The body remained where it had fallen, undisturbed and untouched, like a macabre monument to something that had already passed. The air felt heavier now, as if the world itself was holding its breath, suspended in a moment that demanded to be understood. The stillness was oppressive, a silence that spoke volumes in its emptiness. The knights stood around it in a half-circle, as though uncertain of how to proceed, eyes darting between the body and each other, but none dared to touch the corpse. The hushed murmurs were as brittle as the air itself, fragile against the growing tension.
One knight, usually calm in the face of the unknown, stepped forward with a slow, deliberate motion. His blade was unsheathed, the metal gleaming faintly in the dim light of the dying fire. He prodded the body, the tip of his sword pressing against the skin. The response was unsettling. The skin didn't break—it caved inward, as though the very structure of the body was no longer solid. It was like wet paper, too soft, too pliable, as though it had been drained of all integrity. When the pressure was released, the skin slowly returned to its original shape, but there was no doubt—it wasn't right. The knight cursed softly under his breath, stepping back, his instincts screaming that whatever had caused this was no mere beast. This was something else.
"We need to move," another knight muttered, voice tight with a mixture of fear and urgency. "Burn it. Leave no trace. We can't afford to—" But his words trailed off, lost in the weight of the moment.
Rei, standing at the edge of the circle, said nothing. His gaze remained fixed on the hollow form of the body, unreadable. His silence spoke louder than any command, a reminder that whatever had happened here was beyond the scope of their understanding. They were out of their depth, and that was something Rei knew all too well. He didn't flinch. He never did.
It was then that Erasmus stepped forward, his movements smooth, purposeful, his gaze already honing in on the corpse with a kind of detached intensity. He crouched beside it, his fingers hovering just above the skin, not touching but feeling, as though the air itself held secrets he could read. Unlike the others, who were inspecting it for obvious signs of injury or cause of death, Erasmus was searching for something else entirely. Something the body wasn't saying.
His fingers twitched slightly as he felt the air shift around them—subtle, almost imperceptible, but there. A wrongness that rippled through the very fabric of reality itself. It wasn't a sensation most would notice, but Erasmus had spent a lifetime surrounded by forces too intangible to see. And this was familiar. The sensation was not one of violent attack, nor was it the work of some mindless creature. It was something far colder. Far more calculated.
Erasmus frowned, brow furrowing as his mind worked to piece together the puzzle. This wasn't a simple killing. This wasn't an act of savagery. No, this had been an experiment. Something—or someone—had taken exactly what it wanted from this man. No excess. No mess. The body was left hollow, stripped clean. As if to study it. To learn from it. To understand it in ways that the knights could not. And the unsettling truth gnawed at him—whatever had done this was watching them. Observing.
—
Back at the fire, the camp had fallen into a quiet turmoil. The heat from the flames was no match for the frost creeping along the edges of their tents, and the men huddled close, murmuring in low voices, weighing their options. Some talked of leaving, of moving forward and leaving this place behind. Others questioned Rei's lack of foresight—why hadn't he sensed something was coming? But the veterans, the older knights, remained silent, their experience telling them that there were things in this world that did not follow the rules of the known. Things that defied explanation.
The younger knights, the squires, were another matter entirely. Their unease was palpable. They hadn't seen enough of the world to know what was real and what was not. They were still new to the strange, the eldritch, and fear—their own fear—was a palpable presence in the air. Fear made people unstable, and instability made men dangerous.
Erasmus sat near the fire, his figure almost blending into the shadows, as though he were a part of the dark itself. He was still—too still—and his presence, an unknown variable, unsettled the others. He was the outsider. The one who didn't react when others did. The one who always stood apart. That alone was enough to make men uneasy, for in times like these, when uncertainty ruled, people turned on what they did not understand.
Jory, sitting across from him, clenched his fists tightly, the knuckles white with the effort. "This wasn't a beast. You saw that, right? You felt it." His voice was low, but the intensity behind it was unmistakable. The air around them seemed to grow heavier with each passing second, and Jory's gaze remained fixed on Erasmus, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment.
