Daniel lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as silence swallowed the house. The walls felt too small. His skin buzzed with something he couldn't explain — restlessness, pressure, like the world itself was breathing against him.
He sat up.
I just need air. Just… a little air.
He moved quietly, careful not to wake Aunt Maren. Every floorboard felt like thunder, but he made it to the door. He eased the wooden latch open, slow… slower…
Creak—
He froze.
No movement inside. No voice calling him back.
Daniel slipped outside, exhaling shakily. He didn't see the figure in the shadows of the hallway — Aunt Maren, arms folded, eyes glowing faintly with ancient awareness.
"Go then," she whispered to herself.
"Some paths must be taken alone."
She disappeared into darkness.
Daniel hurried down the silent village path, hugging the cool night air. Fireflies drifted lazily through the mist. The moon hung full and pale — watching.
He thought he'd be alone.
Until he saw her.
Leah stood by the old well near the training fields, clutching a small clay bowl to her chest. She startled when she turned and saw him.
"Daniel?" she whispered, blinking. "What are you doing out here?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Couldn't sleep. And you?"
She glanced at the bowl, embarrassed.
"It's… something my mom does. A blessing bowl."
She lifted it slightly — inside were tiny flower petals floating on water.
"When someone you care about is struggling, you offer prayers to the moon for them."
Daniel's chest tightened with a strange warmth.
"For your mom?" he asked softly.
She hesitated. "For me. And maybe… for someone else too."
She placed the bowl gently at the base of the well, whispering words too soft to catch. When she turned back, her face was calmer, but faint sadness lingered like a bruise.
Daniel sat on the well's edge.
"You believe the moon listens?"
Leah shrugged. "Hope listens. And sometimes… that's enough."
They stood there together, the quiet between them deep, comforting. Crickets hummed. A night breeze curled around them, carrying the scent of damp earth and wildflowers.
Leah looked at him, eyes reflecting moonlight.
"You seem different lately. Like something's pulling you forward and you don't know why."
He swallowed. "Do I?"
"You do." She smiled, soft but real. "It's not bad. Just… mysterious."
A beat of silence.
Leah stepped a little closer — not touching him, just close enough that he could feel her presence. Their shoulders almost brushed.
Her voice dropped.
"Sometimes I feel like the world is changing, and we're the only ones who can feel it."
His heartbeat stumbled.
"I feel it too."
Their eyes held.
A breath shared.
The world paused — a fragile, trembling moment where anything could happen.
Then—
A cracking branch.
A shift in the shadows.
Leah stiffened.
"Did you hear—"
Something yanked her violently into the trees.
Her scream tore the night apart.
"LEAH!"
Daniel didn't hesitate. Instinct surged — not cosmic power, just raw, sharpened life-force, every nerve singing with primal warning.
His vision sharpened to gold sparks at the edges. The world slowed. His body moved before his mind could follow.
Branches snapped under his feet as he sprinted into the dark, heart roaring, eyes burning with something ancient and terrifying.
The hunt had begun.