The wind didn’t just stop.
It retreated.
Even the insects went silent, as if hiding.
Joren felt his skin prickle. He didn’t know what it meant, but Bran did — Bran always did.
Bran’s fingers curled toward the hilt of his sword.
Sera whispered, “Something’s wrong…”
Lira notched an arrow without hesitation, eyes narrowing at the treeline.
Tyren slid into a ready stance, spear spinning once to shake the tension from his wrists.
“Everyone,” Bran murmured, “stay sharp.”
A branch snapped in the distance — loud, deliberate.
Joren’s breath hitched.
Another snap. Closer.
A low, wet growl rolled between the trunks.
Tyren muttered, “That’s… that’s not an animal.”
Bran drew his blade.
Lira’s bowstring tightened.
Sera’s staff glowed faintly with protective magic.
Joren tried to steady his breathing—
And then something moved.
A shadow darted from tree to tree, too fast for him to follow.
Then another.
Then five distinct shapes began circling them, weaving in and out of the underbrush.
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“Scouting party,” Bran said quietly. “Five of them.”
The first demon burst from the bushes with a shriek — a small, twisted creature with bone-like protrusions and glowing red cracks running along its limbs.
“Take them down!” Bran barked.
Lira’s arrow flew, embedding deep into the creature’s skull before it touched the ground.
Another demon leapt at Tyren.
He sidestepped and drove his spear clean through its chest in one smooth motion.
A third lunged at Sera from behind—
Joren gasped—
But Bran was already there, blade cleaving it in two.
A fourth demon barreled toward Joren.
He stumbled backward, tripping over a root — claws swiping inches from his face. He raised his arms in reflex—
An arrow whistled past his ear, slamming into the demon’s throat. It collapsed at his feet.
The fifth demon — the largest — pounced toward Bran.
Tyren intercepted with a wild yell, thrusting his spear upward. He misjudged the angle, grazing its leg instead of impaling it.
The demon whipped around to strike Tyren—
Bran appeared behind it and drove his sword through its spine.
Silence washed over the clearing.
The group stood catching their breath.
Joren sat on the ground, chest heaving, legs trembling.
“I… I thought there were supposed to be low-level demons out here,” he managed.
Bran wiped dark ichor from his blade.
“These are low-level demons.”
Lira scoffed.
“Yeah. Which means we’re getting close to something bigger.”
Tyren sank onto a fallen log.
“Five at once… scouting parties don’t usually travel like that.”
Sera’s expression sharpened.
“It means something is organizing them.”
While they spoke, Joren’s gaze drifted to the demon corpses.
That’s when he saw them.
Floating just above the slashed bodies were small, pulsing orbs — pitch-black spheres glowing faintly with dark purple light.
They cast no shadows.
They made no sound.
Yet…
…help…
…release…
…take…
The whispers slid through his mind like cold fingers.
Joren’s blood ran cold. He stepped closer, entranced.
“Uh… guys?” he said softly. “Do you… see that?”
Lira turned.
“See what?”
“The… the lights. Above the demons.”
Five faces stared at him.
None saw anything.
Tyren frowned. “Joren… what lights?”
Sera shook her head, concern in her eyes.
“I don’t see anything either.”
Bran scanned the corpses.
“There’s nothing there,” he said, low and steady. “Nothing lingers after a demon dies.”
Joren swallowed hard.
“…Then what am I seeing?”
He blinked.
The orbs flickered out.
Gone. As if they had never been there.
But he could still feel them. Still hear the faint echo of those whispers.
A warmth — or a warning — brushed at the edge of his consciousness.
He forced a shaky breath.
“No… nothing. Must’ve imagined it.”
Bran didn’t look convinced.
But he didn’t press.
As they moved on, Joren found himself glancing back at the bodies, half-expecting the orbs to return.
Because somewhere, deep inside — a part of him knew:
This wasn’t normal.
This wasn’t random.
And this wouldn’t be the last time.
