She lifted her head, scanning the square again. This time, she felt dozens of eyes on her. Men and women stood frozen in their tasks. A man with a basket of roots held it against his chest as if shielding it. A woman grinding grain paused mid-motion. Children peeked from behind legs and doorways.

  Riley lifted a hand in greeting. The gesture itself felt too loud in the stillness.

  A woman broke from the group and walked toward her. She looked tired in a way that went beyond lack of sleep. Her shoulders sagged, and she moved with the slow, deliberate caution of someone afraid to draw too much attention.

  “You cannot stay here. You must leave Hoshin.”

  Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but the urgency in it was unmistakable.

  It was clear even the locals didn’t feel safe here. But why? Were they worried about the creatures she’d heard in the woods? She already understood those risks. Or was it the Clawborn? What stories did they have about them? Their knowledge could be the difference between life and death as she pushed deeper into the north.

  Riley sifted through her thoughts, trying to grab hold of a question that might get them to open up.

  “I am not here to hurt anyone. I only need to know if there are dangerous animals in the area. I heard something earlier. Something I cannot describe. I’m travelling north and quite honestly, I don’t know what to expect.”

  The woman shook her head. “It is dangerous for us if you stay.”

  Before Riley could ask why, another voice rose from the crowd. An older man with a scar across his cheek interjected. “They will not come today. And probably not tomorrow.”

  The woman shot him a sharp look, then turned back to Riley. Her mouth opened, but before she could speak, a small girl stepped to her side. She looked about six or seven, with dark hair tied in a loose braid and eyes too serious for her age.

  “Mama, it is dangerous at night. Let the woman stay.”

  The woman hesitated. Her jaw tightened. She looked at Riley again, searching her face for something. Riley held her gaze, steady and calm.

  At last, the woman exhaled, reluctantly. “She’s right, the north is no place for a young woman especially heading into the night. You may stay. For tonight. But tomorrow morning you must leave.”

  Riley hadn’t expected to get lodging. She had anticipated she would just crawl up at the base of some tree that night. Getting some intel and a place to sleep seemed like a great deal even though she sensed she had stepped into something far more complicated than simple hospitality.

  A woman gestured for Riley to follow. She led her to a small barnlike structure and pushed open the door. Inside sat a cot, a bucket, a table, and a narrow shelf. The room offered little more than what she already had back at the tower, especially after her last trip to the market.

  Riley never imagined she’d feel wealthy by comparison.

  The woman closed the door behind her. Riley set down her pack, crossed to the window, and pushed open the wooden shutters. From here she could see the entire village center. She folded her arms on the sill and watched.

  The truth revealed itself slowly, in fragments.

  She noticed it first when a woman tried to speak but failed. Her mouth moved, shaping words that never formed. Instead, she pressed her fingers together in a quick pattern, and another villager nodded in response.

  Riley frowned and leaned closer. Adults weren’t speaking at all. They communicated with their hands, not with any formal sign language, but with gestures that were improvised, familiar, and practiced enough to be understood.

  Then she saw the scars beneath their chins. Some neat. Some jagged.

  Her stomach tightened.

  Their tongues had been removed. It wasn’t just the man at the front gate. She couldn’t tell how many still had their voices versus how many were truly incapable of speech. From what she could see, the children still spoke, but softly, as if afraid their voices might be stolen too.

  The oppression here ran deeper than poverty or scarcity. It hung over the village like a storm cloud that never broke.

  Compelled by curiosity, Riley left her room to explore. As she walked around, the villagers barely made eye contact with her. They seemed unbothered by her presence as long as she obeyed the rule for silence.

  Daily life unfolded in front of her with a bleak rhythm. Tools were crude. Metal was scarce and poorly shaped. People worked with worn hands and tired bodies. Every task seemed harder than it needed to be. Every movement carried caution.

  Lookouts stood at the edges of the village, perched on small platforms built into trees. Their eyes scanned the forest constantly. They never relaxed. Even when someone brought them food, they ate without lowering their guard.

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  Riley felt the weight of their fear.

  The little girl who had advocated for her earlier approached her. She tugged gently at Riley’s sleeve.

  “My name is Mali,” she said. Her voice was soft but clear. “Thank you for staying. Mama worries too much.”

  Riley smiled. “I think she worries the right amount.”

  Mali giggled, a sound so rare in this place that several adults turned toward it with startled expressions.

  “Can you show me where I can get some water?”

  Mali made a silent drinking gesture. Was she just confirming what she was being asked? Or was she teaching Riley?

  Riley nodded her head silently.

  Mali became Riley’s guide around Hoshin village. Where words weren’t needed, the girl used gestures; though she could speak, she kept her voice to a minimum, barely more than a whisper. Riley mirrored her without being asked.

  When sound felt safe, Mali explained things in her quiet way. She showed Riley where the water was drawn, where the grain was stored, where the children played when the adults weren’t watching. In this strange, muted place, the girl had become a small anchor in an uncharted sea.

  Even with all she had endured, Mali was still so sweet, but not untouched. Not untouched by whatever had carved silence into this village.

