Birdsong sang lazily through the forest.
A soft breeze moved between tall trees, rustling leaves that caught the morning light and scattered it in shifting patterns across moss and roots down below.
Sunbeams filtered down in pale gold shafts, illuminating drifting motes of pollen and dust. Somewhere in the distance, water flowed—unbothered by the world.
It was a peaceful place. The kind of forest bards sang about and travelers trusted.
But something was out of place.
High above the ground, cradled awkwardly across a thick tree branch, a boy lay sprawled in a way no sane person ever should.
It was Teclos.
His body rested half on his side, one arm dangling limply while the other clutched at the rough branch even in his sleep.
His clothes were crumpled, stained with dirt and dried mud, the fabric stiff in places as if it had been soaked and left to dry without care. Leaves were tangled in his hair. A faint smear of something dark—sap or old blood—marked his sleeve.
He looked like a painfully beaten-up homeless person.
Teclos stirred.
At first, awareness came slowly, muddled and heavy, like wading through thick fog. The world felt wrong—it was too bright. The surface beneath him was hard and uneven, nothing like his familiar bed.
'Huh? This isn't… right.'
He shifted instinctively—
And pain exploded through him.
A sharp, blinding ache tore through his skull, radiating down his neck and shoulders. His ribs screamed in protest, his chest tightening as if something heavy pressed down on it. Every muscle in his upper body throbbed, bruised, like he'd been beaten with clubs and then politely asked to sleep it off.
Teclos sucked in a breath—and immediately regretted it.
A groan escaped his throat as his eyes snapped open.
White light flooded his vision.
"Ah—!"
The sun burned overhead, unobstructed, stabbing straight into his eyes. He squeezed them shut again, his head pounding harder with every heartbeat.
Stars danced behind his eyelids.
'What… happened…?'
He blinked a few times, forcing his eyes open again, squinting through the glare. Blue sky greeted him. Leaves. Branches.
Branches?
Confusion cut through the pain.
Slowly—very slowly—Teclos tilted his head downward.
The ground was way too far below him for comfort.
His breath caught in his throat.
The realization hit all at once.
"I—what the hell?!" he blurted out.
Panic surged through him like ice water.
He grabbed the branch instinctively, arms tightening as he hugged it with everything he had.
The pain from his bruised ribs flared, sharp and unforgiving, sending another groan tearing out of him as he clenched his jaw and pressed his forehead against the bark.
"Ah—dammit…!"
He froze there for a long second, clinging to the branch, heart hammering wildly as the tree swayed almost imperceptibly beneath him.
'Okay. Okay. Don't move. Don't fall.'
He forced himself to breathe—slow, shallow breaths—until the pounding in his chest eased enough for him to think.
Carefully, inch by inch, Teclos shifted his weight closer to the trunk. His movements were stiff and uncoordinated, like his body was lagging behind his thoughts. He wrapped one arm around the thick core of the tree, pressing his shoulder against it until he felt marginally safer.
Only then did he dare to look around.
The forest stretched endlessly in every direction. No paths. No familiar landmarks. Just trees, undergrowth, and distant birdsong that suddenly felt like it was mocking him.
'Where the hell am I?'
His brow furrowed.
'Why am I here?'
He tried to remember.
The effort sent a dull throb through his head, as if his thoughts were grinding against a rusty knife. Images refused to form—only fragments surfaced, slippery and incomplete.
'Last thing I remember is the festival… Wasn't I with Ralph and Gillard?'
He swallowed.
His gaze drifted upward, trying to remember.
Then above him, the canopy of the trees was… strange.
Branches were snapped and bent at unnatural angles, leaves torn away in wide swaths. The damage wasn't random—it cut through the foliage in a rough, linear path, as if something had slammed through the tree from one side and continued on without stopping.
Dark stains marked the bark. Wet ones.
Water dripped lazily from broken leaves, pattering softly as it fell.
Teclos stared.
And suddenly—
A memory surfaced.
Ralph's voice, loud and reckless, shouting with excitement.
"Oi! Haha, you dumb ass, we're here!"
Gillard's laughter, slightly slurred, carried on the night air.
Then—a sudden pressure.
A deafening roar of water.
A massive stream rushing toward him, unstoppable, overwhelming—
Teclos sucked in a sharp breath and blinked hard.
The forest snapped back into focus.
His heart raced.
"…Oh," he muttered hoarsely.
The branch creaked beneath him as he tightened his grip on the trunk.
Something very stupid had happened.
And judging by where he'd woken up—
It wasn't over yet.
Teclos stayed pressed against the trunk for a long moment, breathing carefully, waiting for the tremor in his limbs to settle.
The ground looked impossibly far away from up here.
Too far to jump, and a hell of a fall should he slip.
