“He’s been asking the villagers about the rumors of the creature.”

  “And they will fill his head with terrors.” She folded her arms gently and replied, “Ah, Divan, rumors do tend to grow wild here. Sometimes, the truth is hidden beneath layers of fear and myth.” With a soft laugh and a dismissive shake of her head, Maria continued, “Legends are born from half-truths and shadows. What we need to focus on is what we can mend, not what we can’t grasp.”

  “Maria, I don’t understand. You’re talking as if there is no danger here, only myth and rumor, when you know yourself it is not true.”

  She didn’t answer him, just continued her work.

  After a moment of silence filled only by the market’s ambient hum, Divan’s tone grew more hesitant. “And Lila, is she coming to the market today?” His gaze drifted to the medallion resting against his chest. As he mentioned her name, it warmed against his skin and began pulsing. He wasn’t sure but wondered if that was a sign she was in danger.

  Maria’s expression softened. “She’s out in the forest gathering the herbs for our remedies. She has a gift, and the forest speaks to her in its language, revealing the rarest plants only hidden among its depths.”

  “You sent her out into the forest alone?”

  “The sun is high. She will be fine.”

  At these words, the medallion again warmed noticeably, its surface pulsating with a gentle vibration. Divan’s eyes widened, and he murmured to himself, “My medallion, it’s reacting.”

  Unable to shake his concern or the pull to protect Lila, Divan asked, “Do you mind if I go help her?”

  A smile crept across Maria’s face, her eyes twinkling with both understanding and a hint of mystery. “No, I don’t mind at all.”

  With that, Divan gathered his satchel and set off from the booth, the medallion’s subtle thrum guiding his steps as he disappeared into the throng of marketgoers, bound for the forest, hoping whatever dread he was feeling was nothing more than his concerns for her.

  The conversations between Joren and Maria were just bizarre. Has living in terror for so many years caused people to lose their grasp of reality?

  ***

  Lila had ventured deep into the forest, focused on gathering herbs for her remedies. She reached a large bush overflowing with ripe elderberries, and a feeling of delight washed over her. These berries were perfect for all kinds of ailments, and the syrup was especially potent for weak lungs. But as she plucked the juicy fruits, a low and menacing growl reverberated through the air, causing her to freeze in fear.

  Her eyes widened as she looked up to see a massive brown bear emerging from the shadows behind the elderberry bush, its piercing gaze fixed upon her. Lila’s heart raced with panic as she realized she had unknowingly trespassed into the bear’s territory and taken its prized berries. Paralyzed and terrified, she could hardly move, thinking about the others that were found half-eaten in the forest.

  As the bear rose onto its hind legs with a powerful roar, sending shivers down her spine, Lila felt bile rise in her throat. Every instinct urged her to run, but her body refused to move. Finally, with one swift motion, she dropped the berries and turned to flee, her blood pumping through her veins swiftly.

  But before she was more than a few steps away, the bear charged after her with ferocious speed. Lila’s heart pounded in her chest as she heard the thundering sound of its paws hitting the forest floor behind her. Her breath came out in quick gasps as she stumbled through the undergrowth, branches scraping at her skin. The ground shook beneath her feet as the bear growled louder and louder, closing in on her.

  Lila let out a blood-curdling scream and forced herself to run faster, pushing past every physical limitation.

  With the angry bear hot on her heels, Lila braced herself for a vicious attack. Suddenly, a dark, shadowy figure burst from the trees. A monstrous wolf with eyes glowing like hellfire lurched at the bear with speed and strength that caught it off guard. The two beasts engaged in a brutal battle, teeth and claws tearing at each other in a primal frenzy.

  Frozen in terror and awe, Lila watched as the wolf, though smaller, moved with supernatural speed and precision. The bear swiped wildly, but the wolf deftly dodged and counterattacked, its snarls echoing through the forest.

