The village of Henbane lay just east of Woodmen, a sprawling, proud settlement built across the rolling hills. Between them stretched a shallow valley, where a lake lay sealed beneath winter ice.
The two villages shared a bitter history, though few still cared to speak of it.
Long ago, these lands marked the edge of the known world. They were prized for two treasures: towering trees whose timber could outlast generations, and vast fields of medicinal flowers that bloomed right up to the forest's edge.
When news of their riches spread, settlers came in droves.
Woodmen earned its name from those who felled the ancient forest. What began as a muddy camp for loggers slowly grew into a permanent village, built atop the very clearing they had carved from the wilderness.
Henbane suffered little differently. Its endless sea of flowers was harvested, trampled, and buried beneath homes before the roots ever had a chance to recover.
Overlooking the quiet village stood a solitary monastery atop a low hill, hidden behind a ring of snow-laden pines.
Hemar, a subordinate of the village chief, had come to deliver a message.
A small group of anxious teenagers waited outside the monastery doors.
"Again," Hemar muttered as he brushed past them.
Inside the counselling hall, Knoudi, a man in his thirties, leaned over a boy, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Don't lie to me. I'll know."
"Yes," the boy answered at once.
Knoudi looked up as Hemar entered. The two exchanged a glance before Hemar continued past the hall.
At the back of the monastery, he pulled aside a heavy, woven carpet, revealing a hidden trapdoor beneath.
Without hesitation, he descended.
The underground was so quiet it felt as though the world had forgotten how to make a sound.
Somewhere within the stone chamber, a bald boy no older than fifteen sat naked upon a straw mattress. An empty wooden cup rested beside him.
He did not move.
Five steps away, a small wooden doll stood upright on the floor. His gaze never left it. He didn't blink.
Even his breathing was barely there, slow and measured, each breath so faint it seemed he feared making a sound.
From the doorway, an old saint watched with dreadful determination, clinging to the smallest shred of hope.
The skin on the boy's scalp twitched.
His jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed as something inside his head pressed against him, growing heavier with every passing heartbeat.
The old saint leaned forward, scarcely daring to breathe.
The boy's gaze never left the doll.
Then…
It moved.
The wooden doll slid a single inch across the stone floor.
The boy held his focus. The muscles across his forehead began to quiver, then tremble violently, as if they could no longer contain whatever strained beneath them.
The saint's hands began to shake.
"No… stop," he whispered.
Blood burst from the boy's nose. A heartbeat later, it seeped through his clenched teeth.
Darkness swallowed his vision.
His body crumpled onto the straw mattress.
The saint rushed to the boy's side. With trembling fingers, he pressed a hand against the boy's chest.
Cold.
No breath.
The old saint remained kneeling beside the child, unable to look away.
Hemar descended the wooden stairs. One step at a time, but his boots drew no echo. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest reminded him he was not standing among the dead.
He stopped beside the body.
"Another one."
His eyes lingered on the boy's pale face before shifting to Gizon.
"Cold. Breathless." He let out a quiet scoff. "Just like the dozens before him."
Gizon lowered his head.
"How many more?" Hemar asked. "How many children have to die before you let this obsession go?"
His voice hardened.
"You should be ashamed of yourself, Saint Gizon."
Without another word, he pinned a folded letter to the stone wall and turned away.
The old saint remained where he was.
He said nothing.
He couldn't.
After a long while, Gizon's eyes drifted to the letter. He unfolded it with unsteady hands.
Whatever hope he had carried into the chamber had died with the boy.
Folding it shut again, with weary legs he climbed the stairs, leaving the child alone in the darkness.
Upstairs, Gizon's gaze settled on the trembling children before drifting to Knoudi.
"These are the children who failed their studies?"
Knoudi nodded. "Scripture and recitation. None of them could recite a single passage correctly."
For a long moment, Gizon said nothing. Hemar's words still echoed in his mind.
Finally, he exhaled.
"Let them go."
Knoudi frowned.
"But their punishment…"
"My brother will handle it when he arrives," Gizon cut in, his voice tired. "He's their teacher, not me."
Knoudi hesitated before bowing his head.
"As you wish, Master."
He turned toward the children.
"You heard him. Don't fail again. Go."
***
Back near the border of Yanaha, the fog slowly retreated, revealing two immense rivers. One borders Yanaha, and the other borders the main settlement of woodmen.
Tied to the back of a moving saddle, the green man suddenly convulsed.
His eyes rolled back, his face darkened to a suffocating shade of purple as thick foam spilt from his mouth onto the frozen ground.
"Stop!" A tall knight shouted.
The patrol reined in their mounts. "What is it, Captain?"
Ger, the captain leading the division, dismounted, stepping closer to the prisoner. He grabbed the man by his matted hair, forcing his head back so the others could see the foam. "He's choking. Or worse."
The knights exchanged uneasy glances.
"He's about to die," one muttered, backing his horse away.
"Get away from him, Captain. If he's sick, you'll catch it. Forest filth carries all kinds of rot."
The word rot hung heavily in the air. The knights instinctively backed their horses further away. Ger hesitated, then drew his dagger and sliced the ropes. The green man collapsed onto the frozen mud, gasping weakly. His green shawl fell away, landing on the riverbank.
"What now?" Ger asked, moving closer to the green man.
