──────────────⋆˖☽ ​𝐀 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰 ☾˖⋆──────────────

The last lingering ghosts of Stonehollow had long been swallowed by the forest. Ahead, the path dissolved into a tangled tapestry of root and shadow. A damp weight pressed down, the air growing thick with the earthy promise of a storm. My eyes, honed by necessity, traced the soft indentations in the dirt. I paused, every sense straining against the unnatural quiet of the woods. Nothing. My gaze snagged on a flicker of white beneath a fern—the impossibly fluffy tail of a Puff Whisp, twitching in its sleep.

“A peace I’ll never know,” I murmured, the words a wisp of breath in the heavy air.

I knelt, my fingers hovering over a track. It was fresh. Larger than a man’s, the print was a splayed declaration of power, punctuated by the deep gouges of three massive claws. A Skulking. No, not one. I lifted my gaze and saw the trail—a brutal scar carved into the earth, leading straight for Verdelith.

My pace had been reckless. I forced myself to slow, to breathe, to become part of the forest’s looming dread. A trap would be nearby—a deadfall, a snare—but betting on a trap against a full pack was suicide. Skulkings always hunt in fives. Luring one was possible; luring five into a single snare was impossible. To face even two on the ground was to invite dismemberment.

No. The trees were my only ally. They cannot climb.

I moved toward the nearest ancient oak, its bark a rough, familiar map under my palm. A nearby Chitterwing let out a nervous trill, and I froze, letting the sound fade before beginning my ascent. I climbed with a fluid, practiced economy, until I found a sturdy branch that offered both cover and a commanding view. As I settled, the wind sighed through the canopy, carrying the first cold needles of the storm. The rain was here. The tracks would soon be a memory.

I became a shadow among shadows, moving through the high branches with a silence that defied the rustling leaves. Below, the forest floor began to bleed into a smear of damp green, the claw marks melting into the mud. 

The drizzle became a downpour, its relentless drumming a counter-rhythm to the distant roar of the river. A foul smell drifted between the trees. A stench of rot and old fear. They were close. They wouldn’t risk the current.

Then I saw it. Not a shimmer, but a wrongness. Twenty feet away, the texture of an oak trunk seemed to ripple, its bark flowing like water for a split second. Their camouflage is never perfect. A grim smile touched my lips.

My bow was a seamless extension of my arm. The arrow nocked itself, the string drawn taut in a single, fluid motion that was more instinct than thought. I held my breath against the storm, exhaled, and released.

An inhuman shriek tore through the rain-soaked air, a sound of pure agony. The arrow hadn’t killed it, but it had shattered its illusion. The creature burst into view, no larger than a child but infinitely more monstrous. Four arms, each tipped with five hooked claws, were thrown wide. Piercing yellow eyes burned with frantic hate, and a maw of needle-like fangs opened to shriek again.

My second arrow was already nocked. I aimed for the space between those hateful eyes, and let it fly. The shriek cut off with a wet choke. The creature crumpled, its lifeblood a black stain on the forest floor. As it fell, the air beside it wavered. My third arrow found its mark before the second Skulking had fully materialized, a silent death to join its kin.

Two more shimmered into existence over the bodies of the fallen. They moved in perfect, horrific unison, opening their mouths to unleash a deafening, sonic screech that vibrated through the wood of my perch. Flocks of Chitterwings erupted from the canopy, their panicked cries lost in the din.

By the moons, I winced.

The two survivors swiveled their heads, their yellow eyes scanning the branches. An arrow was already waiting. I loosed it at the one on the left. It struck the creature mid-screech, and it toppled backward, claws outstretched as if to rake the sky.

The last one locked onto my position instantly. It didn’t hesitate. It charged, a blur of unnatural speed, straight for the base of my tree. I nocked and fired in a heartbeat. It threw up an arm in a desperate, reflexive block. The arrow punched straight through its hand, pinning the limb to its own shoulder. The creature’s scream was different this time—raw, furious pain. Its yellow eyes burned into me, a promise of a savage death.

I took one final, steadying breath. My last shot. It sank into the creature’s throat. The fury in its eyes guttered and died, replaced by a vacant glaze. It collapsed onto the soft, damp grass, silent.

Four.

The sudden quiet was more jarring than their screams. Rain drummed on the leaves, the river roared in the distance, but the clearing was a tomb. Where was the fifth? They always traveled in five. I scanned every shadow, every bush. Was it stalking me? Waiting for me to descend? A distant attack was not their way. It had to be close. My gaze dropped to the ground directly below my perch.

The mud rippled, not from the rain, but from something shifting beneath.

Got you.

My arrow was already nocked. A flick of my wrist, a silent release straight down. The earth erupted, and the fifth Skulking was sprawled on the ground, dead before it could utter a sound.

I slid down the slick trunk, landing softly in a spray of mud. Slinging my bow over my shoulder, I drew the heavy dagger from my thigh. This was the part I hated. With a practiced, detached efficiency, I set to the grim work of skinning them. The hides were valuable—worth two baskets of food if the traders in Verdelith felt honest. The acrid stench of musk and decay clung to me as I worked, rolling the five slick hides into a tight, heavy bundle. I secured it with rope from my pack, fashioning a crude handle.

At the riverbank, I knelt in the muck and plunged my hands into the churning, icy water. The grime and blood washed away, leaving my skin raw and clean. I stared down at my reflection, a distorted shadow in the current. And in that shadow, two points of crimson light stared back. My eyes.

Elisheva’s voice echoed in my memory. “Beautiful.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, the memory a sudden, sharp pain. She was the only one. To everyone else, they were a brand. To me, they were the proof of my curse.

Shaking the thought away like water, I gripped the coarse rope handle. I didn’t have time for ghosts. I hauled the heavy bundle over the small wooden bridge, my boots tapping a hollow rhythm on the planks. As I walked, the downpour finally eased to a drizzle.

Ahead, two figures emerged from the mist. A young couple, holding hands, their clothes soaked but their faces lit with a warmth that had nothing to do with the weather. I instinctively pulled the cowl of my cloak lower, sinking my face into its shadows. As I passed them, their quiet laughter was a language I couldn’t speak. My thoughts drifted to Sierus—the way his face flushed when he was flustered. He was the closest I had to a friend, yet even with him, I kept a wall. A necessary distance.

The path began to steepen, climbing toward the town. I will always be alone, the thought surfaced, familiar and sharp as a shard of glass. It’s for the best. 

From the crest of the hill, Verdelith spread out below, a fortress of stone and smoke. Chimney plumes spiraled like pale ghosts against the bruised-purple sky. Along the top of the formidable walls, the silhouettes of guards marched their endless patrol. I am almost there.

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𝓓𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓪𝓭𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓼𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓭𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓼. 𝓐𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽!