The night had already swallowed the sky when Ravan and Termo reached the final ridge before entering the notorious region called The Last Breath. The cold was still biting their backs, but here—at the border—the wind carried a different kind of numbness. Not the numbness of winter, but the numbness of something watching.
They set camp under skeletal trees whose branches looked like broken fingers pointing at the moon.
Ravan fell asleep quickly, exhausted from travel and from the persistent ache in his injured arm.
Termo, however, remained awake—eyes open, breath shallow, body tense.
There it was again.
That presence.
Fast footsteps circling the darkness.
A pressure behind his skull.
A gaze that slid over his skin like a blade dipped in ice.
Termo ignored it at first. Or pretended to.
He pulled his knees close, forcing himself to breathe slowly. But the forest wasn't silent. Every few minutes, something darted between the trees—quick, deliberate, never close enough to see but always close enough to feel.
When dawn came, the presence faded like smoke.
By midday they reached the threshold of The Last Breath. Ravan's breathing had grown heavier, and the pain in his arm forced them to stop near Hunter's Fall, a thin waterfall where hunters once washed their arrows. Termo felt the same sensation he'd felt last night—something watching, circling, waiting.
After they ate and rested, they continued deeper.
The deeper they went, the less snow clung to the ground.
Winter did not melt here; it fled.
The forest split into two regions:
The Last Breath on the left, and further ahead, the infamous Ghost Trail, a place whispered about even by the bravest.
As the sun began to set, that feeling returned—sharper, closer.
Termo stopped walking.
Ravan turned.
"What is it?"
Termo didn't answer. His breath had already changed. The air tasted wrong. Even the birds refused to sing.
Then—a figure stepped from between the trees.
Tall.
Human-looking.
But there was something wrong with the way he stood—too still, like he didn't need to breathe.
His eyes immediately locked onto Termo.
"You shouldn't be here," the stranger said, voice cold but strangely curious. "This forest doesn't let your kind cross."
Termo frowned. "We're just passing through. Heading to the Grand Market."
A slow, unsettling grin stretched across the man's face—no humor, no warmth.
"You won't make it," he whispered. "None like you ever do."
A chill crawled up Termo's spine.
He didn't understand why, but something deep inside him responded to the man's presence—as if a chain that wasn't there tightened around his ribs.
Ravan stepped forward cautiously.
"We don't want trouble."
"Oh, but trouble wants him," the stranger said, eyes never leaving Termo. "I smelled it the moment you entered my forest."
Then he moved.
A chain with a blade attached snapped forward faster than a whip.
It slashed Termo's shoulder—just a shallow cut, but deep enough for blood to drip.
The man caught a droplet on his fingertip, lifted it to his nose, and inhaled slowly.
"…I knew it," he whispered with a dark tremor of excitement.
"You're one of them."
Before Termo could think, the man lunged again.
Ravan tried to push Termo out of the way but the chain struck him across the shoulder, tearing through skin. He staggered back with a groan.
Termo grabbed the chain with both hands and pulled with all his strength.
The stranger slid forward, planting his feet, then leapt—falling toward Termo like a stone wrapped in fury.
Termo rolled to the side.
The chain cracked against the earth, splitting the ground.
The stranger's smile widened. "Good. Don't die too quickly."
He spun the chain in a spiral, attacking from angles Termo couldn't predict. Every hit was precise, almost artistic. The man wasn't just strong—he was trained, disciplined, confident.
A slash cut across Termo's chest, sending him stumbling backward until his back hit a tree.
The stranger tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle.
"You're weak. Untuned. The power inside you is screaming, but you can't hear it."
Termo's blood boiled.
Anger surged—raw, suffocating, familiar.
He rushed forward, sword raised, swinging with instinct rather than technique.
The man blocked with the chain, barely flinching from the impact.
"You feel it, don't you?" the stranger whispered. "That cold… that ache… that thing buried inside your eyes?"
Suddenly Termo dropped to one knee.
His vision blurred.
His chest tightened.
Something inside him cracked open—
—and his eyes burned with a pale, icy light.
The man froze, shocked for the first time.
"…You…?"
His grin twitched wider.
"No… impossible. A cursed one with that glow? I've never seen… anything like—"
Pain tore through Termo's body.
Not fire—cold.
A cold that crawled through his bones, freezing everything except his rage.
He felt the world slow.
The air crystallized around him.
Then—
He moved.
Like a shard of ice shot from a storm.
One dash.
One blur.
He crashed into the stranger with enough force to send both of them skidding across the dirt.
The stranger laughed—a twisted, delighted, broken laugh.
"YES. SHOW ME MORE."
He unleashed something of his own—
A dark halo rippled around him, a violent aura thick and suffocating. His skin darkened at the edges, muscles contorting unnaturally.
A sign of a cursed blood-user—
A man who had drunk demon blood and begun transforming.
A half-step toward becoming a demon.
Termo froze—not out of fear, but confusion.
He didn't know what was happening to him or the man in front of him.
The stranger vanished—
then reappeared behind Termo, chain aimed at his throat.
Termo barely blocked.
The chain scraped across his blade, sparks flying.
The stranger leaned close, whispering:
"You don't understand what you are… but I will."
Then—
A blur crashed between them.
Ravan.
In one desperate swing, Ravan slashed at the stranger, but the man twisted, letting the blade graze him before driving his chain into Ravan's injured shoulder.
Ravan fell to one knee, teeth clenched in pain.
The stranger stepped back.
His grin slowly died, replaced by cold disappointment.
"Another time… cursed child."
His aura swelled—shadows swirling like smoke—
and then with one final, chilling laugh that echoed between the trees…
He vanished.
Completely.
Leaving only silence.
A silence that felt wrong.
Ravan turned, breath shaking, and saw Termo collapsed on both knees—eyes still glowing faintly, chest heaving, face pale and lost.
"Termo…" Ravan whispered.
Termo didn't answer.
He stared at his trembling hands, his mind spinning, unable to understand what he had just unleashed—or what had awakened inside him.
When Ravan touched his shoulder, Termo flinched—confused, angry, frozen.
They waited until Ravan could stand. Ate a little. Bound wounds. Then walked again toward the next section of the forest.
As they approached the entrance of the Ghost Trail, Termo stopped.
The wind whispered.
Branches cracked.
Shadows twisted.
Hollow voices leaked between the trees like breaths from the dead.
Ravan looked back.
"Are you alright?"
Termo struggled for a moment—face tight, thoughts fractured.
"…Yeah," he finally said.
Lying.
They stepped forward.
And the whispers followed.