  After an intense struggle, the wolf landed a final, powerful bite on the bear’s throat. With a roar of defeat, the bear retreated deep into the safety of the trees.

  Lila stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest as the massive wolf turned its gaze from the retreating bear to her. The glowing eyes seemed to see right through her, and she could feel her soul being laid bare before him. The wolf, larger and more fearsome than any other wolf she has ever encountered, padded slowly towards her with an eerie gracefulness that showed its immense power.

  Every fiber of Lila’s being wanted to scream as she frantically scanned her surroundings for an escape route. Was this the Umbrawolf that Divan told her of? Her heart raced, and her legs shook. There was no escape. The wolf stood only inches away, its massive form towering over her. Its piercing eyes locked into hers.

  Lila squeezed her eyes shut, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as she braced herself for the end. Her body tense, every nerve screaming in anticipation of teeth sinking into her flesh.

  But the attack never came.

  Instead, she heard a rustle of leaves, a shift in the air.

  Then, a voice, low, steady, and familiar, spoke to her. “Lila.”

  Her eyes flew open.

  The great black wolf was gone. In its place stood Divan, his eyes filled with worry, his chest rising and falling with exertion. For a heartbeat, her mind refused to understand what she was seeing. Then, she jumped into his arms. A sob broke from her lips as she clung to him, her body still trembling from the terror of the chase. Divan held her tightly, pressing her against him, his hand smoothing over her hair.

  “It was me,” he murmured, his lips brushing her temple. “You’re safe.”

  Lila’s arm wrapped around him, her breath hot against his neck. She understood now.

  “It was you,” she whispered.

  He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. His thumb brushed away a stray tear on her cheek. “Yes. I would never hurt you.” Divan kissed her softly, his lips lingering, reassuring. “Everything is all right.”

  She exhaled shakily, nodding again.

  Still holding her, he glanced at the basket of scattered herbs on the ground. “Let’s finish what you came here for.”

  Lila hesitated, still shaken, but his presence grounded her. Slowly, she let him help her gather the herbs, his steady hands guiding hers as they worked. Her fingers trembled, but he never left her side.

  By the time they finished and reached the cottage, Lila was exhausted. Divan guided her inside, his touch careful and gentle, as though he feared she might break. Maria was gone, still at the market; they were alone in the quiet warmth of the house.

  Lila sank into a chair as Divan busied himself preparing a concoction for her nerves. The scent of herbs filled the space, calming, grounding.

  “Drink this,” he said at last, handing her the steaming cup.

  She took a small sip, her hands still shaking.

  Divan watched her, concerned. “You’re still frightened.”

  She met his gaze. “I wasn’t just afraid of the bear.”

  He nodded once, understanding.

  When she finished the tea, he took the cup from her, setting it aside before gathering her in his arms.

  Lila melted against him, her head resting against his chest as he held her close. “I’ve never been so afraid,” she admitted softly.

  Divan tilted her chin up, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “And I’ve never been so afraid as when I saw you running for your life.”

  Her breath hitched.

  “The thought of losing you . . .” He exhaled, pressing a kiss to her forehead, his grip tightening. “I can’t bear it.”

  Lila looked up at him, eyes shining.

  He lowered his head, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss, one that spoke of everything he felt, everything he had not yet said aloud.

  She kissed him back, her body pressing into his warmth.

  For the first time since the attack, her fear began to fade. Here, in his arms, she was safe. As they sat together in the quiet of the dimly lit cottage, Lila’s fingers toyed with the medallion at her throat, her mind still spinning.

  Maria would ask questions when she returned. Lila knew that. But what could she tell her?

  She looked up at Divan, finding the same thought mirrored in his eyes.

  “We won’t tell her,” he said finally, his voice low but firm.

  Lila hesitated, but deep down, she knew he was right. Maria carried too many burdens already. This would only add to them.

  She nodded. “No, we won’t.”

