The Shrine Oak Forest lay still before them. Too still.

  Ancient oaks towered like pillars into the sky, so massive that two men couldn't have wrapped their arms around them. Moss clung in long, dark strips to the trunks, creeping through the furrows like old, wet fur. Where the wood lay bare, there were notches, deep gouges and scorch marks—traces of past battles. None of them fresh. But nothing reassuring either.

  Narrow paths ran between the trunks, barely used, half swallowed by undergrowth. The ground was soft, springy, covered in damp leaves and a carpet of moss that muffled every step… and yet somehow made each one feel louder. Not to the ears. To the mind.

  The canopy closed almost completely overhead. Only scattered beams of the setting sun found their way through the crowns and carved the shadows into narrow, golden strips. Where the light struck, the foliage glowed like copper. A gust of wind swept through the branches, setting leaves rustling—as though the trees themselves were whispering, forming words no one was allowed to understand.

  But no birdsong. No chirping. No sound of any animal. Only that oppressive calm.

  Krent stood at the edge of the forest, arms crossed over his chest. The wind tugged at his short black hair, cooling the sweat that still clung to his forehead from the march. His blue eyes moved constantly—from trunk to trunk, from shadow to shadow. Not hurried. Not panicked. More as if he refused to leave a single corner of the world unseen.

  He had experienced this kind of silence too many times.

  A forest that goes quiet is hiding something. It breathes… but holds its breath.

  His gaze swept over the undergrowth, over the dense weave of fern and root, over the dark gaps where you could imagine something was moving. He heard his own breathing, his own heart—and he didn't like how clearly he could hear both.

  "Why do we always have to take the scouting mission?" he muttered finally. It sounded more like a growl than a question.

  The answer came promptly, accompanied by a light laugh.

  "Because our mentor wanted it that way."

  Valeria.

  She leaned casually against a tree, hands clasped behind her back, as though they were here for a stroll. Her silver hair caught the last light of the day and shone as if liquid moonlight were trapped within it. Her red eyes glinted with mischief—and yet her gaze was alert enough that Krent noticed.

  "Meryia just trusts us the most, darling."

  Krent's face twisted.

  Trust, is it? To me it feels more like being used.

  "Too much trust, if you ask me…" He didn't take his eyes off the shadows. "And why just the two of us? We should have gone out as a team of four."

  He could picture it: a team locking down the forest, covering angles, securing each other. The way any sensible Iridium squad would when something was off. Iridium didn't just mean strength. Iridium meant you had lived long enough to respect paranoia.

  Valeria pushed off from the trunk and stepped a few paces forward. Her boots sank quietly into the moss, barely a sound. "Finally just the two of us again." She breathed in deeply, as if drinking the forest. "No noise, no Guild, no annoying team."

  She winked. "And honestly? I like it when it's quiet."

  Krent rested his hand on the grip of his twin blades. The leather wrap felt familiar, soothing. A thin line between him and whatever might be lurking. "Quiet, sure." He spoke softly, but hard. "Until a dozen goblins are on your back."

  Valeria grinned. "Or the great Iridium adventurer Krent Ingrid is just nervous?"

  "What?!" Krent spun toward her, a spark of irritation in his voice that surprised even him.

  Me? Nervous? As if.

  Valeria laughed brightly—a sound that felt wrong in the forest, too light, too alive. Then she slipped into the undergrowth, as light-footed as a dancer, as if every shadow between the trunks belonged to her. Krent growled playfully and followed.

  But inside, a queasy feeling lingered in his stomach.

  We really should have gone as four.

  The deeper they went, the tighter the forest closed around them. The last sunbeams grew scarcer, nothing more than small golden flecks lying on the mossy floor like forgotten coins. The scent of resin hung heavy over the damp earth, mingled with the smell of mushrooms and wet wood. Sometimes Krent thought he could taste something metallic in the air, just a trace—and then it was gone again.

  Every step echoed too loudly in his head.

  So quiet. Not even a deer, no birds. It's as if the animals themselves are holding their breath.

  Valeria moved ahead, bow loose in her hand, but not inattentive. Her gaze swept across the ground, over breaks in branches, over tracks in the moss that would have been nothing but patterns to most. She was relaxed—but not stupid. Her calm was a choice.

  "Relax," she said, drawing the bowstring back in a test pull and pushing a silver strand of hair behind her ear. "The worst we'll find here are slimes, maybe goblins, and in the absolute worst case a few orcs that can do more than just grunt."

