The sky growled angrily all night. The wind ordered the forest to bow, harshly punishing all who resisted. The mightier trees nodded subtly with their tops, while the weaker ones bent humbly before their powerful master. Those who resisted were conquered—their branches plucked, broken in half, and carried away by the force of the wind. Flowers, grass, and the rest of the low-class forest inhabitants, bowed to the ground without any dignity.

  Thunderbolts frantically beat the eagerly awaiting ground, destroying everything in their path. Lightning flashes were so powerful that the dazzling light pierced through the thick canopy. Rain poured, threatening to submerge Terrun.

  After Ariana left, Leon sat at the window for a long time, gazing into the distance. He remained awake almost all night, powerless in the face of insomnia. The room still smelled of passion. He felt tingles as the images flashed before his eyes. The sweet taste in his mouth turned bitter.

  He went to the bathroom, heated a few buckets of water, and poured them into a metal tub. He wanted to wash it all away. He felt dirty. The warm water relaxed him as he listened to the rain drumming, driving away his thoughts.

  Screams of women and children echoed through the forest. Darkness swallowed the space, leaving nothing but blackness behind. A dark figure ran through the night. Venturing deeper into the woods, she glanced back every few feet. She was scared. The dark, bluish-green cloak fluttered behind her, snagging low foliage. Long black hair sneaked out from under a wide hood. She tightly held a bundle wrapped in blue fabric, gripping it desperately.

  When she was sure no one was following her, she slowed her pace. The forest grew denser, and the distant cries faded. She glanced around less often, her focus shifting to the path ahead, which had become ominously dark.

  She finally stopped, pulled back her hood, and looked up at the sky. An unusual sound escaped her—inhuman. It was almost a scream. She did it again. Then, once more.

  She breathed calmly, as if she hadn't just left an entire expanse behind her. Her gaze was determined—angry. She set the bundle down and gently unwrapped it. Warmth filled her eyes as she looked at the newborn, and the rage vanished from her gaze.

  High above the canopy, an identical cry echoed back.

  Darker than the night, a creature flew toward the woman and the child. She raised her hand, and the bird-like being—twice the size of the newborn—landed on her upper arm.

  It had two pairs of wings, the rear pair slightly smaller. Its feathers were coarse, especially those on its wings. Seven long tail feathers fell heavily, each moving independently. Identical in number, seven smaller feathers hung from its head.

  Her arm looked as if it might buckle under the weight, yet she carried the bird as if it were a mere leaf. They locked eyes. The woman offered a gentle bow, and the creature lifted the seven feathers on its head, forming a crown-like shape, before lowering its head in return.

  It seemed like the bird was delving into the woman's mind with its ink-blue eyes emitting a faint light. Shortly after, it lifted off her arm, floating in the air.

  The woman took the newborn and kissed it on the forehead. "May the heavens watch over you."

  She wrapped a blue fabric and lifted it high, and the bird scooped the bundle with its long tail and vanished into the canopy.

  Once again, a cry echoed from the sky, and the woman quickly disappeared into the darkness.

  Leon winced. The day had dawned. The wind no longer blew, and the rain had stopped falling: the storm had ceased. He shivered from the cold he had accumulated in the chilled water. He quickly stood up, wrapped himself in a linen cloth, and then ran to get dressed while the sun caressed his skin through the window panes. A sudden wave of warmth sent a trail of goosebumps across his body.

  "Damn it, I'm late again!"

  He hurriedly got into his brown trousers and pulled on a light olive-green tunic, cut obliquely so it fell longer on the left side. It didn't have a collar and was fastened with three buttons. Leon buttoned only the first one. He then girded himself with a black leather belt, equipped with several rivets to hold pencils, a tape measure, and small tools while working.

  He rushed down the stairs, grabbed a quick bite of dried cheese as he passed, then put on his boots and saddled Athos.

  They rushed at the speed of a mighty wind, this time straight through Terrun, avoiding the longer, roundabout paths. It seemed as if the torrent had swept into the streets. The water still flowed down the road to the valley. The puddles lay everywhere, some deep to the bottom of the calves, Leon estimated every time Athos stepped into one of them. The roads were covered with a green carpet of newly grown spring leaves that the wind ruthlessly tore away. Athos jumped over broken branches and smaller trunks.