  Chapter 19

  There are some among them who know. They remember the night the house of Drakovar fell. I would like to believe it is mercy that stays their hand. Or pity. But the truth is simpler: fear. The beast knows it, too. The beast has not destroyed them yet. Not because it cannot. But because it waits. Waits for the perfect night, the perfect weakness, the moment when their terror will be sweetest. -from the Journal of Caliban Drakovar

  The small shop was dimly lit, but the sun came through the many windows that lined the back of the store. Shelves were filled with hardware, grains, produce, and anything a villager would want or need. Divan stood near the counter, his brow furrowed as he listened to Ishtak, the old man’s voice low and clipped with tension.

  “You need to be careful, Divan.”

  Divan tilted his head, watching the old man with quiet curiosity. Ishtak was not a man prone to fear, but there was something in his tone that unsettled him.

  “Careful of what?”

  Ishtak leaned in, his weathered hands tightening on the wooden counter.

  “Of him.”

  Divan didn’t need to ask who.

  Before he could reply, the door creaked open, the brass bell above it jingling lightly.

  Divan turned his head just as Caliban stepped inside, his usual easy charm in place, his coat dusted with the crisp evening air. His eyes flicked between the two men, noting the closeness of their conversation, the guarded look in Ishtak’s eyes.

  Something in his posture shifted, just slightly. But then, he smiled. “Good evening, gentlemen.” Divan couldn’t help but notice he looked around the shop as if searching for something. Despite his easy manner, he was disturbed.

  Divan watched him carefully, but Ishtak barely acknowledged him, his face twisting into a look of distaste.

  Caliban’s gaze lingered on him, assessing, waiting. “Something wrong, Ishtak?”

  Ishtak’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled into his palm, knuckles white. “You have no business here.”

  Divan’s brows lifted slightly, surprised by the bluntness of the words.

  Caliban, however, chuckled softly, shaking his head as if he were merely humoring the outburst of a senile man. “Now, that’s not very welcoming.” He spread his hands as if in mock surrender. “What did I do to earn such hostility?”

  Ishtak’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What do you want?”

  Divan turned fully to the old man now, frowning. Ishtak had always been sharp-tongued, but this? This was different.

  Caliban sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “I need some of those beeswax candles you sell.”

  Ishtak said nothing and gathered several of the candles he wanted and wrapped them up in brown paper, and tied them with twine. He grunted and complained and mumbled under his breath the entire time.

  Caliban put money on the counter, and Ishtak gave him his change.

  His eyes flicked to Divan, studying his expression before giving a slow smirk. “Senility must be setting in.” He let the words hang in the air, then with a careless shrug, but then slightly his eyes narrowed, and he continued looking around the shop. Then he turned toward the door. As he reached it, he glanced back one last time.

  Ishtak had not moved, his eyes still burning with something deeper than dislike, something close to hatred.

  Caliban’s smirk widened, but there was a flicker of something colder in his gaze. “Good night, gentlemen.”

  Then, he was gone.

  Divan exhaled slowly, turning back to Ishtak. “What was that about?”

  Ishtak didn’t answer at first. He just stared at the door, his fingers tightening on the counter. Then, finally, “Nothing you’ll want to hear, but as I was telling you, the man is dangerous, and you should mind yourself to be very careful of him.”

  “I would think Ishtak, you would be kinder to him lest you want whatever danger you fear from him to become a reality.”

  ***

  That night, the Prevalie was silent, except for the scratch of Ishtak’s quill against parchment as he tallied his inventory. The candlelight flickered over his notes. The fire in the small stove had burned low, leaving only embers to warm the space. The hour was late, too late for anyone to be outside.

  After a while, he heard it. A deep, ragged breath, slow, measured, and close. Ishtak’s quill stilled. His heart did not race. He was not a man who gave in to fear, but a sinking certainty settled into his bones.

  He turned his head slowly toward the window. A massive shadow moved past the glass, too large for a man, too heavy for a wolf. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. “So, it’s finally come for me.”