  The moment she said it, the air changed.

  A deep, guttural growl rolled through the thicket.

  Krent froze. His body reacted faster than his mind. Knees slightly bent. Weight forward. Hand on the blades. His gaze shot to Valeria—she had heard it too. No words. Just a minimal tilt of her chin, as if telling him: there.

  Seconds later, a horde of goblins burst from the undergrowth.

  It was as if someone had torn the silence apart. Guttural screams bounced between the trunks. Spears flashed. Rusted blades clattered. Yellow eyes glowed in the half-dark. The putrid stench of sweat and old blood pressed against Krent's nose like a wall.

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  Krent grinned.

  Finally. The silence had been right.

  He drew the twin blades. Metal sang softly as it slid from the sheaths. And then—magic.

  Blue crackling leapt across the edges, like lightning dancing over steel. The air around the blades vibrated as though electrically charged, and the light was cold, clear, merciless.

  The goblins threw themselves at them, shrieking.

  The first one lunged straight at him. Krent sidestepped, felt the creature's foul breath, felt the blade swipe past him. In the same breath he drove his own blade into the goblin's side and pulled it free in one motion. Warm blood sprayed onto the forest floor, dark drops on moss that swallowed everything at once.

  Before the body had even fallen, the next was there.

  A rusted slash collided with Krent's blade. The impact vibrated up into his shoulders, made his arms burn for an instant. He parried, turned his wrist, let the enemy weapon slide off—and drove the second blade in, beneath the ribs. A short rattling gasp. Then nothing.

  An arrow hissed past beside him.

  A flaming arrow—fire so clean and hot it made the air crack. It pierced a goblin's eye. The creature stumbled back, screamed, the sound ripping from its throat. Two more arrows followed, so fast Krent barely saw them. A second goblin crumpled, a third burned at the neck, the fire eating greedily through filthy skin.

  "There are your enemies, darling!" Valeria called out, laughing.

  Krent ducked beneath a spear, let the tip graze across his back, felt a brief, cold sting of pain. He stepped forward, rammed his shoulder into the goblin pressing him, and cut across its belly in a single motion. Magic crackled. The cut was too deep. Too fast. The goblin folded as if simply switched off.

  Another came from the right. Krent turned, blocked, kicked, let the blade flash like lightning. The steel glowed blue, and the goblin fell with a dull thud into the moss.

  Valeria didn't move like a fighter racing against time. She moved like someone who owned it. A step back, a step to the side, the string sings, the arrow flies—and somewhere a goblin collapses. She was never where she had just been. And her arrows were never where you expected them.

  A larger goblin tried to sneak up from behind. Krent didn't sense it. He didn't hear it either.

  He only saw Valeria's eyes. A brief look. A tiny nod.

  Krent spun at the last moment. A single step, a flashing strike—and the goblin's head rolled across the ground, caught in the leaves, eyes still open.

  An arrow whirred past Krent's ear and buried itself in the throat of another attacker. The goblin managed only a gurgling sound before it slumped forward.

  "Come on, keep up!" Valeria laughed.

  "You're giving me competition." Krent's voice was strained. Not from fear, but from focus.

  "Always."

  They fought like a dance—Krent in sparks and force, Valeria in precision and fire. Steel flashed. Flames hissed. Screams tore through the forest, then fell silent one after another, as if someone were snuffing out candles.

  Within minutes, the goblins lay scattered and motionless in the moss.

  Smoke rose from charred bodies. The smell of burning mixed with the metallic reek of blood. And then… silence.

  Not the first silence. Not the "before." But one that settled heavy over the clearing, as if it wanted to swallow everything again.

  Valeria brushed a strand of hair from her face with a laugh, a smudge of soot on her fingertips. "See? Nothing to worry about."

  "Tsk." Krent wiped the blades clean, scraping the blood off against the moss as best he could. The steel gleamed again, but the smell lingered.

  Between the corpses, small stars glittered.

  Not Star Points.

  They were octagram stars—clean, angular, as though someone had cut them out of the world and dropped them in the dirt. The material was plain, dully gleaming in the faint light: copper. Base class. Weak loot, but reliable. Valeria bent down and collected them casually, as if she were just tidying up.

  Copper stars—good for trade and points. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  It always starts like this: small fry, then something bigger. I can feel it.

