A Week Later in the Elven Forest...

“It’s gotta be here somewhere…” Gimlith muttered under his breath, squinting into the dense undergrowth ahead.

His long, pointed elven ears twitched, half-hidden beneath his silky hair, a common sight among the forest-dwelling elves. But Gimlith wasn’t like the other men in the party. In fact, Gimlith felt out of place.

Why? Because Gimlith wasn’t a fighter. He was a mechanic, and his only role here was to make sure his “brilliant invention” worked. The device he carried—a sleek mechanical arrow—was designed to pierce the thick scales of whatever monstrous creature they were hunting and explode from within. In theory, it should be devastating.

But "in theory" doesn’t always play out in reality.

“You sure your fancy gadget is going to work, Gim?” one of the warriors asked, his voice tinged with skepticism. “Because if it doesn’t, we might as well turn tail and head back to the village now.”

“I—I’m sure it’ll work!” Gimlith stammered, though his voice wavered slightly. "I think…"

The leader of the group, a seasoned hunter with a scar running across his left cheek, let out an exasperated sigh. “Great. Thanks for that inspiring pep talk, Gim. I’m sure the others feel much better now.”

Gimlith winced, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. He knew sarcasm when he heard it.

Truth be told, they weren’t exactly prepared for this hunt. A few days ago, a gigantic boar had rampaged through the village's wooden walls, completely demolishing one of the houses on the outskirts. The family inside—mother, father, and their child—had been caught in the destruction. Only the child survived.

“Even the muskets couldn’t stop it,” one of the men grumbled, his voice hushed as they trudged through the forest. “I was there. It was like the bullets just bounced off.”

After the attack, the village had sent word to the council, pleading for assistance. The council, in turn, dispatched their finest elven warriors to deal with the problem. But it would take at least another few days before they arrive.

Yet, just last night, another attack had occurred—though, thankfully, no one was hurt this time. Still, the village elder had decided that they had to act immediately.

"Hey, Gim," the huntsman spoke up, casting a glance at him over his shoulder. "Any idea why those beasts suddenly started attacking the village out of nowhere?"

Gimlith blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean? They’re monsters. They attack by instinct, right? There’s no reason behind it.”

The huntsman chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “And that’s why you’re not a huntsman, my friend. Monsters don’t just attack villages for fun. There’s always a reason behind it.”

Gimlith felt his face turn red with embarrassment. Great, now I’m being lectured too? “Well then,” Gimlith shot back, crossing his arms, “what’s your theory, oh wise one?”

The huntsman smirked, his eyes scanning the trees. “Could be anything, really. Hunger, maybe. Or something bigger chased them out of their territory. But nothing in the forest has changed recently, which makes this all the more suspicious.”

Gimlith frowned, his thoughts swirling. “Or… maybe something in the village has changed?” 

The group fell silent, exchanging glances. Even the wind seemed to pause.

“What do you mean by that?” one of the warriors finally asked, his brow furrowed.

“Well,” Gimlith hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Maybe something the monsters were afraid of… left. And now they feel free to come closer.”

The others stared at him for a moment, clearly not sure what to make of his suggestion.

Then, the huntsman grinned and took a deep breath. “Yeah, maybe they were all scared of Elder Maris’ smelly socks. Now that the old man’s stopped airing them out, the beasts finally see an opportunity!”

For a second, there was dead silence.

And then the party erupted into laughter.

“Quiet, idiots!” the leader snapped, though he struggled to keep a straight face himself. “We need absolute silence to track this beast!”

As the laughter died down, Gimlith’s mind continued to churn. He wasn’t sure why, but the huntsman’s joke lingered in his thoughts, as if a grain of truth was hidden in the jest. Did something in the village really change?

His eyes drifted to the left, through the thick trees, where he could faintly make out the outline of a mansion perched on top of the distant hill. Even shrouded by the branches, the mansion's exotic architecture stood out, a testament to the strange occurrences around here lately.

Yeah, Gimlith thought, his chest tightening with unease. A week ago, that airship landed by the mansion… and then it was gone as quickly as it arrived.

And with it, something—or someone—had vanished too.

Suddenly, a flash of memory struck him. That girl… What happened to her?

Did Salix ever manage to reach her?

