11. REPERCUSSIONS IN THE FATE OF THINGS
In the untouched lands of the Scottish Highlands, where the winds whispered secrets older than the stones, the true rulers were creatures, monsters, and abominations that rested in their silent dominion; humanity was but an intruder— or, at best, a tolerated visitor.
The Forbidden Forest was a true cauldron of magical beings, some majestic, others lethally dangerous. Its diversity stretched for hundreds of kilometers.
In the depths of the forest, where sunlight never pierced beyond the canopy, the acromantulas reigned—giant spiders of terrifying intelligence whose nests clung to dried-bark trees, etched with claw marks left by prey that tried to escape and failed. Their existence and proliferation were hidden.
In a vast lake, wild merfolk lived under constant vigilance. Their hypnotic voices echoed through the morning mist. And near the thinner hills, an open territory served as a landing ground for hippogriffs, creatures of tremendous majesty and unpredictable temperament, where the young learned to fly among the trees, challenging the wind and honing their skill.
Yet in the most forgotten paths, where ancient magic saturated the earth with overwhelming abundance, Thestrals walked in silence. Only those who understood death could see them, making their presence a whispered legend among wizards.
Meanwhile, in damp caves and stone hills, brutal trolls slept and hunted. Their roars shook the forest during storms, frightening even the bravest of magical beasts.
And in such a vast, majestic setting, it would be foolish not to mention dragons—the kings of all beasts. The Ministry claimed to keep their population under strict captivity since the Middle Ages, yet rumors persisted of occasional sightings. Wild, untamable creatures, dwelling in hidden, deep caverns where no one dared to investigate.
That afternoon, beneath a sun that seemed to spill liquid amber across the valley, a savage hunt unfolded.
A group of centaurs, torsos painted with lunar symbols, galloped in tight formation. Their manes streamed like war banners, and their eyes—sometimes gold, sometimes silver—reflected the fury of a glorious chase. Their arrows pierced the ground behind a figure darting like black smoke.
A vampire—a cursed creature hated by all that breathes—wrapped in a cloak that devoured the light around her.
She fled out of cowardice and fear; torn from the lair she had tried to hide in, she was forced to face daylight, her greatest weakness. Her unforgivable crime could not be tolerated: she had attempted to hunt a unicorn foal, whose silver blood still stained her claws.
— Worm of the night! — roared the leader of the centaurs, Thalos, raising a yew bow carved with runes. — The earth rejects your thirst!
The vampire laughed, a sound like breaking glass, and dodged an arrow with an impossible leap. Her red eyes gleamed with challenge, even as another shot tore her cloak, revealing skin pale as a corpse.
But then—suddenly—the hooves ceased.
The arrows fell forgotten to the ground.
Thalos raised a hand, and the entire group froze, nostrils flaring, manes bristling.
The vampire, bewildered, seized the chance to vanish among the pines, but no centaur pursued her.
The young centaur Kaelen, amber-eyed and unscarred, kept his bow half-drawn, confused.
— Why did we stop? She's weakened! Just one more shot and—!
— This is no longer the time to hunt. — The voice came deep and firm, like the trunk of a millennial oak.
It was Thalos, the clan leader, his skin marked by decades of battle and a pair of broken horns angled unevenly. He looked up to the clear sky, as if something had soured the air itself.
— Destiny… has shifted.
The younger centaurs exchanged uneasy glances. Kaelen snorted, tense.
— Shifted? Why? We can't ignore a living enemy! She attacked a unicorn baby, Thalos! We should avenge it, not hesitate!
Rhagos, one of the elders, a scar running through his face and blinding his left eye, answered:
— The heavens cried out. Even in daylight, we heard it. The constellation of Ophiuchus… turned. That is not natural.
Other elders stepped forward, forming a circle.
— It is not the stars alone warning us… It is the wind of ages. It moaned before dawn. — said Makelen, one of the wisest.
— Fate bends like a branch under storm — murmured Thalos, his voice echoing the unease pulsing through the air.
— What omen is this? — asked another, stomping the ground hard enough to make the earth tremble. — It is neither the dance of planets nor the song of constellations… It feels as if the fabric of the world itself is being… torn.
Thalos closed his eyes, letting the wind brush his scarred face. In the depths of his mind, fleeting images surfaced—a serpent of shadow coiling around the lunar sphere, a black standard rising over ruins, and a human heart pulsing with forbidden runes.
— This is no omen — he declared, opening his eyes with contained fury. — It is a warning. Something has been born… or awakened. Something that will not respect the boundaries of realms—not even those between the living and the condemned.
— We do not live by maps or ancient legends! — insisted Kaelen, frustration burning in his voice. — You are tired of the chase. You may stay. We, the young, can still hunt! If we move fast, we can catch her. Who's with me?
Silence.
The young glanced away, uncomfortable, but none stepped forward.
Kaelen tightened his grip on his arrow, pride wounded.
Thalos approached him, his presence overwhelming.
— Kaelen… your soul burns bright, and your spirit is noble. But your bond with the cosmos is still shallow. You see only the surface of the lake, while we, the old, hear the currents beneath. This change… is no small shift. It is a quake in the pillars of the world. If we insist on chasing a minor prey now, we ignore the earthquake ahead.
Kaelen stepped back, struck by the weight of the words.
Then Sareon, another elder, his voice gentle and his eyes calm as a mist-covered field, spoke softly:
— We cannot place the burden of our scars on the young, Thalos. Let them know what approaches, yes—but let them learn by their own pace. Youth should not be molded by fear.
Thalos nodded.
— True. But neither shall we let them walk into the abyss without warning.
The group slowly reorganized.
The tension faded into a heavy, respectful silence.
Kaelen looked back once more toward the path the vampire had taken. His muscles burned with desire to continue—but his soul, young as it was, recognized the weight of the omen.
He sheathed the arrow.
— So we return?
Thalos nodded.
— We return. The skies have not finished speaking.
And so the centaurs galloped back into the heart of the forest, their silhouettes dissolving between the tall pines.
The vampire, free for now, had become an irrelevant detail before what was approaching.
A shift in the threads of fate—whose consequences would be written not only in the stars, but in the blood of the days to come—had just taken place.
Author's Note:
Hello, everyone. H.P and the Awakening of the Passenger is a fanfic created with a lot of care and dedication. It starts slow on purpose, gradually introducing an intricate world that becomes more dynamic as the story progresses. Please be patient and give the work a chance to surprise you in a positive way.