The screams woke the village before the bells could.
Aerin was already awake.
He had felt it before the sound reached him—a violent distortion in mana, crude and hungry, tearing through the forest's outer edge like a rusted blade through cloth.
Beasts, he thought.
Not predators.
Raiders.
He slipped from his bed silently, bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. Outside, torches flared to life as villagers stumbled into the open, clutching spears and farm tools with shaking hands.
"Wolves?" someone shouted.
"No," an elder whispered. "Too heavy."
The forest answered with a roar.
Trees splintered. A massive shape burst from the darkness—six-legged, horned, its hide plated with black chitin. Its mouth split open, revealing rows of grinding teeth slick with saliva.
A demon beast.
Low-grade—but to villagers, it was death itself.
Behind it came more.
Three.
No—five.
Panic exploded.
"Run!"
"Protect the children!"
Aerin stood still.
His heart did not race. His breath did not quicken.
This was not the throne room.
This was not betrayal.
This was a choice.
A demon beast lunged, slamming into a house and reducing it to splinters. A scream cut short beneath its claws.
Blood hit the dirt.
Something old stirred inside Aerin.
Cold.
Focused.
He raised his hand.
The divine tool answered instantly, light flowing from his palm and shaping itself into a short spear—plain, unadorned.
No aura.
No announcement.
He stepped forward.
"Aerin, no!" Lysera's voice rang out from the treeline, her bow already drawn.
Too late.
The spear left his hand.
There was no sound.
No arc.
It simply appeared inside the beast's skull.
The creature collapsed mid-roar, momentum carrying its corpse several paces before it slid to a stop.
Silence struck the battlefield like a hammer.
The remaining beasts froze.
Fear rippled through their crude minds.
Aerin walked.
Each step was measured, deliberate.
The second spear formed in his hand.
Threw.
Another beast fell.
Then another.
No wasted movement. No excess force.
By the time the villagers found their voices again, the ground was littered with steaming corpses.
Aerin stood among them, breathing calmly.
Mana never flared.
Not even the forest reacted.
Lysera lowered her bow slowly.
Her eyes were wide—not with fear, but something deeper.
Reverence.
"What… are you?" she whispered.
Aerin looked at the bodies, then at the terrified villagers peering from behind barricades.
"A problem," he said quietly.
The forest guardian rose again, half-visible among the trees, its presence heavy.
Not hostile.
Protective.
The message was clear.
He is under the forest's law.
Lysera swallowed.
"You cannot stay here," she said. "Not anymore."
Aerin nodded.
"I know."
At dawn, the village gathered.
They did not ask him to stay.
They did not try to stop him.
Some knelt.
Others cried.
The woman who had first carried him in her arms pressed a small satchel into his hands, tears streaking her weathered face.
"Live well," she whispered.
Aerin bowed deeply.
"Thank you… for giving me time."
He turned toward the forest.
This time, he did not hesitate.
The deeper forest welcomed him.
Paths opened where none had existed. Predators avoided him instinctively. Spirits watched in silence.
High above, the obsidian dragon circled once—then landed.
Its massive head lowered, golden eyes locking onto the lone boy.
"You killed without rage," the dragon rumbled. "Without pride."
Aerin met its gaze.
"I killed to protect."
The dragon studied him for a long moment.
"…Then grow," it said.
With a single beat of its wings, it vanished.
Aerin continued walking.
Toward solitude.
Toward a life unobserved.
Toward power used only when chosen.