The evening air in Sylmare Forest was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and pine. The fading sunlight cast long shadows through the dense canopy, painting the narrow woodland path in streaks of amber and deep blue. The occasional rustling of leaves and distant chirping of nocturnal creatures filled the silence, making it clear that night was settling in.
"Haa... that rabbit meat is no joke,"
Gramps muttered in satisfaction, tilting a bottle of booze to his lips. The faint slosh of liquid was the only sound between them for a moment. In his other hand, he loosely gripped the katana—Velren's newly acquired blade—its sheathed form was resting against his shoulder with ease, as though it weighed nothing.
Trailing behind him, Velren trudged along with a large wooden box in his arms. The size of the thing nearly rivaled his ten-year-old frame, and each of his step made his arms scream in protest.
Isn't this what they call child abuse?!
"Why is this stash so heavy?" Velren grumbled, adjusting his grip on the box.
Gramps barely spared him a glance.
"Quit your whining. I already got you a gift today and paid for your meal. You expect me to carry everything too?"
Velren stared at him in disbelief.
'Is this old man serious?!'
Gramps merely chuckled and took another swig from his bottle, keeping his pace steady as the forest path stretched ahead of them.
After a while, the old man broke the silence.
"So," he began, his voice was casual, "what'd ya think about the city?"
Velren blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question.
The city... compared to the quiet, isolated life he had known, it was an entirely different world. He had spent his whole life in this forest—his entire existence bound to the wild, to the small hut with Gramps and the other two. The bustling streets, the towering buildings, the sheer number of people… it was overwhelming. Exciting, even. But at the same time—
"…It was loud, I guess."
Gramps glanced back at him, raising a brow.
"Loud, huh?"
A dry chuckle escaped him as he tipped his bottle back, taking another slow swig before letting out a satisfied sigh.
"Well, ya ain't wrong."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind rustled the treetops, carrying the distant hum of the forest—chirping insects, the creak of shifting wood, the occasional call of some unseen creature. The quiet was familiar, comfortable.
Then, without warning, Gramps broke it.
"Ya know, one of these days, you're gonna have to leave the forest."
Velren blinked, momentarily thrown off. "…What?"
Gramps didn't look at him right away. He simply kept staring ahead, his expression unreadable. When he finally did glance over, there was something knowing in his eyes, something that made Velren uneasy.
"Why d'ya look so surprised?"
Velren parted his lips, but no words came. He didn't know what to say. Instead, he just watched the old man, waiting for him to say more—hoping, maybe, that he would take it back.
With a sigh, Gramps continued:
"You can't stay holed up in the forest forever, kid. Sooner or later, ya gotta live like a proper person. Among people. In a proper civilization. What, ya planning to cling to me until I keel over?"
That… wasn't wrong. Of course, Velren knew that. Sooner or later, he would have to leave. That was just how things were. And yet—why? His life with the two wolves and Gramps, wasn't that already what he considered normal? So why did the idea of leaving feel so… strange?
He hesitated before asking:
"What about you? What made you decide to live in the forest all this time? Even though you still visit the kingdom?"
Gramps kept walking, taking another sip from his booze. Then, after a moment, he muttered.
"That's…"
But before he could finish his sentence—
A scream tore through the forest.
Both of them stopped in their tracks.
Velren stiffened.
"What was that?"
Gramps didn't answer. He had already taken off toward the sound without a second thought.
"Hey! Wa—wait up!" Velren shouted, scowling as he struggled to follow. Was he seriously planning on leaving him behind?! Even with the box in hand, Velren did his best to keep up, his heart was pounding as they raced toward the source.
***
After a few paces, Velren finally caught up to the old man, doubling over and gasping for breath. Gramps, however, stood eerily still, locking his gaze on something beyond the thick foliage.
Velren frowned, stepping closer.
"What is it?"
Gramps didn't look at him. Instead, he lifted a hand in a sharp motion.
"Shh. Look."
Frowning, Velren peeked through the dense brush.
Two figures stood in a clearing, both appearing around in their teens. Their sleek black uniforms were torn and dirtied, and their bodies were marred with bruises and scrapes. The boy gripped a spear, his stance was sharp but clearly exhausted. The girl held a magical staff, wisps of arcane energy still flickering around it.
They were fighting against two towering creatures.
'Isn't that...?'
A Vaelith Bear.
Velren stiffened. He knew that beast well. It was the same monstrous bear he had once encountered—when he first manifested his Eidolon Veil. Unlike most of its kind, which hunted alone, the one Velren had stumbled upon wasn't alone. It had fought alongside another.
Just like this one.
Velren's gaze darted beyond the battle, and there—collapsed on the ground—a third figure lay motionless, and a small pool of blood was darkening the forest floor beside them.
His breath hitched.
"Shouldn't we help—?"
But as he turned to Gramps, he paused.
The old man had shifted, his knees were slightly bent, and his weight was centered. The katana—Velren's katana—rested at his side, his hand was steady on the hilt. His entire stance radiated stillness, focus, as if waiting for the perfect moment to unsheathe the blade.
Velren swallowed hard.