He tested the bark with one foot, grimacing as his muscles protested the movement. His arms shook as he shifted his weight, carefully wrapping his legs around the trunk and inching downward. Each movement was slow and deliberate, nails scraping against rough bark, skin burning...
His coordination felt off.
It wasn't weak—just… delayed. Like his body and mind weren't quite in agreement.
"Easy… easy…" he muttered under his breath.
Branch by branch, he descended.
The forest floor grew closer.
Relief loosened his chest slightly.
Then his foot slipped.
"Shit—!"
His grip failed for just a second—only a second—but it was enough.
Teclos dropped.
The impact wasn't high enough to break anything, but it was hard enough to hurt his already battered body.
He hit the ground on his back with a heavy thud, air bursting from his lungs as pain flared across his shoulders and spine. Something wet splashed beneath him, cold seeping instantly through his clothes.
"Ugh—!"
He lay there, stunned, staring up at the leaves swaying gently above him.
Everything hurt.
After a few seconds of wheezing breaths, he rolled onto his side and pushed himself upright, wincing as pain flared all around his body. His palm pressed into the ground—
The ground was soaked and muddy.
A big, dark puddle lay beneath the tree, mixed with crushed leaves and trampled grass. It smelled faintly of river water—fishy, cold, unmistakable.
His fingers trembled.
The moment his skin touched it—
His vision blurred.
He was standing by the gates.
The night air was fresh and cool, firelight flickering nearby. A cup was shoved into his hand, sloshing with a dark, pale liquid that smelled sweet and herbal.
"Two more," Ralph said, grinning wide. "If you're really that confident."
Teclos laughed—loudly.
"Please," he scoffed, tipping the cup back. The liquor burned down his throat, fire blooming in his chest. He barely flinched.
"I can definitely hold more liquor than you, Ralph."
Ralph blinked. "Oh? Is that a challenge?"
Teclos was already pouring another cup.
Gillard hesitated nearby, arms crossed.
"You don't have to—"
"Oh come on," Teclos interrupted, slinging an arm around his shoulders.
"You're really going to let us have all the fun?"
Gillard wavered as they both hounded him.
Ralph smirked and poured another cup, pressing it into Gillard's hand.
"Fine! Just one then," Gillard muttered.
Laughter echoed into the trees.
Teclos gasped and staggered back, nearly slipping in the mud as the memory tore away.
His head pounded.
"…damn," he whispered hoarsely.
He wiped his hand on his pants, only smearing the wetness further, and took an unsteady step back.
His gaze lifted again toward the river beyond the trees.
The sound of flowing water seemed louder now.
Another flashback—
Moonlight reflected off rippling water.
Something massive stood at the river's edge.
Teclos held a knife in his hand—short, simple, far too small for what he was facing.
The water bull snorted, muscles coiling beneath its thick hide. Its head was lowered slightly, and its eyes were fixed on him.
The water around it began to move, to coil.
Bending into a sphere.
The sphere rose in a smooth, unnatural arc above the beast's horns, swelling, gathering more pressure—
Teclos staggered forward a step, pointing the knife at it.
"Hey—!" he shouted, voice thick, unsteady.
"Yeah, you! Have you seen my friends, by chance?"
The bull snorted again.
"Oh, you want to be rude? You four-legged steak, huh?" Teclos laughed, spreading his arms.
"You think you're intimidating to me? I've fought worse than a wet cow."
Ralph's laughter echoed from behind him.
"Teclos, we are he—"
"Hold on!" Teclos waved them off, nearly losing his balance.
"I just wanna talk. Man to bull… wait, Ralph? Oh, Ralph! Come here, I made a new friend!"
Teclos turned around—and the bull's stance shifted.
The water surged forward.
"Teclos, wait—!"
Ralph's voice suddenly sounded far away.
Teclos sucked in a breath and stumbled back another step, his spine cold despite the morning sun.
"…haha...this is beyond stupid," he said aloud, disbelief thick in his voice.
His gaze dropped to his hands.
They were shaking.
And then he noticed something else.
His clothes.
They were damp—not from dew, not entirely from mud. The fabric was stiff in places, dried after being soaked through completely.
A knot tightened in his stomach as he remembered something else.
Slowly, dreadfully, another image clawed its way forward.
A room, dimly lit.
It was familiar.
Talmir's and Saldia's bedroom.
Teclos stood beside the bed, swaying slightly, holding a bottle in his hands. The chest near the bed was open, its lid pushed back carelessly.
He lifted the bottle, squinting at it, then grinned wide.
"Oh yeaaah," he whispered reverently, holding the bottle high.
"Baby… that's the stuff we need."
Outside the window, Ralph was doubled over laughing, Gillard trying—and failing—to stand still.
"You're insane," Gillard hissed, barely containing a smile.
Ralph wiped tears from his eyes. "Legend."
