Chapter 1 – The House Above the Ground
Imre was seven years old, small for his age, with white hair that caught the light and pale blue eyes that reflected the sky more than the earth.
For three days, he and his father had lived in the forest.
For three days, he hadn't seen his mother.
Above them, bound tightly to the trunk of an ancient tree, stood their new home—a wooden structure woven from branches and planks. From a distance, it looked less like a house and more like a massive bird's nest, clinging stubbornly to life.
Imre watched as his father secured the last rung of the ladder.
Hira Sorena was tall, broad-shouldered, and calm in a way that made the forest seem quieter around him. A thick beard shadowed his face, and two swords rested across his back as naturally as breath. His eyes—pale blue, almost white—missed very little.
Imre shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Dad," he said softly, "why aren't we living with Mom and my uncles?"
He hesitated, then added, "Are we… going to live here now?"
Hira climbed down the ladder and stopped in front of him. For a moment, he didn't answer. Then he knelt and placed a hand on Imre's head.
"Do you miss them already?" he asked.
Imre nodded.
A faint smile crossed Hira's face—warm, but brief.
"They'll come tomorrow," he said. "All of them."
Imre wanted to believe that immediately. He almost did.
Hira stood and looked up at the tree-house.
"Do you remember what I taught you?"
"I remember everything," Imre said quickly.
Hira glanced at him, amused.
"Good. Then come. Our home is ready."
They stood face-to-face at the base of the ladder.
"You will climb now," Hira said. "Show me what you got, go on" crossing his hands onto his chest, standing and looking into Imre.
Imre swallowed and placed his hands on the rough wood.
The ladder creaked.
"Don't look down," Hira said calmly. "Just go up."
Imre climbed.
Halfway up, his foot slipped.
His heart jumped—but his fingers tightened, nails scraping against bark. He held on.
Hira didn't move.
"You'll do this every day," he said evenly. "So learn to trust your grip."
My hands hurt, Imre thought. But I can't let go.
He climbed the rest of the way.
"Well done," Hira said. "I knew you could."
Inside, the house was small but solid. One large bed rested against the wall. Swords hung neatly beside a bow and two spears. Everything smelled of wood, oil, and steel.
"I did it," Imre thought, his arms trembling.
"I'm proud of you," Hira said quietly.
Then—
Thud.
An arrow struck the outer wall of the house.
Hira's head snapped toward the sound. In a single motion, he reached to his belt and drew a knife—polished, elegant, deadly.
He placed it in Imre's hands.
"This is for today's achievement," he said. "Your uncle is calling me. I'll return tonight—with your mother."
Imre stared at the knife, eyes wide.
"Until then," Hira continued, "practice with it. Feel its weight."
Imre hugged him tightly.
"I always wanted a real knife," he said. "Thank you, Dad."
Hira hesitated—just for a breath—then nodded.
"Remove the cover. Show me what you've learned."
The blade gleamed like water under moonlight. Imre saw his own reflection in it—small, shaking, excited.
He practiced slowly. Stabs. Blocks. Slashes.
Hira said gently. "you're learning."
Stopped for a second, falling into deep thoughts.
Then
He kissed Imre's head.
"Practice your rotating slash. I want to see improvement when I return."
Then he left.
The forest swallowed his footsteps.
It hurts, Imre thought. But if I keep going, I'll be strong.
On the blade, a single letter was engraved.
N
Mom taught me letters, he thought. I'll ask Dad what it means.
Hours passed.
By candlelight, Imre sat at the desk, flipping through picture books and map. The wind rattled the branches.
It's almost midnight, he thought.
The moon was full. Bright. Too bright.
He stepped toward the window to look outside. The scene was amazing, and the cool wind felt refreshing. He went to sleep.
Then—
"ARRR!"
A howl echoed through the forest.
Another followed.
Closer.
His chest tightened.
He stood up fast, grabbing his knife. Curious and fear on his face, he looked down Ground site. Pack of wargs passing through the forest without noticing Imre's presence. House built on top of big tree was perfectly measured to stand unnoticed from most wildlife creatures.
---
Flashback – Two Years Ago
"Mom," Imre asked, pointing at a picture. "What's that?"
A warg is a massive, wolf-like predator, far larger and more intelligent than any natural wolf.
Milasa smiled faintly.
"Wargs. They hunt in packs. If you see one, hide better."
"Can I pet them like other creatures?"
Her smile faded.
"No. They can't be tamed."
"Can Dad kill them?"
"They know your father's scent," she said softly. "They fear it when you proved them your strength."
---
The memory faded.
Imre stepped back from the window.
Below the tree, something scraped against the bark.
Slowly. Deliberately.
Then another howl rose—closer than before.
Imre tightened his grip on the knife.
And waited.