The boy was not afraid of the woods.

  That was the first thing Aelric noticed.

  Most children walked the forest edge like it might reach out and grab them. They flinched at shadows. Jumped at birds. Held their breath when the wind shifted.

  Itsuka walked as if the trees were old friends who simply hadn’t spoken yet.

  He was thirteen—maybe fourteen—lean, sharp-eyed, long white hair tied back with a strip of cloth he’d clearly cut himself. His practice blade rested across his shoulders, balanced there with unconscious ease as he stepped over roots and stones without ever breaking stride.

  “Eyes up,” Aelric said, not unkindly.

  Itsuka didn’t turn his head.

  “I know,” he replied. “You’re about to say the forest listens before it speaks.”

  Aelric allowed himself a small smile. “Good. Then listen.”

  They were well beyond the outer paths—farther than civilians ever went now. The land here still carried scars from the Gate’s fall: shallow fissures in the soil, patches of growth that twisted in on themselves, Aether currents that hummed just off-key.

  Training ground for a Scout.

  Dangerous place for a child.

  Itsuka stopped suddenly.

  Aelric felt it a breath later.

  Movement—wrong movement—sliding between the trees ahead of them. The air thickened. A scent crept in beneath the pine and damp earth.

  Rot.

  “Step back,” Aelric said quietly.

  Itsuka did.

  Mostly.

  The demon burst from the brush in a spray of leaves and broken branches—low and fast, spine arched, limbs too long for its frame. Its skin gleamed like wet stone, eyes burning a dull red as it lunged.

  Aelric moved.

  There was no flourish to it. No wasted motion.

  Lumen flared once—clean, precise—and the demon’s head separated from its body in a single stroke. The corpse collapsed into ash before it even finished falling, corruption unraveling into nothing as the blade passed through.

  Silence followed.

  Not relief.

  Silence like the world had paused mid-breath.

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  Aelric lowered his sword.

  “Stay behind me,” he said.

  Itsuka didn’t answer.

  Aelric turned—and found the boy standing very still, eyes fixed on the empty space where the demon had fallen.

  “…Itsuka?” Aelric asked.

  The boy didn’t blink.

  “There’s something there,” Itsuka said quietly.

  Aelric frowned. He scanned the clearing—trees, ash, settling dust. Nothing remained of the demon. No movement. No residual corruption strong enough to manifest.

  “There’s nothing,” Aelric said. “What do you see?”

  Itsuka swallowed.

  “…Light,” he said. “It’s floating. Like it doesn’t know where to go.”

  Aelric’s pulse quickened.

  “What kind of light?”

  Itsuka hesitated, searching for words a child shouldn’t have needed.

  “Warm,” he said. “But sharp. And it feels… loud. Like it’s pressing on me.”

  Aelric stepped toward him, every instinct flaring.

  “You don’t touch it,” he said firmly. “Whatever you think you’re seeing—do not reach for it.”

  Itsuka nodded.

  He meant to listen.

  But the pressure in his chest deepened, a pulling sensation that made his breath hitch.

  “It’s moving,” Itsuka whispered.

  Aelric opened his mouth to shout—

  And the world shifted.

  Itsuka gasped.

  The air around him compressed inward, then snapped outward in a sharp pulse that rippled through the clearing. Leaves tore free from branches. Dust exploded off the ground in a tight ring around the boy.

  Aelric staggered back half a step, Lumen flaring instinctively as his armor responded to the sudden surge.

  “Itsuka!” he shouted.

  The boy bent forward sharply, hands clenched at his sides, breath coming fast and shallow.

  Then—

  He inhaled.

  Deep.

  Too deep.

  The pulse collapsed inward, vanishing into him like water swallowed by stone.

  Silence returned.

  He straightened slowly.

  Aelric stared.

  The air around Itsuka felt different. Denser. Like something invisible had taken up residence where there had been nothing before.

  “What did you do?” Aelric demanded, already scanning for signs of corruption.

  Itsuka blinked, disoriented.

  “I—” He pressed a hand to his chest. “It’s… inside me.”

  Aelric grabbed his shoulders.

  “Pain?”

  “No.”

  “Burning?”

  “No.”

  “Voices?”

  Itsuka shook his head.

  “…It feels heavy,” he said. “Like something sat down.”

  Aelric released him slowly.

  That was worse than any scream.

  They didn’t speak on the way back.

  The walk felt longer. The woods felt closer.

  When they reached the outskirts of Ophora, the city was already in motion.

  Mages lined the outer ring, dozens of them, robes marked with sigils of binding and reinforcement. Aether flared in disciplined waves as they worked, voices raised in coordinated chant.

  At the center of it all stood Nyra—young, focused, hands moving faster than most eyes could follow—as glyphs locked into place above the rising lattice of light.

  Draven barked orders from the inner line, directing placements, correcting stance, enforcing rhythm.

  The Barrier was being raised.

  Itsuka watched it with open fascination as the golden arc climbed into the sky, curving outward, sealing the city from the wilds beyond.

  “That’s big,” he murmured.

  “It has to be,” Nyra said, overhearing as she passed them. Her eyes flicked to Itsuka briefly, then to Aelric. “We’re pushing the limits of safe projection.”

  Draven snorted. “Safe’s a suggestion.”

  The Barrier locked into place with a deep, resonant hum that vibrated through stone and bone alike.

  Civilians cheered.

  They didn’t know what it had cost.

  Itsuka stared up at the golden light, eyes reflecting its glow.

  “Does it keep things like that out?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes,” Aelric said.

  Itsuka nodded, thoughtful.

  “Good,” he said. “I don’t like the way they feel.”

  Aelric watched him carefully.

  The boy’s posture was the same. His breathing steady. No visible corruption.

  But something had changed.

  That night, Aelric stood alone on the balcony overlooking the city, watching the Barrier shimmer against the dark sky.

  He should report what he’d seen.

  He knew that.

  Instead, he stayed silent.

  Behind him, inside the quiet room, Itsuka slept peacefully.

  And somewhere deep within the boy, a space had opened—

  Empty.

  Waiting.

  Hungry.