Huina's Village Hall was usually the heart of the town—today it felt like a lung, squeezed tight and suffocating. The screams from the south gate had faded to a distant memory, but Arvan's ears buzzed with the ghosts of that earlier terror. He moved with an unsteady gait, his eyes flickering from bed to bed, pausing at faces bruised by battle or panic.
He paused at the open door, heart drumming, and looked at Harley and Diana. Diana met his gaze, her face strong but weary, cradling Harley to her side. The boy clutched his wooden swords tighter, lips pressed into a line so stern it almost made Arvan smile despite himself.
"Arvan," Diana said quietly, bringing his thoughts back, "can you make sure it's safe for the little ones?"
Arvan nodded, forcing out a brittle reassurance. "I'll do what I can. Just… keep Harley close." He squeezed Harley's shoulder—a small, trembling thing beneath his calloused hand. He wasn't sure if the gesture was for Harley or for himself.
As he weaved back inside the crowded hall, the comfortless familiarity of the scene washed through him. Beds shoved together, the pungent prickle of herbs barely masking the metallic scent of blood and fear, and Alice hovering by the wounded, face pinched in concentration as she cleaned a wound.
His own hands still shook. The images from the Arnan forest replayed over and over each time he blinked. The sickening crunch, the way flesh parted under unnatural teeth, how corpses twitched and rose. He remembered the moment Gilian clapped a hand over his mouth to silence a scream. The terror had rooted him to the ground then and it threatened to do so again now.
He found Cren, bandaged foot resting atop a bundle, packing a satchel clumsily with one hand. For a moment, Arvan just stood there, fighting the urge to run—or to help everyone flee, without caring where they ended up. "Cren," he finally said, his voice rougher than he intended, "the guards… they're moving everyone to the north gate."
Cren looked up and Arvan saw the pain and fatigue etched in his brother's face. "How bad is it at the south gate?"
Arvan shook his head. "Worse than before, but… I don't know." He breathed out, shivering. "I keep seeing that thing in the forest. People hurt beyond hope, monsters that shouldn't be alive, moving like nothing's real anymore. Cren… I can't—I don't know the right thing to do. Is it better to stay and fight, or drag as many as we can away, and hope the dead don't follow us?"
Cren seemed to read something deeper in Arvan's eyes, a wild fear not just for his own fate, but for what kind of person he'd be if he chose wrong. "You have to decide, Arvan. We all do. But… help is needed with the group, more than on the front. My feet are no good for another battle, but for guiding and protecting villagers? That, I can still do."
Arvan hesitated, torn. Deep inside, the old hunter's rule—survive first, save others if you can—warred with the image of the woman in the woods biting her friend's throat, and the sense that running might only spread the nightmare.
He pressed Cren's old hunting spear, bow & arrow, and mana stones into his brother's hand, fingers trembling. "I'll go with you. If we're to lead people out, let's do it together. Better to be two than alone, I guess."
Cren accepted it with a grateful nod. "Then you should take my bow—my aim isn't much for now," he said, trying to inject a smile. "And this." He handed Arvan a pouch of mana stones, the stones clinking sharply. "If the worst comes, don't be afraid to use anything left."
Arvan felt the weight of the bow and the smooth stones anchor him—a reminder that, though he was torn, action had to come. "Let's just hope we aren't leading everyone to another slaughter," he muttered, almost to himself.
***
Across the room, Rutina was bandaging a woman's wound with absentminded efficiency, but her eyes kept flicking to Alice. The younger girl's hands were steady, but there was something brittle in the set of her jaw. Rutina approached, voice low. "Alice, you should come with the other to the evacuation. I'm more useful on the front—I can heal and help the guards. If something breaches… you'll be safer away from the fighting. I can support Herman, Gilian, and the guards. I should be there."
Alice's lips stretched thin. "No. You're right that the frontlines need a healer, but—someone needs to help the wounded on the way to the lake of tribian. If I go, who'll help the old and kids? Besides, you're the better healer, Sister. I am only a herbalist, but I can still provide some potion in the frontlines."
Rutina placed a hand on Alice's shoulder. "But it's not just your skill. If the north gate falls, there won't be a second chance. Think—what's worse, being safe, or failing to help those who need it most? I don't want to lose my little sister in all this."
Alice pulled away, wiping her eyes on her sleeve before looking up with stubborn resolve. "And I don't want to lose you too. If everyone runs, it'll all fall apart. We both help, just… in different places."
Their standoff was broken by Roy's quiet step. The herbalist avoided their gazes, working a strip of gauze in his hands. "If you're both determined to help on the front, then I'll go with the evacuation. Not much good with a weapon, but I can calm people and treat wounds. That's needed, right?" His forced cheer was thin, but it was enough.
