The forest edge always carried a hush in the mornings. Mist clung to the roots, veiling the underbrush like a blanket of secrets. Birds perched silent, as if afraid of waking something that lurked deeper within.
Aiden stood there, wooden practice sword in hand, his body tensed with restraint. Behind him, a pair of hunters leaned on their spears, their eyes never leaving him. They were his "watchers," assigned by the council.
Not companions. Not friends. Guards.
---
He swung the sword in wide arcs, sweat already slick on his skin. The weapon felt almost too light now—his body had grown stronger, faster. When his strikes cut the air, the hunters exchanged uneasy glances. Even restrained, each swing hummed with the weight of something beyond mortal strength.
"Again," Aiden muttered to himself, lowering into stance.
The crimson flicker in his eyes sparked briefly. Power thrummed under his skin, begging to be let loose. He forced it down, teeth grinding. Every motion was a battle not against the air, but against himself.
---
One of the hunters whispered to the other. "He's not practicing. He's holding back."
The other nodded grimly. "Or hiding something."
Their words weren't meant for Aiden, but he heard them all the same. His grip tightened on the hilt until the wood creaked.
"I'm not hiding," he said without turning, his voice low. "I'm controlling it."
The hunters flinched. His tone wasn't angry, but there was something in it—something that made their skin crawl.
---
Hours passed. The sun rose higher, burning away the mist. Finally, Aiden stopped, dropping the wooden sword into the dirt. His chest heaved with steady breaths.
He glanced back at the watchers. "If you're here to guard me, then watch properly. If I lose control, it won't be because I wanted to. It'll be because this village decided fear was better than trust."
The hunters shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.
---
Later that afternoon, Miriam found him sitting on a rock near the treeline, staring into the forest depths.
"They'll come around," she said softly.
"No," Aiden replied, shaking his head. "They'll never stop fearing me. Not after what they saw." He turned to her, eyes tired. "You saw it too. The power. The hunger. Part of me wanted to tear into that beast last night—not just kill it, but devour it whole."
Miriam's face didn't flinch. "And yet you didn't. That choice means more than what they fear."
He looked away, silence stretching between them. His thoughts drifted inward—to the pulse in his chest, the dragon heart sealed within. Each day, it grew louder. Each battle, it grew hungrier.
---
That night, he dreamt again.
Chains rattled in the dark, glowing red with molten heat. Behind them loomed the vast silhouette of the sealed demon-dragon, its scales shimmering like obsidian fire.
"You tasted strength once," the voice rumbled, deep enough to shake his bones. "And you crave it again."
Aiden clenched his fists. "Shut up."
The beast chuckled, a sound like mountains splitting. "You deny it now. But every battle will wear down that fragile will. And when you finally give in… this world will kneel in ash and blood."
The chains shook violently, cracks spreading like spiderwebs.
Aiden jolted awake, drenched in sweat. His heart hammered, not from fear, but from the terrifying truth of the voice.
---
Morning came too soon. He forced himself to rise, only to hear the alarm bells ringing from the village watchtower.
"Beasts at the northern treeline!" a voice cried.
Aiden sprinted, joining hunters rushing to the barricade. His eyes narrowed as he saw them—packs of Dire Wolves prowling just beyond the trees, their eyes glowing unnaturally bright.
Not Rank 2. Not Rank 3. These wolves carried the aura of Rank 4 and 5 predators, their movements too coordinated, their numbers too many.
The balance of the forest was breaking.
And the village was about to be tested again.
---