As night fell over the great forest of Lunar, the world shifted beneath the rule of absolute darkness.
The balance of power reversed.
Magic beasts that once dominated the daylight retreated into their dens, unwilling to risk the dangers that lurked in the night. Even creatures as fearsome as the Sabertusks avoided wandering after dusk, wary of crossing paths with predators that ruled the shadows.
High above, perched among the dense canopy, a Death Owl watched.
Its massive body blended seamlessly with the branches, feathers mimicking bark and shadow alike. Only its eyes betrayed its presence—two faint, crimson glimmers that tracked every movement below with cold precision.
Beneath it, a Sabertusk pack rested within their den.
The adults lay close together, their massive forms forming a protective barrier around the younger ones. The cubs, unaware of the danger looming above, shifted restlessly in their sleep.
The owl observed them in silence.
Patient.
Calculating.
Then its gaze settled on one.
A cub, smaller than the rest, had wandered just beyond the safety of the den's entrance.
That was enough.
With a slow, deliberate motion, the owl spread its wings. Their sheer span swallowed the moonlight for an instant, casting a fleeting shadow over the ground below. Its talons—long, curved, and metallic in sheen—caught the faint light as its muscles coiled.
Then it moved.
A single beat of its wings sent it gliding forward, silent as falling snow. There was no sound. No warning. Only death descending from above.
The cub never even noticed.
It turned its head slightly, sensing something too late—
And saw nothing but darkness rushing toward it.
But just before impact, a blur of motion crashed into the owl from the side.
An adult Sabertusk.
It slammed into the predator with full force, sending both bodies tumbling across the snow. The owl twisted mid-fall, wings snapping open as it skidded across the ground, quickly regaining its footing.
It rose, spreading its wings wide in a display of intimidation.
But the moment passed.
The entire pack was awake now.
They stood as one, surrounding the cub, low growls rumbling through the air as dozens of glowing eyes locked onto the intruder. Muscles tensed. Fangs bared.
The owl understood immediately.
This was no longer a hunt.
It was a mistake.
With a sharp motion, it pushed off the ground and took to the air once more, abandoning its prey without hesitation.
Survival came first.
It soared through the night sky, its wings cutting silently through the cold air. For a while, it simply flew—until something caught its attention.
A flicker.
Light.
Smoke rising in the distance.
Fire.
The owl's eyes narrowed.
Humans.
Easy prey.
Its earlier failure still lingered, a bruise to its predatory instinct. It needed to reclaim that dominance, to prove that it still stood at the top of the food chain.
And this…
This was an opportunity it wouldn't miss.
With a sharp turn, it angled its body and descended toward the source.
Faster.
Closer.
Its wings adjusted as it prepared to strike—
Then suddenly—
Impact.
An invisible force slammed into its body mid-flight, crushing its momentum in an instant. The owl's form buckled against the unseen barrier, feathers scattering as it was violently repelled.
It let out a sharp screech, its body tumbling before it managed to regain control, wings beating hard to stabilize itself in the air.
Disoriented, it hovered just beyond the boundary.
Its eyes burned with irritation.
Two failed hunts.
Unacceptable.
But as its gaze sharpened, locking onto the figures beyond the barrier…
Something changed.
It met the eyes of one man.
And in that instant—
A cold shiver ran through its entire body.
This was not the same as before.
Not the Sabertusks.
Not prey.
Something far worse.
Sitting atop a fallen tree trunk, one leg resting over the other, a high elf watched it in silence.
Velnard.
The guild master.
Around him, his crew sat at ease, gathered near a roaring fire, casually preparing and eating the meat of the serpent they had slain earlier. Laughter and conversation drifted through the air, completely at odds with the tension that had just formed.
The owl remained still.
Watching.
Hungry.
But wary.
Velnard's gaze shifted slightly, studying the creature more closely. His eyes traced the structure of its wings, noting the subtle imbalance.
The right wing.
Slightly twisted.
Injured.
He exhaled softly.
"…I see."
Without another word, he rose to his feet and walked back toward the group.
"Hey, Dreuo," he called casually, "mind if I borrow one of those?"
Dreuo glanced up from where he was cleaning his greatsword, still stained with serpent blood. Following Velnard's line of sight, he quickly spotted the owl circling beyond the barrier.
A grin spread across his face.
"You know…" he said, grabbing a large chunk of meat and tossing it toward Velnard, "this isn't the elven forest anymore. You don't have to follow those rules. Honestly, it's a pretty bad habit."
Velnard caught the meat easily, a small smile forming.
"Rules can be ignored," he replied calmly, "but habits are harder to abandon. And if you don't follow your own nature… what's the point of calling yourself human?"
Dreuo let out a short laugh. "You always have a way of making things sound convincing."
Velnard turned, beginning to walk away again.
"Don't take too long," Dreuo added, his tone lighter now. "You'll miss out."
Velnard paused, glancing back.
Dreuo pointed toward a spot near his pack.
Half-buried in snow were several bottles—expensive liquor, carefully chilled by the cold.
Velnard raised an eyebrow.
"You're really going to lecture me about habits?"
Dreuo just laughed. "Hey, these are the real deal. Don't keep them waiting."
