The soft sound came again — clearer this time.
A baby? In a forest?!
Or—
Lavayla's eyes widened in horror.
Was it a cunning, vicious beast mimicking a baby's cry to lure prey?
She stumbled back, heart hammering.
"Oh fuck."
Lavayla didn't think twice; she turned to leave, folding her blanket hurriedly, determined not to get dragged into whatever that was. Just as she finished arranging her things, that cry rang out again—high, thin, unmistakably baby-like.
She froze. Then shook her head hard enough to rattle her own brain.
Absolutely not. There was nothing good in this forest. She was not falling for it.
She grabbed her things, slung the bag over her shoulder, and set off. One minute—a whole stubborn, internally cursing minute—passed before she stopped dead.
A long, suffering sigh left her. Eyes closing, she muttered to herself, "Lavayla, don't regret this."
She turned back, grudgingly swept the ground with her foot, placed the blanket and pillow back down like she was resigning herself to her fate, and took off her bag and set it beside the spot.
She looked for something—anything—to use and grabbed the nearest thick fallen branch, one with a pointed end, and held it like a sword she absolutely did NOT know how to use.
Lavayla forced herself to think positively.
Maybe there were humans. No—Beastmen. Maybe they had a baby with them. Yes. Maybe that was it.
Please let that be it.
She walked forward step by step, bare feet sinking into the dirt. Each step was guided by sheer terror that something would leap out and snatch her first. She swatted branches aside, ducked vines, and peeked around a trunk, praying she wouldn't run into a tiger with anger issues.
The baby cried a fourth, then a fifth time.
Lavayla pushed through one last curtain of leaves — and stumbled into a clearing.
A round patch of open earth. No trees for at least seventy meters.
No Beastmen. No humans. No signs of life.
Her stomach sank. Was it really a vicious beast luring prey?
Then she saw it.
On a mound of bushes… a tiny baby.
Wrapped in nothing but fur. Soft, downy pelts were arranged carefully around its small body.
The child wasn't crying now — just making soft hiccupping sounds, exhausted from calling for help.
Lavayla's heart jolted.
But suspicion immediately followed.
She narrowed her eyes, glanced around the empty clearing, and called out—quietly, barely above a whisper, careful not to broadcast her exact coordinates to every carnivore within a five-mile radius.
"…Hello? Anyone here?"
No answer. Just the wind brushing through leaves.
She tried again.
And again.
By the fourth call, she grimaced. This was beyond stupid. It was dangerous enough just existing alone in this forest; calling out was basically sending an open invitation to anything large, hungry, and fond of human-flavored breakfast.
Still… she couldn't walk away without checking.
Lavayla swallowed hard and stepped forward.
She approached the mound from behind warily, tightening her grip on the stick like it was a legendary weapon and not just a random branch she found on the ground.
First, she poked the mound of bushes.
Nothing.
Then she poked the fur the baby was lying on.
Still nothing.
Finally—against all common sense—she reached out and lightly touched the baby's arm.
A tiny noise escaped the child, a soft, fragile sound, and Lavayla's eyes flew wide.
Was it really… a baby?
She froze, waited, then—summoning every scrap of courage left in her rapidly deteriorating bravery—stretched her hand out again and touched the child properly this time.
Soft skin. Warmth. The unmistakable feel of something alive.
It was a real breathing baby or beast baby—whatever it was.
She jerked her hand back and stared.
It was really a baby.
Her heart squeezed painfully.
Who would leave a baby alone in a forest like this?! Even if it was a beastbaby, it was still a damn baby. These people were fucking insane.
She stepped closer, staring at the little bundle, and a smile tugged at her lips despite everything.
She always loved babies but never found a man to have one with. Sure, there were options — but even with money, she couldn't handle raising a child alone.
"Aah—!" the baby cried again, snapping her from her thoughts.
Lavayla stepped forward.
"Aww… you poor little—"
Hssssssssssss.
Every hair on her body stood up.
Slowly — horror-movie slowly — she turned her head.
Two meters in front of the baby… something massive uncoiled.
A python rose from the tangled undergrowth. Its head alone was nearly two meters long, shaped like a wedge. Dark bronze eyes, cold, fixed on the tiny bundle. When it inhaled, its nostrils flared wide, tasting the scent of tender flesh.
Its body followed in a slow, terrible reveal—scales as large as Lavayla's palms, each one shimmering black and storm-bronze. The serpent was so thick around she would need four people with outstretched arms to encircle it. Every coil was a pillar of muscle, heavy enough to crush a boulder with a lazy squeeze.
And it kept uncoiling.
Ten meters. Fifteen. Twenty. The tail still dragging behind the roots.
Lavayla's breath left her in a silent scream. Her entire body locked in place — her deepest, ugliest fear staring at her.
"Hell. Fucking. No," she whispered, face draining of color. This had to be a nightmare. That giant python was NOT about to eat that baby. Lavayla, you are so fucking unlucky…
What to do?
What to do?!
The python slithered closer to the baby, who began crying again — whether from fear or hunger, she didn't know.
But she knew one thing.
She could NOT watch it die.
Come on, Lavayla. You can do this. Or you're dead too.
She took a breath, opened her eyes — and acted without thinking.
She hurled the stick with all her might. It spun end over end, whistling through the air in a shaky, desperate before, by some miracle, grazing the python's eye.
The Dreadcoil Python recoiled violently, its massive body jerking back as the stick scraped across the soft flesh near its eye. A guttural, low-frequency growl rolled out of its chest — a sound so deep it made the leaves quiver and sickness slam through her gut.
Then its head snapped toward her.
Lavayla screamed, "AAAAAAAH!!" and bolted, running like her life depended on it — because it absolutely fucking did.