The old man stepped out of the tunnel.

  He pushed his left arm through the sleeve of the heavy jacket as an icy mountain wind swept his hair and beard to the side.

  A row of thin, almost tattoo-like scales were revealed to be just behind his beard, starting at the top of his throat and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. The scales were black… No, that wasn’t quite right.

  The scales only looked black because they didn’t reflect light.

  He pushed his other arm into the jacket and pulled it on. The collar of the jacket stood high on his neck, covering the sides and back. While his beard fell back into place to cover the front.

  Like this, no one would be able to see the scales from a distance.

  He stood on the edge of a sheer cliff, thousands of feet up the mountain’s side.

  Dark storm clouds hung overhead; the air felt charged with volatile energy. One wrong move could set off a chain reaction that ended in a lightning strike.

  Hundreds of huge cliffs loomed overhead, glittering from an abundance of energy rich minerals and ore. A rainbow of colors in every shade imaginable.

  Massive trees reached up from below, nearly reaching the cliff he was standing on. Their trunks were dark and full of vitality. While their leaves were a deep purple, and the vein contained a dim silver light.

  And then the old man blinked.

  His body was bathed in the velvety light of sunset. A sparse few clouds rolled overhead, without any sign or trace of the hostile energy.

  He glanced at the cliffs looming overhead. Now bare to the elements and stripped of the ore so many had once coveted.

  The trees below were small. Their trunks a pale brown that he’d have once considered an illness. Were it not for the bright, vibrant green leaves, maybe he still would.

  He bent slightly and grabbed the crown of a brown sack.

  The sack wasn’t huge. It was large enough to carry a week’s worth of clothes, or maybe enough food for a short camping trip.

  The sack stretched a bit as he lifted it off the ground. He placed it over his left shoulder and stepped over to the edge of the cliff.

  He shifted his eyes slightly to look at a narrow strip of dirt to the right of the cave. The path the miners walked up and down the mountain every day.

  He could also take that path. But it was much slower compared to his own.

  He didn’t think about it for another second before he stepped over the edge and pushed off to gain horizontal momentum.

  The wind whipped at his jacket, and sent his long hair flying as he plummeted. Down he fell towards the trees and rocks below, unaffected by the cutting winds and bone-chilling temperatures.

  The sack remained unbothered as it trailed the arc of his body to the ground.

  As he fell: the old man observed the tree line. The stranger’s inner voice had shouted something; something that was all the more interesting since seeing the state of the trees around the mountain.

  A tall tree with purple leaves.

  A certain oddity hidden beneath the sea of green foliage rushing up to meet him.

  He broke through the tree line like a shooting star, ripping branches from trunks and obliterating any leaves in his way.

  — Thoom —

  He landed in a field of fallen leaves; green, red, yellow, even brown leaves flew into the air around him. Propelled by his impact with the ground.

  The evening light filtered through twisting vines and scattered leaves to dance along the forest floor.

  The old man watched the leaves dance and play in the wind for a short while. His mind entranced by their mundanity.

  He recognized neither the clouds nor the trees. But it was nice to see they were still friends after all this time.

  His reverie was interrupted by a faint hum at the back of his mind.

  He turned to the west, which put him in line with the setting sun and parallel to the dirt path he’d avoided earlier.

  Yes, the stranger would have chosen a place not too far out of his way. His will wasn’t strong enough to completely see his task through. And he would’ve wanted an easy reversal if it proved too unsavory for him.

  The tree of purple leaves would be in that direction.

  The old man dipped his head to the fallen leaves; thanking them for the dance. Before following the distant hum of energy.

  He walked with the sack held firmly over his shoulder. He passed through a couple of valleys and over a few hills, all the while remaining in the shadow of the mountain.

  He was in no hurry to arrive. The tree appeared hardy and strong in the stranger’s mind. It would wait a while longer.

  At least long enough for him to listen to the voices of the forest.

  The “hum” he followed grew closer with every step.

  A macrocosm of energy flowed around him. Indicative of lives lived and stories told. Even if no one else would listen. The old man enjoyed listening to these little stories the world told him.

  Eventually the sun fell below the horizon. The valley he walked through was cast in shadow; a darkness caused by the impossible size of the mountain, and the mountain range he'd called home for so long.

  The shadows coiled around his body. Welcoming him home like an old friend.

  He was closer to the hum now. Close enough to identify it, not as a single noise, but as a choir of voices singing in opposition.

  When he finally reached his destination. He was standing at the bottom of a cliff, inside a low valley; forty foot walls of stone and dirt formed a natural barrier around him and guided him to this point.

  His gaze slid up to the top of the cliff.

  The tree of purple leaves rested on the edge. A web of long, dark roots protruded from the cliff face and traversed their way down to the bottom of the valley.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Its trunk appeared so dark as to become one with the shadows of the other trees. While its leaves were a dark purple… Yet they did not hold that beautiful silver light within them.

  The old man tightened his hold on the sack.

  Then he saw it; a barely visible orange glow coming from the other side of the tree.

  Right, yes, the twin boys should’ve been here.

  He could feel their energy. Even at this short distance they were no more than a vague feeling to his senses.

  Then, what was this fourth thing he could sense?

  Larger than the children. More aware than the tree.

  The old man pushed off the ground.

  He reached the top of the tree in an instant and landed on one of its thicker branches.

  Yellow met yellow as he locked eyes with a Soul Beast whose black fur allowed it to perfectly meld with the shadows.

  The Soul Beast, some kind of large feline, had been tracking the two babes for a while. Watching them. Waiting for the right moment to pounce; when their guard was down and they were the least dangerous.

  One was curled into a ball in the hollow of the tree. They’d lost much of their delicious fat in the days since the beast first saw them. And it’d been hours since the beast saw them move.

