Mari

I always cherish mornings in our little village. There’s a simple serenity to the dawn light, the way it catches the thin mist drifting off the fields. I like to imagine it’s nature’s gentle promise that each day can be better than the last. That morning was no different—I woke early, tidied the cottage, then laid out my lesson materials on a makeshift table behind our home.

I looked around for my son. He’d taken to practicing that sword I saved so long for—a source of quiet pride and lingering worry in my heart. Ever since he received it, I could see the determination flickering in his eyes. I knew he was out in the clearing, working through the stances we’d read about.

“He’s becoming so strong,” I murmured with a fond smile, setting a few pages of reading exercises atop the table. A handful of my students were due any moment. I always liked being ready for them—greeting them with a kind word or a new challenge in their lessons.

An Innocent Arrival?

The first of my students trickled in, bright-eyed and playful as usual. We were just beginning a simple lesson on vowel sounds when a soft murmur from the road drew our attention. Villagers were gathering in the center of town, talking excitedly. Some were pointing at what appeared to be a little girl—a stranger in a faded white dress, standing very still in the middle of the dusty square.

My students, curious by nature, craned their necks. One brave boy—always the first to poke his head into something new—asked if we could go see what was happening. I hesitated, but I, too, felt a pull of concern. Children wandering into our village unannounced was uncommon, and who knew what trouble she might be in?

Relenting, I nodded. “Let’s take a short break,” I told them gently, gathering them closer to me. “Stay together, all right?”

We walked toward the growing crowd, the children’s small hands clutching at my skirt or each other’s shoulders. The girl stood perfectly still, her expression empty, as if carved from stone. A few villagers spoke to her, but she didn’t respond.

“Is she lost?” I whispered to no one in particular, stepping forward. My motherly instincts flared—did she need help? Food? A place to stay?

One Fatal Moment

Just as I was about to approach, one of my younger students—barely more than a toddler—got there first. With sweet, naive kindness, he reached out, offering her a piece of bread.

That’s when the world shattered.

The girl’s eyes—so dark they seemed hollow—shifted with startling speed. She lashed out in a vicious arc, her hand tipped with nails like daggers. One moment, the boy was smiling in silent kindness; the next, he collapsed at her feet, a deep slash across his chest. Blood pooled beneath him, his body limp and unresponsive.

For a heartbeat, no one breathed. A horrified hush blanketed the square. Then everything erupted.

“Demon!” someone screamed. A mother shrieked for her children. People scattered, some scrambling for weapons, others simply fleeing. I stared, heart hammering against my ribs, as the little girl’s shape seemed to ripple—revealing glimpses of something monstrous beneath her youthful facade.

She moved with impossible speed, lunging at the nearest villager. Flesh tore like paper under her assault, and the man dropped in a spray of blood. People wailed, stumbling over one another in blind panic.

The Onslaught

My mind raced. “The children—protect the children!” was the only coherent thought pulsing through me. I whirled around, gathering my students and ushering them behind a half-toppled cart. My heart thundered as I pressed them close, scanning for any path to safety.

The demon’s attacks were brutally efficient, each strike claiming another villager’s life. Her visage warped—she still looked like a child at a glance, but her eyes burned red with a malevolence I’d never witnessed before. Her limbs were lithe but unnaturally strong, cutting through muscle and bone with ease.

Some of the braver villagers tried to fight back with pitchforks or old swords, but her speed outmatched theirs. Screams echoed in every direction; the stench of blood and smoke clawed at my throat. I heard someone sob my name—“Mari!”—but I couldn’t tell who it was.

My students were crying, calling for their parents. I forced myself to stay calm, to hold them tight and whisper shaky reassurances. In the swirl of terror, my thoughts turned to my son.

“Where are you?” I pleaded in my mind, swallowing the lump of dread. “Stay away… or come help… I don’t know.”

Clinging to Hope

Smoke drifted across the village square, some structures catching fire in the chaos. People stumbled over debris, bodies strewn in the dirt. I spied one of my older students bleeding from a gash on her leg, struggling to crawl toward a safe corner. Another villager dragged her upright, half-carrying her away.

Time blurred. Each beat of my heart felt like an eternity. I moved my students out of the direct line of sight, trying to keep them beneath an overhang near the smithy.

