The Broken Fence and the Beast

The morning mist clung to the pastures like a guilty secret. Cassius pulled his cloak tighter against the chill as he and Servius made their way along the boundary fence. The inspection was routine—or should have been.

"Don't see why we both had to come," Servius grumbled, his breath fogging in the cool air. "Could've stayed warm by the kitchen fire, helped my ma with the bread."

"Because last time you checked the fences alone, you missed that gap near the wheat field." Cassius grinned at his friend's scowl. "Three sheep wandered into the crops. Gallio made you muck out the stables for a week."

"That gap wasn't there when I checked!" Servius protested, then added more quietly, "Probably."

They walked in companionable silence, following the fence line that marked the boundary between pasture and the wild lands beyond. The Silva Umbra loomed in the distance, its dark canopy a reminder that civilisation's hold extended only so far.

"Hold up." Cassius stopped abruptly, frowning at the fence ahead. "That's not right."

Where sturdy wooden posts should have stood, splintered remains jutted from the earth like broken teeth. The fence hadn't simply fallen or rotted—it had been demolished. Deliberately.

Servius whistled low. "Storm damage?"

"No." Cassius crouched, examining the breaks. "Look at these marks. Something pulled the posts out of the ground. Against the grain." He traced deep gouges in the wood. "And these... claws? But too large for any wolf."

"Bear, maybe?" Servius's voice held hope rather than conviction.

Cassius moved through the gap, studying the ground beyond. The earth was churned, great furrows carved in the dirt. He found tracks—massive paw prints with claw marks that sank deep into the soil. Too deep. As if whatever made them carried impossible weight.

"Not a bear." Cassius's mouth had gone dry. "Something else. Something..."

He paused, remembering Magister Cato's lectures on Aether-touched beasts. Creatures warped by proximity to raw Aetheric energy, changed in ways that defied natural law. They were supposed to be rare, confined to the deep wilderness.

"We should tell someone," Servius said, backing away from the fence. "Gallio, or your father, or—"

"The Hendricks' farm is just over that rise." Cassius stood, decision crystallising. "They graze their flock there. If this thing is hunting..."

"Cassius, no." Servius grabbed his arm. "We don't even know what it is. We need guards, proper weapons—"

"By the time we return, it could have killed a dozen sheep. Or worse." Cassius shook off his friend's grip. "We track it, figure out what we're dealing with, warn any shepherds we find. Then we get help."

Servius's face was pale, but he nodded. "Your father's going to hang me if you get eaten."

"Then let's not get eaten."

They followed the trail into the rough country between the estate and the forest proper. The beast's path was easy to follow—it moved with disturbing purpose, ignoring smaller game trails in favor of a direct route. Toward the shepherds' grounds.

The first sign of slaughter came twenty minutes later. What remained of a sheep lay scattered across a small dell, wool matted with blood. But it was the manner of the kill that made Cassius's skin crawl. This wasn't the efficient butchery of a predator feeding. The carcass had been torn apart with savage glee, meat left to rot.

"Gods above and below," Servius whispered, fighting his breakfast. "What does that?"

Cassius knelt beside the remains, forcing himself to observe clinically. The bite marks were wrong—too wide, teeth that didn't match any predator he knew. And the flesh around the wounds... it looked almost crystallized, as if the beast's saliva had altered the very structure of the meat.

"Aether-touched," he said quietly. "Has to be. Nothing natural kills like this."

They found two more carcasses as they climbed toward the ridge. Each kill was more savage than the last, as if the beast's bloodlust grew with each death. Servius had stopped commenting, his knuckles white where he gripped his shepherd's staff.

The tracks led them into a copse of twisted trees, their branches forming a canopy so thick it blocked the morning sun. The temperature dropped noticeably, and their breath came in visible puffs.

"Cassius," Servius whispered. "Something's wrong."

He was right. The forest had gone silent—no bird calls, no insect buzz, not even the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush. The very air felt heavy, pregnant with threat.

Cassius's hand moved to the hunting knife at his belt, a pitiful weapon against whatever had destroyed that fence. "Stay close. Move quietly."

They crept through the trees, following the beast's trail down into a narrow ravine. The walls rose on either side, earth and stone forming a natural trap. Cassius realised their mistake the moment they entered—only one way in, one way out.

"We need to go back," Servius breathed. "Now."

But as they turned, a sound froze them in place. Not quite a growl, not quite a roar. A low, grinding noise that seemed to come from the earth itself. The air shimmered, and Cassius felt an odd sensation, as if gravity had suddenly doubled for a heartbeat.

"Run!" He shoved Servius toward the ravine entrance.

Too late.

It descended from the ravine wall with impossible grace, landing between them and escape. Cassius's mind struggled to process what he was seeing. The creature had the basic shape of a wolf, but twisted into nightmare. Its fur was crystalline, catching light in ways that hurt to look at. Muscles bulged unnaturally beneath that glittering coat, and its eyes... its eyes held a malevolent intelligence that no mere beast should possess.

"Gravicore pup," Cassius breathed, recognition hitting him like ice water. He'd read about the adults—massive flying predators that could manipulate gravity itself. But the juveniles, flightless but still deadly...

The beast's presence distorted the air around it. Pebbles near its feet rolled upward, defying nature. When it took a step forward, the ground cracked beneath its weight.

Servius stood frozen, staff slack in nerveless fingers. The Gravicore's attention fixed on him, head tilting with predatory interest.

"Servius, move!" Cassius lunged forward, trying to put himself between his friend and the beast.

The Gravicore moved faster than thought. One moment it was still, the next it was airborne, jaws wide. Cassius saw death coming, saw Servius's terror, saw his own failure to protect—

Time slowed. Or perhaps Cassius's perception accelerated. He felt something deep within himself strain against invisible bonds, desperate to break free. Power, just out of reach. If only he could grasp it, if only—

The beast struck.