The creature stepped into the sliver of moonlight.
It was a wolf or had been once. Its fur was matted and dark, crusted with dried blood along its muzzle and chest. One ear was torn clean off. Its ribs pressed against its hide like fingers under a thin blanket. But its eyes were the worst. Not yellow but Red.
Veins burst from the corners like cracks in old pottery.
Blood dripped from its open mouth. Fresh blood. Something had died here recently. Maybe someone.
Gaon stared at the beast. His heart still pounded, but something else was happening beneath the fear. A tingling. Starting in his chest, spreading down his arms, up his neck. The same hum he had felt before, but weaker. Just a whisper. Just taste.
The wolf took a step forward. Its claws dragged through the dirt.
Gaon did not step back.
He thought of the white room. The needles in his tongue. The hunger that hollowed out his stomach. The years or seconds or whatever they were of watching himself fail and lie and ignore and waste. He had been through worse than teeth. He had been through himself.
The tingling grew stronger. His arms felt heavier. The sword in his hands no longer felt like a child's toy.
He smiled at the wolf.
"I've had worse mornings," he said.
Swoosh! The wolf lunged.
Its body left the ground in a single motion muscles coiled, jaws wide, blood dripping from its teeth. The red eyes grew larger and larger as it flew through the air.
Gaon's legs would not move.
Move. Move. Move. Move. Move.
His brain screamed the word over and over. His feet stayed planted. His knees locked. Something between fear and the tingling held him in place like iron chains.
MOVE!
The wolf's teeth sank into his left shoulder.
The pain was immediate and white and hot. He felt the jaws clamp down, felt the sharp points punch through his robe and into his skin, felt something tear that should not tear. His left arm went limp.
"ACKKK!"
But his right arm did not.
The sword yanked upward. Not because he planned it. Not because he aimed. His body just moved. The same instinct that had carried him through the library shelves, through the gate, through the dark forest. His right hand pulled the blade across the wolf's neck as the wolf pulled him down.
They hit the ground together. The wolf on top. Gaon underneath.
Blood poured onto his chest. Warm. Thick. He could not tell if it was his or the wolf's.
The wolf lifted him off the ground and shook its head like a dog with a rat.
Gaon's left shoulder screamed. He felt his arm pulling away from his body, felt the skin stretching, felt something pop that should never pop. The world became a blur of dark fur and red eyes and his own wet cries.
Then the wolf's grip slipped. Blood too much blood, his blood made the fur slick. His body fell free and hit the dirt hard.
He scrambled backward on his elbows. The wolf staggered, shaking its own head, the wound on its neck still pouring dark liquid. It wasn't dead. It was angrier.
Gaon pushed himself up. His left arm hung useless. His robe was soaked. Tears ran down his face he couldn't stop them, didn't care to. It hurt. It hurt so much.
He ran.
Not toward the wolf. Not toward anything brave. He just turned and ran, stumbling, falling, getting up, running again. Branches cut his face. Roots tripped him twice. The sword was gone dropped somewhere in the struggle. He didn't look back.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
The word pounded in his head with every step. He was so stupid. He had run into the forest with a stolen knife like a character in a bad folktale. He had screamed at a wolf like a fool. He had frozen when it lunged. He had almost died for nothing.
I know I shouldn't. I know. So why do I keep doing it?
He didn't have an answer. Only the pain in his shoulder and the dark trees rushing past and the distant sound of the wolf howling behind him not giving chase, just crying out into the night.
He ran until his legs gave out, then crawled behind a fallen log and curled into a ball, pressing his good hand against his shoulder to stop the bleeding, crying quietly into the moss.
"Grrrr" The wolf found him.
It emerged from the darkness, limping slightly, the gash on its neck still seeping. Its red eyes locked onto the small body curled behind the fallen log. It lowered its head and growled low, wet, hungry.
Gaon saw it. His back pressed against the rotting wood. His left shoulder was a mess of torn cloth and blood. His right hand was still pressed against the wound, but the bleeding hadn't stopped. He could feel his strength draining out with every heartbeat.
