Vex and Tomas were nowhere to be seen.
Those two had gotten up earlier, holding hushed conversations with their master before vanishing into the woods. Marcus didn't ask. He never did.
Now, he sat cross-legged near the dying fire, fingers brushing his chin as if he were mulling over a chess move only he could see.
It wasn't unusual. Marcus always paired his men. Their master didn't like anyone under his banner going solo—at least, not unless they were Silas.
"Basically, we're not here to hunt." Silas's voice was low, dry. "You noticed the boss left a few easy kills behind?"
That thought had been gnawing at him. Why pass on such clean prey? Was it a show? Or was hauling bloody carcasses through this forest just too much of a hassle?
Unlike the woods in Silas's region, the Willow Forest didn't play by mortal rules. Some of the creatures here didn't even have flesh. They whispered, shimmered, and vanished.
That's where the magic cores came in—one of the few things that could harm spirit-flesh.
"The boss didn't come to hunt," Silas muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "He came to teach that spoiled brat the wild's language."
"Did you see how cute he looked?" Andre chuckled from the other side of the flame, "Slicing those critters like a baby soldier."
Silas frowned.
At first, Andre had been against the idea. Eliot was the prince, not Marcus's blood. But after learning what the boy really was—some half-beast, half-man creature—he changed his tune.
Now Andre was eager. Eager to see what such a mixture could become.
"For someone not from this region, you're gonna have a hard time." Andre leaned over and nudged Silas's arm.
Silas barely reacted. "What do you mean?"
"No animals live here." Andre said it almost too casually. "This path we took today—it's different."
From under his coat, Andre pulled a second rifle—sleeker, heavier. His name was carved onto its barrel, along with a variant of the Willow Household sigil. Modified. Altered.
"We came here to test this babe right here." Andre smirked, running his fingers along the polished metal. His face crinkled with restrained delight.
"You gave those crystals to the kid—what happens when the ghosts show up?"
Silas blinked. "What ghosts?"
But Andre offered no reply.
Something was off.
Silas glanced at the forest. The trees stood too still. Even the insects—gone quiet.
A wind brushed past, yet not a single leaf rustled.
Even Eliot, who had been grumbling about mosquitoes earlier, now sat nearby, clutching his wrist. "Stupid bloodsuckers," the boy hissed, smacking his arm. He punched the ground, childish frustration echoing too loud.
Marcus calmly reached out, waving off the bugs around him with practiced grace. "Stay still. They go for your sweat, not your blood."
But the moment felt off.
Too quiet.
The air was thick.
Then—drip.
A warm liquid landed beside Silas's boot.
Another drop—onto his shoulder. Hot. Sluggish.
He looked up.
The tree trunks... were moving.
"...Andre?"
No answer.
Andre casually inserted a magic core into the socket on his rifle. Still calm. Too calm.
The trunks moved again—closer now. Bent. Shifted.
Not trees.
Legs.
Something massive towered above them. Something they hadn't noticed because they hadn't dared look too high.
And now, something thick and foul-smelling was slowly dripping from its mouth.
Saliva.
Something is up there.
It had always been there. Watching.
Silas's throat tightened. The fire crackled once, then hissed as something unseen blew it out.
Darkness.
Silas swallowed dryly. His tongue felt heavy.
The fire crackled once, then hissed like steam.
He glanced sideways—Eliot sat nearby, swatting at something in the air.
"Mosquitoes," the boy muttered. Then he groaned, slapping his arm. "Stupid bloodsuckers."
He scratched harder, then suddenly punched the ground. His tiny outburst echoed too sharply in the dense silence.
Marcus glanced at him but said nothing. He waved away the insects from around them, fluid and calm.
"Stillness helps," he murmured. "They feed on your sweat, not your blood."
But something had changed.
The cicadas were gone. So were the birds. Even the wind had gone still.
Silas felt it.
That pressure. That breathless, holding feeling—like the forest had taken a single, long inhale and refused to let it out.
Then—drip.
A hot, thick droplet landed near his boot.
Another—on his shoulder.
He turned slowly. The tree trunks…
We're moving.
