When the Lost Come Knocking

"Should we have come?" Arvan muttered, his voice small. "We just brought more trouble with us, didn't we?"

Gilian pressed his fists into the tabletop. "If we'd stayed in Huina, we'd never have known. Maybe the forest would have swallowed us all."

Cren shook his head. "Don't blame yourselves. If you hadn't come, nobody would have known the truth. At least now the chief can warn the others."

Cren then added, with gruff certainty, "And if something happened in the capital to cause all this, it's only a matter of time before every village is swept up in it. Especially considering our village is far to the north, which means this situation has already started spreading centrally from the Estevania Royal Capital."

The thought sent a chill through everyone. Gilian let his gaze wander around the room, memorizing every detail.

the weathered tapestries,

the worn-down hearth where no fire burned,

the lines of age on the wood walls.

He wondered if this place would endure. Would any of them?

Footsteps came from the back room, heavy and slow. Keynes returned, his face pale and eyes hollow.

"He's… gone quiet. But you should see for yourselves. For now, we're keeping the gates closed and Herman is watching him from the watchtower on the village wall on the west side."

They followed silently into a small side room near the wall that led to the watchtower, where a young man with wounds all over his body was banging his head rhythmically against the village wall, made from sturdy logs. His eyes were unfocused, fixed on nothing. His hands scratched at the log, tearing at the wood fibers as if digging for something beneath. Saliva mixed with blood dribbled from his lips; a faint moan escaped him every so often.

Keynes called out loudly and clearly to the young man from the watchtower. "Can you hear me? It's Keynes, a guard from Arnan Village. Do you remember?"

No answer. The young man didn't even blink.

Then, one of the guards suddenly recognized the youth and informed them, "Isn't that Krillo? The apprentice herbalist who went missing two weeks ago!"

Herman readied his bow and arrow, then cautiously spoke while observing the situation. "His mind… it's gone. But it's not like he's sick. It's like he's possessed by something."

Cren drew Gilian and Arvan aside. In a whisper, he said, "Does this match what you saw in the forest before?"

Gilian and Arvan nodded, hearts racing.

"Seriously…" Cren whispered. "Whether I want to believe it or not, seeing this myself forces me to acknowledge the rumor is true."

The smell of herbs did nothing to cover the stench of fear.

Eventually, Gilian and Arvan looked at the Arnan Village Chief. His eyes—fearless before—were now troubled, shadowed by things he could not say.

"We'll keep everyone inside for the night," the chief said. "And send word to both Molano and Huina. If you must return, take the long road on the north side—don't go through the woods."

"But if the woods are already occupied," Herman argued, "then it won't matter what path we take. It'll find us."

The chief paused, unable to disagree.

A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls near the village hall. Gilian rested near the wavering warmth on top of the watchtower, every so often glancing over as the wounded in the main hall let out sudden, pain-filled moans and as the strange scene unfolded outside the Arnan village wall. The night grew heavier with every hour.

***

They stayed in the chief's house as dusk deepened to full night. Preparing to depart to Huina Village.

Outside, the fog thickened. Shapes moved behind it—maybe a patrolling guard, or just tricks of the lantern-light. Gilian pressed his face to the cold window, trying and failing to make sense of the shifting silhouettes.

He thought about Diana, his mother, who always knew what to say, even if it was just an angry lecture. About Alice, her frightened face when he'd set out in the morning. He wondered if they were safe, if he would ever see them again.

Arvan had fallen silent, rocking gently on his heels. Sometimes his lips moved as if reciting a prayer, though none of them had heard him speak a word since they saw the man outside the village wall.

Voices drifted from the main hall.

"…how many more can we save…?"

"…can't keep them here all night, too dangerous…"

"…if the adventurers come back, what do we do?"

Each word sank into Gilian's chest like a stone.

He leaned into the warmth of the fire inside the village chief house, worrying gnawing at his insides.

He tried to rest, but every noise outside—the creak of wood, the snap of a torch, even Herman's low breathing—made his muscles tense.

"Let's depart," Herman said after making sure they prepared to come back to Huina village before dawn.

Somewhere, not far away, a dog-like creature barked. Then howled.

The sound cut off mid-note. Silence returned.

***

Several hours after the Huina Village hunter party departed to come back and informed about the finding of their hunt today. Deep in the night, the door creaked open and Keynes peeked in, pale as moonlight.

"There's movement in the woods. Someone's at the far gate. They aren't answering when called."

The chief rose, decisive despite the fear in his eyes. "I want everyone to be alert. Stay away from the gate, unless you have to shoot."

Keynes strapped on his sword, jaw set.

Another guard's legs felt like water, but he followed, along with Keynes & the Chief instructed. They joined a handful of guards at the village's hastily fortified entrance. Lanterns swung, casting jittery shadows among the stakes.

Outside the village walls, just visible in the fog, a figure shuffled forward, arms hanging limp. Someone hissed, "Is that the swordmaster—one of the adventurers that took our request? Isn't the report from the Huina hunter party said he is dead?"

But as the figure drew closer, it became clear: the adventurer was wounded, helmet askew, chest stained with old blood. His necked part… some of it has gone. He lurched right up to the gate and stopped, eyes white as blind glass.

The villagers held their breath, crossbows aimed and trembling. For a moment—only a moment—it seemed the man might speak. Or maybe growl loud enough to be heard from the watchtower.

Then his jaw snapped open, wider than possible, a low growl rumbling forth. Behind him, another shape emerged, crawling on all fours, mouth slick and red. A half figure beary marches while munching something in his mouth. Something that looks like a body of Humania's corpse yet the corpse mouth itself is somehow still moving on the opposite of the Beary mouth.

The chief gasped, a moment later, his voice quivering. "Let them come no closer!"

With desperate aim, a guard fired an arrow. It struck the first figure in the shoulder—but he didn't flinch. The thing moved almost absentmindedly, clawing at the barricade.

Someone vomited behind Keynes.

Keynes, who saw it, dragged him backward as the chief barked orders. "Hold the gate! Don't let anything through!"

Thunder boomed as more guards released their weapons. The first figure fell to its knees, still reaching through the crack in the wood, desperate, mindless.

Utter chaos erupted. Chief who found himself pressed against the condition, hands over his ears as screams and shouts mingled with the sickening crack of bone and tearing flesh. Through the fog, more figures appeared—some stumbling, some crawling, all drawn in by the sounds of life and blood. Animals and humans, march aimlessly but surely toward the Arnan Village gate.

The Village Chief was beside Keynes, pale and shaking. "Why are they coming here?" he gasped. "Why us?"

"We… we brought the truth with us," another soldier murmured, tears pricking his eyes. "Now everyone has to face it."

Another hammering attack on the gate. For a moment, Keynes was certain the barricade would break.

But somehow, the guards held on. Lanterns flashed. An arrow whistled, and nothing was effective. Their march never stopped, yet the wall kept their life since they couldn't break it.

The dawn's first light trickled in, dim and uncertain, hardly brighter than the night itself.

The chief slumped to his knees, exhausted.

Keynes stared at the heap of bodies beyond the broken gate. He knew, with the hollow certainty born of nightmares, that this was only the beginning.

He watched in silence as the supposed corpses below kept hitting the village wall. The Village Chief leaned in, voice barely more than a rumble. "The woods won't let us rest. Not until it gets what it wants."

As the first rays of sun seeped through the fog, Keynes pitied them all. For the villagers. For himself. For every soul who would ever try to find hope where the shadows fall longest.

"I hope they arrived safely to Huinan" Keynes hoped silently, while hearing the intense growling and pounding from outside the village wall.

Doesn't realize that Arnan village is still far from safety.