The body remained where it had fallen. No one dared to touch it.
A knight—one of the steadier ones—stepped forward, blade unsheathed. He prodded the corpse with the tip of his sword. The skin did not break. It caved inward slightly, then returned to its shape. Like wet paper. Like something had drained it of all structure.
Someone cursed under their breath.
“We need to move,” another muttered. “Burn it. Leave no trace.”
Rei said nothing. He only stared down at the husk, his expression unreadable.
Then Erasmus crouched beside the body. His fingers hovered just above the skin—not touching, but feeling. He wasn’t inspecting it like the others. He was searching for something else.
And then—there. The faintest shiver in the air. A wrongness.
Something had been here. Something had touched this man. And something had left a scar in the fabric of reality itself.
Erasmus frowned. It was subtle—so subtle he doubted the others could sense it. But he had spent his life around forces that could not be seen. This was familiar.
Not in form. But in nature.
This was not an attack.
This was an experiment.
Whoever—whatever—had done this had taken only what it wanted. No excess. No mess. Just a hollowing.
It was studying them.
—
Back at the fire, the camp was in quiet turmoil. Whispers of leaving. Of pushing forward. Of whether Rei should have sensed something before the attack.
Some of the knights—the veterans—did not argue. They had seen things before. Things that did not make sense. Things that left only questions.
But the younger ones, the squires, were unsettled. Fear was creeping in. And fear made people unstable.
Erasmus sat near the fire, listening. He said nothing, but his presence alone was enough to make some shift uncomfortably. He was the outsider. The unknown element. And in times like these, people turned on the unknown.
Jory, sitting across from him, clenched his fists. “This wasn’t a beast. You saw that, right? You felt it.”
Erasmus met his gaze. “Yes.”
Jory hesitated, then lowered his voice. “You know more than you’re saying.”
Erasmus didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Because then—
The fire flickered.
Not from wind.
But because something had stepped too close.
And yet—nothing was there.
—
The fire sputtered again. The shadows twisted strangely. The air held its breath.
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Then—
A shape.
No, not a shape. A suggestion of something.
A presence that should not be seen, yet was.
The more they tried to define it, the less sense it made.
It stood at the edge of the fire’s glow. A figure of stretched proportions. No features. No sound.
Just watching.
The knights scrambled to their feet. Blades were drawn.
But the figure did not move.
It did not flinch.
Then—
A step.
No footprints in the dirt. No weight.
Just presence.
And then a voice.
A voice that did not come from the figure.
It came from behind them.
From above them.
From beneath their feet.
A whisper behind their ribs, a murmur between their thoughts.
"Not yet."
Then the figure collapsed in on itself—like a folding piece of paper. A flat thing vanishing into nothing.
And the presence was gone.
But the words remained.
"Not yet."
"Not yet."
"Not yet."
Erasmus exhaled softly, fingers curling against his palm.
It wasn’t a warning.
It was a promise.
—
The night had returned to silence. But it was not a natural silence.
It was the kind of stillness that came when men held their breath, waiting for something to break.
No one spoke of what had just happened. But their hands stayed close to their weapons. Their gazes darted toward the shadows beyond the fire. And, more than once, Erasmus caught them flicking toward him.
The suspicion had been inevitable. He was the newcomer. The outsider. The one who did not quite flinch when others did.
It was Riven who finally said it.
"You came, and then people started dying."
The words were not an accusation.
Not yet.
But they were close.
Erasmus tilted his head slightly. “And you think I brought this?”
Riven’s expression did not shift. He was not like the others—easily rattled, easily swayed. He was one of the few with a mind sharp enough to hold its shape in the face of fear.
"You don’t react like the rest of us," Riven said. "You’re too… steady."
Erasmus smiled. “Is that a crime?”
"It’s not normal."
Silence stretched between them.
Then another voice. One of the younger squires, eyes wide with unease.
"That thing… the way it just stood there. It was like it was looking for something."
Or someone.
The implication sat heavy in the air.
Erasmus let the words settle. He could already feel the tide of doubt shifting against him.
This was always how it began. A seed of unease. A whisper of blame. Then, soon enough, it became a certainty in their minds.
He could turn this now, if he wished. He could manipulate the fear. Bend it to his favor. Make himself something to rely on, rather than something to be feared.
Or—
He could let it fester.
Let it grow.
Let them see what happened when they let their fear blind them.
He exhaled softly. Then, instead of defending himself, he leaned forward slightly, gaze locking onto Riven’s.
"What do you think I am?" Erasmus asked.
Riven hesitated.
Not because he lacked an answer.
Because, for the first time, he realized he didn’t know.
And that scared him more than anything.
Erasmus let a slow smile creep onto his face.
Then he stood, stretching slightly as if dismissing the entire conversation.
"I suggest you sleep," he murmured. "You’ll need your strength for whatever comes next."
Then he walked away, leaving the firelight behind.
And behind him, the whispers began again.