Asdras felt the wind had died. The faint stirring of air he’d clung to vanished, smothered beneath a choking stillness, as though the land itself recoiled in silent dread. Even the crisp scent of autumn leaves surrendered to a stagnant hush that weighed on his lungs. He could hear his own breathing, shallow and ragged, but beyond that — nothing. Not a rustle from dead grass, no scuttling of vermin, and not so much as the faintest whisper among the gnarled trees. Everything held its breath.

  Then came the shift.

  He couldn’t see it at first, not precisely — only a tremor along the tree line, a shiver as the wood itself seemed to recoil. The distant sky, once stained deep red by an unnerving twilight, turned the color of bruised flesh. Asdras stiffened, each bone in his body vibrating with a primal warning. There, beneath the broken canopy, the bark of the nearest tree began to twist, its surface swelling as though something inside wanted out.

  Veins of black sap trickled from fresh splits in the wood, oozing like open wounds. Branches curled inward, snapping in grotesque arcs that turned the trees into skeletal silhouettes. Asdras could do nothing but watch. Breath caught like a caught fish in his chest. He took a half step back and nearly stumbled, his boots scraping in the dirt.

  He felt it before he saw it: a presence perched within the contorted remains of a once-stout oak. When his eyes focused, it loomed there — a specter of carrion and rot. Its skull elongated, some monstrous parody of a crow’s beak, craning downward in deliberate, dreadful patience. The feathers that clung to its frame were filmy and ragged, their edges glistening with the dull sheen of decay. Each breath teased away more of its wasted flesh, revealing jutting ribs and a dull, intermittent glow pulsing between them. It stirred with brittle grace.

  Its eyes found Asdras. Twin abysses of crimson fire. Unblinking. Utterly devoid of mercy.

  A new sound hemorrhaged into the silence: the low, rasping scrape of chains slithering across wood. Rusted links wrapped around the creature’s limbs, as though shackles from some long-forgotten punishment. Its claws kindled a hideous screech against the oak’s twisted trunk, and Asdras felt an icy jolt in his bones, as if something ancient and malevolent had just acknowledged him.

  And all at once, it moved.

  It glided down from the warped bough with a dreadful elegance, each step so fluid that Asdras’s mind screamed at the wrongness of it. The air thickened, corrupted by the stench of decay and damp earth. That faint glow in its ribs flared again—a slow heartbeat of tarnished light. Shadows cast by the dying sunset contorted along the ground, dancing with the creature’s every step.

  The thing opened its beak. No coherent words came, only a parodic melody, like a crow gargling a child’s lullaby. It rasped, swallowing its own notes. The twisted, shapeless tune pressed on him, sliding across his nerves like the memory of fingernails across glass. Instinct forced him to recoil. He did not realize he’d moved until his shoulder collided with the crude wooden barricade rimming the village’s perimeter. Behind him, a faint shimmer pulsed — a ward of protection, glimmering a malevolent scarlet against the gloom. The villagers had erected it, and already its power showed cracks. Did it have enough strength left to keep this horror out?

  The creature didn’t charge. It simply watched him, waiting as though time meant nothing. Then the hush of the world around them ruptured further. The trees began to sing.

  No true words, but a guttural, keening wail crawled through the air. Bark yawned in slow, agonizing tears, and slender streams of black sap wept down their trunks. Each breath from those skeletal boughs rattled with a sound like damp laughter, but absent all joy. Instead, it carried raw hunger. Pain. Despair. Asdras’s stomach lurched. Panic gnawed the base of his throat. His hands clenched into trembling fists, knuckles white. Every nerve in his body cried for him to turn, to run, to be anywhere but here.

  Yet, he stood, transfixed, as if pinned by the abomination’s scarlet eyes. They blazed without blinking, a patient, timeless focus. Windless air pressed in from every side, summoning a suffocating hush. The protective barrier at Asdras’s back hummed, red light vibrating in response to the monster’s presence. He prayed it would hold. There weren’t enough swords in the entire territory to stand against that thing if it broke through.

  Then it moved again. Its talons skated across the surface of the ward, and the sound that screeched forth stabbed through Asdras’s ears like white-hot needles. He staggered, hands unsure, pressing them against his ears too late to block the unholy cacophony.

  He glimpsed the top of the village’s fence as more figures emerged behind him — the villagers, half-shrouded by the failing light. Grandpa First, the oldest among them, paced forward with uncanny calm, eyes shut as though in prayer. A few paces away, a man clutched a sword, knuckles blanching. Another, a woman, crouched low, hugging her daughter close. The child’s eyes were wide, reflecting the red hue of the ward. They all stared, collectively holding their breath while the monster’s talons dragged across that flickering dome.

