The sky above was painted with stars and veiled by thin streaks of clouds, casting ghostly shadows over the quiet farmlands. The moon, swollen and bright, grinned down like a crooked smile carved in the heavens, lighting the path between the trees where blood had already been spilled.
A flickering lamp, knocked over in the chaos, leaned precariously against the gnarled roots of an ancient oak tree, its brass frame dented and blackened from the struggle. The flame inside its cracked glass enclosure sputtered and hissed, casting wild, erratic shadows across the blood-smeared ground.
It illuminated the snarled grass, the muddy footprints etched in frantic directions, and the fleeting glimpses of two figures locked in brutal combat. With each gust of wind, the flame threatened to die out, flickering with a desperate will—its dim light the only witness to the savage duel taking place beneath the watching moon.
Rusuk, in his true mimaran form—long-limbed, scaled, with twisted claws and glowing yellow eyes—grinned cruelly at the wounded warrior in front of him.
"Brat!" Rusuk growled, his voice gurgling with glee as his jagged teeth gleamed under the moonlight. "You fight like a desperate dog. Just give up! Embrace your end with dignity and let it be an honor to be devoured by a true apex predator like me!"
He bared his fangs in a twisted grin, his long tongue briefly licking at the blood smeared along his lips. "You humans always struggle, always resist. But the outcome is always the same—your bones in the dirt and your names forgotten."
Reu stood defiantly, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. A long gash ran down his left arm, blood seeping into his tattered sleeve. Despite the pain, his glare remained sharp and unyielding.
"I'm sorry, beast," Reu said through clenched teeth. "But I'll have to decline your... generous offer."
With a snarl, Rusuk lunged.
Reu dove to the side, rolling across the damp earth, just barely avoiding the slash of Rusuk's claws. His hand landed on a thick, fallen branch. Without hesitation, he seized it and swung as he stood, striking Rusuk across the face. The blow staggered the creature but did little more than anger him.
Rusuk slashed again. Reu blocked with the branch, the sharp claws biting into the wood and splintering it. Reu twisted his body, countering with a jab to Rusuk's midsection. The creature grunted, more amused than hurt.
"You fight well for a human," Rusuk sneered. "But you'll tire... and when you do—"
A sudden movement from the trees interrupted him. A cane whistled through the air and cracked across Rusuk's back.
"Get away from the boy!" shouted Dido, standing tall with his old cane raised like a sword.
Rusuk snarled and leapt back, momentarily retreating. His slitted eyes widened when he recognized the old man. "You... you're still alive?"
Dido advanced, eyes narrowed. "Still kicking, and still remembering the smell of your filth."
Reu, seizing the moment, hooked the jagged branch around Rusuk's neck, pulling tight. "Dido! Run! Get out of here!"
But Dido didn't run. With a surprising burst of energy that belied his age, he let out a sharp, guttural cry and lunged forward, his cane arcing through the air like a warrior's blade. The polished wood gleamed briefly in the moonlight before it came crashing down toward Rusuk. But the mimaran was swift—too swift. He twisted with predatory grace, his scaled body slithering out of the cane's path. His jaws snapped open with terrifying speed, catching the branch Reu was using like it was kindling.
With an audible crunch, Rusuk's powerful fangs sank into the wood. Splinters exploded in all directions. Reu felt the violent jerk rip the makeshift weapon from his hands, the shock of it sending him stumbling backward into the dirt. He rolled once, landed hard on his side, and winced as the pain lanced through his ribs. His breathing came in short, sharp bursts, his muscles burning from exhaustion.
Rusuk spat the shattered wood aside and snarled, his eyes glowing with bloodlust. "You old fool!" he growled at Dido, who stood his ground without flinching. "You should've stayed inside your crumbling home. Now you'll both be torn apart!"
Just then, two more figures dropped from the treeline—tall, hunched, and gleaming under the moonlight.
"Rusuk!" one of them barked. "What in Gesu's name are you doing?"
"Back off!" Rusuk snapped. "These two attacked me. I'll eat them both!"
Dido steadied himself, pointing his cane. "Kesuk. I thought your kind agreed to the truce. No more human hunting."
The second mimaran—taller than Rusuk, with silver markings down his arms—hissed in annoyance. "The truce binds only those who respect it. Not all of us bend to the will of Gesu."
Dido scowled. "And what would Gesu say if I dragged your filthy hide to him?"