  People were clearing the areas before their homes, dragging severed branches, clearing paths. They tried to save the ruined gardens, or at least what could be saved. They patched up damaged roofs, mostly made of small wooden planks, but remarkably holding up well.

  Leon noticed three houses more damaged than the others: the ones struck by lightning.

  The houses were irregular in shape, more or less the same height—one-story, built mainly of light stone and dark wood that cascaded from the roofs along the edges, surrounded by light stone fences. Yet, there was an unusual harmony in their disharmony which exuded warmth.

  On Wrentus Square, there was almost no one except shop owners cleaning the alleyways in front of their shops. The rose bed was destroyed, and several shop windows were shattered.

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  There were no customers outside Rafa's store. No inscription. Nor the shop window. Leon left Athos and stepped inside. The door was open. Tiny crystals of broken glass, scattered tools from the shelves, glimmered over the floor. The sofa was covered in pieces of leather and paper. The lamp was knocked over. The table at the bottom looked messier than ever. The floor was wet from the rain that the wind crammed through the broken window.

  "Rafa?" Leon shouted.

  Although it was daytime, the cobbler shop was shrouded in darkness, especially its back part. Leon went to light the oil lamps, but all of them were shattered, and their liquid had left greasy traces on the walls.

  "Hey, Rafa? I'm here." Leon's voice disturbed the silence, but there was no response.

  He had to clean up the mess in front of the back door, near the tool shelf, so he could open it. A narrow hallway led to the living room and the basement of old, unused items, food, wine, apple brandy, worn-out clothes, books, hunting weapons. Every step he took was accompanied by the creaking of the wood, which eerily groaned.

  The living room was a rather untidy space where Rafa slept, cooked, and ate. It had one table, two chairs, something that was supposed to be a fireplace but looked more like a hole in the wall, a wardrobe, and a bed concealed by curtains. Leon pulled them aside. The bed was unmade, the bedding crumpled; next to the bed, there was a large, old wooden box with a latch, locked with a padlock.

  "Where could he have gone? He should've been cleaning up by now. Maybe he left on purpose so I'd do all the dirty work. Typical of him. Shrewd crook."

  Leon lifted the crock lid in the fireplace, but the stale smell of chicken stew made him quickly put the lid back. It was cold. The fire hadn't burned there for a long time.

  The table was cluttered with papers, books, and drawings of new shoes scattered over a large brown leather-bound book, covering almost the entire title, except for the first two letters: "Be..."

  The air smelled stale. He pulled back the curtains from the windows set into the stone walls, opened them, and felt a rush of fresh, damp air. The room was now filled with the scent of earth and wet grass.

  He returned to the store, reluctantly putting back everything the wind had knocked down. He then cleared the broken lamps and glass. He collected papers, booklets, and pieces of leather.

  He also tried to remove oil lamp stains from the walls but eventually gave up. No matter how much he rubbed, they became more apparent, and his fingers shriveled from the water.

  It was already noon when he tidied up the shop. All that was left was to clean the glass off the street, and Rafa wasn't there yet. He glanced around carelessly, looking for him smiling wickedly from around a corner.

  He noticed a handful of people in the square and locals arriving. They stood still as if someone was performing an entertaining act, and anyone who approached would remain petrified, staring at what Leon couldn't see.

  Not far from them stood a mighty grey stallion with a thick black mane flowing down its neck. It was Rafa's Hurricane.

  "Of course he's there. While I'm cleaning, he's having fun."

  He left the broom and headed towards the square. Sighs grew louder, and a silent murmur intertwined with sounds of astonishment.

  This one must be really good, whoever they are. Surely some traveling artist...

  He looked for Rafa. Occasionally, an "oh" would escape when one of the newly arrived locals spotted the performer. They were so mesmerized that they didn't notice Leon pushing them aside.

