Three hours before that scream echoed through the forest…
A small, nameless town nearby stirred with the rhythm of evening trade. Merchants called out to passing travelers, wagons rattled along uneven stone, and the scent of bread and herbs drifted through the air.
On one side, a florist proudly stood in front of her shop, coaxing water from thin air to nourish her breathtaking blooms. Across the street, a builder drifted above half-laid stone, guiding blocks into place with a flick of his wrist.
Some paces past that, children laughed in the city square, their small sparks of mana dancing like colorful fireflies between their fingers.
It was the kind of peace people trusted.
The kind they stopped questioning.
Among them was Dom, his white curls catching the morning light, and his navy blue eyes burning with quiet mischief as he focused on the small trinket shop at the edge of the market.
Inside, a traveling couple stood at the counter while the shopkeeper spoke in his usual warm tone.
"Welcome, welcome. You look like you've traveled far… so why not pick something for your future child?"
The woman smiled softly, her hand drifting to her swollen belly.
"What do you recommend?" Her partner asked.
"Well…" the storekeeper began, displaying his wide array of antiques and items he had gathered from all over the nation, "…there's plenty to choose from. How about…"
With his attention focused on his customers, Dom slipped past them, silent as a shadow, eyes glued to the bookshelves in the far corner.
And there it was.
A storybook titled The Tales of Great Mages.
With a grin, he carefully, almost reverently, pulled it free and gazed at the worn pages.
As he flipped through them, he was met with the remarkably detailed sketches of the Monarchs.
The heroes who ended the five-hundred-year bloodshed and rewrote history.
"I'm going to be like them." He whispered with a soft chuckle as he stared at their leader, the Mage Emperor.
He was so engrossed in the text that he barely noticed the sound of a throat clearing right behind him.
He froze, then slowly turned, a sheepish smile crossing his face once he found the storekeeper towering over him.
"Hello, Dominic," The storekeeper replied, his polite smile now strained -- a mask over patience.
"Hey…love the new, um… beard?" Dom replied as he hesitantly stepped back…just as the storekeeper raised an arm, immediately summoning long beast-like tendrils out of thin air.
"You little brat." The storekeeper grumbled as his tendrils swept across the room like snakes hunting for prey, but Dom's movements were as nimble as a rabbit.
He weaved through shelves, slid under tables, and leapt over counters.
Every step was instinctive—no hesitation, no wasted motion.
"Sorry! Sorry!" He said as he ducked past the confused customers on his way out of the door…until one tendril finally erupted from behind a pillar and grabbed him by the ankle.
"Hey…Let me go." He scoffed as he dangled helplessly by his leg while the storekeeper stormed towards him. "Come on, man… Can't you just let me have it? It's not like anyone else wants it."
"No," The storekeeper replied flatly as he snatched the book from Dom's grasp and unceremoniously flicked him outside the store, his back hitting the ground with an audible thud.
As Dom rubbed his sore behind, the storekeeper shook the book now in his grasp. "Go get some money, kid. Until then, I don't want to see you here again." He said sternly before turning away.
Dom gritted his teeth, his white eyebrows twitching as he sprang to his feet and aimed his palm forward.
Blue mana spiralled around his palm, like a gun ready to go off, but…nothing came out… just as usual.
Dom glared at his hand in frustration, then turned that glare to the storekeeper and yelled, "You stupid bald cheapskate!"
His words instantly drew the attention of nearby civilians.
The storekeeper stopped, a flash of the setting sunlight reflecting on his smooth bald head -- a cruel, comedic emphasis. But before the storekeeper could respond, a fist suddenly connected with Dom's skull from above.
Dom groaned, turning to the tall man behind him. "Pops, what the hell?" He groaned, rubbing the ache.
"You dumb-ass," Pops muttered, tapping his head again before turning to the storekeeper. "I'm really sorry about him." He bowed slightly.
The storekeeper glanced back at the couple still browsing in his store. "Just… make sure it doesn't happen again." He scoffed before returning to his customers.
Dom's cheeks burned with shame, but inside, a spark of determination still flickered. You win this time, old man…He thought, just before Pops dragged him away by the collar.
"You've got guts, kid," Pops muttered, not slowing. "Too bad you don't have the brains to match."
"I almost had it," Dom grumbled. "Another minute and--"
"And you'd still be broke," Pops cut in. "Which is kind of the problem."
Dom clicked his tongue, but didn't argue.
Twenty minutes later…
The heat of the kitchen wrapped around Dom like a second skin.
The sharp scent of oil and baked bread filled the air as he stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing through a stack of greasy plates. Water splashed against his apron as he worked, his movements quick but distracted.
Across the room, Pops moved with practiced efficiency--stirring pots, plating dishes, barely needing to look as the teenage waiter called out orders.
Dom glanced at him, recalling the scene just minutes ago.