"...Andre?" he rasped. Couldn't that guy see what he had just seen? Or trying to act cool? It's not cool if a trunk tree begins to move, besides he's not taking any weird things to hallucinate.
Andre stayed calm, but truthly he was sweating. He knew something was off, because he could see Eliot was stuttering behind Silas.
He was tightening a knob on his rifle. Locking the core in place.
The trunks swayed.
Bent. Shifted.
They weren't trees.
Long. Thick. Covered in skin like moss and bark and old leather.
Something was standing there, still as death—and yet its presence roared. A few leaves with dust flew over.
More saliva dropped beside him. Burning. Acidic."arghh! Silas tries to brush it off.
"sh-"Andre told him to stop.
Something was looking down. Watching.
Silas couldn't breathe. His hand hovered near his hip—yet he brought no rifle. Just a blade. Useless.
The thing above pulsed with a presence that felt older than rot.
Somewhere behind him, a firefly lit and died.
A flicker.
A heartbeat.
Then—
Even Eliot, usually fidgeting or talking to himself, had grown oddly quiet. The boy had been muttering about bites earlier, scratching at his arms.
Now he just sat, his eyes half-lidded, lips curled in a sleepy pout.
Then—
Drip.
A warm glob landed near Silas's right foot.
Another followed—onto his shoulder. It slid, sticky and reeking like old meat and mushrooms left in the rain.
He recoiled, eyes rising—too fast.
And there it was.
Not a tree.
Not bark.
Not trunk.
Not wood.
Legs,
A vast, muscled limb, covered in moss-like flesh. Silent. Breathless.
Silas's heart stopped beating for a full second.
Then it pounded so loud he was sure the others could hear it.
He kept looking. He couldn't help it.
His head tilted up.
That was the mistake.
Few leaves, brittle with age, fluttered from above. Dust swept past them, rising in tiny spirals, catching the fire's last breath before it fizzled out. The flapping of ash and dirt stung their faces, clinging to sweat-slicked skin and lashes.
Eliot, stunned, sat frozen—his eyes wide but unmoving. His mouth slightly parted. The boy didn't even twitch.
Marcus, still as stone, studied him carefully from across the pitiful remnants of their fire. He wasn't looking at the sky—he was watching the boy's reaction.
Andre had stopped to glance at Silas.
But Silas—he wasn't looking at any of them.
He was looking up.
That was all he did.
Head slowly tilted. Eyes locked. Muscles stiff.
Like a man caught mid-sentence by something sacred or terrible.
A thick string of saliva unfurled from the air above, landing in a wet slap near Silas's boot. Another drop followed, sliding slow and thick along his shoulder before hissing softly into the dirt.
"Argh—!" Silas hissed, recoiling instinctively, brushing his arm.
"Shh." Andre didn't look at him. "Don't. Move. It will be over if it doesn't noticed us"
"Trust me," Andre said because he and Marcus encountered it once, when they were teenagers, around twenty years ago, and the memories about it weren't that good.
The silence had a shape now. Heavy. Pounding. Like a heartbeat draped over the whole forest.
Even the earth felt like it was listening.
Eliot still hadn't moved.
The boy's chest rose and fell shallowly, the way it does when someone's trying not to cry—or scream.
Andre's eyes didn't lift, but he was watching Silas with growing tension.
And Silas…
He wasn't blinking.
What was once mistaken for trunks were shifting. Breathing.
A column of flesh—not bark—twitched just above him, glistening under specks of moonlight.
The fire flickered once more, then gave its final sigh.
Darkness, now.
Complete.
No. Not the sky.
A face.
Not one made for human eyes. Mouth agape, leaking thick ropes of translucent saliva, which dropped slowly from an unseen height.
Its body merged with the trees, as if it had grown from them. Or they from it.
Silas stumbled back. "What the hell—"
Andre stood and snapped his fingers.
"Down!" Andre was losing his patience. One small mistake this giant on top of them would either stomp them to death? picking the one by one and just gobbled them up. He or Marcus would have fired the gun, it they could aim the target.
But it was too late.
Silas had looked.
The thing had seen him.
"shit!" Silas cursed.