The monster emerged from the darkness as if the forest itself had given birth to it.
A grizzly in shape, but far larger than anything Ere had ever imagined. Its body was massive, shoulders rolling beneath thick, matted fur darkened by mud and old blood. Muscles shifted beneath its hide with every breath, every movement carrying the kind of weight that could crush bone.
Then it roared.
The sound tore through the night. Trees shuddered. Branches trembled. Leaves rained from above. Birds burst from the canopy in a frantic wave, their wings beating against the silence as they fled into the dark sky.
For a moment, even the forest seemed to recoil.
Everyone froze.
Mika. The hunters. All of them stood still, weapons in hand—and Ere could see it in their faces. This was not something they were prepared for. Not something they wished to encounter.
Before Ere could move, Mika's arm shot back and caught him by the shoulder. To him, Ere was nothing more than a weightless five-year-old child. He pulled him behind him as easily as if he were no more than a loose sheet of paper and pushed him behind the line of villagers.
"Run."
Just one word.
But when Ere looked at his face, he understood what he truly meant.
If he ran now… what kind of person would he be?
Afraid. Clinging to life. Forcing others to carry the weight of his mistakes.
No.
He refused.
The villagers stepped forward. Steel and wood rose into the moonlight.
And so did his dagger.
Ere gripped it tightly. He might have been small, but he was not leaving this to them alone.
Still, he held back for a moment—just long enough to understand its style.
The grizzly lunged.
No warning. No hesitation. One explosive rush. Its massive paw cut through the air with terrifying speed. Three villagers barely had time to react before the impact sent them flying, their bodies slamming into the trees behind them with sickening force.
Wood cracked.
One fell hard to the ground. Another struggled to push himself up.
The third remained still on the ground.
All three were alive—but barely able to stand.
Mika stepped forward. Two hunters moved with him. He had drawn his sword, while the others lowered their spears, feet planted firmly against the earth.
The monster charged again.
Its paw came down in a brutal sweep meant to break through all three at once. The hunters reacted, their spears crossing in front of them with a sharp crack as they braced against the descending strike.
For a moment, they held.
The force drove them back, boots carving lines into the dirt.
But it was enough.
Mika moved.
His sword flashed through the moonlight and carved across the beast's front leg. The cut was shallow—far too shallow. But it was not meant to kill.
It was meant to interrupt.
And it did.
The grizzly's next step faltered, its weight shifting unevenly for a single moment.
Small.
But enough to matter.
Mika had aimed for exactly that.
If they failed… the beast would not be able to chase after him.
For the first time, something unfamiliar stirred inside Ere.
Do not misunderstand—they had already sacrificed much for him. Their time. Their food. Their care.
But their lives?
That was different.
He did not understand it. Why would they go this far?
His hand moved instinctively to his chest.
There it was.
A feeling.
Deep. Subtle. Brief—yet heavy with meaning.
Perhaps this was what it meant to have someone.
Someone willing to stand between you and death.
The grizzly, still consumed by its rage, tore through the crossed spears as if they were nothing more than dry branches. Wood splintered. The impact sent both villagers flying, their bodies thrown hard across the clearing before crashing into the broken remains of the trees.
Mika was left alone.
For a single moment, fear flashed across his face. His eyes widened. His breathing sharpened.
And yet—
he did not move back.
His sword remained raised. His feet stayed planted.
Still standing between Ere and the beast.
Still choosing to protect him.
Mika tightened his grip around the sword and stepped forward once more.
The grizzly lunged.
He met it head-on. Steel clashed against claw with a sharp, violent sound that cut through the clearing. The force drove him back, his boots dragging through the dirt, but he did not fall.
Instead, he twisted his body and drove his blade across the wounded leg once again, reopening the shallow cut he had made before.
The beast roared in fury.
Its injured step faltered for the briefest moment.
Mika used that opening to place himself in front of Ere again, shoulders squared, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
Still standing between him and the beast.
Still choosing to protect him.
Then he looked over his shoulder.
His gaze met Ere's.
"Why didn't you run?"
His voice shook—not with fear alone, but with regret. With desperation.
"Why didn't you run?"
He kept going, even as he dropped to the ground in front of him, still trying to rise, still refusing to give in.
Ere was no longer listening to his words.
He was listening to his heartbeat—
heavy, uneven, yet still fighting to keep going.
Each beat felt louder than the roars around them, a reminder that he was still there, still standing for him—even from the ground.
As his strength began to fade, Ere could see it clearly.
One more hit—
and Mika would die.
For the first time, his thoughts did not drift toward nothingness.
They went to him.
To the villagers.
To the people standing here because of him.
That was when it struck him.
If the stories his mother had told him were true, then even a monstrous grizzly would still follow the instincts of a beast. It would not waste time on prey already down. It would go after what still moved—what still resisted.
It would come for him.
And that was exactly what he needed.
Ere turned and ran.
Not away.
Not truly.
He ran toward the denser part of the forest, where the trunks stood closer together, thick enough to serve as cover.
A shield.
A battlefield he could use.
Dagger in hand, he slipped between the trees, keeping low, weaving through roots and shadows, forcing the monster to follow where its size would work against it.
Behind him, the sound came immediately.
Heavy steps. Branches snapping. Breath like thunder.
It was close.
Very close.
He kept running until he heard it stumble just a few strides behind him.
The wound in its leg had done its work. It had slowed the beast—not by much, but enough.
Its speed had faltered.
Yet its intent had not.
Not its determination to kill everything in its path.