He cried ugly, loud, messy sobs that shook his whole body. His face was wet with snot and dirt and blood. He was eleven years old. He was alone in a dark forest. A monster was going to eat him.
"I lied," he choked out between sobs. "I lied. I am scared. I'm so scared."
The wolf took a step closer.
Something broke in him, achild's tantrum raw and useless and desperate. He swung his good fist at the wolf's face.
The punch landed on its muzzle with a pathetic slap. The wolf didn't even flinch.
He punched again. And again. Each hit weaker than the last. His arm was shaking. His voice came out as a high, cracked wail.
Dug! Dug! Dug!
"Go away! Go away! I don't want to die again! I don't—"
The wolf opened its jaws.
And then his body changed.
The tingling he had felt earlier exploded into a wave of heat. His muscles tense. The torn flesh on his shoulder pulled together and stopped the bleeding spot. The skin knitted itself shut as if someone had poured hot wax over the wound.
His right fist, still raised from the last pathetic punch, felt different. Heavier. Thicker. He could feel the power rushing down his arm, pooling in his knuckles.
The wolf bit down.
Gaon's fist moved first.
One punch. Straight into the wolf's skull. His arm just shot forward like a hammer swung by someone ten times his size.
BRAKKK!
The wolf's head caved in like a piece of rotten fruit stepped on by a grown man. The body went limp and flew backward, crashing into a tree trunk before sliding down into the leaves.
Silence.
Gaon sat there, breathing hard, staring at his own fist. The heat was already fading. His muscles loosened. His shoulder ached but the wound was gone just a scar, pink and new, across his left collarbone.
He looked at the dead wolf. Then at his hand. Then back at the wolf.
"Hahh… hah"
"I was shocked. I was about to help you, but... seems you unlocked your power at an early age." A voice came from above.
He looked up.
A girl was standing in front of him. She had landed without a sounding rustle of leaves, no crunch of dirt beneath her feet. Her robes were dark blue, neat and clean despite the forest floor. Her hair was tied back in a simple knot. She looked maybe sixteen or seventeen, but her eyes were older.
She smiled. Not warmly. Not coldly either. Just... curious.
"You almost died, you know. That wolf has killed three hunters from the village down the ridge. And you're just a child." She tilted her head. "A child who just punched its head off."
Gaon stared at her. His breath was still uneven.
She put a hand on her chest and gave a small bow.
"You're the missing child, aren't you? The whole town is looking for you. Your parents are worried sick."
She sighed and crouched down to his level. Her voice softened slightly.
"My name is Seo Yerin. I'm a patrol disciple of the Crimson Bamboo Sect. We guard this region." She glanced at the dead wolf behind him, then back at his torn shirt and the scar on his shoulder. "I was doing my rounds when I heard screaming. Thought I'd find a corpse. Instead..." She gestured at the wolf's caved-in head. "Instead I find this."
She studied his face for a long moment.
"Are you okay? That wound looks bad, but... you're not bleeding anymore."
"I'm okay," he said. His voice came out small, but steady enough.
She smiled. Then she reached down and lifted him with both hands, one arm under his knees, the other behind his back. He was light enough for her.
"Close your eyes," she said.
He did.
The world shifted. A soft wind brushed his face. Not the cold wind of the forest floor, but something smoother, higher. He felt his stomach drop slightly, the way it did on a rope swing.
"Open them," she said.
He opened his eyes.
They were floating. Above the trees. Above the ridge. The entire city of Hwagok spread out below him like painting rooftops dark against the grey pre-dawn, the main road a thin ribbon, the market stalls tiny squares. Torches flickered near the outer gate. He could see his own house, the small courtyard where his mother hung laundry.
The air was cold and thin. His torn shirt flapped against his chest.
Seo Yerin held him easily, her feet not touching anything, her robes barely rustling. She wasn't looking at the city. She was looking at him.
"First time flying?" she asked.
He nodded, unable to speak.
She laughed softly. "Hold on tight. I'm taking you home."
To Be Continued.