The Song of the Shadows

The forest closed in on Kaelen like a shroud. The twisted branches of the trees, stripped of leaves by the budding cold season, rose like bony fingers toward a starless sky.

The moon, hidden behind dense clouds, barely offered a faint glow that transformed the familiar trunks into monstrous silhouettes.

The air, already freezing, cut his skin and filled with the acrid stench of smoke rising from the Valley of Sereno, a constant reminder of the hell he had just escaped.

Kaelen ran.

He ran without direction, without purpose, only driven by a primal fear that burned in his guts.

His lungs burned, his muscles screamed, but he didn't dare stop.

Every branch crunching beneath his feet, every whisper of wind between the trees, was an imminent threat.

Lígia's final scream echoed in his ears, mixing with the roars of the Oni and the chilling laughter of the Vampires.

The image of Master Elías, his face contorted by cosmic terror before collapsing, was an open wound in his mind.

He fell, tripping over an exposed root, his thin body hitting the frozen ground with a groan.

The pain reminded him he was still alive, a truth that at that moment felt like a curse.

He crawled behind a thick trunk, his heart pounding to the point of bursting.

He tried to regulate his breathing, but the air evaded him.

He raised a trembling hand to touch his chest, looking for the physical pain to anchor him, but found only emptiness.

---

That's when the whispers truly began.

At first, they were only echoes.

Familiar voices distorted by the wind: Lígia's laughter, but with a mocking tone; Master Elías's deep voice, but with incomprehensible and threatening words.

Then, they became clearer, more insistent.

They spoke from the shadows, from the space between the trees, directly to his mind.

They said things he couldn't understand, but that filled his soul with growing unease.

"Weak... prey... sacrifice..." the words repeated, mixed, creating a cacophony that threatened to break what little sanity he had left.

Kaelen hugged himself, trying to silence the voices, but they were too strong.

They were part of him now, or so it felt.

The terror and the guilt of having fled from Lígia ate away at him.

How could he leave her? How could he save himself and condemn her?

The voices mocked his weakness, his failure.

---

A nearby branch snap pulled him from his torment.

This time, it wasn't a whisper, but something real.

He crawled deeper into the shadows, his amethyst eyes, now dull from fear and lack of sleep, scanned the darkness.

The vision of the Oni and Vampires was still etched into his mind.

They were predators, and he was the prey.

---

Hours later, when the first gray light of dawn filtered through the trees, Kaelen was exhausted.

His clothes were torn, his body covered in scratches and bruises.

Thirst and hunger burned his throat.

He had avoided the main road, knowing the hunters would follow that route.

He had ventured deep into the forest, a place Master Elías had described as "wild and lawless," even for humans.

He found a barely visible path, covered in undergrowth, and followed it in hopes of finding water.

It wasn't long before he saw a small stream.

He drank straight from the source, the icy water burning his stomach but relieving his thirst.

That's when he saw the camp.

---

They weren't Oni or Vampires.

They were humans.

A group of four men, with filthy clothes and worn leather armor, sat around a small fire, roasting a rabbit.

Their weapons, nicked swords and hand crossbows, were within reach.

Kaelen hid behind some bushes, watching them.

They didn't seem like villagers; they had the hardened look of bandits or mercenaries, cold eyes and weathered faces.

—

"I heard screams last night," said one of them, a burly man with a scar across his brow.

"It was the Oni. They must have razed that valley at the foot of the hill."

"A shame," replied another, a younger man with a cunning gaze.

"I always thought the Valley of Sereno was too pretty to last. Too naive. Those villagers didn't know the world."

—

Kaelen's stomach turned.

They were talking about his home.

About Lígia.

About his family.

And there wasn't a shred of remorse in their voices, only cold observation, even a veiled mockery.

His pain, his horror, was just morning news to them.

---

A plan, cold and amoral, began to form in Kaelen's mind, pushed by the whispers drilling into his head.

"Pragmatic... survive... not weak..."

He needed food.

He needed water.

And they had them.

But there were four, and he was one, unarmed and exhausted.

The naivety Lígia once teased him for now felt like a death sentence.

The compassion, the morality Master Elías had instilled in him, felt like weakness.

In that moment, Kaelen didn't see four men, but four obstacles.

Four sacks of meat with provisions.

Lígia's voice, once a melody, now was a lament whispering: don't trust.

---

He watched, waiting.

The bandits spoke of their next prey, of how they'd assault a merchant.

They were ruthless.

They were strong.

And he... he was hungry.

---

When one of the men walked off to relieve himself, Kaelen saw his chance.

He pulled out the small knife Lígia had given him for his birthday, a tool for carving wood, now a makeshift weapon.

His hands trembled, not from fear, but from the cold fury rising in his throat.

---

It wasn't an honorable fight.

Kaelen waited silently until the bandit, a large and scruffy man, crouched.

With a desperate move, Kaelen lunged, the knife seeking the softest, most vulnerable spot he could find.

The bandit barely had time to gasp before falling to the ground, dark blood bubbling from his throat.

It wasn't clean, it wasn't pretty.

It was a brutal and efficient act, guided by a survival instinct he didn't know he possessed.

The body hit the ground with a dull thud.

Kaelen looked at the blood staining the earth, and for a moment, a chill of revulsion ran through him.

But the voices in his head, louder now, drowned out the nausea.

"Good... Necessary... You will survive."

---

He took the bandit's weapon, a heavy hand axe, and returned silently to the camp.

The other three men were distracted, laughing at some cruel joke.

The plan, though simple, was the only thing he could think of.

He had to be fast.

---

The next one fell while dozing, his neck exposed to the axe's blade.

The third stood up, alerted by the sound, but Kaelen was faster, using the second's body as a shield and striking with a ferocity that even surprised himself.

The last, the burly man with the scar, fought back.

His blows were strong, but Kaelen's agility, heightened by a rush of adrenaline and a mind no longer hesitating, allowed him to dodge and find an opening.

He brought him down, and with one final brutal blow, ended his life.

---

Kaelen stood over the bodies, the heavy axe in his hands.

His breath came in ragged gasps.

The blood, warm and sticky, covered his hands.

He looked at the dead faces of the bandits, the same men who had spoken with disdain about the massacre of his village.

He felt no triumph, not even hatred.

Only a cold, numb indifference.

He had killed.

He had survived.

---

He began rummaging through their bags, pragmatism dictating each of his movements.

Food, water, a blanket.

The revulsion had faded, replaced by an urgent need.

This was the world now.

A world where killing was a tool, and morality a burden.

---

As he ate the roasted rabbit, the meat a luxury he hadn't tasted in days, Kaelen felt a new kind of whisper.

They weren't voices tormenting him, but something closer to a revelation, a brutal and clear truth forming in his fractured mind.

Master Elías had taught that wisdom was the best defense.

Lígia had said the world was dangerous.

Both were right, but Kaelen was discovering his own truth.

Wisdom without the will to act, morality without the strength to defend it, were weaknesses that doomed you to be prey for the Oni or the Shadows.

---

He looked at the bandits' weapons. Now they were his.

His mind felt different, sharper, but also more distant from the humanity he once knew.

The massacre of the Valley of Sereno hadn't just taken everything from him; it had taken a part of himself, a part that would never return.

---

The sun began to rise, revealing the forest tinged with a sad gray.

Kaelen stood, a new man, or rather, a shell with a broken soul.

The whispers in his mind were no longer a torment.

They were... a chant.

A dark chant that promised power in exchange for his sanity, a melody guiding him toward survival in this cruel world.

The path ahead was dark, but Kaelen, now a predator instead of prey, was ready to walk it.

---