My name is Aren.
I was seventeen, dark-skinned, and already stronger than most people expected me to be. Not monster-strong. Not heroic. Just built from work, hunger, and routine. The kind of strength that came from lifting things because they needed lifting and walking because no one else would do it for you.
My skin was dark in a clean way, smooth and even. My mother said it would age well if I stayed out of trouble. I didn't tell her that trouble usually didn't ask for permission. My hair stayed short because long hair got in the way. My face… people said I looked good. I didn't know what to do with that information, so I ignored it.
I lived in Ruva, a village pressed uncomfortably close to the Mirel Forest.
Everyone in Ruva knew the forest. You didn't need stories to explain it. You felt it. The way the trees grew too close together. The way sounds died inside it. The way animals never came out unless something was wrong.
The forest had always been there.
That was the problem.
That morning began like every other morning that pretended it would stay ordinary.
The air smelled like smoke and damp earth. I stepped outside barefoot, the ground cool under my feet. My father, Taren, was already awake. He sat on a low stool, working a blade across a stone, slow and steady, like he had all the time in the world.
He was darker than me, his skin almost black in the early light. His arms were thick, heavy with old strength. A long scar cut across his chest, something from before I was born. He never spoke about it. People don't hide things that don't matter.
"You're up early," he said, eyes still on the blade.
"You woke me," I replied.
The corner of his mouth twitched. That was as close as he came to smiling before sunrise.
Nearby, my mother Sira was braiding my sister's hair. My mother's skin was warm brown, her hands steady, her eyes sharp in a way that missed very little. She had the look of someone who had survived long enough to stop believing things would simply work out.
My sister Nemi stood between her knees, trying to stay still and failing badly.
"You're pulling," Nemi complained.
"I'm braiding," my mother said.
"That's worse."
I snorted before I could stop myself.
Nemi twisted her head just enough to glare at me. "Why are you smiling like that?"
"No reason."
"That's suspicious."
She was nine. Too curious. Too sharp. The kind of child who asked questions the world didn't like answering.
For a brief moment, everything felt steady.
Not happy. Just… held together.
That should have been my warning.
The village was quieter than it should've been. Fewer voices. Fewer footsteps. Fewer people carrying weapons like they normally did. I'd noticed it earlier but hadn't wanted to think too hard about it.
"Father," I said, "where is everyone?"
The sound of steel on stone stopped.
He didn't answer right away. That pause said more than words.
"Gone," he said finally.
I frowned. "Gone where?"
"The summons."
Right.
A week ago, a royal notice had been read. Strong men and women were called away. No clear explanation. Just promises that didn't sound like promises if you listened closely.
Some left because they believed.
Some because they were afraid.
Some because they had nothing else.
Ruva lost a lot of its backbone in a single day.
"I could've gone," I said.
My father looked up at me then, really looked. His eyes were dark and serious. "No."
"I'm not weak."
"That's not what I said."
My mother finished tying Nemi's braid and rested her hands on my sister's shoulders. "You're here," she said quietly. "That's what matters."
I wanted to believe that.
---
Later, I decided to walk toward the river that cut lazily across the outskirts of Ruva. The village was quiet, the usual morning bustle subdued. The river was shallow here, clear, and sparkling in the sun, flowing over smooth stones that glimmered like scattered jewels. Water ran cool across my hands as I scooped some up and drank, letting it wash away the sweat from work and the small aches from lifting and running errands.
As I bent down to splash my face, a voice called out softly:
"Careful there, you'll scare the fish."
I froze, looking up. A girl stood a few steps away, hands on her hips. She was around my age, dark-skinned like most in Ruva, with long braids that caught the sunlight. Her eyes were sharp and lively, though a little guarded.
"Sorry," I said quickly, brushing a hand through my hair.
She laughed softly, not unkindly. "You're big enough to handle a few fish splashing around."
"I… wasn't trying to—" I stumbled, realizing I sounded awkward.
She tilted her head. "I'm Lira. And you are?"
"Aren," I replied, hesitant.
We watched the water for a moment, neither saying much. I noticed the way her lips twitched when she tried not to smile, the faint scar across her brow, the way she kept her hands loose and relaxed instead of clutching a stick or stone like most kids here.
"You live in Ruva?" she asked finally.
"Yeah," I said. "You?"
"Not far," she said, shrugging. "Visiting family."
I nodded, unsure what else to say. For some reason, I didn't want this conversation to end, but I also didn't want to overstay my welcome.
"Well… I should get back," I said.
She smiled faintly. "See you around, Aren."
I nodded again, walking back toward the village, thinking how strange it felt to meet someone who didn't immediately seem afraid or angry.
---
Returning to the village, I found Nemi sitting by the well, kicking stones. "What took you so long?" she asked, eyes wide.
"Just… walking," I said.
"You met someone?" she guessed immediately, grinning.
"Maybe," I muttered. She giggled, hiding her mouth with her small hand.
Old Beka shuffled past, leaning on his stick. His skin was weathered, darkened by sun and years, his eyes still sharp despite his age.
"Don't look too long at the river," he said.
I frowned. "Why?"
"Rivers remember faces," he said, nodding once, then moved on.
I laughed softly, unsure if he meant it or just trying to scare me.
The day dragged. Too quiet. Too slow. Like the world was holding its breath.
Then the birds screamed.
Not one or two. All of them.
They burst out of the forest at once, wings beating wildly, feathers scattering through the air. The sound was sharp and wrong, like the sky itself had been cut.
I froze.
The ground shuddered. Light. Brief. Like a warning tap.
Someone shouted from the village. Another voice answered. Then another.
I turned toward the forest.
The trees were moving.
Not swaying.
Parting.
Something pushed through the undergrowth. Then something else. Then many things. Dark shapes, wrong shapes, slipping between trunks, breaking branches like they were nothing.
My chest tightened.
This wasn't a raid.
This wasn't an accident.
A horn sounded from the village. Short. Desperate.
I dropped my tool and ran.
As I sprinted back toward Ruva, one thought kept repeating in my head, loud and stupid and impossible to ignore.
This isn't how it's supposed to happen.
Behind me, the forest roared.
And all I could here from the village were screams ...