Kesuk sneered. "He won't. But your days are numbered, Dido. The forests stir. Change is coming."
With a final glare, Kesuk turned. "Let's go."
The mimarans vanished into the darkness, leaping over fences and disappearing into the woods.
Silence fell, heavy and absolute, broken only by the distant chirping of insects and the faint crackle of burning wood from the shattered branch. Reu, chest heaving, his shirt soaked in sweat and streaked with blood, let the broken weapon fall from his aching hands. He staggered forward, his boots sinking slightly into the damp earth, and reached for the overturned lamp.
The cold brass frame was warped and dented, but the flame inside—small and defiant—still danced behind the cracked glass. Reu knelt beside it, his breathing slow and labored as he righted it carefully. The light flared for a brief moment, casting new shadows over the path of destruction they'd just walked through, before calming into a steady glow.
He sat there for a moment, soaking in the stillness. The air was thick with the scent of scorched wood, earth, and the lingering iron tang of blood. He glanced over his shoulder, where the shapes of the mimarans had vanished, and then forward again, toward the safe light of the farmhouse in the distance.
"Still standing," he murmured to himself with a weak smile.
Then, slowly, stiffly, Reu rose, lamp in hand, and turned back toward the winding path that would take him home.
"You're... surprisingly spry for an old man," Reu said.
Dido didn't answer, only nodded. His cane trembled slightly in his hand.
"Let's go home."
They walked back through the winding path of the cornfield. The moon now hovered lower in the sky, casting longer shadows.
Just ahead, the shapes of Toby and Brea came running toward them.
"Reu!?" Brea called out, eyes wide. "Are you okay? What happened?"
Toby ran up beside her. "Old man!? Are you alright?"
Reu offered a weak smile. "It's nothing. Just a little brawl with some mimarans."
"Mimarans?" Brea echoed. "They're real?"
"I thought they were just a bedtime horror story," Toby said.
"Let's save the stories for inside," Dido interrupted.
Back at the farmhouse, Dido rushed in and found Celia resting on the bench, looking pale.
"Celia! What happened?"
She gave him a faint smile. "Don't worry about me. One of them tricked me. Knocked me out. But I'm alright now."
As they all gathered, Brea turned to Reu. "Tell us what happened."
Reu recounted the battle in vivid detail, his voice low and steady as the fire crackled between them. He described how Rusuk's form shifted, the glistening scales replacing human skin, the haunting gleam in his yellow eyes, and the terrifying fluidity of his attacks. He told of the desperate struggle—how he'd grabbed a branch to parry Rusuk's claws, how Dido had intervened with surprising strength, and how even as an old man, Dido had refused to back down.
He paused, glancing toward Dido, who now sat silently with a hardened expression, his fingers tracing the edge of his cane. Reu continued, recounting the arrival of the other two mimarans, Kesuk among them. He emphasized the weight of the moment when the truce was mentioned.
As he spoke, Brea leaned forward, her face lit by both the fire and curiosity, while Toby listened intently despite his drowsiness. Dido explained how the mimarans had grown restless and bitter from years of retreating into forests, how their pride now festered into hatred, and how some, like Rusuk, had chosen rebellion.
"The truce... it's not just a line in history," Dido said, his voice growing softer. "It's hanging by a thread. And tonight, we almost saw it snap."
"They can shapeshift, but they need physical contact first," Dido confirmed. "That's how they copied Celia."
"And what about the truce?" Reu asked.
Dido sighed. "Long ago, humans and mimarans fought bitter wars. Mimarans were once many, powerful... but stubborn. They refused to evolve. Humans advanced. Built cities, forged steel. Eventually, mimarans were pushed to the edges of the world—into forests, caves, mountains."
Toby leaned forward. "So they're dying out?"
"Yes. The truce was signed so they could survive. But humans being what they are... some turned mimarans into slaves, pets, even gladiators. That's when some mimarans chose to break away, become more savage."
"Not all of them are evil then," Brea said.
"No," Dido agreed. "But some are very dangerous."
Reu leaned back, exhausted. "That's a lot to process."
Toby yawned, stretching his arms. "Speaking of process... my brain is shutting down. I need sleep."
He plopped onto a chair and immediately dozed off.
Dido smiled faintly. "You three are troublemakers... but perhaps good-hearted ones."
They settled down, the farmhouse finally quiet again. Outside, the wind rustled the cornfields, but for now, peace had returned.
Tomorrow, their journey would continue.
But tonight, they slept.