Rot. Blood. Death. The stench was thick—a rancid fog that sank into my lungs.

  I could hear the monster breathing now, as if right by my ear. The sound was deep and ragged as it slipped and smacked wetly over its oversized teeth, which clicked together with hunger and anticipation.

  Then it stopped.

  My stomach clenched as something cold and wet brushed against my cheek—its fingers. It was reaching toward me.

  Thunk!

  A new noise pinged my ears. The creature yelped seconds after it sounded.

  Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

  The creature roared again, moving away from my mother’s body and sprinting across the beach toward the edge of a forest in the distance. Arrows jutted from its head and chest—mere annoyances rather than lethal wounds. My gaze followed it, connecting with the source of the sound.

  Some distance away, a lone archer shot at the monster.

  The creature twisted toward its attacker, snarling, its emaciated form moving with unnatural speed as it found the source of its pain. It dropped to all fours, its long limbs bending grotesquely as it launched itself toward the archer, mouth gaping wide to tear into him.

  The archer didn’t move.

  He exhaled a slowed, measured breath as his fingers tightened around his bowstring, pulling it back in one fluid motion. The air around him shifted, charged with something invisible yet heavy.

  The moment he released the arrow, I felt it.

  The shot was unnatural.

  A tiny streak cut through the air like a line of pure force, concentrated and undeniable.

  Splurt!

  The arrow punched through the creature’s skull as if it were made of brittle paper, punching out the back in an explosion of bone and gray matter. It didn’t even have time to scream or contemplate its death as it tumbled forward, flipped, and laid motionless on the ground.

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  “Oh, thank the Gods.” The archer keeled forward with relief, wiping his brow. “If it were any stronger or closer, I’d be a dead man. Shit!” He stared at the corpse before dotting his eyes along the coastline, his expression slowly turning grim as he did. “Doesn’t seem like there are others around. I don’t know if I could do that more than once that well.”

  A faint glow started to swell near the dead creature’s heart. Some sort of gem rose to the surface and protruded.

  The archer smiled, plucked it from the flesh like a berry, pulled a small cloth sack from his side, and dropped the gem. “It’s a refined one. Only a few deformities. Should sell well. Or maybe Amalia can use it,” muttered the archer. His gaze returned to the beach again as he scanned it several more times. “No survivors.”

  There was one, dammit!

  For the first time, a sound tore from my throat—not a word or a scream, but a raw, instinctive cry.

  The archer’s head snapped in my direction.

  He stilled.

  I could feel his hesitation, the moment of uncertainty before his boots crunched against the sand. His approach was quick but careful.

  After a while, my mother’s body—what was left of it—shifted.

  The moment the weight left me, cold air rushed over my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that had shielded me until now.

  I shivered violently.

  Then—hands. Rough, warm, steady. Different.

  Suddenly, I felt those hands tense as I stared at the man, his brilliant green eyes gazing into my own. “A devil?”

  The word fell from his lips like a curse, sharp and bitter. His expression tightened.

  I didn’t understand what he was saying. But I saw it—the way his eyes locked onto my head, his gaze flickering to my ears with something unreadable.

  What’s wrong with me? My few moments with my parents flickered in my mind. My ears?

  My heart lurched as I watched the man deliberate. Whatever kindness I saw initially was gone. Was he going to kill me? Leave me here? Why? What was wrong with my ears? Why did they make me a devil? What’s a devil? Why did that make me bad?

  The silence stretched far too long before the archer exhaled sharply, rubbing his free hand down his face before cradling me against his body as gently as possible. I was so small, I fit in the crook of his arm like I’d never belonged anywhere else.

  “It’s just a forest devil,” he muttered, his tone more tired than anything else. “It doesn’t have horns. What am I even thinking?”

  The archer cursed under his breath. Reaching into his pocket, He pulled out a strip of cloth. Without a word, he wrapped it carefully around my head, hiding what made me different.

  I didn’t understand. Not yet. But the way he hesitated told me enough. Whatever I was, it wasn’t something he wanted others to see.

  “I’ll bring you somewhere safe, little one,” said the archer as we slowly walked into the forest.