It was still the middle of the night when Corvin suddenly woke up.
His body was sore, his limbs still stiff from yesterday's relentless marching and the long hours of patrol. Yet despite the ache that throbbed in his calves and shoulders, his mind was startlingly clear. He stared at the tent's darkened ceiling for a while, caught in a strange limbo between full awareness and a lingering sense of paralysis. It took effort, but he still sat up, his limbs groaning in protest.
The tent was crowded. Moxa and Branik were fast asleep, bundled under thin blankets on mats that barely cushioned the cold earth.
Corvin gave a silent chuckle.
'At least the army had the sense to separate the "men" and the men in different tents. A rare stroke of competence.'
Corvin examined himself again. What truly caught him off guard was the fact that he had woken up on his own. Normally, he would've slept straight till sunrise, considering how utterly drained he had been. But here he was, perfectly awake.
'Awake is an over-exaggeration,' he muttered while trying to stand upright with his legs.
He pulled on his outer cloak, carefully maneuvering through the tent so that he didn't disturb anyone in their sleep. He pushed aside the tent flap and stepped out into the early morning darkness. The stars were still visible, dim and scattered across the canopy above. The sun had not even begun to peek over the horizon.
Around the camp, a few torches burned low, their light flickering like restless spirits. Near them stood the night guards—silhouettes hunched against the cold, some standing upright, others slumped on crates or tree stumps, murmuring quietly to one another.
Corvin looked around. He felt an urge to relieve himself. He walked toward the forest and passed the guards with a nod. One of them, a younger man with bags under his eyes, gave him a curious look.
"Up already?"
"Need to relieve myself," Corvin muttered, rubbing his face.
"Take a torch. Stay close. Don't let the monster catch you," the guard grinned, tossing him a torch. "Strange things happen at night."
"They sure do," Corvin mumbled, already walking.
He made his way to the edge of the forest that flanked the right side of the road. The trees there leaned close together, casting jagged shadows under the torchlight. The air was brisk, crisp with the scent of pine and cold earth.
He found a spot near a crooked tree and got on with his business, eyes closed.
'Finally, a moment of peace.' Corvin sighed.
The relief was only for a moment, however, as Corvin opened his eyes. He felt something.
'The woods feel... wrong.'
The same eerie, skin-prickling sensation from the previous night returned. The trees creaked slightly, as if groaning in their sleep. Then—
A faint gnawing sound reached his ears.
Chew. Snap. Tearing.
Corvin froze. Then came a weak cry, thin and pained.
He clenched his jaw.
'Of course something creepy had to happen now. Couldn't even relieve myself in peace.'
He hurried to finish up, every sound around him magnified by fear. Torchlight bobbing in his unsteady grip, he turned toward the noise.
"Let it be a fox," he muttered under his breath. "Please, let it just be a fox catching a rabbit."
'Please, I beg you,' he thought as he prepared to run back to the camp.
At least that's what he should've done. But curiosity and his duty as a scout got the better hold of him.
'Just a glance… Just one…'
He approached slowly and silently, just far enough to glimpse into the thicket beyond.
The light from his torch danced across the forest floor—and his stomach turned.
There, spread across the underbrush, were the twisted remains of animals.
Rabbits with their guts spilled like tangled thread.
A deer's head gnawed nearly clean off.
Birds with their feathers scattered and necks broken.
Something—something incredibly twisted—had torn them apart and left them there.
Half-eaten.
Half-disassembled.
It was akin to a grotesque gallery of a butchery.
Corvin staggered back, hand trying to cover his mouth. A bitter taste clawed at his throat as he fought the urge to vomit. His chest tightened.
"Shit—"
He ran. Torch barely lighting the path ahead, brambles and low branches slapped at his arms and face. Thorns scraped his shins, roots nearly tripped him twice. Pain flared in his leg where a bush snagged him, but he didn't slow down.
Behind him was the sound of something running through the forest.
Corvin's skin stood on end as he continued to run.
By the time he stumbled out of the forest and back toward the camp, he was breathing hard.
His face was pale and streaked with dirt and scratches.
The guards, whom Corvin met just a while ago—on their way to switch shifts—spotted him and hurried over.
"What the hell happened?" one of them asked, offering Corvin a hand and helping him up.
Corvin opened his mouth, panting. It took a second before words came.
"In the woods—on the right—" He tried to collect himself. "There's something—something wrong. Something's been... killing animals. Not just eating them. It—it ripped them apart," he was visibly shaken, "as if… as if… it was… collecting them."
The guards exchanged glances. One looked skeptical.
"Could it be that you were imagining it? It could be a fox or a wild wolf. They do lurk around here."
Corvin shook his head. "No. No. No." He grabbed the guard's arms. "I'd have to be blind to think that was anything normal."
The guards were startled. But before either of them could respond, the sound came again. A soft, breathy wail.
It echoed from the forest, low and long, like a wounded thing calling for help—or a predator luring prey.
The guards stiffened, pale in the torchlight. One drew his spear instinctively.
But nothing came.
Not yet.
They stood in silence for a long moment, waiting. Corvin's torch shook faintly in his grip.
Eventually, one of the guards refocused and turned to him.
"Go back to your tent. We'll report it to the commander. You did a good job."
Corvin nodded silently, still shaken. He turned to leave, leaving one last look over his shoulder at the dark forest behind him.
The trees stood there silently. Watching.
He walked back toward the tents with heavy steps, the taste of bile still in his mouth, and a question burning quietly in the back of his mind.
'Why did feel like I was being watched?'