Aziz was bruised, battered, and exhausted. He dared not move, fearing the masked men would strike him again. The wooden cart jolted and shook as it traversed the rugged terrain of the woods, every bump sending fresh waves of agony through his frail frame. Why were they doing this? No one knew. Children had been disappearing from the village for months, taken one by one in the dead of night. He should have known better than to listen to his friends. The image of Mal’s head rolling across the grass played over and over in his mind, life snuffed out in an instant.

I’m a coward, Aziz thought bitterly.

He hadn’t even been able to scream when it happened; the shock had stolen his voice. He and Mal had thought they were brave, foolish enough to believe they could find the others. Now Mal was dead, and Aziz would be next.

If only I had listened to Mother.

Regret and fear washed over him in waves, mingling with the pain from the ropes cutting into his wrists. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his body trembling uncontrollably. In such a situation, what child could do anything but cry?

“Please… let me live. I’m sorry. I’ll never enter the woods again…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His mother would kill him if she knew. Would she ever know?

A sudden blow to the side of his head silenced him. Doubt no longer lingered; these men were the culprits behind the disappearances. When he and Mal had first crossed the boundary into the woods, everything had happened so fast. Shadows had circled them like wolves closing in on their prey. Dark spectres, too quick to see, like the martial artists Aziz had watched in Moyo, a city in the east. Their speed had been terrifying, their strength even more so. Such men never came to their small village on the Kingdom of Umbra's outskirts, far from any major cities.

“How much further, Deka?” a gruff voice asked, breaking the silence from somewhere above where Aziz lay in the cart.

“Not much longer, Captain Penta,” a second voice replied, his tone suggesting youth.

Shivering in the cold night air, Aziz could do nothing but listen to the horses' soft snorting as they trotted along, pulling the cart deeper into the forbidden Wangliang Woods. Only now did Aziz understand why the village elders had warned them away from this place. Ignoring their wisdom had been his downfall. How he wished he could take back all the times he had called those old men fools.

The cart eventually came to a stop. Aziz let out a shaky breath, his ribs aching where they had been kicked. He wasn’t sure if they were broken, but the pain was excruciating. More tears welled up, his bottom lip quivering in fear. If he cried again, they might beat him once more.

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“Please, sirs. What do you want from me? My family is poor; you won’t get much from them,” Aziz spluttered, his voice trembling. A hand gripped his collar, dragging him off the cart as he desperately tried to stay on. Cold metal pressed against his back, and he froze.

“Move again, and you die, boy.”

Aziz nodded slowly, his blindfold soaked with tears. Someone shoved him from behind, pushing him forward. Fallen sticks snapped underfoot as the man called Captain guided Aziz through the trees, a firm hand on his back. He couldn’t hear the footsteps of his captors; they moved like the wind, troubling not even a leaf on the ground.

Who were they?

Suddenly, the blindfold was lifted from his eyes. He blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim surroundings. He was still in the woods, the moon and stars high in the sky, their cold light shining down on him. The crescent shape of the moon reflected in his eyes, a silent witness to the nightmare unfolding. Aziz’s voice trembled with worry as he prayed to any god that would hear him. The village elders had taught about Nanna, the god of the moon. But here Aziz was, under Nanna’s gaze, and it seemed the god didn’t care for a weakling like him.

He was shoved again, this time into a clearing. The wind rushed across the short blades of grass, and Aziz shivered as his tattered clothes did little to protect him from the cold. The space was open, the trees forming a perfect circle around a square hole in the center. Just the sight of it filled Aziz with dread so profound that not even the hole could contain it. When another shove came, he dug his heels into the ground, his heart pounding like the hooves of a galloping horse.

“Please! I haven’t done anything! I’m sorry! I’ll never enter the woods again!” he screamed as a man grabbed him by the bindings on his arms, lifting him off the ground and hauling him toward the hole.

“No! No! No! I beg you!” His throat was raw from screaming, but he cried out again, hoping someone, anyone, would hear.

He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there. Others like the man cloaked in black, shadows watching his death unfold. Why? Why do this?

Before he could say another word, Aziz’s eyes widened in shock. The words died in his throat as he felt himself being thrown into the hole. The bindings on his arms were cut, and for a moment, he hung in the air, the wind rushing past him as he plummeted downward. The moon’s sorrowful gaze followed him, the fast winds shaking the branches as if waving goodbye. Howls of wild wolves echoed through the trees, a mournful chorus of farewell.

Above, five figures stood in a circle, their faces masked, their plain black robes blending into the night. They looked down at him, their expressions hidden, but their intentions clear. This was his end. Aziz couldn’t speak; it was pointless. He could see it in their eyes. They would not let him go.

He watched helplessly as the hole above him was covered, the last sliver of light disappearing as the earth swallowed him whole.

“Mama, I’m sorry,” Aziz whispered, his body racked with pain, unable to move.

The light was gone, leaving nothing in its absence.