Velnard shook his head with a quiet sigh, waving him off as he continued forward.
Before he could take more than a few steps, however, he felt a light tug at his sleeve.
He glanced down.
The masked boy stood beside him, small and silent, his posture hesitant but unwilling to let go.
Velnard studied him for a brief moment, then sighed softly.
"…Stay close."
That was all the permission the boy needed.
His hesitation vanished instantly as he followed at Velnard's side, almost eager despite the tension in the air.
Together, they moved toward the edge of the barrier, where the forest loomed darker and colder.
Behind them, Dreuo slowed his movements, his attention lingering on the two figures as they disappeared into the trees.
His grip tightened slightly around the hilt of his sword.
Something weighed on his mind.
...
As they moved deeper into the forest, darkness wrapped itself around them like a living thing.
The glow of the campfire remained visible in the distance, a faint flicker of warmth against the overwhelming black. In contrast, everything ahead felt colder, heavier, as if the forest itself grew more watchful the further they stepped away from the safety of the group.
The masked boy stayed close, his hand gripping lightly onto Velnard's sleeve as they approached the edge of the barrier.
They came to a stop.
Before them stood a massive wall of condensed magic, faintly shimmering in the darkness. It stretched across their surroundings like an invisible fortress, separating the fragile safety of the camp from the dangers that roamed beyond.
Velnard looked up at it for a moment, his expression calm.
Then, with a small smile, he reached into his coat and drew a dagger.
Mana gathered along its edge.
With a precise motion, he pressed the blade against the barrier and sliced through it. The magic parted cleanly, opening just enough space for passage, its edges rippling like disturbed water.
He held the opening steady and gestured forward.
"Go."
The boy hesitated for only a second before stepping through.
Once he crossed, Velnard followed behind him, releasing the barrier as soon as he passed. The opening sealed instantly, the magic knitting itself back together as if nothing had ever disturbed it.
Now, they stood outside.
A cold gust of wind swept through the trees, carrying with it the scent of frost and something far more primal. The forest felt different out here—alive in a way that was both subtle and suffocating.
Then came the sound.
A heavy shift of air above them.
The Death Owl descended, its massive wings cutting through the darkness before it landed on a nearby tree. Its talons dug into the bark as it lowered itself cautiously, its glowing eyes locked onto the two figures below.
For a moment, it didn't move.
It simply watched.
Measured.
Then, slowly, it dropped from the branch and landed on the ground, keeping its distance as it approached with careful, deliberate steps.
Velnard didn't react.
Instead, he casually tossed the chunk of meat forward.
"Here."
The owl lunged instantly, catching it mid-air with its beak before slamming it down onto the ground. Without hesitation, it tore into the flesh, shredding it apart and devouring it with raw urgency.
It wasn't feeding.
It was starving.
Velnard watched quietly, something faintly resembling pity passing through his gaze as the beast consumed the meat without restraint.
Beside him, the boy slowly reached up and removed his mask.
The face revealed beneath it was unmistakable.
Prince Rudra Leonhart.
His eyes remained fixed on the owl, filled with a mix of curiosity and concern as he turned slightly toward Velnard.
"…Is it hurt?" he asked softly.
Velnard nodded once.
Rudra hesitated, then asked, "Can you fix it? The wing?"
Velnard didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the owl for a brief moment, as if considering something beyond the question itself.
"…I could," he said at last. "But it won't be necessary."
Before Rudra could respond—
A sharp sound cut through the air.
The owl's wing shifted.
Then, with a sudden snap, the twisted joint realigned itself, the bone settling back into place as if guided by an unseen force. The creature flinched once, then spread its wings slightly, testing the movement.
No resistance.
No pain.
It froze for a moment, as if confused by its own recovery.
Then, slowly, it lowered its head toward Velnard.
A gesture.
Not of submission.
But recognition.
Gripping the remaining chunk of meat in its talons, the owl pushed off the ground and soared back into the night sky. Its wings carried it upward, stronger now, as it disappeared toward the tallest tree in the area.
Velnard watched it go with a quiet smile before turning away.
He placed a hand on Rudra's shoulder.
"Put the mask back on," he said calmly. "You can't be seen like this."
Rudra obeyed without question, slipping the mask back into place before following closely beside him as they made their way back toward the barrier.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then—
"Do you think it'll come back?" Rudra asked.
Velnard didn't slow his pace.
"That depends," he replied. "They're apex predators. When injured, their bodies convert food directly into energy for regeneration. It's how they keep up with everything else in this forest."
His gaze shifted slightly, thoughtful.
"But that one is starving. What I gave it will fix the injury… not restore its strength."
Rudra's steps slowed just a little.
"…So you're saying…"
Velnard's voice remained calm, almost indifferent.
"It won't last another day without food."
Silence followed.
The boy lowered his gaze, the weight of that truth settling quietly in his chest.
Velnard noticed.
And inwardly, he let out a small sigh.
Too much kindness.
That was the flaw.
A trait inherited from elven blood, perhaps—but in a place like this, it was nothing more than a vulnerability waiting to be exploited.
Out here, sympathy didn't keep you alive.
...