The demon minion let out an otherworldly shriek, pausing mid-rampage to glance about with predatory glee. She pinned a terrified woman to the ground, and I squeezed my eyes shut at the horror that followed. Don’t look, I willed the children, praying to any deity that they wouldn’t see.

A Flicker of Resistance

Then, through the haze, I glimpsed my son racing into the square, sword in hand—the same sword I had bought him with so much effort. My heart lurched. Part of me wanted to call out for him to run, to not face this nightmare alone. But there was no time.

In a flash, he charged at the demon, eyes alight with fury and desperation. My breath caught. He swung the sword with all his might—and for a moment, I dared to hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could save us.

But the demon was too fast. She slashed at him, knocking him backward. I watched him stagger, blood staining his clothes. “No…” The word tore from my lips in a choked sob. He tried again, hacking at the demon’s flank, but she batted him aside like a toy. His determination only seemed to amuse her.

Knights’ Arrival

I felt my knees buckle, but I forced myself to stay upright, herding my shaking students further against the wall. “Stay behind me,” I begged them in a thin voice. I knew I had no real weapons, no way to confront that horror. But I would do anything to shield them, even if it cost me my life.

Suddenly, a triumphant shout echoed across the square. Knights in polished armor rushed in, brandishing swords and shields that glimmered in the hellish light. They must have been patrols from the kingdom, responding to the screams and smoke.

Their arrival gave the demon pause. She hissed, snapping her head toward them. In that instant, the knights formed a defensive line, some rushing to protect the wounded villagers, others charging straight for the beast. My son lay curled in pain near a splintered stall, and I prayed the knights might rescue him.

The demon, outnumbered, let out a final, guttural shriek and leapt onto a rooftop, her body twisting grotesquely as she fled. A couple of arrows whooshed past, but she vanished into the swirling smoke, leaving devastation behind.

The Aftermath

With the demon gone, the square fell into a nightmarish silence, broken only by sobs and ragged breathing. My body trembled from head to toe, the adrenaline that had kept me upright draining away. I had to find my son.

I gathered the children close, instructing the oldest among them to escort the younger ones away from the carnage if they could. Then I stumbled forward, weaving through the broken crates and mangled bodies. The scent of blood thickened the air, choking me with every shallow breath.

“Where is he?” I mumbled over and over, scanning the chaos. Knights were bending over wounded villagers, pressing cloth against gushing wounds. Some people clung to the remains of their loved ones, their cries echoing in my ears.

Finally, I spotted him near the remains of a market stall. His shoulder bled profusely, and his face contorted with pain. Relief and terror warred inside me as I realized he was alive—hurt, but alive. I stumbled toward him, my vision blurring with tears.

Shadows of Uncertainty

I barely registered someone calling my name. A wave of lightheadedness overtook me—had I been injured too? My chest felt tight; my arms, numb. The world began to spin. I forced myself to keep moving, to reach my son.

Something snagged my foot—a piece of broken wood or a body—I couldn’t tell. I tumbled forward, pain lancing through me as I hit the ground. My head pounded, and darkness crawled into the edges of my sight.

In the haze, I heard knights shouting for a healer, villagers wailing in shock. I tried to push myself up, but my limbs refused to obey. My gaze flicked to my son. I have to get to him…

I didn’t feel the blow, but I tasted blood. My vision flickered. A fierce ache radiated somewhere along my torso—warmth soaked my clothes.

“No… not… yet…” I thought desperately, clawing at the dirt. I needed to protect him, to make sure he survived this nightmare. My students, too—I couldn’t abandon them.

But the world grew dimmer, the screams more distant. I glimpsed the battered shape of my son, knights scrambling to treat the injured, villagers sobbing over the fallen. And then my eyelids drooped, the cacophony fading to a dull roar.

I don’t know if I blacked out completely or slipped into some half-conscious state. All I remember is a suffocating sense of loss mingled with raw determination. Everything around me blurred into a haze of pain and heartbreak.

Did my son survive? A voice whispered inside me. Did I manage to protect the children?

No answers came. Just the cold press of uncertainty, and a distant, pounding pulse that might have been my own heart… or the echo of a village that would never be the same.

The last clear image I clung to was my son, sword in hand, fighting with courage he didn’t know he had. If there was any solace, it was that he still drew breath.