The village hummed with life, a vibrant tapestry of ochre earth and palm thatch. Circular homes, their walls alive with sacred symbols—twisting lines, protective eyes, and the ancestral blessings of Orisha—clustered in a warm embrace. Above them, smoke from cooking fires ascended in lazy spirals, perfuming the air with the rich scents of okra stew, creamy yam porridge, and the sweet char of roasting plantains. A deep, resonant murmur, the voice of a distant talking drum, pulsed through the very ground, a rhythm older than the first memory.

  Gethii glanced down as Leonotis fell into step beside him, eyes landing briefly on the tree branch hanging at his hip.

  "You know," he said, "it might be time for a real sword."

  Leonotis's hand went to it instinctively. "I've had this one for months. It's held up fine." He turned it once in his grip. "And it just feels right."

  Gethii looked at him for a moment, then looked away. He didn't push it.

  They walked in silence for a few steps before Leonotis spoke again. "Thanks for letting me come. On a real quest, I mean."

  "You're a kid," Gethii said. "I want that on record." He paused, eyes still on the path ahead. "But your reflexes are something else. And you're strong enough now that you could put most grown men on their backs in a fair contest."

  Leonotis said nothing. The back of his neck had gone warm and he focused very intently on the road ahead.

  Gethii noticed.

  "Too bad you still don't have any ase," he added. "You could actually learn something worth knowing."

  Leonotis glanced at him sideways. "I'll figure it out."

  Gethii said nothing. But he didn't disagree.

  They made it to the village's edge where the familiar warmth dissolved into a chill. Here, the well-trodden path surrendered to a wilder domain of scrub and thorny underbrush that clawed at the footpath. The colossal forms of iroko and obeche trees, a dense, ancient wall, swallowed the horizon. The ceaseless symphony of birdsong, a constant companion within the village, dwindled to a cautious, almost fearful silence. Even the wind, when it stirred, seemed to hold its breath.

  A single cowrie-marked stone, a silent sentinel etched with a warding charm, stood beside the final homestead. Beyond it lay a land both sacred and deeply feared—the stark, unforgiving border between the known and the untamed unknown.

  Gethii paused at the cowrie stone. He pressed his fingers briefly against its cool surface then stepped across the threshold.

  "How big do you think it is?" Leonotis asked, falling into step behind him. "The demon that attacked the cart?"

  "Merchant reported something large. Fast. Left claw marks on the axle." Gethii's eyes were already moving through the treeline. "Chief wants it dealt with."

  "Have you done a lot of these? For the chief, I mean."

  "Enough." He held a branch aside for Leonotis. "Escorted transports across the savannah. Cleared a nest of something unpleasant from the grain store two seasons back." A pause. "Once helped locate a farmer's goat."

  Leonotis looked at him. "A goat."

  "It was an important goat."

  Leonotis opened his mouth, then thought better of it.

  "Keep your senses sharp, Leonotis," he murmured, his eyes already sweeping the shadowed depths of the trees. "The shrine's protection… it doesn't reach this far anymore."

  Leonotis hesitated, a knot tightening in his stomach, before following. His mouth was suddenly dry. Around his neck, the woven necklace Chinakah had braided for him—a small, familiar comfort from home, even if he had inadvertently repurposed her best bedsheet into a tunic—itched against his skin. The fleeting thought of home vanished as a colder gust swept through the branches, bringing with it the metallic tang of iron. And something else, something disturbing:

  Burnt feathers.

  Up ahead, the forest grudgingly parted, revealing the shrine clearing. The ancient structure, a relic of forgotten reverence, lay half-devoured by clinging vines and thick moss. Its protective sigils, once vibrant, were now faint, their lines fractured and dull against the weathered stone. Scattered on the damp earth were chicken bones, broken calabash offerings, and melted wax—detritus of faded rituals. But it wasn't the disrepair that sent a jolt of ice through Leonotis.

  It was the claw marks. Deep, savage gouges raked across the shrine’s base, as if colossal talons had torn through solid rock.

  Gethii knelt, his fingers tracing the raw lines. "Too large for any dog. Too sharp for a wildcat. And these…" he gestured to the scorch marks, dark and unnatural, along the outer ring of stones, "…these weren't made by firewood."

  Leonotis swallowed hard, the sound loud in the sudden quiet. "Then what?"

  Gethii looked up, his gaze heavy. "A creature that doesn't belong here. Not anymore."

  "This is where the attack happened?" Leonotis asked, his eyes wide with a mix of trepidation and excitement. He swallowed, his grip tightening on his tree-branch sword. He could almost hear the chaos, the screams, the clash of metal against... something else.

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  "Over there," Gethii pointed to a set of tracks. "Fox prints, but larger than any fox I've ever seen. And the claws..." He trailed off, his expression grim.

  They followed the tracks, the silence broken only by the crunch of leaves under their feet. The air grew colder, the shadows deeper. Leonotis shivered, though he wasn't sure if it was from fear or the chill.

  Suddenly, Gethii stopped, his hand raised. "Wait," he whispered. "Listen... Do you hear it?"

  Leonotis strained his ears. A faint sound, a low growl mixed with a high-pitched whine, echoed through the trees. It was a sound that made the hair on his neck stand on end.

  Gethii drew his sword, the metal whispering as it left its scabbard. The blade gleamed in the dim light, sharp and deadly.

  "Stay ready, Leonotis," Gethii ordered, his voice firm. "And keep your eyes open."

  They moved forward cautiously, the strange growling growing louder with each step. The trees thinned, revealing a small, overgrown shrine. And there, crouched before it, was the creature.

  It was a fox, but twisted and monstrous. It was easily the size of a large lion, with fur stained with the color of dried blood. Its eyes glowed with an eerie red light, and its teeth were long and sharp, dripping with a viscous fluid. It was tearing at something on the ground, its movements savage and hungry.