  They pressed on, deeper into the forest, until the sky was barely visible. When dusk finally settled in, they found a small clearing that at least didn't immediately look like a trap. Valeria decided to rest here. Krent didn't argue. His body was wound tight as a bowstring, and even he knew: at some point, you had to breathe.

  Valeria lit a fire. The glow drove the shadows back, made the forest seem peaceful for one breath. Krent held meat skewers over the embers, turning them slowly until the fat began to sizzle. The scent of roasted game spread out, warm and heavy, and for a moment it seemed to drown out the silence.

  "Maybe it'll be a relaxed evening after all," Krent murmured.

  "Mhmm." Valeria breathed in deeply, let her head fall back, as if she were storing the scent. "It smells like resin and fresh rain. Despite everything… I love this forest."

  Krent glanced sideways at her.

  Her face looks peaceful. Almost as if she believes in calm… as if life weren't a constant fight.

  He wanted to say something. Something mocking. Something to pull the moment back to their usual tone.

  But then he froze.

  It started quietly—not like a sound, more like a feeling. A prickling on the skin. A pressure in the air. The rustling of the trees shifted, as if the forest were suddenly listening again… or expecting something.

  Then movement burst from the undergrowth.

  Animals came bolting out, frantic, panicked. A hare that nearly ran into the fire before veering sharply away. Birds erupted shrieking from the canopy, beating their wings against the air like hands. Something larger—perhaps a deer—crashed through the brush with a loud crack and vanished.

  An icy wind swept across the clearing.

  The fire flickered. The flames leaned, as if being pulled in one direction.

  Krent leapt to his feet, gripping the blades. His heart struck once, hard, against his ribs, and suddenly the air tasted of metal again.

  Above the treetops, the sky began to dance.

  Not just glow—dance. Like liquid light spilling across the horizon.

  Crimson. Sapphire blue. Gold. Emerald green. Pitch black.

  Five colours that didn't stand beside each other but flowed into one another, overlapping, swallowing each other and surging back again. The light was so alien that it twisted the shadows, as though they were no longer certain where they belonged.

  "What in Soltris's name…" Krent's voice was quiet, but sharp.

  This isn't normal.

  Valeria was on her feet as well. She raised the bow, and for the first time since the start of the mission, her gaze was no longer playful. It was awake. Reverent.

  "I've never seen anything like this," she breathed.

  "Neither have I." Krent felt his fingers tighten around the blades. "And when something looks beautiful… it's usually dangerous."

  A roll of thunder shook the ground.

  Not like ordinary thunder. More like… something rolling within the earth itself, as if the world were speaking a deep, ancient word.

  The shadows between the trees shifted.

  Krent watched the darkness move, as if someone were drawing a curtain aside. And from that shadow, it emerged.

  A being so immense the earth itself seemed to breathe.

  Scales gleamed like liquid silver, but waves ran through them. Chromatic currents—crimson, sapphire blue, gold, emerald green, pitch black—travelled across its body, as if the dragon were not merely matter but a vessel for colours that did not belong in this world.

  A dragon.

  Krent felt the blood rush to his ears. His heart raced, as though it had suddenly grasped how small it was.

  Something like this shouldn't exist.

  The dragon was too large. Too… wrong. Not like the stories, not like the illustrations in old bestiaries. It carried a weight you felt before you understood it. The ground vibrated with every movement of its claws. Leaves tore free from the canopy, as if even the wood were afraid to stay.

  Valeria raised the bow, trembling. Her hands were steady—but her eyes… her eyes were filled with awe, as if she were standing before a god.

  The creature spread its wings.

  A single beat—and the wind tore across the clearing like a blade. The fire died as though it had never existed. Embers scattered, red pinpricks in the dark that died instantly.

  Then came a sound.

  Deep. Older than any thought. So immense that it didn't merely move the air but Krent's ribcage. It was as though the voice of the world itself were speaking—a cry that left no room for defiance.

  Krent and Valeria froze.

  All thought, every movement—obliterated by that sound. Krent's muscles no longer responded. His magic… it felt as though it had hidden inside him.

  And then they saw those eyes.

  In their depths, a prism—shattered glass refracting the light of the world into infinite facets. Every colour within them was too sharp, too clear, as if it could cut. Krent felt his mind grasping for words, for explanations, for anything that could press what he was seeing into a shape.

  Nothing fit.

  In the next instant, he dissolved.