  As if someone had punched him in the stomach, he ran out of air. His legs tottered, and everything around him spun and swayed. His body went numb; sparks were flashing in front of his eyes. He fought for breath. He tried to speak, but he was voiceless. An invisible hand plunged deep into his womb and plucked a piece of his soul—Rafa lay dead.

  All eyes lingered on his lifeless body on the wet pavement. Rafa's clothes were beastly torn. The bright shirt, damp and muddy, was all in fringes, revealing almost the entire torso. Four tears cut through the middle of the chest, descending to the stomach, so deep that part of the intestines was visible. The spacing between the cuts hinted at paws twice the size of a human hand.

  A similar claw imprint marked his left thigh—somewhat shorter but just as deep. The entire left trouser leg was torn off; the body was scratched as if a pack of wolves had dragged it. The corpse was already cold and stiff.

  He didn't have scratches on his face. His eyes were insanely bulging, and his throat was slit so his head could barely rest on his shoulders; his mouth was open as if he had tried to say something but was petrified in the middle of the word.

  No one spoke; they just stared at the scene before them. Parents turned their children around, closing their eyes.

  The air was heavy, bleak, and humid. It reeked of mud and blood. Leon knelt with his head down. He wasn't looking at Rafa anymore; all the liveliness had vanished from him. His body was limp, lifelessly still, and everything around him became empty. The spring in him suddenly dried up—winter had come. He trembled. He was cold. He felt the entire Terrun weighing on his chest. He still breathed heavily, but he no longer fought for air—he gave up. Collapsed.

  Someone grabbed him by the right upper arm and pulled him off the ground.

  "Brother!" Luke finally lifted him and hugged him tightly. "Leon? Leon, snap out of it!"

  He wrapped his hands around his face and shook him slightly. Leon didn't blink. Luke grabbed him under the arms and led him aside. He placed him beside a bed of broken, plucked roses, on a nearby bench. He unscrewed the water paunch and offered it to Leon, but since he did not move, he poured water down his throat and shook him gently again.

  "Brother, can you hear me?"

  He finally looked up, expressionless.

  "Tell me I'm dreaming. This can't be true..."

  Luke draped his arm over Leon's shoulders. "I'm sorry, brother..."

  The news spread quickly, like a stormy wind. The locals kept coming, staying petrified above the body. Finally, a deep female voice cut through the silence like a sword.

  "Heavens! What happened here?"

  Everyone remained silent.

  "Will someone explain to me what happened?!"

  "Bestias are back in Terrun," whispered a bent old woman.

  "Oh, for god's sake, Enoly!" sharply rebuked a stout woman beside her. "Shut up and don't talk nonsense!"

  A brown-haired man with strong arms and shoulders rumbled through a thick beard: "I found him at the entrance to the northern part of the forest, Katya. I set out this morning to find a good tree for my destroyed roof. I came into the woods on the east side but was coming out on the north road. Rafa lay dead near the clearing. My stomach turned when I saw him. His entrails were about to spill out of him. I barely managed to get him in the cart and drag him here." The man was trembling.

  "Heavens! I don't remember ever seeing anything like this." Katya stared eerily at Rafa's lifeless body. "I beg you all to step back. Daedalus, Torrick! Why are you staring like that?! Take Rafa's body to the Moon Lake; I'll perform the ritual there."

  The two men carefully lifted the corpse, more gently than their own nature allowed, afraid that it might decompose in front of them.

  The assembled Terrunians slowly dispersed. They walked sluggishly, speechless, in groups, as if they were keeping each other's fear.

  Leon was trying to mount Athos, unsuccessfully.

  "Wait, I'll help you," Luke said.

  "Actually, on second thought, it'll do me good to take a walk."

  "I'll come with you."

  "Thank you, brother, but now I just want to be alone."

  "Leon, you're not able to walk alone. I'll walk you home."

  "Luke, please... Trust me, I'll be fine."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I promise."

  "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

  "Thank you, brother."

  They hugged, and then Leon and Athos walked away. The sun was already high above Terrun, scorching the skin, futilely trying to overpower the fresh burn on Leon's soul.