  Leonotis gasped, his heart pounding. The stench of decay and something acrid and unnatural filled his nostrils.

  The fox demon raised its head, its glowing red eyes fixing on them. A low growl rumbled in its chest, and it bared its fangs in a silent snarl.

  "Easy, beast," Gethii said, his voice calm but firm. He stepped forward, his sword held ready. "We don't want to hurt you. We just want to know what you want here."

  The fox demon didn't wait.

  It launched itself from the shadows in a blur of blood-red fur, its shriek splitting the air like tearing metal. Gethii moved before Leonotis could even register the motion — one fluid step forward, sword rising in a clean, practiced arc aimed straight for the creature's throat.

  "Wait!" Leonotis grabbed Gethii's arm.

  The blade sang through empty air as the demon veered sideways, crashing into a tree trunk with enough force to splinter bark. It shook its massive head, snarling, and wheeled back toward them.

  Gethii turned to look at Leonotis with an expression of profound, controlled disbelief. "You just—"

  "We can't kill it."

  "It is a demon," Gethii said slowly, as though explaining something to a small child. "That attacked a merchant cart."

  "Look at it," Leonotis said, and there was something urgent in his voice. "Something's wrong with it. It's not — it doesn't look right."

  There was no time to argue. The demon charged again, and Gethii shoved Leonotis aside with his forearm, pivoting to meet it. His blade came down in a controlled strike, deflecting the creature's lunge rather than cutting through it. The impact juddered up his arm. The demon was stronger than it looked. He could feel the unnatural energy thrumming through it even through the metal.

  He reset his stance, tracking the creature as it circled. On its back, half-buried in the matted fur, he caught the first glimpse of them. Fungi. Sickly purple, glistening, pulsing faintly with each of the demon's ragged breaths.

  He filed that away.

  "Stay behind me," he told Leonotis.

  "I can help—"

  "Behind me."

  The demon lunged again, and this time it moved erratically, changing direction mid-leap in a way that had nothing to do with instinct and everything to do with whatever was growing on its back. Gethii adjusted, but a fraction slower than he would have liked. He caught it on the flat of his blade and used its momentum to redirect it into the undergrowth. It crashed through a thicket, scrambled upright, and spun — confused, snarling, its glowing red eyes struggling to focus.

  Gethii watched it carefully. It wasn't just monstrous. It was suffering.

  He kept that thought to himself.

  "There's something on its back," he said instead. "Fungi. That's what's driving it."

  Leonotis squinted. "Can we get them off?"

  "I can get them off," Gethii said pointedly.

  "Without killing it?"

  Gethii exhaled through his nose. "Leonotis."

  "Master."

  The demon chose that moment to launch itself at them again, scrabbling up the side of a tree and hurling itself downward. Leonotis dove left. Gethii sidestepped with practiced ease and brought the hilt of his sword down hard on the creature's flank — not the blade — sending it skidding across the mossy ground. It was back on its feet in seconds, snarling, disoriented.

  Leonotis was already scrambling upright, tree-branch sword in hand. "I'll distract it."

  "You absolutely will not—"

  But Leonotis was already moving, circling wide to the demon's left, waving his arms. "Hey! Over here! Look at me!"

  The demon's glowing eyes swung toward him, and its lips peeled back in a snarl.

  Gethii muttered something under his breath that Leonotis was probably better off not hearing. Then, with the quiet efficiency of someone who had been doing this far longer than he'd ever wanted, he moved. While the creature's attention fixed on Leonotis Gethii came in from the right, blade angled with surgical precision.

  Schfft. Schfft. Schfft.

  One by one, the fungi were severed, dark sap leaking from their stems. They hissed as they hit the forest floor, curling inward like dying insects.

  The demon screamed.

  It was not the sound of an attack. It was the sound of something being released from a grip. The creature convulsed, its massive body folding in on itself, fur rippling, limbs spasming. Bones cracked and shrank with sickening pops. The monstrous bulk deflated until what remained lay still and silent in the moss.

  A fox cub. Barely the length of Leonotis's forearm. Russet and white, trembling, its dark eyes blinking in slow confusion. It let out a small, lost yip.

  Leonotis stared. Then he turned to Gethii, mouth open.

  "Don't look at me," Gethii muttered, holding up his hand defensively, his gaze still fixed on the cub. "Never seen the like."

  Leonotis crouched down, wiggling his fingers toward the cub. It sniffed the air cautiously, then took a wobbling step forward and batted at his toes with one tiny paw. A slow smile spread across Leonotis's face.

  "Don't," Gethii warned.

  "Don't what?"

  "You're thinking of taking it home."

  "I'm not thinking anything," Leonotis said, already gently scratching behind the cub's ear.

  "You weren't trying to kill it," Leonotis said quietly. "Not at the end."

  "I was trying to end the fight," Gethii replied.

  Gethii managed a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His attention shifted from the charming scene to the patch of ground where the creature had first stood. Scattered remnants of sickly purple fungi lay wilting on the moss. He nudged one of the fungi with the toe of his sandal and said nothing. Behind him, the cub had climbed onto Leonotis's knee. It looked disturbingly similar to the berserk mushrooms he occasionally encountered to the east, yet the color was deeper, almost bruised, and the texture seemed subtly wrong, slicker. The energy that pulsed from the growths was faint.

  He watched Leonotis gently stroke the cub's head, the small creature now tumbling over his feet in apparent bliss. Gethii's brow furrowed. This warped fungus... turning harmless creatures into raging beasts? His gaze drifted from the innocent play to the corrupted remnants on the ground, a cold knot forming in his stomach. Was this some terrifying new blight born of the woods themselves, or was something far more deliberate twisting the natural order?