The Last Son of the Wilds

The moon was wrong. Aryn felt it before he understood it. It hung in the sky like a wound—deep red, bleeding light across the rooftops of the village. The color soaked into everything it touched, turning familiar paths into something strange and uneasy. Even the wind carried a weight to it, thick and unmoving, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Aryn stood outside his home, barefoot on the cool dirt, staring up at the sky. “Ma,” he called softly, not taking his eyes off the moon. “Why does it look like that?” From inside the house came the gentle sound of movement—pots shifting, fire crackling. His mother stepped into the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. For a moment, she didn’t answer. She simply looked at the moon, her expression tightening in a way Aryn had never seen before. “It’s nothing,” she said finally, though her voice lacked its usual warmth. “Just a strange night.” Aryn frowned. His mother never sounded unsure. Behind him, the village carried on as it always did—neighbors talking, laughter drifting between houses, the distant clatter of tools being put away after a long day. It should have felt normal. But it didn’t. Something was off. “Come inside,” his mother said, a little more firmly this time. Aryn hesitated. The red glow of the moon pulled at him, like it was trying to tell him something. He didn’t understand it, but it made his chest feel tight. “Aryn.” He turned. His mother was watching him closely now. He nodded and stepped inside. --- The warmth of the house wrapped around him, but it didn’t chase away the unease. The fire flickered in the hearth, casting shadows that stretched longer than they should. His father sat at the wooden table, unusually quiet, staring down at something Aryn couldn’t see. “You’re late,” his father said, though there was no real scolding in his tone. “I was outside,” Aryn replied. His father glanced toward the window. The red light slipped through the cracks, painting his face in crimson. “I figured.” Silence followed. That was strange too. Normally, his father would tell stories or ask about his day. His mother would laugh, filling the room with a sense of safety that made everything feel right. Tonight, there was only quiet. Aryn sat down at the table. “Is something wrong?” His parents exchanged a look. Aryn noticed. He always noticed things like that. “No,” his mother said quickly. “Eat first.” She placed a bowl in front of him. The food smelled good, but Aryn suddenly wasn’t hungry. The wind outside shifted. A low sound followed—so faint it almost blended into the night. Aryn looked up. “Did you hear that?” His father stood. Now that… that was wrong. “Aryn,” his father said carefully, “go to your room.” “What? Why?” “Now.” The tone in his voice made Aryn freeze. He had never heard it like that before—sharp, urgent. Fear crept into his chest. “What’s happening?” His mother moved to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. They were warm, but trembling. “Listen to your father,” she whispered. Another sound cut through the night. This one wasn’t faint. It was a scream. Aryn’s heart jumped. “What was that?!” His father moved toward the door. “Stay inside.” But Aryn didn’t stay. He followed. --- The village was no longer quiet. Flames rose into the sky, bright against the red moon. Smoke filled the air, thick and choking. People ran through the streets, shouting, crying, calling for one another. Aryn stepped outside and froze. Everything was wrong. Fire consumed the nearest house. The wooden beams cracked and collapsed inward, sending sparks flying into the night. A man ran past him, clutching his arm, blood dripping between his fingers. “Run!” someone shouted. “Run!” “From what?!” Aryn cried, but no one answered. Then he saw them. Shapes moved within the fire. Not people. Not anything he had ever seen before. They were made of shadow—twisting, shifting, like smoke given form. Their edges flickered unnaturally, and where they passed, the flames seemed to bend toward them. One turned. Aryn felt it. Even without eyes, he knew it was looking at him. Fear locked his body in place. “Aryn!” His mother’s voice broke through the terror. She grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Inside, now!” But it was too late. The shadows were already moving closer. His father stepped in front of them, gripping a tool from the yard like it was a weapon. It looked small in his hands—useless against something that wasn’t even fully solid. “Take him,” his father said, not looking back. “Go!” “I’m not leaving you!” his mother cried. “You have to!” The shadow lunged. Everything happened too fast. Aryn saw movement, heard a sharp sound, felt his mother pulling him— Then— Silence. He looked up. His father was gone. Not fallen. Not there. As if he had been swallowed by the darkness itself. “No…” Aryn whispered. His mother’s grip tightened. “Don’t look!” But he couldn’t stop. The shadows were spreading, moving from house to house, consuming everything. The village was disappearing. “Aryn, listen to me.” He turned. His mother knelt in front of him, her hands on his face, forcing him to focus on her. “You need to run.” “No,” he said immediately, shaking his head. “I’m not leaving you too!” Tears filled her eyes, but she smiled anyway. “Do you remember the forest?” she asked softly. “The… the big one?” he stammered. She nodded. “You have to go there.” “No! It’s dangerous!” “Yes,” she said. “But it’s the only place they won’t follow.” Another scream echoed behind them—closer this time. The shadows were coming. “Aryn,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “the forest will choose you.” “I don’t understand—” “You don’t have to,” she said. “Just run.” A dark shape rose behind her. Aryn’s eyes widened. “Ma—!” She pulled him into a tight embrace. “I love you,” she whispered. Then she pushed him away. “RUN!” --- Aryn ran. He didn’t think. He didn’t look back. He ran past burning houses, past people screaming, past shadows that reached for him but never quite touched him. His chest burned. His legs ached. Tears blurred his vision. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The forest loomed ahead—tall, dark, endless. The Verdant Abyss. He had always been told never to go near it. Now it was his only chance. The moment he crossed into the trees, everything changed. The sounds of the village faded. The firelight disappeared. Even the red glow of the moon dimmed beneath the thick canopy. Aryn stumbled forward, gasping for breath, his body shaking. Behind him… Nothing followed. The forest was silent. Too silent. He turned, expecting to see the flames, the shadows, something— But there was only darkness. As if the world he knew had vanished completely. Aryn fell to his knees. He was alone. The wind moved softly through the trees, whispering in a language he didn’t understand. But deep within that silence… Something was watching. And far above, hidden behind the thick canopy of leaves— The red moon lingered. Waiting.