Chapter 6

Leron ran faster than he had ever run before, his arms locked tight around the limp boy in his grasp. The world around him blurred, due to the heavy fog. He had carried weight before, felled trees, wounded villagers, sacks of grain, you name it, but never something that carried this much meaning to him.

The boy was fragile despite his heavy, wounded body. A stranger who he had stumbled into his life out of nowhere and yet within mere hours Leron had found himself unwilling to let him go.

Perhaps it was because, in that trembling lonely face, he saw a reflection of himself years ago, scared, confused, pulled back from the brink of death by the hands of another stranger. Back then it had been Cadeyrn, the village chief, who had found him wandering without memory, a half-shattered family crest his only belonging.

A war child, Cadeyrn called him, born into ruin and stripped of all else. Leron never forgot the ache of that rootless existence, and now, clutching the boy’s faintly stirring body, he felt that same ache tighten in his chest.

“Hold on.” he muttered between gasps, though the boy likely couldn’t understand him. Still, he hoped the sound of his voice might anchor him to the world.

But the night was merciless. From the tree line ahead, something stirred, the air warped, the shadows thickened, and a creature lurched into view. Its body was formed of pitch and smoke, a writhing silhouette in mockery of flesh. Its head was shapeless but for two slits of pale, vacant light where eyes should have been. With each step, the ground seemed to darken beneath its claws, similar to the wolf creatures they encountered earlier.

Leron’s grip tightened around the boy. If his axe had been in hand, if he hadn’t been burdened, he might’ve stood a chance. Instead, he braced himself to fight bare-handed, lowering the boy gently to the ground, his body readying for one last desperate defense. The creature’s chest expanded with a guttural hiss as it lunged-

-and was torn open in a single streak of white.

A fox darted from the underbrush, its fur pure as snow but tipped with black at its tails, red sigils glowing faintly across its brow. It moved with a predator’s grace, each motion a blur of precision, ripping through the shadow-beast’s form before it could reach Leron. The creature shrieked, convulsed, and dissolved into mist. The fox turned, its luminous eyes locking on Leron for a heartbeat before it bounded forward again, as if urging him to follow.

With no other choice, Leron obeyed. The fox led him through the forest paths, weaving past snarling creatures that emerged from the dark. Yet none could touch them, for the fox was too quick cutting them down before they closed the gap, that was no ordinary fox. By the time they broke from the tree line, the village square laid ahead, but what should have been a sanctuary was now a warzone.

Buildings had collapsed in smoking heaps, embers crackled through the night, and the air stank of blood. Villagers scrambled amidst the wreckage, some clutching injuries, others dragging loved ones to safety. In the center stood a massive turtle, its colossal shell shimmering with runes. A translucent barrier pulsed outward from it, shielding the survivors gathered within its circle.

The fox halted at the edge, gave one last piercing cry, then vanished like it was never there to begin with. Leron staggered through the barrier, heart pounding.

“Leron, thank the gods, you’re unharmed!” Granny Chio rushed forward, relief flooding her lined face, before her eyes dropped to the boy in his arms.

“He’s hurt,” Leron said urgently as he lowered the boy to the ground. “Where’s Mariel?”

“Mother’s gone with the others. Let me.” Serin knelt beside him, her hands already moving to examine the stranger. But when she peeled back the torn fabric, her breath caught in horror.

“What happened to him?” she whispered.

“He- he took the blow for Finnel. Stood in the way when the beast struck,” Leron explained, still catching his breath.

Serin shook her head grimly. “The wounds are too deep. The best I can do is keeping him stable for a few more minutes.”

Leron clenched his fists, helplessness gnawing at him. But before he could answer, the ground trembled. A low growl reverberated beyond the barrier.

He turned just in time to see more shadow beasts hurl themselves forward, clawed hands slamming against the barrier. The turtle groaned, the protective shell barrier shimmering. Leron set the boy down and rose, ready to fight barehanded if he must. He took one step forward.

A piercing howl froze him in his tracks. From the haze emerged the alpha, with the pack pouring in behind him, crashing against the shadow with a storm of snapping jaws and bristling fur. The alpha struck first, fangs gleaming like moonlight; the others followed, tearing and rending until the shrieking things unraveled, dissolving into smoke and dust.

Above, a harsh caw  split through the smoke and mist. A crow, amongst other winged creatures, wheeled across the burning square and and landed atop a half-burned roof beam jutting from the rubble, its feathers gleaming like spilled ink. One of its eyes glowed a faint, unnatural, light blue.
The sight jolted something in Leron’s memory.

When he was a child, he once heard a forgotten tale from one the village housewives, tales her own mother had whispered to her when she was little, when the village still lived in fear of the night. They were stories of Yaga Baba. In them, she was a witch of the forest, ageless and terrible, a woman who walked between the line of life and death, a bad omen.

Some said she was a hunched crone with white hair wild as brambles, kidnapping children and consuming their flesh. Others swore she was a maiden of breathtaking beauty, her skin pale as snow and her eyes glowing the color of frozen stars. A goddess, a hag, a monster, no one could ever agree upon which variant of the tale was the real one.

But among the villagers, one persisted.

Kaellen’s grandmother, claimed that when she was a girl, the same creatures that now clawed at their walls had once descended on the village. Shadows in the night, beasts of smoke and hunger. The people had no defenses back then, no guardians of the forest, no protective barrier, no one to protect them.

They would have been slaughtered, had it not been for her. Emerging from the depths of the forest, Yaga Baba appeared, her eyes burning an otherworldly light blue, roots and vines tearing the monsters apart as if the forest itself rose in her defense. From that night on, the villagers whispered her name with awe and fear, calling her their protector. One title lingered most of all:

Blue Eyes.

Not everyone believed, and with time, people dismissed it as a tale to keep children in line. Others said she was no savior, only a being who chose to intervene for reasons no mortal could understand. A few even claimed she demanded a price for her protection, though no one dared say aloud what that price might be.

Granny Chio had once ended the story with a warning, her gaze steady, her voice quiet as though she feared, she might be listening, even then. “Remember, boy: when the crow caws and the wolves howl, Blue-Eyes shall descend upon us.

And now, here they were. The crow, one eye glowing the Yaga's associated light blue, staring directly into the heart of the square. Once something out of a childhood tale, now started to become reality.

The guardians of the forest rallied: the wolf tore through another shadow spawn, the ancient deer drove its antlers through the dark, and the turtle’s protective barrier thickened as if bracing itself.
Leron shifted, shouting over the chaos.

“Leron, I'm losing him!” Serin shouted.

But the night was not done yet. A ripple stirred at the edge of the barrier, and from the smoke, a familiar figure emerged….

Behind it, the swordsman appeared, relentless as a shadow of his own. His blade gleamed with pale aura, cutting through the night as he pursued.

The figure halted, his faceless head tilting toward Leron and the boy. For a moment, he did not strike. Then, his body shuddered, and clones split from his form, darting forward like living shadows. One lunged at the barrier, claws raised to tear through.

However, a forest of thorns erupted from the ground, razor-sharp vines impaling the clones mid-step. They writhed, shrieking, before dissolving back into void.

A cold voice carried through the mist.

“Arrogant pups.”

A hunched elderly woman supported by her staff emerged. Yaga Baba, her presence commanding and terrible, her eyes burning a piercing blue that mirrored the raven’s. Vines coiled at her heels like living serpents, the earth itself bending to her will.