Gimlith shook his head, trying to focus on the present. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about mysterious girls or disappearing airships. They had a dangerous creature to hunt.

But somehow, deep down, Gimlith had a nagging feeling that everything was connected. The beasts, the airship, the mansion on the hill…

“Gim! Ahead of you!”

Gimlith barely had time to process the warning before his instincts kicked in. With a desperate roll to the left, he narrowly avoided the massive claws that ripped through the air, slashing into the ground where he’d just been standing. His heart pounded as he scrambled to his feet, staring in horror at the enormous beast before him.

“This thing… it’s even bigger than I thought,” he breathed, his eyes wide with fear. Could his device really tear through that?

The beast let out a low, rumbling growl, its eyes glowing with rage as it scanned the battlefield.

“Distraction! Distraction! Aldy, stab it now!”

One of the warriors, momentarily paralyzed by the creature's size, snapped back into action. He charged toward the monster, slashing at its leg. But just as expected, the blade bounced harmlessly off its thick hide, leaving no more than a shallow scratch.

But that was enough.

The massive boar let out a furious snarl and swung its head, locking its bloodshot eyes onto the shaken warriors.

“Gim!” the leader bellowed. “Get that device ready! We’ll keep it busy!”

“On it!” Gimlith shouted back, frantically searching for an opening. He spotted a clearing where the trees were thinner—perfect for a clear shot. The only downside? It would leave him exposed if the boar decided to charge at him.

No time for second-guessing now. Gimlith rushed to the spot, setting up the device as fast as his shaking hands would allow.

“Hurry, Gim!” someone yelled. “If you don’t finish this soon, you’ll be the only one left to face it!”

Gimlith glanced back at the others. The elves were holding their own, dodging the beast’s strikes with incredible agility, their sharp senses allowing them to avoid its claws by mere inches. But despite their speed, it was clear they were struggling. The boar’s hide was too tough—neither arrows nor blades could break through. It was only a matter of time before exhaustion set in.

Come on, Gim, focus. He took a deep breath, checking the mechanism of the explosive arrow. Everything was set. This was their only shot.

“It’s ready!” Gimlith called out. “Get it over here!”

One of the huntsmen drew his bow and fired an arrow straight into the boar’s flank. The beast roared in rage, turning its attention away from the elves and toward Gimlith. Their eyes locked for a split second, and Gimlith’s heart skipped a beat as the monster began to charge.

Here we go.

With the boar barreling toward him at full speed, Gimlith knew this was his chance. He had the perfect shot at its side—this was it.

But doubt crept in. Will this really work? Will it pierce through that thick hide?

“Gim! What are you doing!?” the leader yelled, as he noticed Gimlith hesitating.

Gimlith’s resolve solidified. No more doubts. Without thinking twice, he slung the heavy device onto his back and sprinted straight toward the charging beast.

“Are you insane?!” someone yelled behind him.

The boar’s enraged snarl filled the air as it noticed Gimlith’s sudden movement, its massive hooves pounding the ground as it accelerated toward him.

Here goes nothing.

“Arrrghh!” Gimlith let out a shout, just as the boar was about to reach him. In one fluid motion, he hurled the device forward, dove to the ground, and slid beneath the beast, his back scraping against the muddy earth.

The boar, caught completely off guard, continued to thunder forward. But as Gimlith slid underneath, he reached up and pulled the trigger.

Thunk!

The arrow launched from the device, piercing the creature’s soft underbelly with a sickening crunch. The boar let out a deafening shriek, stumbling forward as its legs gave out, crashing to the ground in a wild thrash. The arrow, now lodged deep within, had done its job.

And that’s when Gimlith pulled the second trigger.

BOOM!

The ground shook as the explosion rocked the air, sending debris and dirt flying everywhere. The boar’s final roar was cut short as the blast tore through its insides.

Gimlith lay there, gasping for breath, his body coated in mud and sweat. Slowly, the ringing in his ears faded, and the world around him came back into focus. He blinked up at the sky, realizing he was still alive.

“Well,” he muttered, forcing a shaky grin, “that... worked.”

The leader appeared above him, offering a hand. “You idiot. But a lucky idiot.”

Gimlith took the hand, pulling himself up as the rest of the party gathered around. The beast was defeated.

