Once home, their mother shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, breathing in shakily. She crouched down to meet Draven’s gaze, hands resting on his shoulders.

“Tell me everything,” she said softly, voice trembling, eyes scanning his face. “Every detail. What exactly did you see?”

Draven hesitated. He remembered the fox — not just the leap, but the unnerving intelligence behind its eyes. The way the shadows had seemed to move with it. He knew this wasn’t the time for half-truths.

Kaelen fidgeted beside him, chewing his thumb, eyes wide.

“Our father doesn’t…” Draven started, then paused. He swallowed, searching for the right words. “It was… strange. Not just a fox. It… watched us. It felt… smart. Like it knew things it shouldn’t.”

His mother’s eyes softened, a flicker of understanding passing through the fear. “And Merek said he saw one too?”

Draven nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “Yes. A little man. At the forest edge. He… disappeared into the shadows.”

She pressed a hand over her heart, then lifted it slowly, as if steadying herself. “Good. That is important to know. You both must remember this — every detail matters.”

Draven noticed then, more sharply than ever, how her gaze lingered on him. Not Kaelen. Him. As if the eldest carried the weight of what was to come.

Outside, the valley held its breath. The forest waited. And Draven realized that something far older and more patient than his father’s anger had begun watching them.

The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the village noises. The small room smelled of smoke, herbs, and the faint sweetness of dried flowers hanging from the beams. Their mother set her hands on the table and motioned for Draven to sit across from her. Kaelen perched on the edge of a chair, shifting nervously.

“Draven,” she said softly, but her voice carried a weight that made him straighten in his seat. “Tell me again… exactly what you saw.”

Draven swallowed. He remembered the fox, the shadows, the way the forest seemed to watch. “It was a fox,” he said slowly. “But… it wasn’t just a fox. Its eyes… they weren’t normal. They glowed a little. And it watched us. Like it… knew us.”

His mother’s gaze sharpened, lingering on the smallest details. “And the way it moved?” she prompted. “Was it… different from ordinary foxes?”

Draven frowned. “Yes. Smooth, like it didn’t make a sound when it ran. And it… crouched, and then it jumped — like it was testing us. Waiting for something.”

Kaelen fidgeted beside him, biting his nails. “It wasn’t scary,” he whispered, “well… maybe a little, but not like Merek said.”

She glanced at Kaelen, then back to Draven. “Kaelen doesn’t need to know everything. You… you do.” Her hands rested on his shoulders, squeezing gently. “I need you to remember. Every movement, every sound, every shadow. Even what you felt in your chest. Do you understand?”

Draven nodded. “I… I think so.”

“Good,” she said, standing and moving to the window, drawing back the curtain just enough to peek toward the treeline. The forest seemed ordinary in daylight, sun filtering through the leaves. Yet she didn’t take her eyes off it for long, fingers tightening on the sill.

“Something’s there,” she murmured, more to herself than to the boys. “Something small. Clever. Patient. The fox… it wasn’t just a fox. The forest doesn’t give up its secrets easily. You understand, Draven?”

He nodded again, a lump in his throat. “Yes, Mother.”

Kaelen watched silently, sensing tension but not understanding. His gaze flicked to Draven, then to the window, then back to the floor.

She crouched again, bringing herself level with Draven’s eyes. “I need you to pay attention. Watch everything. Not just the obvious. Shadows, the way the wind moves, how animals react. This is important — more important than anything your father tells you.”

Draven felt the weight of her words settle in his chest. A strange mix of fear and excitement thrummed there, like the fox had left a spark inside him that refused to die.

“And Kaelen?” she added, voice softer. “Keep him safe. Protect him. You will need each other. Always.”

Draven’s fingers curled into fists under the table. “I will.”

She let him go, her hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment longer before she moved to tend to the hearth, humming a low, careful tune. Draven stared out the window toward the forest, the memory of the fox vivid in his mind. The shadows seemed to shift in the corners of his vision, as if waiting, and he wondered if it — or something else — would be there the next time they dared approach.