It began with a roar.
Khaos froze mid-step, the herbal pouch in his hand spilling leaves into the dirt. The sound wasn't distant like the usual Xylen calls echoing from beyond the trees, it was close. Deep. Horrific. A sound that shouldn't exist inside the barrier.
He slowly rose from where he had been gathering roots near the inner forest's edge. The birds had gone silent. The wind stopped. And then he heard something worse: screaming.
Human screaming.
He ran.
Just hours earlier, Dylan, Cedric, and Lena stood before the glowing barrier wall near the northern checkpoint, cloaked in arrogance and the thrill of rebellion. The magical barrier shimmered faintly, humming with ancient wards designed to keep the Xylens out. To cross it required either an authorized gate—or treason.
And Dylan had a plan for both.
A knight named Sir Marrick stood guard, arms crossed, clearly uncomfortable.
"This is madness," he muttered. "If your families knew—"
Dylan held out the coin pouch again. "My family doesn't need to know. An hour, that's all. We just want to see one up close."
Sir Marrick stared at the bribe. His jaw clenched. "You know what happened thirteen years ago. Two got in. Hundreds died. All because—"
"Because someone messed with the barrier," Dylan cut in. "We're not disabling it. You are."
The knight sighed. Then with trembling hands, he opened the side gate manually—using a rusted override switch that bypassed the seal. Something no one but a sentry should ever know.
"Don't go far. Don't be stupid," he warned. "And if anything follows you… you're on your own."
They wanted to lure one in.
It was Dylan's idea from the start: "If we kill a Xylen inside the barrier, everyone will have to see we're prodigies. Real heroes. Not just pampered heirs."
So they did what no one dared—they crossed the line.
Lena laid out strips of freshly killed animal meat, mixed with blackened blood from a butcher's bin. Dylan had stolen it that morning. They dragged it along a winding trail toward the village's inner forest—a place still technically inside the barrier but rarely patrolled.
They wanted to get a small one. One they could trap. Maybe Cedric would cut its horn off. Maybe Lena could blind it with her arrows.
They thought they were clever.
The beast that answered was small, a cub at best.
It came from the trees like a storm—massive, horned, wreathed in blue fire and rage. A Xylen, drawn to the scent of mana, crossed the threshold the moment Sir Marrick opened the gate, unleashed into Velmira itself. The barrier didn't flicker or break—it was simply bypassed.
They hadn't weakened the wall.
They'd opened a door.
Now it hunted inside.
That was the roar Khaos heard.
Khaos's point of view:
By the time he reached the clearing, Cedric lay torn in two, his body smoldering. Lena tried to fight with a dagger, but the creature impaled her, flames spilling from her mouth as she died screaming.
…Dylan was the last—curled beneath a tree, sobbing, holding a broken blade. The bodies of his friends lay scattered and half-burned, the stench of scorched flesh hanging thick in the air.
The Xylen turned its monstrous head toward him, steam rising from its nostrils. It was a grotesque beast, standing over twice the height of a man. Its fur was matted with ash and blood. Twin ram-like horns curved backward from its skull, and its glowing red eyes radiated hate. Flames licked the corners of its mouth, the smell of sulfur choking the air.
Dylan's breath hitched as the beast stepped forward.
Then came the voice.
"HEY!"
The Xylen turned.
Standing on a ridge just above, sweat glistening down his face, was Khaos—his small figure dwarfed by the monster. His body trembled, but his grip on the sword was firm. Ser Rothan's training echoed in his mind.
The Xylen roared, fire bursting from its mouth and igniting the underbrush near Khaos's feet. He leapt aside, tucking into a roll and slashing at its leg as it charged. His blade grazed its thigh—barely a scratch—but it was enough to enrage it.
It lunged.
Khaos dove behind a tree just as a swipe from the beast's claws splintered the trunk like straw. Bark exploded in all directions.
The ground shook beneath its steps.
Khaos darted low, circling, breathing hard. He led it toward the marshy slope near the edge of the trees—where the ground was soft, and roots twisted beneath shallow mud.
The Xylen gave chase.
It was fast—too fast—but Khaos was smaller. He ducked between roots, letting it slow itself trying to follow.