Rutina touched his arm, then looked to Alice. "Promise me—to be careful. If you are trapped in a dangerous situation, focus on survival, Alice."
For a heartbeat the tension between the sisters eased, replaced by an embrace—awkward, but fiercely protective.
***
Around the hall, final preparations fell into a routine of low murmurs and darting glances. Rutina and Alice moved from bed to bed, helping the walking wounded to their feet, handing out bandages, securing cloaks. More than thirty villagers gathered, the wounded and the strong mingled, carried by fear and a faint thread of hope.
Harley clung to Diana's skirt, wooden swords bumping his knees. Diana knelt, whispering encouragement, then rose to hug Rutina and Alice both. "Take care of each other," she murmured.
Arvan, now beside Cren as the side sweeper outside rows of evacuees formed up, caught Diana's eye. He tried to give a reassuring nod, but his face betrayed too much worry. Harley, watching, squared his shoulders and gave an uncertain but brave salute with one wooden sword. The sight made Arvan choke up.
Outside, the line inched toward the north gate as the guards barked subdued orders. Roy drew the children close, his voice light, telling a silly story about a squiry that outwitted three hunters. The laughter was weak, but genuine—it was a trickle of normality washing through the dark tide of fear.
Alice and Rutina embraced Diana one last time. "We'll meet at the lake," Alice whispered. "Make sure of it."
Diana nodded, her voice tight. "You too. Survive. That's all I ask. Give my word to Herman that no matter what happen make sure he and Gil survived"
After nodding because of Diana's childish and charming gesture, Rutina and Alice chuckled then hurried off to the south, leaving the hall behind. The sound of their voices faded into the dawn.
***
The dusk air beyond the hall was cold, bracing. The north gate loomed before them, its thick logs still closed, promising the hope of escape. More and more villagers gathered—mothers hushed their children, old men clutched walking sticks or spades-turned-weapons, the Arnan survivors clustered close, haunted. Rudy offered Keynes a steady arm, their faces pale and drawn, the pain of their flight etched deep.
Ton, the elder, stood on a crate to be heard. "Quiet! We moved to the Lake of Tribian. Guards front, families center, all wounded walk near Roy and Arvan. As soon as the gate opens, move—don't look back, don't break ranks. If danger appears, guards will hold you while you run." After giving a glance to the villager that will evacuate, Ton then gives him last words before leaving to the south gate again, "I'll stay with the other to protect this village, I hope we can meet again after this situation is solved. Make sure to protect each other"
The wind picked up. For a brief moment, a gold of sunlight cut through the trees, shimmering on fresh grass. Someone, perhaps Harley, began a song—a child's rhyme about brave hunters and safe returns. One by one, voices joined in, uncertain at first but growing louder, until for a moment, it almost sounded like a festival morning.
Arvan looked up at the sky, remembering the warmth of home, the golden light before the world turned strange. He saw people smiling—weakly, but truly. For a second, hope won over terror.
He felt hands on his arm, Cren, stronger than he appeared, nodded. "One careful step at a time, old friend. That's all we can do."
Arvan nodded back, and for the first time, the fear in his gut quieted—replaced by something steadier, if not fearless.
After arriving at the north gate, the guards took their positions, confirming with the watchtower—there is no sign of people, animals, or monsters in the outer forest. Breathless anticipation hummed through the crowd.
"Swords up!" barked the lead guard, pushing the gate lever. The wood shuddered, then split open with a drawn-out creak. Dusk light poured in the path to freedom.
Children clung tighter to parents, but now some whispered, "Look! It's clear… we can go!"
Arvan almost believed it—he almost let himself imagine they would all walk safely away.
Then, like a crack splitting stone, the world changed.
A shape flickered from the shadow beside the gate—a blur too fast for any eye. In an instant, the nearest guard's face was gashed, three deep, horizontal gouges spraying blood as he fell with a gargled shout. Before screams could start, a second, smaller figure lunged, jaws snapping onto the neck of another guard, tearing with a feral grunt.
Snap! Crunch!
The man's scream was drowned by the wet, choking gurgle of his own blood.
Panic broke like a wave. Some villagers shoved back, tripping over bags and each other. Roy shouted for calm, but another figure appeared atop the palisade, stabbing downward with a rusted blade. Blood painted the ground. Harley dropped his sword, grabbed Diana's cloak, child's rhyme swallowed by screams.
Arvan, frozen, felt his hope fall away, replaced by the sickening certainty he'd brought doom to those fleeing beside him. It was Arnan again—the forest, the gnawing teeth, the endless terror. No place was safe. He reached for Cren, who shouted, "Form up! Shields, shields—hold the line!"
But already, chaos had claimed the north gate, ripping away hope as soon as it had bloomed.