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  The hush broke once more. A small figure sidled forward — Sixth, holding a battered lute in both hands. He paused, chest rising and falling in ragged tempo. Then, with surprising steadiness, he plucked a string.

  The note quivered in the air. One tenuous hum cutting through dread. Then a second note, then a third. He formed a melody — a single, trembling line of music. Fragile. Precious. And somehow, unstoppable. The twisted trees swayed in time, their guttural moaning quieting. The monster’s rattling hum faltered. Its scorching red eyes shifted from Asdras to the boy.

  Closer to Asdras, the villagers added their voices. The first was shaky, uncertain. Then more joined. It was a song saturated with old laments, the refrain of a village surely overshadowed by horrors beyond mortal comprehension. But it was more than just a tune. Their voices wove into the ward’s power, deepening that ruby glow. Asdras caught his breath when he saw the magic spark along their wooden fence, trailing up like living embers.

  “Gather close and hear my plea,

  For I’ve a tale of shadows free.

  I sing of madness, dark and deep,

  A twisted path, a soul to keep.”

  Bodies pressed closer together, each person lending voice to the harmony. Voices balanced on a razor’s edge between fear and defiance. The protective dome pulsed in time with their refrain. Asdras felt an ache behind his eyes — an igniting, though whether from the music or the terror, he could not say.

  “In the shadows where nightmares grow,

  A man was met by Twilight Crow.

  ‘Defeat the darkness,’ the crow did croon,

  ‘Or live by night, beneath the moon.’”

  A flicker of new color stained the sky overhead. A brighter red clashed with the gloom, as if dawn threatened to break a timeless night. The twisted forest hush fell deeper, turning the monstrous oak into silent watchers. The acrid stench of rot receded, replaced by something calmer, if no less heady — a sense of crossing a threshold. Asdras found himself inching away from the fence, heart pounding, drawn toward the circle of villagers. Their singing pressed warmth into the air:

  “The second man, by darkness swayed,

  In shadows deep, his soul he laid.

  He walked the path of shadow’s breath,

  A life entwined with thoughts of death.”

  He looked up. The barrier’s hue lightened. In the presence of that communal song, the borders shimmered nearly transparent. For a moment, Asdras wondered if it would vanish entirely, leaving them exposed. But it remained, protecting them behind a curtain of sound and light. And the beast grew still, as if pinned by the intangible force of their voices.

  “The third did yield to darkness’ call,

  Let madness rise, let reason fall.

  Consumed by black, his mind did break,

  The Twilight Crow his soul did take.”

  The creature finally twitched, a jarring spasm that made those chains scrape against its bones. Its beak clicked, and the pulsing glow between its ribs flared bright. Then, it turned.

  With a languid swipe of its talons, it tore into one of the twisted trees, splintering wood, severing roots as though it grasped a brittle twig. Holding that torn trunk in its claw, the beast lingered, as if contemplating one last assault. But its eyes found the singing villagers once more. There was no fury in them, no frantic last stand—merely steadfast patience, ancient and unblinking.

  “Three paths entwined by feathered fate,

  The Twilight Crow did watch and wait.

  In madness’ grip or shadow’s keep,

  Or battling dark through endless sleep.”

  At those final lines, the creature began to withdraw. Each backward step slow, methodical, until the rotted trunk ripped free of the ground, roots twisting like serpents. The music continued, unwavering, as the beast receded into the depth of the skeletal trees. Only when it had vanished entirely and the stench of rot had receded did the villagers allow silence to reassert itself.

  A breath escaped Asdras, harsh and unsteady. He stared into the forest’s gloom, half-convinced the creature might lunge back through the parted branches at any moment. But the trees no longer sang. The bark no longer bled. They were just trees again, ruinous from time and disease, but no longer twisted into macabre shapes.

  He touched his own chest, feeling how forcefully his heart had hammered under that unearthly dread. In the hush, he finally heard the quiet whimpers from others — an older woman struggling to calm her pulse, a man retching behind a broken barrel, no doubt expelling his terror. The hush was thick with relief, yes, but also with the knowledge that whatever storm had abated tonight would come again.

  A shift of motion drew Asdras’s eye. Grandpa First approached. The old man’s face a tapestry of lines, each marking a memory of battles with nightmares that walked in daylight. He exhaled, peering at Asdras with searching eyes. Hate, sorrow, regret — the emotions vied for control on his features. At last, a fleeting flicker of something gentler surfaced. Hope.

  “What—” Asdras swallowed, voice cracking. “What was that?”

  Grandpa First’s gaze trailed to the place where the trees parted. The lines on his face deepened. “The Beast,” he answered, each word drawn out like it pained him to speak. The hush returned, heavy as iron. “Unfortunately, it took Twentieth with it…”