The hunting squad gathered in the cold morning air, their breaths rising like ghosts into the early light. No one spoke at first. The forest that bordered the village of Las Tres Cruces seemed to listen too still, too watchful, as if it were waiting for them to make the first mistake.
Bruno adjusted the strap of his old rifle. His eyes moved from Manuel to Maria and then to the others as they circled around the carved symbol again. The mark in the dirt those jagged spirals crossing into each other no longer felt like the act of an animal. It felt intentional, ancient, a warning.
"What do you think it means?" Maria asked, crouching by it. The morning fog clung to her hair.
Bruno's voice came out low. "I've seen something like this before… not the full thing, but close. On the wall behind the old man's hut years ago. He carved things nobody understood."
Manuel scoffed lightly, though the sound cracked halfway. "That man barely knows his name."
"He knows more than people assume," Bruno replied. "He used to warn the children about things in the woods. Things that 'sleep' until called."
"Called by what?" Maria asked.
Bruno looked at the symbol again.
"War," he murmured.
The word hung between them, colder than the air.
Manuel folded his arms. "If we're going to chase legends, we'll need proof. Otherwise, we're wasting daylight."
Bruno's jaw tensed. "Fine. Then we go see him."
Maria nodded. "If anyone knows what this is, it's him."
Manuel exhaled sharply but fell in step. "Let's go."
They headed out Bruno leading, Maria close behind, and Manuel, skeptical but unwilling to be left alone with his thoughts.
Manuel rode ahead on the narrow path toward the outskirts of the village. As his horse trotted past the Marino household, he slowed. Through the window, warm yellow light spilled onto the dusty ground.
Inside, the Marinos sat around a worn wooden table, their silhouettes shifting softly. The sight hit Manuel unexpectedly. A normal family dinner the kind he hadn't had in years felt foreign, almost unreachable. He watched for a moment longer, a strange heaviness forming in his chest.
He almost envied them.
Then he urged his horse forward.
Behind him, laughter briefly echoed soft, strained, but still human. A moment of peace before the storm.
Ana Marino forced a smile as she ladled stew into bowls. The steam warmed her face, but nothing warmed the cold knot of fear twisting in her stomach.
Her children sat around the table Francisco, fidgeting with impatience; Isabella, Bruno's daughter, seated between him and a child who seemed to be a family friend, Tomas. The candlelight softened their tired faces, but Ana saw what lay underneath. Fear. Fatigue. Determination too heavy for their age.
She hated it.
Jorge, squeezed her shoulder gently as she set the last bowl down.
"You haven't eaten, Madre" he murmured.
Ana brushed him off. "Later."
Her eyes drifted to Isabella, the girl she'd seen grow from a wide-eyed child into a brave, stubborn young woman. Too brave. Too stubborn. Isabella's hand trembled slightly as she lifted her spoon. Ana noticed. She noticed everything.
"You three shouldn't be part of this hunt," Ana said suddenly, unable to hold it in any longer.
Francisco looked up, startled. "Mamá…"
"No," she snapped. "This is not a game. It's not… it's not something you walk into like you're invincible."
Isabella lowered her gaze. Tomas froze mid-bite.
Jorge spoke softly. "Ana…"
She turned on him, voice breaking. "Jorge, you all are children."
"We don't know what's out there," he said. "That thing whatever it is, it's hunting us. The more hands we have, the better chance we stand."
Ana shook her head violently. "You think I care about chances? I care about them breathing. I care about Francisco and Isabella and Tomas and even you, we just got you back from war and you are willing to risk your life again . I care about every child at this table."
Isabella looked up, eyes glassy.
"Ana," she whispered, "I want to help."
"That's the problem," Ana whispered back. "You want to help. You think being brave means offering yourself to danger. But I've buried too many neighbors, too many friends. I won't bury you too."
Isabella blinked fast, tears gathering. "I know, tía. I do. But hiding… won't save anyone."
