John slid off the horse and his feet hit solid ground. Real ground. Safe ground, hopefully. His eyes scanned the property, taking in details his traumatized brain catalogued automatically now. Escape routes. Weapons. Threats.
But there was nothing. Just a peaceful homestead. Garden. Chickens. A well. Normal things.
The children swarmed him immediately.
"Why do you look like a slave?" The question came from a girl, maybe eight years old, with pigtails and no filter whatsoever.
John blinked. "I... what?"
"You do though," another kid chimed in. Boy, maybe ten. "You got that scared look. Like the servants in town when the tax man comes."
"And you're fat and malnourished at the same time," the eight year old continued, her tone purely observational, like she was discussing the weather. "How's that even possible?"
A third kid, older, maybe twelve, stepped forward with a grin that suggested he was about to deliver something he'd been workshopping. Tall for his age, gangly, with that particular confidence of pre teens who thought they were hilarious.
"You look like a pig trying to be a boar while being built like an elephant."
The other kids lost it. Laughter erupted.
DAMN DUDE I JUST GOT HERE, John's brain screamed at him.
Marcus's voice cut through the chaos. "Kalvin! That's enough. Where are your manners?"
Kalvin, the twelve year old comedian, looked completely unrepentant. "What? I'm just being honest, Papa."
Fuck you, Kalvin, John thought viciously, though he kept his face neutral.
"Inside, all of you," Martha called from the doorway. "And leave our guest alone. He's been through enough without you vultures picking at him."
The children filed inside, still giggling. Kalvin shot John one last smirk before disappearing through the door.
Marcus put a hand on John's shoulder. "Don't mind them. Kids are honest to a fault. Come on, let's get some food in you."
Inside, the cabin was exactly what John expected from the exterior. Simple but well maintained. Wooden furniture, worn but sturdy. A large table dominating the main room. A fireplace with a pot hanging over it, steam rising, the smell of cooking meat making John's stomach clench with sudden desperate hunger.
Martha ladled stew into bowls. Rabbit, vegetables, herbs. The children grabbed spoons and started eating immediately, their earlier mockery forgotten in the face of food.
Marcus pulled out a chair for John. "Sit. Eat as much as you want. We've got plenty."
John sat. Took the bowl Martha offered. The stew was incredible. Rich, savory, actual chunks of meat. He forced himself to eat slowly, remembering how his stomach had rebelled after the kennels when he'd eaten too fast.
The family ate together, conversation flowing naturally. The kids bickered about chores and whose turn it was to feed the chickens. Martha reminded them about their responsibilities with the patient firmness of someone who'd had this conversation a thousand times.
And Marcus. Marcus was everything a father should be. Patient when the youngest spilled her water. Firm but kind when Kalvin tried to steal food from his sister's bowl. He made jokes that made the kids groan. Asked about their day. Actually listened to their answers.
Martha smiled at him across the table with the kind of affection that came from years of partnership. Real partnership, not the transactional relationships John had witnessed among the nobility.
"Sorry I didn't catch more rabbits today," Marcus said, his tone apologetic. "Only got three. Was hoping for five or six."
Martha reached across and squeezed his hand. "You did your best. You always do. That's all that matters."
Their eyes held. Something passed between them. Years of shared life, shared struggles, shared victories.
"Oh, barf," the ten year old girl said, making exaggerated gagging sounds.
The parents ignored her completely. Marcus's thumb rubbed across Martha's knuckles. She smiled wider.
The girl rolled her eyes dramatically and went back to her stew.
This was too nice. Way too nice. Like Spy x Family level domestic wholesomeness. The kind of scene that belonged in a feel good anime about found family and healing from trauma through the power of love and acceptance.
But the author wasn't going to torture the main character even more, right? After everything John had been through. The beatings, the kennels, the cold exposure, the forced participation in executions, the village massacre. Surely there was a limit. Surely the story would let him have this. Just this one thing. A safe place. A kind family. A chance to recover.
Right?
John ate his stew and tried not to think about how every good thing in this world had been a setup for something worse.
One week passed like a fever dream of normalcy.
John woke up each morning in a small room on the second floor. Just a bed and a chest, but it was his. Private. Safe. No chains. No cold stone. No threat of immediate violence.
He helped with chores. Fed the chickens. Hauled water from the well. Helped Martha in the garden. Simple work. Physical work. The kind that tired his body without breaking it.
The kids warmed up to him. Even Kalvin, who'd delivered that devastating elephant pig boar insult, started treating him like part of the family. They called him "big bro" now. Asked him questions about where he came from. He deflected, made up vague stories, and they accepted his evasions without pushing.
The routine was comforting. Breakfast together. Work during the day. Dinner together. Stories by the fire at night. Sleep in an actual bed.
John caught himself relaxing. Actually relaxing. His shoulders lost some of their permanent tension. He stopped checking exits compulsively. Started believing, just a little, that maybe this could last.
Today Marcus had taken longer than usual on his hunting trip. He'd left at dawn and didn't return until well past noon. When he finally walked through the door, he carried rabbits. Three of them, already skinned and cleaned.
But something was different. His face was tight. Strained. He didn't make his usual jokes or tousle the kids' hair. Just walked straight to Martha and handed her the rabbits.
"Cut them up tomorrow," he said quietly. "Throw them in the basement."
Basement? John's attention sharpened. They had a basement? In the week he'd been here, no one had mentioned a basement. He'd never seen stairs going down. Never heard anyone go down there.