Glass clinked softly as Teclos hugged the bottle to his chest.
The door creaked.
The memory shattered.
Teclos froze.
"Holy shit… what have I done?!"
His shoulders slumped as the full weight of it began to sink in.
He had a very bad feeling he was about to remember something even worse.
Teclos moved as fast as his battered body would allow.
Every step sent dull aches through his ribs and shoulders, and his head still throbbed like something was trying to claw its way out from the inside. He half-jogged, half-staggered through the forest path leading back toward Kolma.
The farther he went, the heavier his chest felt.
By the time the village gate came into view, his breath was ragged—not from the run, but from the growing certainty that whatever had happened last night… it had been bad.
Very bad.
The guard on duty was Tom.
Same spot as always. Same spear leaning against the wall. Same weathered face.
Teclos raised a hand weakly. "Morning."
Tom didn't smile. He just shook his head slowly, lips pressed into a thin line.
"You're in trouble, kiddo," Tom said. "Go to the chief's house. Your little buddies are already there."
Teclos blinked. "W-what happened?"
Tom waved him off. "Don't play dumb. And don't make it worse. Go."
The gate creaked open behind him.
Teclos swallowed and stepped through.
The village square hit him like a punch.
Tables were overturned. Broken decorations lay scattered across the dirt. Strips of colored cloth hung torn from poles, fluttering weakly in the breeze. Almost all stalls had been collapsed, their wooden frames splintered and bent. People moved through the mess with grim expressions—sweeping, lifting, repairing.
And when they saw him—
Their faces hardened and murmurs followed.
"That's one of them…"
"Unbelievable…"
"My stall—completely gone."
Teclos slowed, dread curling tighter in his gut.
Then he saw the churned-up ground.
Deep hoof marks.
Dozens of them.
The sight dragged another memory to the surface.
Gillard stood unsteadily in the square, arms spread wide, face flushed and determined.
"Alright, he-here is an idea," he said, slurring just a little. "Let's see who's the better rider..."
Ralph barked out a laugh. "Y-you're on! But where we g-gonna get horses?"
Teclos squinted, then snapped his fingers. "The cows."
Both of them stared at him.
"…Cows?" Gillard repeated, confused.
"Well, it's close enough," Teclos declared proudly.
The pasture gate burst open moments later.
More than thirty cows bolted out.
Three figures rode in the front of the stampede—Teclos gripping horns with wild laughter, Ralph whooping like a madman, Gillard yelling something that might've been a prayer.
They thundered straight through the square.
Stalls shattered. Tables flipped. Decorations were obliterated.
It was proper chaos.
The memory slammed into place, and Teclos stopped walking.
"H-holy shit," he whispered. "It gets worse the more I remember."
The rest came back in fragments as he moved again, head down.
Challenges that had started harmlessly.
Who could get a dance with a girl.
Who could drink more.
Who could run faster.
Silly things, really, and each dare had pushed the next one further.
Dumber and more dangerous.
Until everything tipped over into chaos.
By the time he reached the chief's house, his stomach felt hollow.
Yelling echoed from inside.
Angry.
Loud.
Furious.
Teclos hesitated at the door, took a deep breath, and stepped in.
The room was tense.
The chief stood near the center, hands planted on the table, face red with rage.
Ralph was off to one side, shoulders slumped.
A massive red handprint was visible across the side of his head.
Teclos stared at it—
And remembered.
A girl's face twisted in fury last night.
Ralph's grin vanishing mid-sentence.
Smack.
Gillard stood nearby, clothes torn at the shoulder and sleeve, a faint bruise darkening his jaw.
Another memory surfaced.
A fistfight between him and Loric.
Gillard hitting the dirt.
The chief's voice snapped Teclos back to the present.
"Do you have any idea," the chief thundered, "what kind of damage you caused?!"
No one answered.
"Festival property destroyed. Livestock panicked. People injured. Guards dragged out of bed in the middle of the night!"
Ralph winced.
Gillard stared at the floor.
Teclos didn't move.
"This village finally returned to peaceful days after that incident, and you just had to destroy that, didn't you?!" the chief continued, pacing. "Hunters-in-training. Future defenders? I just see ungrateful brats!"
The lecture went on.
And on.
By the time the chief finally stopped, the room felt drained of air.
That was when the door opened again.
Parents flooded in.
Voices rose.
Anger multiplied.
And then—
"Teclos."
Saldia's voice.
It was calm and icy.
She stood there with sharp eyes, and a nonexistent smile.
She didn't say another word and grabbed him by the ear.
"Ow—!" Teclos yelped.
"Home now," she simply said.
She dragged him out of the chief's house without ceremony, ignoring the looks, the whispers, the sympathetic grimaces.
Teclos stumbled along beside her, every step a reminder that whatever punishment he'd imagined—
This was only the beginning.