Anemone hurried down the long corridors leading to the King’s chambers, a sense of unease settling over him. 

He had just received urgent news and couldn’t believe he had to deliver it now, especially after the King had already sequestered himself in his room following a long day of meetings.Normally, Anemone would have waited until the next day, but the nature of the news couldn’t afford to be delayed. It had the potential to escalate into serious trouble, so he had no choice but to seek an audience with Ceremus.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked and waited for a response. As he stood there, he hoped the King was in a better mood than usual. When he was granted permission to enter, Anemone stepped cautiously inside, scanning the room for signs of Ceremus’ temperament. If the King was at his desk, it meant a foul mood, and any hope of a civil conversation would be futile. If Ceremus stood by the balcony, it meant his mood was murderous, and approaching him could prove deadly. But if he was lounging on his bed with a book, it usually signaled he'd just returned from one of his dalliances—meaning he might actually be willing to listen to reason, at least somewhat.

A sigh of relief escaped Anemone when he saw the King lying on his bed, book in hand. It meant he would likely be open to hearing his report.

Ceremus gave his advisor a brief, uninterested glance before resuming his reading. "What is it now, Anemone?" His tone was flat.

"Apologies for disturbing you, Your Majesty, but I bring urgent news," Anemone replied.

Ceremus sighed, clearly irritated. "What now?"

Anemone, still visibly tense, took a step closer. "I’ve received reports from the huntsmen. They’ve been struggling to hunt in the Aphthonia Forest lately, and it’s starting to affect the people, particularly those in the villages."

Ceremus rolled his eyes, uninterested as he skimmed through the pages of his book, clearly unimpressed. "So? Why should I care if the people can’t hunt?"

Anemone hesitated, his voice growing more insistent. "If the huntsmen can’t provide game, they won’t be able to sell it, and the villagers won’t have food. This could lead to widespread hunger, Your Majesty."

Ceremus’s response was cold and dismissive. "Then they can all become vegetarians. Problem solved." He closed the book with a thud and tossed it aside in a pile of discarded reading material.

Anemone’s frown deepened. The lack of concern in Ceremus's voice was palpable. His king, once a compassionate ruler, had grown indifferent to the suffering of his people. With a heavy heart, the advisor sighed.

"Your Majesty," Anemone began, trying to keep his voice steady. "It seems you’re forgetting that we, too, rely on the game from the Forest. The animals blessed by it give our warriors the strength they need to defend the kingdom." He paused, his tone growing more urgent. "The people are growing restless, and it is your duty to address this!"

The room fell silent. Anemone realized he may have overstepped with his last words, but he didn't care. If he had to face punishment to protect his people, he would.

Ceremus let out a resigned sigh. "Fine. You can send one of the royal huntsmen to investigate the situation."

Anemone’s relief was evident. "That sounds like a good plan, Your Majesty. I’ll inform the guild leader and arrange for a team of their best hunters to assess the Forest."

The King’s mood darkened, and Anemone took it as his cue to leave. Without another word, Ceremus waved him away, and the advisor exited the room in haste. He quickly sent one of the servants to draft a letter for the guild leader, ensuring the mission would begin at once.

*

Hael woke before dawn, as usual, stretching his body and starting his daily routine. After an hour of meditation by the lake and watching the sunrise, he did a lap around the forest, stretching once more. As the animals began to stir, he checked on them before engaging in his daily duels with the tigers and bears.

When finished, he prepared a simple breakfast of leafy greens and exotic fruits, then set off for the mountains, with his longtime companion, Loki, by his side. They spent several hours there before returning to the forest, only to find the animals in a state of panic.

Confused, Hael turned to his friend Maximus for an explanation. 

"Just an hour after you left, a few humans showed up. Normally, we’d ignore them, but they were making such a commotion that Brontus went to investigate. He hasn’t come back. One of the birds says he’s fighting them," Maximus explained.

Hael’s frown deepened. Humans rarely ventured into the forest, thanks to the magical barrier protecting its borders. What had changed?

He recalled when he first arrived in the forest. Loki had told him that the forest was guarded by a deity named Yajuu, and no one could enter unless granted permission by the deity or accepted by the animals. 

Hael’s early days had been difficult. Though sent by the goddess, the animals initially resisted his presence. To earn their trust, he had fought every creature until they recognized him. Since then, no human had dared enter.

Dropping the firewood he had gathered, Hael set off to find Brontus.

When he reached the forest’s edge, he was shocked to find a human locked in combat with Brontus, and the bear—normally unstoppable—was being pushed back. The man was remarkably skilled, matching Brontus’s strength with incredible finesse. Hael watched as the human signaled his comrades with a quick gesture, stepping out of the fight and allowing another man to tag in. Hael was captivated by the sight—this human, weaker in size, fought with a raw tenacity that stirred something in Hael. It was a display unlike anything he’d ever seen, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

However, his fascination was short-lived when he heard Brontus’s anguished cries. The bear had been slashed across the chest by a dagger, and the sight of Brontus’s blood only fueled Hael’s rage. Without hesitation, he charged toward the human, flinging him across the forest with terrifying ease. 

The two other men stood frozen, their eyes wide with shock as they watched their comrade fly through the air like a ragdoll at the hands of a seven-foot creature who seemed more beast than man.

Hael strode toward the fallen human, his eyes burning with fury, his body radiating the promise of violence. The men, realizing the danger, rushed forward, weapons drawn, desperate to protect their comrade. They brandished blades and knocked arrows, preparing for a fight they had no hope of winning.

But even their combined force was no match for Hael. He moved with such speed and power that they couldn’t land a single blow. Every attack they made was easily dodged or blocked, their strikes as futile as swatting at a storm. 

Facing Hael, they saw something terrifying—not just the raw power of the man before them, but the embodiment of their king’s cruelty. In that moment, they realized there was no surviving this encounter. 

Their only chance was retreat.

With no words exchanged, they made the wise decision to flee. Some might have called them cowards, but they had families to return to—wives, children—people who depended on them. Facing certain death here was not an option. 

Without a second glance, they ran, their feet pounding the forest floor, not daring to look back at the beast they had just narrowly escaped.