For a long moment, no one spoke. The room felt tighter, smaller, stuffed full of unspoken terror.
Finally Jorge reached across the table, resting his hand gently over Ana's.
"We'll be careful," he said. "I promise. And Francisco and Isabella will not face anything alone. I'll be there. And Bruno. And the others. We will protect them."
Ana's throat tightened. She could barely breathe past the fear pressing on her lungs.
She looked at Isabella, the closest thing she had to a daughter, her two sons; one meek, and the other strong, all willing to sacrifice themselves to protect their town, she felt her heart fracture. Pride and terror warred inside her.
"If," Ana managed, "if you're going… so am I."
Francisco's eyes widened. Isabella gasped.
Jorge looked stunned. "Madre…"
"No. I won't stay behind waiting for someone to bring me news. Good or bad."
Her voice steadied, steel beneath the trembling. "If the forest takes one of my children, it will take me too."
Silence settled over the table. Heavy, irrevocable.
A mother's vow.
The kind that changes fates.
The candle flickered, throwing long shadows on the walls shadows that seemed to shift like something unseen had moved through the room.
Ana shivered.
Something was listening.
As the path narrowed Manuel approached the old man's hut, its roof sagging under years of neglect. The trees around it grew tightly, as if trying to swallow the structure whole. A strange smell hung in the air, earthy, metallic, like rain mixed with blood.
He dismounted slowly.
Inside the hut came the faint sound of chanting.
Bruno and Maria joined him moments later, their faces tense.
"You hear that?" Maria whispered.
Bruno nodded. "He's awake."
They pushed aside the hanging cloth that served as a door.
The hut was dimly lit by a single lantern set on the dirt floor. Shadows clung to the walls like living things. The old man skin thin as paper, hair wild and white moved in slow, ritualistic motions, circling around a young boy.
The boy looked about thirteen. Barefoot. Eyes wide, scared, but obedient. He whispered words Manuel didn't understand an old language, maybe older than the village itself.
The old man's voice was harsh, scraping against the air like a rusted blade.
Bruno stepped forward. "Viejo… we need…."
The old man stopped.
His body froze unnaturally, joints locking. Slowly, he turned his head toward them. His eyes were pure white, no pupils, no light.
Manuel's breath caught.
The temperature in the hut dropped sharply. The lantern's flame flickered violently.
Then the old man's gaze settled on Manuel.
"I was asleep…" the old man rasped, voice layered one human, one not.
"You woke me… with your war…"
Maria stepped closer to the boy instinctively.
"What does that mean?" Manuel demanded, though his voice wavered.
The old man didn't blink.
"Your children…"
A long breath.
"…are necessary sacrifices… for what must be done."
The boy gasped. "Abuelo…..stop, please"
The old man trembled violently, and then collapsed.
The boy dropped to his knees. "¡Abuelo! ¡Abuelo!" His voice cracked with terror.
Maria rushed to him, kneeling beside the child. "Hey, hey it's okay"
But it wasn't.
The old man's chest rose once more. Barely.
He turned his head toward the boy and whispered, voice suddenly soft, heartbreakingly human:
"Mi niño… you are protected. My sacrifice… will guard you…"
Tears streamed down the boy's cheeks. "Don't leave me, por favor…. don't leave"
The old man's milky eyes snapped back to Manuel.
"I see darkness around you…"
A long, rattling inhale.
"You will not survive."
The boy sobbed loudly now, gripping the old man's arm.
Manuel swallowed hard. "Tell me… what the sign means."
The old man's lips trembled. A final whisper escaped like smoke.
"Death… and rebirth."
His chest stilled.
The boy screamed.
Bruno pulled him tight, trying to shield him, but the boy clawed at the earth, crying into the dirt.
Maria choked back tears.
Even Manuel froze, haunted.
The lantern flickered again, long shadows crawling up the walls, as if something unseen was stretching, waking.
Something that had heard the old man's final words.
Something that was no longer asleep.