The old rider spoke first, his fingers brushing the talisman at his throat. "First, let's not touch him. The way he's dressed in all these filthy garments. And we found him in Yanaha of all places. It looks like the devil's work."
"It makes sense," another knight agreed, gripping his reins tightly. "Demons and evil inhabit that forest. Anyone who enters without protection is damned to rot from the inside out. Just look at him."
A bald, muscular knight scanned the rivers, then the empty banks. "No one saw us take him. No one knows he's here".
The young rider snorted. "Then let him die here. If we bring him to the Village, he'll just infect the others." He looked down at the twitching man and smirked faintly. "It's forbidden for civilians to enter Yanaha anyway. How did he even get in?"
"Looking at him, he won't be speaking anytime soon," the young rider added with a dry chuckle. "Unless we can rip his soul out and ask it ourselves."
No one laughed.
The bald knight exhaled slowly, turning his horse back toward the path. "He broke the law by entering the forest. We take him nowhere, and we report nothing. If he lives, the devil can keep him. If he dies..." He gestured vaguely at the river and the sky.
"The rivers will take him.
Whatever's left, the vultures can have".
Ger looked down at the gasping man one last time, then nodded. "Fine."
Without another word, the knights rode off, their heavy armour fading into the remaining mist.
Slowly, the man's violent convulsions stopped. His breathing slowed, and his eyes fluttered open. He stared blankly at the sky before turning his head to the side.
Water.
Two rivers.
The sight filled him with sudden, overwhelming terror. He slammed his eyes shut, clamped his hands over his ears, and sat still.
"Mother!"
His voice cracked across the empty banks.
"Mother!"
His voice echoed off the muddy banks, returning to him empty.
For a long while, terror rooted him to the earth. Eventually, he forced his eyes open.
The rivers were still there.
They snapped shut again.
A second attempt.
Then a third.
It made no difference. The sight of the dark water stirred a fear so deep it felt older than memory itself.
He didn't dare remove his hands from his ears. Even through his palms, the rivers found him. Their endless roar gnawed at something ancient buried deep within him, something he could neither understand nor escape.
It took dozens of agonising attempts before he could finally bear the sight of the water. With his hands still clamped over his ears, he forced his eyes toward the land.
Another river slipped into view.
He flinched and immediately dropped his gaze to the frozen earth at his feet.
The dread loosened its grip, but only just.
Slowly… cautiously… he lifted his eyes again.
This time, he kept them fixed on the snow-covered earth beneath his feet.
Only then did he lower his hands.
Abruptly, something flashed behind his eyes.
Endless water.
A dark blue ocean stretching in every direction.
No shore.
No land.
Just water.
Before the memory could unfold, he violently shook his head, as though trying to cast it out of his mind.
The terror returned.
Again.
This time, it came back twice as strong.
He screamed.
The sound that left his throat was wrong.
Thick.
Layered.
Almost as though another voice screamed beneath his own.
He collapsed face-first into the snow. His fingers dug into the frozen earth, clutching it with desperate strength while his cries echoed across the empty riverbanks. He begged for help.
Hunger and exhaustion soon overcame him. His cries faded into silence.
The rivers still roared, but his mind had already retreated somewhere beyond them. Even then, his trembling hands refused to release the frozen ground.
The sun crawled across the sky. Vultures circled overhead. Snow drifted over his back, thick and steady. Still, he didn't move.
Night came, bringing heavier snowfall. At some point, exhaustion pulled him into a restless sleep.
Defeat finally took him. His fingers lost their grip, slipping from the frozen earth to rest quietly in the snow.
Morning arrived beneath a blanket of fresh snow.
He woke up shivering. His face was caked in dirt, torn by minor cuts with dry tracks of blood. His ears burned with ice; his head throbbed like a drum.
The first thing he saw was his green shawl, discarded near the bank, while the dark water hissed quietly beside it.
He wanted to retrieve it.
But he couldn't.
Just then, a sharp screeching cut through the air. Across the river, a family of brown bears stood knee-deep in the current, drinking and swiping at fish with terrifying ease. In the shallows, silver fish leapt through the foam—completely untouched by the malice he felt in the current.
He watched them in silence.
None of them feared the water.
Something shifted behind his ribs. The terror didn't vanish, but its claws loosened just enough for him to pull in a breath. For the first time, his heart beat to a normal rhythm.
He stared at the river, the animals, the birds, and the fish for a long, long time.
Then, gathering every ounce of courage he had, he dragged himself toward the water's edge to retrieve his damp green shawl.
As he leaned over, he froze.
Staring back at him from the slow, dark current was a face — dark eyes, skin smeared with dirt and frost. Someone entirely unfamiliar.
He touched his face. The reflection copied.
Startled, he recoiled, stumbling back a step.
He went back to the edge. As he looked at the reflection, he whispered, "Me?"
He reached up to touch his cheek. In the water, the reflection did the same. Fascinated and deeply unsettled, his hand reached down, his fingers dipping into the river to touch the reflection's face. The moment his skin broke the surface, he jerked his hand back with a gasp.
"Too cold."
Brushing the strange, unsettling thoughts aside, he carefully wet his hands and rubbed the grime from his skin. He stood, wrapping the damp green shawl over his head, and began to walk aimlessly into the unknown—at least, somewhere far away from the two rivers.