Then he struck again—a feint to the left, followed by a deep stab under its front leg, where the fur was thinner.
Black ichor sprayed his face. The beast shrieked in rage, rearing up.
He barely dodged the next burst of fire, the heat singing his tunic and eyebrows. His lungs burned. His legs were weak. But his eyes were locked.
The Xylen lunged again, jaws snapping.
Khaos jammed a broken tree branch into its mouth mid-leap. The monster bit down, crunching through wood—but it bought Khaos a second.
He climbed its back.
Driven by sheer adrenaline, he stabbed the sword into the back of its neck, over and over, aiming for the base of the skull. The Xylen bucked and howled, flames spewing sideways, its claws trying to swat him off.
Khaos screamed as he held on.
The sword finally broke through bone.
With a sound like wet stone cracking, the Xylen dropped to its knees, thrashing weakly. Khaos fell with it, rolling onto the muddy ground, chest heaving, face caked in blood and ash.
It tried to rise again.
He picked up a jagged stone and slammed it into the base of its skull.
Once.
Twice.
A final, hollow gasp escaped its maw as its body collapsed fully, flames hissing out as if the soul had been extinguished.
The forest was silent again—except for the sound of Khaos vomiting from exhaustion.
He didn't look at the bodies of Cedric or Lena. He didn't even glance at Dylan.
He just sat there, shaking, blood dripping from his hands as the Xylen's corpse smoldered behind him—proof that even cursed children can be monsters too, when survival demands it
The knights found them minutes later.
The forest was still burning—small embers clinging to blackened bark and smoldering roots. The Xylen's carcass lay in the mud, half-buried in charred undergrowth. Its mouth hung open, the wood Khaos had jammed into its jaws still scorched and splintered.
Khaos stood alone, knees trembling, face bloodied—a sword in one hand, a rock in the other. His chest heaved with each breath. The silence was broken only by the ragged sobs of Dylan, curled beneath a tree, his tunic stained with tears and dirt.
Then came the sound of metal boots pounding the soil.
A knight burst through the trees—sword drawn, eyes scanning wildly. Sir Varro, one of the lower-ranked guards, but known for his discipline. His armor was dented, his expression wild with panic.
He froze at the sight.
The beast—dead.
Two noble children—dead.
And Khaos, the cursed boy, standing tall with blood on his face and fire in his eyes.
Sir Varro's mouth opened, confused. "What… what happened here?"
Before Khaos could speak, Dylan shouted, "It was him! He let it in!"
The words pierced the air like a whip.
Sir Varro blinked. "What?"
Dylan stumbled forward on all fours, pointing a shaking finger at Khaos. "H-He's the reason we're here! He lured us! He brought the beast!"
Khaos's lips parted, but nothing came out. He looked down at his hands. Blood. Dirt. A dead monster at his feet.
Sir Varro's brows furrowed. "You're saying he brought the Xylen into the barrier?"
Dylan nodded frantically. "Y-Yes! Cedric and Lena followed him—they wanted to see what he was hiding. He took us into the woods! He must've broken the seal!"
Khaos stepped forward. "That's not true. They—"
"SHUT UP!" Dylan's voice cracked. "You're the cursed one! Your parents nearly destroyed this village. You… You're just like them!"
Sir Varro's gaze moved from Dylan to Khaos, uncertain.
Khaos's heart pounded. He couldn't explain it—not fully. If he said the three nobles bribed a knight and led the beast in to test themselves… who would believe him?
He was the orphan. The outsider. The reminder of a tragedy the village never healed from.
Dylan saw the doubt flickering in the knight's eyes—and seized it.
He dropped his head, tears streaming freely now. "I… I tried to stop them. But he killed them. Then he killed the Xylen before it turned on him. I-I don't know how he did it…"
Sir Varro's hand lowered to his side, expression torn between duty and suspicion. "You're saying this boy fought a Xylen and won?"
Dylan nodded. "He's dangerous…"
And that was the hook.
Sir Varro's gaze hardened. Not out of belief, but out of fear. Fear of what Khaos could become if this was true. A boy with nothing, born of betrayal and blood, strong enough to slay a demon alone?
It didn't matter what really happened.
What mattered was who people already believed he was.