Ashten did not move.Not a twitch, not a shiver, not a single tremor of muscle betrayed him. He pressed himself deeper beneath the twisted roots of the ancient tree, feeling the damp earth against his cheek, feeling his heartbeat thudding so violently he feared it would shake the ground.
The creature's breathing filled the night.
Slow.Wet.Searching.
The rain softened, tapering into a mist, and without the noise of it the forest seemed impossibly loud — every drip, every distant rustle, every shift of wind through branches felt like a scream. Ashten clenched his jaw and forced himself to breathe shallow, silent breaths. He had learned how to disappear long before monsters walked the earth. He had learned that stillness was sometimes the only shield a child could afford.
The creature stepped closer.
He couldn't see it now — the darkness beneath the roots was too deep — but he felt it. The way the air thickened, the way the stench of rot grew stronger, the way his skin prickled as though a cold tongue traced his spine. Something brushed the roots above him, and Ashten bit down on a gasp so hard that his teeth cut into his lip. The taste of blood filled his mouth.
The creature exhaled — a long, shuddering breath that seemed to pull the warmth from the world.
Then…
Silence.
Not the absence of noise, but the smothering kind — the quiet that feels intentional, aware, listening.
Ashten counted the seconds in his mind.One.Two.Five.Ten.Twenty.
His lungs burned. His fingers ached from clenching the earth. His vision pulsed at the edges. The instinct to bolt — to run screaming into the storm — clawed at him.
Then, somewhere deep within the forest, another sound echoed.
A shriek.Human.Raw with terror.
The creature reacted instantly. It turned, limbs cracking like branches, and bounded toward the scream with unnatural speed — a blur of pale, skeletal movement vanishing into the trees.
Ashten remained frozen a moment longer, making sure it was truly gone. His breath trembled out of him, and only then did he realize his body was soaked not just from rain, but sweat — cold, chilling sweat.
He wiped his mouth and saw the blood from his bitten lip streak across his hand. His fingers were shaking uncontrollably, yet beneath the terror was something else…
Relief.Pride.A strange, growing ember of control.
He had faced a nightmare — and survived it.
But then came another realization, heavier than the storm clouds overhead:
Someone else was screaming.
Someone human.
Someone alive — or soon not.
Ashten crawled out from beneath the roots, his small body stiff and sore. The forest stretched before him — a labyrinth of shadows and swaying branches. The scream had come from the west, though now only the wind moved there, whispering through the trees as though urging or warning.
He stood barefoot in the mud, rain dripping from his ragged cloak, and for the first time since running away, he felt the weight of choice not as fear but as direction.
The world was falling apart.
And even a child had to decide who he would become in it.