  He had his suspicions after the encounter with Caliban earlier, but he had expected this thing to stay hidden until the full moon. Yet here it was, choosing him as its next prey.

  Ishtak rose from his chair, his movements deliberate. He did not panic, he did not run, nor did he call for help. Instead, he worked. He grabbed several glass bottles from the shelf, his fingers moving swiftly as he uncorked them. He walked steadily around the shop gathering lamp oil, rags, and a long candle.

  “You may kill me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice like steel, “but I will not make it easy for you.”

  He filled the bottle with grain alcohol, then soaked the rags in the lamp oil, stuffing them into the bottles.

  Outside, the breathing grew heavier. Then, the first creak of wood before a clawed hand scraped against the door.

  The barricaded door exploded inward. Wood splintered, shelves collapsed, and glass shattered as the creature barreled through the entrance, breaking the barricade like it was made of paper.

  The candlelight sputtered violently, casting jagged shadows as the hulking form loomed in the ruined doorway. The creature was massive, its body a shifting silhouette against the darkness, but its eyes burned like smoldering embers, locking onto Ishtak with an unnatural, predatory intensity. A deep, guttural growl rumbled from its chest, thick with something beyond hunger, something ancient, something monstrous. This . . . thing was neither man nor beast, but a wretched hybrid, a creation born of nightmare, trembling on the edge of losing itself completely. The creature lunged at Ishtak, but he moved first. Grabbing the candle from the table, he lit the first firebomb and threw it. The bottle shattered against the creature’s chest, igniting instantly. Flames crawled up its fur, licking at its arms, its throat, its shoulders. The creature howled in agony, staggering backward, its claws scraping against burning flesh.

  Ishtak was already lighting the next one. He hurled another, then another. The fire engulfed its back, its side, and one of its legs. The monster screamed, a sound unlike anything human or animal, its body thrashing against the walls, knocking over shelves, and sending tools crashing to the floor.

  Ishtak did not stop; he would not stop. “You are not my master,” he growled under his breath, his face set in grim defiance. Another firebomb hit its side, the flames spreading, charring its flesh.

  Then, to Ishtak’s surprise, just as he believed the creature would run away, it walked through the fire, its flesh already rejuvenated. Ishtak threw another, but the beast lunged and clawed at Ishtak’s arm. He felt the pain like knives ripping his skin, and he fell backward. The beast approached, but Ishtak was not going down yet. He reached and grabbed an iron rod that lay on a shelf near him. He stood and swung as hard as he could and hit the beast against one shoulder.

  To his surprise, the beast howled in agony. Ishtak saw a deep burn on its shoulder where he hit the monster. The burn was not rejuvenating. A burst of hope rushed through him, and he attacked the beast with all his might, hitting and slashing as fast and as hard as he could. The beast continued howling and cringing away from the rod. Then, with a desperate, angry scream, he ran toward the back of the store and ripped out the back doorway and left, running into the forest.

  Ishtak dared not drop the rod, but he collapsed onto the floor. His arm was ripped by the beast’s claws.

  Villagers had heard the screams, and one side of the Prevalie was on fire. “What happened, Ishtak? Was it the beast? Did it attack you? How are you alive?” The questions came in rapid succession.

  All Ishtak could say was, “I don’t know.”

  One man grabbed a bag of salt and poured it on the flames that were blazing against the burning oil that filled the floor in the back of the store.

  The wall wasn’t as bad. They threw some water on it from a bucket of rainwater he had in the back, and the flames went out. The scent of smoke, rot, and scorched flesh was still heavy in the air. The creature was gone, injured, yes, but not dead. If he was lucky, it was lying somewhere far away.

  If not . . . his thoughts turned to Divan. He didn’t hesitate. “Someone get Divan.”

  ***

  “Divan! Wake up!” Divan stirred, then got up, wondering who was pounding on his door. Has the beast been out again, and is there another body found ripped to shreds?