  Riley felt the weight of the place more sharply through the girl’s small hand in hers.

  As she was being shown around, Riley saw a couple villagers struggling to move a boulder that had rolled against one of the storage huts. They pushed with all their strength, but the stone barely shifted.

  Riley stepped forward. “You need leverage.”

  They looked at her with confusion.

  She gestured for them to wait as she returned with a large abandoned plank from a torn down gate. She wedged it under the boulder, and pressed down. The stone lifted slightly. Gasps rose from the villagers who eagerly joined her to test this new strategy. Together, they shifted the boulder aside. The villagers tapped their fingers against their chests in a gesture Riley guessed meant “thanks.”

  Riley saw the spark in their eyes. A spark of possibility. A spark of new-found power.

  Later that evening, the entire village, aside from the men standing watch, gathered for dinner. The mood had shifted from the all business urgency of earlier. This was a moment for camaraderie. The villagers moved like a family bound by hardship, their smiles small but genuine, shared among people who had survived too much together.

  Watching them, Riley felt a sadness settle in her chest. They deserved more than this bleak, narrow existence. If a simple lever could change so much for them, what else could she offer?

  Despite being a stranger to them, they treated her as one of their own. They shared their hard-earned food. In return, Riley shared some of her travel rations. Dried fruit. A bit of smoked meat. A handful of nuts. The adults accepted the food with silent gratitude. Fingers tapped against chests in gratitude. Riley felt warmth in the air that had nothing to do with the fire.

  Later, they gathered in a circle. A few adults produced hollowed wooden tubes and flat stones. They tapped and blew into them, creating a strange but gentle music. Without tongues, they could not sing, but they hummed through their throats, creating a low vibration that blended with the instruments.

  It was haunting. And beautiful.

  Mali sat beside Riley, listening to the music with wide eyes. Riley noticed the girl had no toy, no object of comfort. So, she took a scrap of cloth from her pack and twisted it into a simple doll. She tied a bit of string around the middle to form a head and body.

  Mali gasped softly when Riley handed it to her. She held it as if it were made of glass.

  Her mother saw the exchange and placed a hand over her heart. Her eyes shone with silent gratitude.

  Kindness was rare here. Riley felt that truth settle heavily inside her.

  Mali leaned close and whispered, “I won’t ever let the monsters take this.”

  Riley’s breath caught. “Monsters?”

  Mali nodded. “They come from the forest. We gather for them. Mostly food and metal. If we do not, they hurt us.”

  Riley had no idea how to respond to that. She pointed to her own mouth, a silent question.

  Mali’s expression dimmed. She nodded once, small and solemn, confirming the truth Riley had dreaded.

  “They don’t like strangers,” Mali added, “but you’re my friend, right Riley?”

  “Right,” Riley said, giving the girl a gentle smile that was real, but thinner than she wished it could be, as she stroked the girl’s hair.

  And just like that, everything reframed itself. The fear here wasn’t just caution or superstition. It was survival.

  Riley didn’t bring up the monsters again that night. She didn’t want to disturb what was, for these people, a rare and wellearned moment of peace. Instead, she lay down on the cot they had so graciously offered her, mind turning over all the terrible things the villagers must have endured at the hands of the “monsters.”

  Morning brought the smell of warm grain and wood smoke. Riley joined the villagers as they prepared breakfast. Mali and her mother guided her to a flat stone where dough was being shaped.

  They mixed ground grain with water and a pinch of salt. Mali’s mother kneaded the dough with practiced motions, folding and pressing until it became smooth. Riley helped roll small balls of dough into thin circles. They placed the circles on a heated stone slab. The dough puffed slightly as it cooked, forming soft pitas. Riley accidentally tore one. She raised her eyebrows, widened her eyes and tucked her pursed lips into her chin in a playful oops at Mali. The girl giggled. “It’s ok. I still make mistakes too,” Mali assured her.

  They ate together, warm bread and a bit of berry paste. It was simple, but it felt like a feast.

  When it was time to leave, the village gathered to see Riley off. They tapped their fingers against their chests again. Riley returned the gesture, confident now in its meaning.

  She pointed to herself, then to the forest path, then back to Hoshin village. A promise. She would return.

  Riley walked away with a lighter heart.

  The forest felt calm that morning. Birds even called from the branches. Sunlight filtered through the leaves. For a moment, Riley allowed herself to believe the worst was behind her. She spoke too soon. Her HUD flashed red.

  ??Threat detected.

  She spun just as a creature burst from the underbrush. She knew that shape, the jagged antlers, the razor-sharp teeth, the deer-like body on steroids. It was unmistakable.

  Riley drew her hatchet from her rope belt and swung without hesitation.

  It snapped its jaws inches from her face.

  She swung again wildly. Pain exploded in her side as it rammed her, knocking the weapon out of her hands. She hit the ground hard. Her vision blurred.

  She reached for her hatchet, but her fingers slipped. Blood soaked her shirt. The creature loomed over her, breath hot and foul.

  Her strength faded.

  The world dimmed.

  The monster lowered its head to finish her.

  Riley slipped into darkness.