Even after sitting in silence for what felt like ages, the rain still hadn't let up, and the day had already sunk into an early dusk.
Alina shifted in her seat, worry beginning to nibble at the edges of her thoughts. Nana would be anxious, no doubt pacing the kitchen or peeking out the window every few minutes. But with the rain coming down in sheets and nothing to light her way, there was no going back—not yet.
Monsters hadn't been seen in Velora for years, not in her lifetime. Still, people always grew uneasy when night fell. They were part of the darkness, after all.
Alina would never—not even with her life on the line—admit it, but deep down, she was a little grateful to be caught in the rain with someone else. Even if that someone was Killian.
For the past hour, Alina kept herself busy wandering around the shed, poking through shelves and peeking into old crates, doing anything to keep stillness from turning into awkwardness.
Killian, on the other hand, was focused on his bundle of firewood—sorting, checking, and rearranging it like it was the most important task in the world.
Alina shifted in her seat for what felt like the hundredth time, tugging her cloak tighter as a stray breeze slipped through a crack in the wood.
The chill had settled into her fingers now, and she blew into her hands to warm them, pretending she wasn't counting the minutes.
Then, without a word, Killian moved.
She glanced over just in time to see him kneel by a flat stretch of stone near the wall. He rummaged through his bundle of firewood, stacking them with the kind of deliberate care that made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing. From one of the shelves, he pulled an old, half-used box of matches—how he found it so fast, she didn't know—and struck one with a swift flick.
The tiny flame sputtered to life, flickering weakly in the damp air. Killian didn't seem bothered. He cupped the flame gently, as if it were something fragile, watching it catch and grow.
Then, with deliberate care, he placed a few of the logs on top, one by one.
Moments later, the fire was crackling, its warmth slowly spreading through the room. Killian, seemingly satisfied with his work, returned to his corner and settled in. He didn't say a word, but when he caught Alina watching him, he finally spoke.
"Just discarding the wet wood," he said, his tone casual.
But Alina knew the fire had caught far too quickly for it to be just wet wood. Though she didn't want to admit it, the fire was comforting. And even more so, the silence that had settled between them now. It was peaceful, almost. Though, admitting that... well, that was a bit harder.
Alina's thoughts drifted back to Nana's teasing remark earlier in the day, about how Alina seemed so curious about Killian. At first, she'd dismissed it as nonsense, but now, sitting in the quiet warmth of the shed, she couldn't deny it. She was curious about him.
There was something about him—his silence, his ease in strange situations, the way he simply was—that tugged at her thoughts in a way she couldn't quite explain.
One moment, he could annoy her to no end, making her want to shout or throw something at him. But then, in the next breath, he would do something—small, simple, yet unexpectedly kind—that made her feel just a little bit grateful for his presence.
And though she wasn't ready to acknowledge it to anyone, not even herself, that curiosity about him was slowly starting to take root, growing like the ivy creeping up the walls of the shed.
"You're not the type to get ruffled by much, are you?" she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
It was an observation, not an accusation, but the question hung in the air like an invitation.
His gaze stayed fixed on the flames, and for a moment, Alina thought he might ignore her question entirely. But then, his lips quirked ever so slightly, and he spoke, his voice low but steady.
"Some things aren't worth getting ruffled over."
His answer surprised her. She'd expected a sharp remark or silence, something that would make her bristle again, but instead, there was a certain calm to his words.
"Like what?" Alina asked, despite herself. She wasn't sure why, but she wanted to understand him better, wanted to know what made him tick.
He shrugged, his expression still unreadable. "Like things that don't matter in the long run."
Alina opened her mouth to say something, but then hesitated. They weren't exactly close enough to share these kinds of thoughts with each other, and she knew that.
Instead, she let the silence stretch between them, though it felt less oppressive now. The curiosity that had started to creep up on her made her forget the irritation she'd carried only moments before.
So, she decided to stay on safer ground—questions light enough to match whatever strange, in-between thing this was.
Not quite strangers anymore, but certainly not friends.
"Have you been here before?" she asked, not looking directly at him.
"Once," he said. "A long time ago."
"Is that why you move to Velora?"
Killian's gaze didn't shift. The fire crackled between them, filling the pause.
"No," he said after a moment. "Not exactly."
Alina waited, half-expecting him to elaborate—but that was all he gave. No explanation, no hint of what exactly had brought him here. Just that simple, clipped answer.
She let out a quiet breath, not quite a sigh. "You really don't like giving straight answers, do you?"
This time, the corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.
"Only when the questions have easy answers."
Not wanting to press further, Alina let the silence settle again. For now, her curiosity had been fed just enough. She stood and wandered over to the window, brushing the foggy glass with her sleeve.
The rain had eased into a light drizzle, the sky still overcast but no longer pouring.
"I think we can go now," she said, glancing over her shoulder.
Killian simply nodded and gathered his things, careful to put out the fire before standing.
Just as Alina reached for the door, a loud, piercing scream tore through the night. The sound cut through the stillness, echoing across the darkened woods outside.
Alina froze, her hand still on the doorknob. Her heart slammed in her chest, and instinctively, she pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block out the terrifying sound.
The scream wasn't that of an animal, but neither was it quite human.
It was something raw, something primal—half-human, half something else entirely.
Killian immediately stiffened at the sound of the scream. Every trace of ease vanished from his posture, his muscles tightening as he stepped in front of her in one smooth motion.
He didn't hesitate, didn't glance back—just placed himself between her and the door as if it were instinct.
Alina swallowed and took a step back without thinking, her body obeying the unspoken command.
"What was that?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.
Killian didn't answer. His head tilted slightly, listening—not to the shed, but to the world beyond it.
"Stay behind me," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "Don't make a sound."
He reached for a piece of wood from the bundle on his back, drawing it out with the same deliberate motion as someone pulling a sword from its sheath.
With slow, deliberate care, Killian pulled the door open.
Cold air rushed in, carrying the damp scent of earth and rain. Darkness stretched beyond the threshold, thick and waiting.
Killian scanned the tree line, his shoulders squared, weight subtly shifted onto his back foot.
Alina rose onto her tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of where the scream had come from. But Killian, tall and imposing, blocked the entire doorframe, shutting her off from the outside world with his solid presence.
So Alina stood frozen, her ears straining for any sound beyond the door. Her breath felt shallow, a strange weight pressing against her chest. The smell of wet wood and soil clung to her lungs, sharp and metallic.
Then came the whisper.
"Kill…"
The word drifted on the wind, thin and fragile, like the last breath of something dying.
"Kill... kill... kill!"
Alina's blood ran cold. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her cloak, nails biting into her palms as her pulse roared in her ears.
Before she could react, the world exploded.
A deafening crash slammed into the door, the force of it shuddering through the shed. Wood splintered with a sharp crack, the frame groaning as if it might collapse entirely. Another crash—harder this time—and the door burst open.
And then, in the dim light of the shattered doorframe, Alina saw it.
The first glimpse of the tales she had only heard whispered about in the darkest corners of the village.
A monster.