Then looked away.
Then glanced again.
"Are you mad?" He asked finally.
Pops didn't answer right away. He sprinkled seasoning into a pot, gave it a slow stir, then closed the lid.
"Yes and no," He said at last. "Mad you snuck out for some book instead of working…"
He reached for a cigarette, tapping it lightly against the counter.
"… And mad that I can't just buy it for you."
He turned sideways, eyes narrowed as he took out his old lighter towards the end of the stick. The lighter clicked once. Twice. A third time before the flame caught.
"...Also," He added, taking a long drag, then exhaling a cloud of smoke, "… you're starting to sound like me now. That's not good."
Dom frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Pops said, glancing at him briefly, "you don't know when to let things go."
Dom looked back down at the dirty water in front of him, watching his reflection ripple under the surface. "Sorry." He muttered.
Pops exhaled slowly, smoke curling around him. "It's not your fault." He said, quieter now, almost under his breath. "I'm not exactly father material."
As Dom reached for a greasy pan, he glanced at Pops again, and a sad thought filled his mind.
He's not perfect, but he's all I've got.
"Well," He said, his warm smile drawing Pops' attention. "… I'm happy you're taking care of me. You're a good dad. Besides, that orphanage looks like shit anyway."
Dom paused once he realized how harsh his words sounded.
But instead of reprimanding his ten-year-old ward, Pops smirked faintly. "It's okay," He said, tapping his cigarette against the stove while he stirred the aromatic soup. "Despite rough edges, you're a good kid."
Dom grinned, his mood reinvigorated as he focused on finishing the dishes while Pops began to dish the soup.
Some time later, the small restaurant buzzed with life-- plates clattering, chairs scraping, voices overlapping into a dull roar.
The scent was thick--spiced meat, simmered herbs, oil hanging warm in the air, heavy enough to taste.
Dom weaved through it all, balancing a tray of dirty dishes in both hands with surprising ease.
As he reached for an empty beer mug, he froze as he caught snippets of a nearby conversation.
"Seriously?" One customer muttered.
Another leaned in, lowering his voice--though not enough. "Their wives waited all night… but they never showed."
Dom's fingers tightened slightly around the tray.
"What happened?" The first customer asked.
"No clue…"The second replied, "… but I bet it's linked to those attacks in Canvas Town." He glanced around to whisper his next words, but the alcohol already coursing through his system made his voice even louder.
Dom gulped, trying to quench the sudden dryness in his throat.
"I thought they were just rumors?" The first customer asked.
"And I keep telling you, the hooded beast is real." The second slammed his mug on the table. "They say it's strong enough to kill Mid-Tier Mages too."
The first man frowned. "Bullshit."
The second leaned away. "Hah. I can't wait to see your face when they finally catch it. I heard our guards already called in the Knights to investigate the missing hunters."
"So that's why I saw a squad head out this morning." The first commented.
The second nodded. "Hopefully, this whole thing's already over before the day runs out."
"I hope so."
Silence hung between them as they downed the rest of their drinks.
Meanwhile, Dom stiffened as their words echoed in his ears.
Hunters… Deaths… A hooded monster…
The words tugged at the edges of his mind. His heart began to pound--not fast, but heavy--and his stomach churned as if something inside him didn't like the shape of that story.
"Dom!"
The familiar voice suddenly broke his thoughts.
As he turned, the tension snapped instantly when he saw Devon, his chubby, cheerful friend, grinning from the front entrance.
"We're going to play Mana Ball! Wanna come?" Devon asked.
Dom grinned; the words of the monster still lingered somewhere at the back of his mind as he hurriedly carried the dishes into the kitchen, dumping them in the sink with a clatter louder than he intended.
"Hey, can I go play with my friends?" He asked Pops, who was plating some food with precise, practiced movements.
Pops glanced at the clock, then responded. "Fine, but be back by three. Phil's leaving early for a school project."
Dom glanced at the teenager flipping the burgers, then nodded. "Got it. Thanks." He said as he tugged off his apron, just as Pops held up the plated meal.
"Table 3," He said.
Sighing, Dom took the meal and walked away.
"And stay away from the woods!" Pops shouted after him. "There's been some nasty rumors going around, and I'm not in the mood to save your dumb ass today!"
Dom paused for half a second… just long enough for the earlier conversation to flicker in his mind-- then shook it off.
"Okay, later!" He called back as he quickly delivered the meal and ran to meet Devon.
Meanwhile, Pops closed the steaming pot, the lid clinking softly, and returned to his newspaper.
He focused on finishing the surprisingly tricky crossword puzzle, brow furrowed in mild irritation, completely unconcerned about the missing criminal picture on the next page — its ink slightly smudged by his coffee.
And the outline of a hooded figure was barely visible beneath a bold headline which read: Recent Unidentified Killings in nearby city.