"And that's it for now, kids!" the grown man yelled, slamming the book shut.
The children, still buzzing from the story, groaned in protest. One of them, wide-eyed and trembling with curiosity, asked,
"Are these stories real?"
The old man's eyes glinted mysteriously in the dim lamplight. He leaned back, letting the silence stretch before replying,
"No one knows. Legend says this book is over 5,000 years old."
He straightened, his voice softening.
"We'll continue the story tomorrow. Go to bed, kids… tomorrow will be a long day."
Excited, the children darted toward their rooms, leaping over beds and bumping into each other with laughter.
Eventually, they settled down, lying close together on the floor.
The night was quiet. Only the wind whispered through the branches outside, making shadows dance across the walls.
But something felt… wrong.
Suddenly, a choking smell of smoke filled the house. The old man's head shot up, eyes widening. Through the window, the village was in flames. Screams pierced the night as Hollows tore through the streets, devouring anyone in their path.
He grabbed his sword, shaking the children awake.
"Come on! Out of the house, now!"
They fled into the chaos, dodging burning debris. Sparks rained around them as the fire consumed homes, and the guttural growls of the Hollows echoed behind them.
They ran into the forest, branches clawing at their clothes and skin.
Then, out of the darkness, a hound-shaped Hollow leapt from the shadows and snatched one of the children. The grown man swung his sword, but the child was already infected—his body twisting, eyes glowing with unnatural hunger.
The survivors pushed forward, hearts hammering, adrenaline fueling their escape.
"Run straight! Don't look back!" the man shouted, his voice raw and desperate.
The children scattered, weaving between trees, leaving the screams and snapping branches behind. But the man wasn't fast enough—he was surrounded, the hounds tearing into him as he fought valiantly.
One child remained frozen, unable to move, paralyzed by terror. He watched in horror as their old man, Darren, was devoured before his eyes.
The hounds' glowing eyes fell upon him. One stepped forward, snarling, every muscle taut and ready to strike.
Jean stumbled, heart pounding in his chest.
"Go away! Go away!" he screamed, throwing dust from the forest floor at the creature, hoping to scare it off.
The hound lunged—but in a sudden, desperate act, Jaro swung his sword with all his remaining strength, decapitating the creature. The other hounds sank their teeth into him, but his final act saved Jean.
"Jean! Run! Follow your siblings! Get to the nearest city!" Jaro shouted, gritting his teeth against the pain. His body finally gave out, collapsing to the ground, motionless.
Jean scrambled to his feet, every instinct screaming at him to flee. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, branches tearing at his clothes and skin. His mind was a blur of terror and grief—he didn't dare look back. He just ran, sobbing uncontrollably, tears mixing with the dirt and sweat on his face.
The forest seemed endless, shadows stretching like claws, but Jean ran on, carrying with him the echo of his old man's final command.
To be continued…