Chaos swallowed Asdras in an inky void, rendering him sightless and deaf. He was unaware of Second's frantic efforts to aid Fifth, who lay on a rickety table, his body eerily still as if already claimed by serenity.

Fifth’s heart beat in sync with the sword’s iron hum, as if the blade were an extension of his own weary pulse. He opened his eyes and grunted, a gesture of gratitude; his dream of escaping his physical and mental cage was coming true.

Once a prosperous merchant, Fifth had roamed far and wide, navigating between villages and bustling cities, his pockets jingling with coin and his mind brimming with tales and experiences.

His eyes had beheld the vastness of the world, its myriad cultures, and unending beauty. He had tasted the women of the north and despised the gossips of the east. His belly had felt warmth in the west, but he cherished the stew from Ravenwood the most.

His wealth had afforded him choices, but it also made him vulnerable to the watchful eyes of the law and local rulers, extracting a heavy toll.

Encountering bandits, creatures, and dreadful nights was part of his journey, but when he arrived in Ravenwood to spend the summer, he realized that everything he had achieved was an illusion — a mental escape from the hellish nightmare he now faced.

He attempted to buy his freedom, yet no amount of money could save him. For the first time, he understood that his wealth was powerless against absolute power. He tried to run, but his legs failed him; when he chose to stay and fight, he lost everything.

Life, in its fairness, did not take his life early to spare his suffering. Instead, it kept him in this state for years. He felt that he had taken much from life, yet the taxes he paid each year to the empire paled in comparison to his suffering.

With his remaining strength, Fifth's gaze sought Asdras's face. In that fleeting moment, he vowed silently that, were he able, he would reward the trembling youth with enough gold to ensure he never had to wield a sword again, allowing him to live the peaceful life of a retired merchant.

Second grasped Asdras’s shoulders, his hands trembling. His lips parted, quivering with unspoken words that seemed ready to burst forth, yet he remained silent, his eyes conveying a desperate plea for understanding.

He couldn't express himself to Asdras. He felt that, with time, he would become a better person and learn to understand himself and others. It was what his father had expected from him, despite ignoring him for most of his life. As if trying to redeem a sliver of kinship, his father schemed for Second to become Ravenwood's leader.

Second never aspired to leadership; his heart yearned for the solace of study and the pursuit of knowledge. Fascinated by the world's creatures, he dreamed of becoming a biologist, traveling with hunters to study every species he encountered.

Whenever he was free, he sketched and daydreamed about it. Upon becoming Ravenwood's leader, his only solace was his crow. Since his love for animals was greater than his love for humans, he dismissed any thoughts of rebelling against his father's scheme, just to avoid harming his crow or any other crow in the village.

At about twenty-five, he was established as their chief. Well-studied, articulate, and possessing an energetic aura, he attracted the villagers' whispers and good mornings.

However, Second's nature was different; it was only his public mask. Alone, he was an introvert who enjoyed silence and his imagination. He thought he would be like that forever, with only his crow understanding him.

When he met the daring woman who seemed to relish invading his private space, Second felt a mix of exasperation and intrigue. Her persistent presence gnawed at his solitude, yet he found himself unwillingly drawn to her.

Days turned into months, and her presence changed with it. She enjoyed tagging along with him in silence, observing the leaves, the animals, and some of the creatures they found and tamed in the wild.

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He grew to cherish her companionship, and their union soon welcomed a child. In his prime, his mood lifted, and word spread of his effective leadership.

Yet, he thought that no matter how good a leader he was, he couldn’t help as much as he wanted when tragedy struck. He tried every other way to fight against the creature.

He despaired, blaming himself for his incompetence. Reflecting on his dream of becoming a biologist, it now seemed as distant as his childhood.

His only hope lay in the group sent to seek help from the city, which included his wife and child. He wished for their happiness and a better life, despite knowing how broken he was. Thoughts consumed him: ‘Are they okay? Are they eating well? Do they miss me? Are they trying to help us? Are they even alive?’

These thoughts gnawed at him, but his burning desire for revenge kept him together. He revived his weathered notepad, meticulously recording the creature’s rank, tier, and characteristics according to academy protocol, each note a step closer to understanding his nemesis. Despite his efforts, nothing worked.

Months turned into years, and his hope faded, his desire for revenge turning to dust scattered in the wild. Then, as if in answer to his prayers, Asdras appeared.

Skeptical, he thought it a cruel joke — a mockery of his failure as a leader. The notion that a young teenager could succeed where he had not seemed an insult. Yet, a spark of hope to destroy the beast persisted, fueled by the message the boy carried.

It was both a trial for the boy and for himself. The dream of every biologist was to help a hunter dominate a beast, and fate offered him a chance to realize that dream.

Reading his notepad repeatedly, he found the only way forward. It demanded much of him, but it was nothing compared to what Asdras would need to endure to slay the creature.

Tears streamed down his face as he looked at Asdras. A complex mix of relief and anger, emptiness and accomplishment, washed over him. He believed Asdras would not fail; the monster would be slain, even if he wouldn't witness it.

“Please,” he said, gripping Asdras’s shoulders firmly. “Live for us. Kill that thing and survive. You must live!”

Asdras felt as if a thunderbolt struck his veins, his vision turbulent, his head nodding uncontrollably. He could no longer feel Second's presence. He stood trembling until his knees gave out, collapsing to the ground with enough force to crack the earth. His sword burned with energy, but his hands were numb.

It felt like a mirror shattering into countless fragments, each shard reflecting a distorted piece of their faces.

He felt disconnected, navigating a maze of self-blame and self-doubt. The will to reclaim what was lost became torturous, deepening his wounds. His lost gaze struggled to turn, fearing what he might find, yet he found nothing but dust scattering.

Fate seemed to pity his efforts, sparing him from witnessing their bodies. A glaring flame skittered across his skin like a spectral dancer, casting surreal shadows of doubt and hope.

He watched as his body walked toward the rotten trees surrounding the campsite, using an unnatural force to cut them open.

He thought he heard a soft sigh, like someone learning their beloved was safe. But the distortions of reality clashed in his spinning vision like thunder.

He moved mechanically, thinking only a minute had passed since he saw Second, yet the day darkened and night became day. Sometimes, he found himself playing the lute Sixth had left for him, ignoring the note and playing from memory.

He wished for peace, to free himself from his mental cage, but it didn’t work that way.

Other times, he set the traps Second had designed, wood beams with ropes organized in a maze. He tried to eat the fresh bread Third had made, but it tasted foul, and his stomach turned. Training with his sword, his movements were erratic, resulting in cuts on his skin.

None of this brought physical pain. His body was stronger, yet numb to pain. But his mind and emotions deepened in turmoil.

Only when he heard heavy chains clashing against the ground did he find himself free from his trance. Seeing the creature, a burning desire to kill it sparked within him, like a raging forest fire.

Gripping his sword tightly, his feet planted firmly, he nearly cut his veins from the pressure. He let out a primal yell that made the creature pause, recognizing a potential enemy, almost understanding fear.

“COME!”