Blood Of the Forsaken

The night was unnaturally still. No wind stirred the leaves, no animals called through the trees, and even the moonlight felt dimmer than usual. Rin stood in the clearing, his eyes locked on the charred remnants of the village below. What was once a bustling place—full of laughter, smoke from cooking fires, and the sound of children playing—was now nothing more than a smoldering graveyard.

He tightened his grip on the handle of his sword, knuckles pale. The scent of blood and burnt flesh clung to the air like a curse, suffocating and heavy. Even with the night breeze slowly creeping in, it couldn't drive away the horror.

"They didn't stand a chance…" Rin muttered, mostly to himself.

Behind him, footsteps crunched over scorched earth. Mei emerged from the darkness, her cloak still wet from the earlier rain. Her eyes scanned the ruins silently, taking in every corpse, every blackened wall, and every broken weapon.

"Any survivors?" she asked.

Rin didn't answer right away. Instead, he pointed to a collapsed hut at the edge of the village. "I found one. A boy. Maybe ten winters old. He's unconscious but breathing. I hid him under the old shrine with some herbs and a water flask."

Mei's face darkened. "And the demon?"

Rin's jaw clenched. "Gone. Left just before we arrived. But not before it did this."

Mei knelt and touched the ashes with her fingertips. "This wasn't just an attack. It was a message."

Rin turned to her. "What kind of message burns families alive?"

She didn't answer.

The two stood there in silence, until the faintest sound reached their ears—a whisper, distant but unmistakable. A child's sob.

Rin didn't hesitate. He darted forward, boots sliding in the wet soil, and pushed aside the debris covering the shrine entrance. Inside, lit by the flicker of his torch, lay the boy—his face smeared with soot, tears carving clean streaks down his cheeks. He was trembling, lips moving but no sound coming out.

"You're safe now," Rin whispered. "You're safe."

The boy clung to him, small arms trembling as he wrapped them around Rin's neck. "The fire… the monster… it laughed…"

Mei's eyes narrowed at those words. "It laughed?"

Rin looked at her. "He's not lying."

"I know he's not," she replied. "That laughter… It matches the description from the last three villages."

Rin's stomach turned. "You think it's the same one?"

"Not think," Mei said, standing tall. "I'm sure."

A silence followed—this time colder than before.

The boy had fallen asleep, still gripping Rin's tunic. Mei took a slow breath and looked at the moon.

"It's hunting. Not feeding."

That realization sank like lead in Rin's gut. Most demons killed to feed, to slake their bloodlust. But this one was different. It burned everything, then left just one survivor—always a child. Always too young to fight back. Was it for sport? A twisted game?

"Why children?" Rin asked.

Mei's eyes were distant. "Because they remember. And fear is a powerful seed. It grows."

The torch flickered violently, casting long shadows along the broken village walls.

"We need to get moving," Rin said. "If it's heading west, the next village is only a few hours away. We can't let this happen again."

Mei nodded, pulling her hood back up. "And what about him?" she asked, motioning to the boy.

"I'll carry him. He deserves to live. To see something beyond fire and death."

Mei didn't argue.

As they walked into the darkness, the wind finally began to stir. The air carried a foul scent—smoke, blood, and something else. Something old and evil.

And just behind the trees, beyond their sight, something watched them.

Its eyes gleamed red in the darkness.

And it smiled.