  The other babe was sitting alone by the small fire.

  Twin barrier roots protected its flanks, and the tree loomed over its back. Leaving its eyes free to watch the bushes at the end of the roots for the Beast — as if it would attack them head on.

  The thought was laughable.

  The beast couldn’t get to the other one; it’d already tried… But it could get the one standing guard.

  It stalked its prey from branches overhead.

  It was careful not to touch the barrier roots or branches of the hollowed tree. Nothing good ever came from getting close to that vicious thing.

  But, if the beast was lucky, it could grab the babe and flee before anything could happen.

  Then the beast felt it.

  Like a pair of fangs brushing against its throat.

  Its entire body was paralyzed with fear, which left only its eyes capable of moving to identify the thing watching it.

  A pair of bright yellow eyes watched it from a branch of the hollowed tree.

  The eyes didn’t waver.

  They didn’t blink.

  They merely observed the beast in the same way it’d been observing the babes.

  “Fear! Run! Survive!”

  The old man heard the beast’s inner voice and decided to look away. His eyes falling onto the young boy sitting beside the fire.

  The Soul Beast wasted not one second. It leapt from its perch and dove into a nearby shadow like one would a clear lake.

  The beast’s body disappeared beneath the shadow’s surface without a sound and did not surface until it was miles away from the hollowed tree.

  With the threat to the boys gone. The old man moved to the side and observed them for a moment.

  The boy guarding by the fire was small, scrawny even. With short black hair that appeared unkempt. A tan tunic covered the boy from shoulder to knee. Though it was obviously not made for him.

  A hand-me-down most likely. Judging by its appearance. You could replace it with the sack over the old man’s shoulder and no one would notice.

  The boy appeared to have also lost his shoes somewhere. His bare feet were covered in shallow cuts and bruises from traversing the forest floor.

  The other boy, the one sleeping in the hollow, was much larger. Not fatter, both boys appeared to be on the verge of starving. But the one laying down had broader shoulders and longer legs.

  He was also missing some clothes. His bare torso was red with fever and his feet were much like his brother’s. He only had a pair of too large shorts that hung awkwardly off his skinny frame.

  Aside from the difference in size. The faces and hair styles of the two boys were identical, as he’d seen in the stranger’s inner voice.

  His observation done. The old man leaned over the branch and allowed himself to fall.

  He landed between the two boys with only a slight, but intentional, sound of crunching leaves.

  The boy inside the tree did not react to his presence in the slightest. But the one by the fire responded with violence.

  He grabbed the end of one of the sticks fueling the fire, spun, and swung it blindly at the old man’s waist.

  The boy’s eyes widened as he realized, a second too late, that he wasn’t swinging at a Soul Beast- but a human.

  The old man leaned out of the flaming stick's path, the fire passing dangerously close to the end of his long beard, and circled the boy in the blink of an eye.

  He grabbed the boy’s collar as he passed behind him and lightly tugged.

  “Sit,” The old man said; his voice quiet, but firm. Leaving the boy with little room to argue.

  The motion pulled the boy off balance and caused him to sit down on the spot.

  The old man snatched the flaming stick from the boy’s hand before it could burn anything beyond itself. And returned it to the dying fire.

  The old man wiped the embers from his palms and regarded the skinny child standing before him.

  Eyes like twin moons stared up at him. Even he could scarcely recall seeing silver eyes before.

  The boy kept glancing between the old man and his brother sleeping in the hollow. Concern and defiance warring inside his eyes.

  “I won’t hurt either of you.” The old man sat his brown sack beside the hollow and returned to stoke the fire.

  The skinny boy watched the old man’s face for signs of deceit.

  The old man held his palms out to the fire for a while. Occasionally rubbing them together or rotating his hands to spread the heat evenly.

  The fire flickered a few times, leaving the boy uncertain if it would truly last the night.

  Then the old man took a few steps back and sat atop a massive root that belonged to the hollowed tree.

  The fire only stabilized after the old man sat down. Its height and ferocity returned as if it’d never waned at all.

  Silence spanned the distance between them.

  Neither the old man nor the boy seemed willing to break it.

  “Why are your eyes yellow?” The boy asked, speaking for the first time in nearly half an hour.

  “Why are yours silver?” The old man didn’t even bother to look away from the fire when he responded.

  “I was born like this.”

  “As was I.”

  “Oh…” The boy couldn’t think of a response to that. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to offend you. My mom—” The child flinched. “Lady Dryden says I should think before I speak.”

  “Why?”

  The boy was startled by the question.

  Why?

  Why what?

  “Why must you think before you speak?”

  “Oh. Because Lady Dryden says I’m rude. That I ask too many questions.”

  “It’s the profession of the child to ask questions. Silence and Wisdom are for the adults. Ask your questions, child.” His voice was cold; his tone was harsh.

  Even so, the child didn’t think he was all that scary anymore…

  Well, aside from the non-blinking part.

  That was a little creepy.

  “What if I offend you?”

  “Then I won’t answer the question.”

  “And you won’t get mad at me?”

  “No.”

  The boy sat there for a minute to process what the old man had said.

  After a few minutes, the boy stood and moved to stand beside the old man.

  The boy quickly bent at the waist, slightly losing his balance in the process, and bowed to the old man. “I’m Corinth Dryden. Seven years old. The one sleeping is Corvinus. He’s my brother. Pleasure to meet you sir.”

  The old man looked 'Corinth' up and down, then glanced over at Corvinus.

  “You may call me Vrakhu. Just Vrakhu.”

  “Vrak…Hu?” Corinth repeated as if he were tasting the name on his tongue.

  The old man — Vrakhu --- blinked at the sound of his name coming from the mouth of another.

  How long had it been since he’d last heard his name spoken?