Corvin went back to his tent, carefully stepping toward his spot and laying down, but he couldn't sleep. The image of the forest scene haunted him: guts, bones, blood-streaked leaves.
He wanted to forget it.
He wanted to cast it aside.
But he couldn't.
His mind remained clear.
Too clear !
He had memorized every detail.
Every— single— one of them!
It was as if the scene had taken root in his brain and became an irremovable and irreplaceable part of him.
He could recall the scene as if he was still there. The location of every bone, every blood splat, every blade of grass and every corpse.
He could even remember the sounds at the scene and the smell too.
'I remembered it all.' A chill suddenly ran down his spine as he sat up and stared into the darkness.
The faint torchlight outside seeped through the thin fabric of the tent, like ghostly fingers reaching in.
That was when the tent flap opened quietly.
It was Thorne.
Corvin's eyes locked onto the tall figure in the entrance. Thorne didn't speak, but gave a small nod and beckoned him outside.
Corvin stood and followed without a word.
Outside, the chill nipped at his skin, and the torches flickered with a lazy rhythm. The world still felt heavy and quiet, like it was waiting for something.
"Tell me what you saw," Thorne said calmly.
Corvin recounted everything honestly, trying not to leave out a single detail: how he had gone to relieve himself, the strange cries, the grotesque display of corpses, the gnawing, the sense of being followed. He even told Thorne about the weird feeling he got, the oddity in his memory.
Thorne listened carefully, arms crossed.
"Can you take me there, or are you too shaken? If not, the general direction would suffice. From your description, the smell of blood should be unmistakable."
Corvin hesitated. Every instinct told him it was a terrible idea. But something inside him, some pull stronger than reason, drove him to nod.
"I'll take you there," he said without hesitation.
'Why did I say that… WHY !?' He screamed internally while still displaying a straight face.
He remembered something about curiosity and a cat. It was a fragment of a tale Catherine once muttered in passing. He finally managed to piece it together.
'Curiosity killed the cat.'
A perfect fit.
They then set off into the forest. The signs of Corvin's earlier panicked escape were obvious: broken twigs, snapped branches, scuffed leaves, and even a bit of dried blood where a thorny bush had caught his leg.
As they walked, Thorne broke the silence.
"Are you scared?"
Corvin glanced sideways. "Yes. Terrified, actually. But something's keeping me clear-minded. I can't resist it…the mystery. I have to know what that creature is."
Thorne looked at him.
"You're surprisingly brave for your age."
His eyes shimmered faintly with golden light.
Corvin froze.
An overwhelming pressure washed over him, an invisible weight bearing down on his shoulders. He felt like kneeling, like submitting. Cold sweat ran down his spine. He didn't understand what was happening, but he couldn't move.
After some time, Thorne blinked. The golden light vanished. The pressure faded.
Corvin gasped for air, staggering back two steps. His heart pounded.
"What... what did you do to me?" he asked, his voice weak.
Thorne gave him a let out a low chuckle and put on a sly grin.
"Keep walking."
Corvin hesitated, but obeyed. If Thorne had wanted to harm him, he would've been dead already.
They walked in silence. The tension in the air was thick. Corvin kept glancing back, and every time he did, Thorne met his eyes with that same smile: an unsettling grin that unnerved him more than the 'predator' they were chasing.
'That smile… it's worse than whatever's in the woods.'
Soon, they reached the spot.
There was no massacre. Just a fox, gnawing quietly on a rabbit. The forest floor was undisturbed. No entrails. No scattered bones. No smell of blood.
Corvin blinked in disbelief.
He pointed, mouth open.
"But… it was here—there were—there was—I swear—"
He turned to Thorne, hoping for understanding. But Thorne's eyes were glowing again: cold, deep, golden and sharp.
And his hand was already on the hilt of his sword.