Martha took the rabbits without question. "Of course. You alright?"
"Fine. Just tired." Marcus's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Going to rest before dinner."
He disappeared upstairs. The kids barely noticed, absorbed in some game involving sticks and a ball. Martha carried the rabbits to the kitchen, her face troubled but not surprised.
John watched this exchange and felt that familiar dread creeping back. A basement. That Marcus didn't want to talk about. That made his wife look worried.
Probably nothing, John told himself. Just a cold storage area. Every farmhouse had one. Completely normal.
Except nothing in this world was completely normal.
And that tight expression on Marcus's face had looked like pain. Or fear. Or both.
John returned to his chores and tried not to think about basements.
Three in the morning. John woke to knocking. Not loud, but insistent. The kind of knock that demanded answer.
He heard movement downstairs. Marcus's footsteps, heavy and quick. The door opening.
John slipped out of bed and crept to the top of the stairs. Old habit from living in his father's apartment in Japan, where eavesdropping was the only way to know what was happening in his life.
Voices drifted up. Multiple men. Guards, by the sound of their armor.
"We're looking for escaped property. Male, eighteen, brown hair. Wearing servant clothes and light armor. Seen anyone matching that description?"
Marcus's voice was steady. Calm. "No. Haven't seen anyone like that. It's just me, my wife, and our children here."
"You're sure? Look again. Think carefully."
"I'm sure. We keep to ourselves. Don't see many travelers out this way."
A different guard spoke. More aggressive.
"Harboring a fugitive is punishable by death. You understand that? Death. And kids over six can be charged as well under Lord Saunder's law. That means all of your little ones upstairs. All of them."
The threat hung in the air. John's blood turned to ice. They'd kill the children. Martha. Everyone. Because of him.
Marcus took a step forward. John heard it. One deliberate step, the floorboards creaking under his weight.
"Say what you want about me." His voice had changed. Still calm, but with something underneath. Something cold and dangerous. "But leave my family alone. And I suggest you leave my property before I start showing you how much of a family man I really am."
Silence. Tense, crackling silence.
Then footsteps. The guards backing away. Getting on their horses. Riding off into the night.
The door closed.
John heard a heavy thump. Like someone falling to their knees. Exhausted. Or relieved. Or both.
"Marcus?" Martha's voice, worried.
"I'm fine. Just... give me a minute."
John stayed frozen at the top of the stairs, his heart pounding. Marcus had protected him. Threatened Saunder's guards to protect him. This stranger who'd found him by the river had just put his entire family at risk.
Why? Why would anyone do that?
A noise below. Shuffling. Marcus standing. Talking to Martha in low tones. John caught fragments.
"...before the moon..."
"...already started..."
"...in the basement, now..."
Martha's response, urgent. "What about John?"
"He doesn't know. Keep him upstairs. Lock the door if you have to."
More movement. Martha's footsteps, urgent, heading up the stairs.
John scrambled back to his room, but not fast enough. Martha saw him. Her face was pale in the darkness.
"You heard."
Not a question. John nodded.
"Stay in your room. Please. Don't come down. No matter what you hear."
"What's wrong with Marcus? Is he hurt? I can help—"
"No." Her voice was sharp. Final. "Stay. In. Your. Room."
She disappeared back downstairs. John heard the basement door open. The creak of stairs going down. Martha's voice, soothing. Marcus's response, tight with pain.
The basement door closed.
John stood in the hallway, conflicted. They'd saved him. Protected him at massive personal risk. And now Marcus was clearly suffering from something, and Martha had ordered him to stay away.
But he couldn't just ignore it. Not after everything they'd done.
Six in the morning. The sun was rising. John had been lying in bed, not sleeping, for three hours.
And then he heard it. From below. From the basement.
Screaming.
Not the screams of violence. Worse. The screams of agony. Of transformation. Of something fighting against itself. Raw, animal sounds mixed with distinctly human pain.
Marcus. That was Marcus screaming.
John threw off his blanket and ran to the stairs. He had to help. Had to do something. Marcus was hurt, or sick, or—
Martha appeared at the bottom of the stairs, blocking his path.
"No."
"He's screaming! We have to help him!"
"No. Go back to your room."
"What's wrong with him? Is he injured? Did something attack him?"
"John." Martha's voice was iron. "Go. Back."
John pushed past her. Or tried to. She grabbed his arm with surprising strength, yanked him back.
"Don't be stupid—"
But John broke free, driven by panic and gratitude and the desperate need to do something good for once instead of just being a passive victim. He ran to the basement door and yanked it open.
The screaming got louder. Closer. More visceral.
Martha shouted behind him. "NO! JOHN, DON'T!"
But he was already descending the stairs. Into the darkness. Toward the sounds of agony.
The basement opened up around him. Larger than expected. Reinforced walls. Heavy chains attached to support beams. And in the center—
Something moved. Large. Massive. Covered in fur.
Not Marcus. Not anymore.
Or not entirely Marcus.
The creature turned toward him. Eyes that were still partly human, partly something else entirely. A muzzle full of teeth. Claws that dug into the dirt floor.
A howl split the air. Not quite wolf. Not quite human. Something caught between.
John's brain finally caught up with what his eyes were seeing. The chains. The reinforced room. Martha's desperate warning. The timing.
He looked up through the basement's small window.
The moon, full and bright, hung in the early morning sky.