned, then fill with lines of curling text and rough illustrations.

I scan the first page.

The Spidrae

A spider-demon, the creature's face splits into four parts, revealing rows of needle-teeth and spinnerets that produce a paralyzing silk. It does not walk in the way beasts do. Instead, it crawls on long legs that leaves no tracks. It spins no webs, for it has no need, an ambush hunter, its victims are taken in silence, wrapped in layers of spider's silk, suffocated before they know they are dying. It's victims are killed quickly, the bones powder fine, as if years of decay happened in mere hours..

I take a deep breath. A possibility.

I turn to the next page.

The Solmae.

A will-o'-wisp, but worse, malice bound into living light.

It drifts in the dark, moving between trees like a lost lantern, but its light carries whispers, the voices of those it has taken and those close to the ones it wishes to take, calling for help, begging loved ones to come closer. The warmth feels like home, like safety, like everything a lost traveler craves. But the moment they step too close, the Solmae's true form emerges, a core of darkness wrapped in burning light. Those it takes don't die quickly. They burn from within, until nothing remains.

I grimace. A harder thing to fight. Not impossible, but worse than a beast of fang and claw.

The third page flickers to life, but the name does not come immediately. It forms slowly, as if uncertain. I lean in, watching as the words take shape.

???

The ink blots, then drips, like something trying to form and failing. I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all.

I close the book and exhale, letting the night settle around me.

Two answers, maybe three. None of them good.

I take another pull from my flask, letting the warmth settle in my gut.

Tomorrow, I hunt.