"The village is safe. Let’s go back and grab a beer, how about that?” Gimlith said, expecting a round of cheers or at least a sigh of relief. Instead, he was met with wide-eyed silence. The warriors stood frozen, mouths agape.

For a moment, Gimlith thought he might have disfigured himself. Did I lose an eye? But no, they weren’t looking at him.

Slowly, he turned around.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the leader muttered.

Ahead of them, rumbling through the trees, stood another boar. But this one was twice as massive as the first, its eyes glowing with fury, letting out a low growl that rumbled like thunder.

“Hey, boss,” one of the warriors whispered nervously. “You think these two were friends?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking Gim if we’ve got another shot left?” another chimed in, panic creeping into his voice.

Gimlith gulped. “I’m… uh… out of shots.”

“Then what are you all waiting for? RUN!” the leader hissed, his voice low but urgent.

No one needed to be told twice. The group turned and bolted, dashing into the thick forest as fast as their legs could carry them. Trees blurred past, their feet slipping in the muddy terrain as they sprinted deeper into the woods.

Gimlith quickly realized they weren’t heading back to the village—of course not. They couldn't risk leading this monster to their home. But… what was the plan here?

Gimlith glanced back and his heart sank. The others had scattered, disappearing in different directions. It was a tactical move—split up and force the beast to pick one target.

And guess who it’s chasing?

The boar was thundering after him, slowed only by the thick forest underbrush and the uneven ground. For now, Gimlith could keep ahead, but he was already gasping for breath. He couldn't keep this up for long.

Suddenly, the trees parted, giving way to a wide, open plain.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” Gimlith muttered.

Should he turn back into the forest? The open field would make him an easy target. But just as he considered his options, he came to a screeching halt.

Standing right in front of him was… a giant toad.

Gimlith nearly screamed in shock, but then something even stranger caught his eye. Sitting atop the toad was a young woman.

Her long, black hair, as dark as ink, was tied with a simple white ribbon, its ends trailing down her shoulders. She wore a white robe that somehow remained spotless, despite the muck and chaos of the forest. The occasional rays of sunlight that pierced the canopy seemed to reflect off her clothes, making her shine in the dim clearing.

She was just sitting there. On a toad. Why was she sitting on a toad?

“Run! There’s a monster coming!” Gimlith shouted as he sprinted past her, heart pounding. He didn’t know if a toad could outrun a monster, but surely it was a better target than him, right?

Just as that thought crossed his mind, Gimlith skidded to a halt, guilt creeping in. No! How could I even think something so terrible?

He turned back and shouted, “Hey, girl! Get off that toad and run! You’re not going to—”

But the words died in his throat. The girl was no longer sitting on the toad. Now she was standing in front of it, calmly watching as the massive boar charged straight toward her.

Gimlith’s legs wobbled. His first instinct was to rush in and drag her out of the way, but exhaustion and reality hit him hard. He had nothing left. No more tricks, no weapons, nothing to defend himself or the girl. Rushing in would only mean both of them were doomed.

And yet… she didn’t move.

Instead, she took a step forward, her back straight and unwavering. Gimlith couldn’t see her face, but the air around her felt different—like she was completely in control.

Then, she unsheathed her sword.

The blade gleamed, catching what little sunlight filtered through the canopy, nearly blinding Gimlith. When his vision cleared, he saw her standing with one hand on her sword, her stance wide and open—as if she were daring the beast to come at her.

And then it happened.

Gimlith blinked. Wait… did something just…? He thought he saw something, but it all happened so fast that he wasn’t sure if his eyes had played a trick on him.

All he heard were the sounds of rapid slashing. For a split second, he thought the girl had vanished, displaced somehow. But no—she was still standing exactly where she had been before.

The boar, however, was not.

Chunks of meat and bone rained down, splattering across the forest floor as the once-massive monster was reduced to nothing but scattered remains.

The girl stood still, her sword gleaming as she slowly slid it back into its sheath. Not a single drop of blood stained the blade.

Then, as if nothing had happened, she turned around to face Gimlith. Her expression was emotionless, her eyes cold and distant.

And that’s when Gimlith noticed the faint shimmer on her neck—scales. Silver-white scales that glistened subtly in the sunlight, running along the side of her neck.

His breath caught in his throat. A serpent spirit…

The silence between them hung heavy in the air, and Gimlith, for once in his life, found himself completely speechless.