Erasmus met his gaze, his expression cool, detached. "Yes," he replied simply.
Jory hesitated, and when he spoke again, it was in a quieter, more guarded tone. "You know more than you're saying."
Erasmus said nothing. He didn't need to.
But then, something changed. The fire flickered. Not from the wind, not from a passing breeze. But because something had stepped too close. And yet, when the knights looked around, there was nothing there. No shift in the shadows. No figure in the dark. Just the unsettling, undeniable sense that something was watching them from just beyond the light's reach.
The fire sputtered again, the flames twisting unnaturally, and the shadows around them seemed to stretch in ways that defied the logic of the night. The air itself held its breath, heavy with anticipation. And then—a shape. Or rather, the suggestion of one. A figure stretched beyond human proportions, standing at the very edge of the fire's reach, but no closer. It had no features, no form to define it, no sound to give it substance. It was simply there, occupying space in a way that made no sense at all.
The knights scrambled to their feet, reaching for their blades, eyes darting around for any sign of a threat. But the figure remained still. It did not flinch. It did not move.
Then—a step. No sound, no disturbance in the dirt. Nothing to mark its passage. It was as though it had never touched the ground at all. But it was there, undeniably present, standing just beyond the reach of their comprehension.
And then came the voice. It didn't come from the figure. It didn't come from any one direction. It came from everywhere. Behind them. Above them. Below them. A whisper behind their ribs, a murmur between their thoughts.
"Not yet."
The words, repeated over and over, echoed in the stillness. "Not yet." "Not yet." "Not yet."
And then—just like that—the figure collapsed in on itself, folding like a piece of paper being crushed by an invisible hand. It was gone in an instant, vanishing into nothingness as if it had never been there at all. The presence it left, however, lingered, heavy and unshakable. The words remained.
Erasmus exhaled softly, his fingers curling into a fist. The message was clear, unmistakable.
It wasn't a warning. It was a promise.
—
The night returned to an unnatural silence, the kind that hung in the air like a storm cloud, waiting to break. The men around the fire said nothing. But they kept their hands close to their weapons, their gazes flicking toward the shadows, toward the edge of the firelight where the unknown lingered. And time and again, Erasmus caught their eyes shifting to him—questions forming but left unspoken. Fear was spreading, and suspicion was growing like a seed in the dark.
Finally, it was Riven who broke the silence. His voice, steady but laced with tension, cut through the air like a blade. "You came, and then people started dying."
The words were not an accusation, not yet. But they were a seed, and the soil was fertile.
Erasmus tilted his head slightly, a small, knowing smile playing at the edges of his lips. "And you think I brought this?"
Riven's gaze did not waver. He was not like the others—easily rattled, easily swayed. He was sharp, a mind capable of seeing more than most. And it was clear, in that moment, that Riven wasn't merely asking. He was testing. Trying to understand the unexplainable.
"You don't react like the rest of us," Riven said, his words measured, deliberate. "You're too… steady."
Erasmus smiled, a slow, enigmatic curve of his lips. "Is that a crime?"
Riven's lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing more. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Then a younger squire, eyes wide with the remnants of fear, spoke up, his voice trembling. "That thing… the way it just stood there. It was like it was looking for something."
Or someone.
The implication of those words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Erasmus let them settle, his gaze sweeping over the group, feeling the tide of doubt shift against him. This was how it always began. A seed of fear, a whisper of blame. Soon enough, it would grow into something far more dangerous. He could turn this, if he wanted to. He could manipulate the fear, twist it to his favor, make them see him as the solution, as the one who understood.
But that wasn't his path. Not yet.
Then he stood, stretching slightly as if dismissing the entire conversation.
"I suggest you sleep," he murmured. "You'll need your strength for whatever comes next."
Then he walked away, leaving the firelight behind.
And behind him, the whispers began again.