Serin’s breath caught for a moment before he straightened his posture, the gravity of the command sinking in. “As you command.”
Without hesitation, Serin shifted into his wolf form, his sleek fur glinting under the moonlight.
The White Fox Tribe, until now engrossed in their prayers, erupted into confusion as panic swept through their ranks. Members began scattering in all directions, their cries piercing the night.
Serin threw his head back and let out a resounding howl, a signal to summon the knights patrolling outside the village.
Kennard’s sharp senses picked up the pheromones of his approaching knights, their presence drawing closer with every heartbeat.
Amid the chaos, the White Fox Tribe screamed and scrambled for safety. Yet one figure remained unmoved.
Simir sat calmly among the pandemonium, as though he had anticipated this outcome all along.
Kennard’s lips curled into a snarl, his voice a growl that carried over the noise. “When you reach hell, be sure to greet your god for me.”
In a blur of motion, he shifted into his black wolf form, his massive frame radiating raw power. Without hesitation, Kennard lunged at Simir. His jaws clamped around his throat with crushing force, and the acrid taste of blood filled his mouth.
***
“Elena, don’t your eyes hurt?”
Cura’s concerned voice broke the quiet as she sat on the sofa by the fireplace, her gaze fixed on Elena.
Elena, engrossed in an ancient text written in archaic script, lifted her head. The soft golden glow of the lantern on her desk flickered with the gentle breeze drifting through the open window, casting dancing shadows across the room.
“It’s late,” Cura added, her tone slightly reproachful. “Far past your usual bedtime.”
“I’m fine,” Elena replied with a small smile. “You can go ahead and sleep.”
“How can I sleep when you’re still awake? Especially with His Grace not here,” Cura said, crossing her arms but failing to mask her yawn. She quickly covered her mouth, her eyes tearing up from the effort to suppress it.
Elena chuckled softly. “The knights are nearby. There’s no need to worry.”
“Well, that’s true,” Cura conceded, her expression softening. “But would you prefer to take the book to your bedroom? His Grace will likely return soon.”
Elena hesitated, her fingers lightly brushing the edges of the ancient text.
“Um…” she murmured, averting her gaze.
She still hadn’t told Kennard that she could read archaic script. It felt strange to bring up the topic out of nowhere, and the thought of explaining how she had learned it made her uneasy.
Even now, as she sat in the quiet study, her nerves prickled at the thought of Kennard suddenly walking in and catching her with the sacred text.
Fortunately, tonight he had left to tend to matters in the village, giving her a rare moment of peace to immerse herself in the book.
The text was a detailed account of the earth god Bazak and his dominion over the land. It described how Bazak nurtured the earth, guided the wind and rain, and enriched all plant life. His blessings were bestowed upon those who worshipped and praised him, while his wrath brought curses that caused death and decay to spread among humans, animals, and plants alike.
One passage stood out to Elena: a decree that all red things, except blood, were considered impure.
“Does that make me an impure being because of my red hair?” Elena mused aloud, her voice soft and tinged with a trace of melancholy.
Her fingers combed through her vibrant hair, the soft strands flowing like molten copper under her touch. She couldn’t help but marvel at how it had transformed since her arrival—once stiff and dull like brittle twigs, now smooth and lustrous.
Cura, still standing nearby, hesitated before speaking. “If His Grace comes back and finds you still in the study… well, he might be upset. Actually, I’m the one who’ll get scolded.”
She punctuated her remark with a yawn she could no longer stifle, her mouth stretching wide as tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
Elena smiled faintly, the weight of Cura’s dedication warming her heart. It was clear Cura wouldn’t leave her side until she retired for the night, and to linger any longer would be selfish indulgence.
“All right,” Elena said, shaking her head with a soft laugh.
Cura brightened immediately, springing to her feet as though she had been waiting for those words. She hurried over to the desk, carefully taking the sacred text and returning it to its place on the bookshelf.
Meanwhile, Elena wandered to the window. Resting her hands on the windowsill, she leaned forward slightly and closed her eyes, letting the cool night breeze kiss her face.
The gentle wind was soothing, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and earth.
“Huh?”
Elena’s eyes snapped open, and her body tensed as a sudden chill crept down her spine.
Her gaze darted across the dimly lit courtyard below, scanning the surroundings. The knights standing guard at their posts were the only figures in sight. Nothing seemed amiss.
It’s just the night air, she told herself, shaking off the eerie sensation.
Yet as she stepped back from the window, something caught her eye—a flicker of light far off in the distance. It was faint but unmistakable, like a wavering flame struggling against the darkness.
“What’s that?” she murmured, her brows knitting in curiosity.
“Elena, what is it?”
Hearing her whisper, Cura joined her by the window, concern etched across her face.
“Do you see that light?” Elena asked, pointing into the darkness beyond the courtyard.
Cura followed her gaze, squinting as she leaned closer to the window. “Where?”
She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the lantern’s glow, trying to focus. After a few moments, she shook her head. “I don’t see anything.”
Elena frowned, her confidence wavering. Had she imagined it? Perhaps it was someone passing through the forest with a torch or the distant flicker of a campfire.
“Maybe I was mistaken,” she murmured, stepping back from the window. “Let’s go.”
But as she turned to leave, something tugged at her thoughts. Instinctively, she pivoted and leaned out of the window, her heart racing.
“Elena! That’s dangerous!” Cura exclaimed, rushing forward to steady her.
The urgency in her voice was underscored by her firm grip on Elena’s shoulders, trying to pull her back inside.
Elena didn’t budge. Her breath hitched as realization struck.
“It’s a howling signal,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Cura froze, her hands still gripping Elena tightly. The weight of Elena’s words settled between them, a sudden tension thickening the air.
