The forest wasn’t scary after dusk.

  Not to me.

  By the time I turned ten, I’d walked every trail around the vilge—sometimes alone, sometimes with Kai.

  It wasn’t about being brave. It was about knowing the rhythm of the pce: the way owls called before rain, how rabbits froze when foxes were near, and where the old boar tracks cut through the underbrush.

  That evening, we went farther than usual.

  Kai wanted to prove he could track a deer. I just needed space—from the forge, from eyes, from the quiet weight of my own thoughts.

  “See that?” he whispered, pointing to snapped twigs. “Fresh. Less than an hour.”

  I nodded, but my skin prickled.

  The wind had gone still. Even the insects had stopped buzzing.

  That kind of silence didn’t mean peace. It meant something was watching.

  “Let’s head back,” I said.

  “Already? We just got here!” He kicked a stone, frustrated. “You always pull back right when it gets interesting.”

  Before I could answer, a low, guttural growl rolled through the trees.

  From behind a thicket of pines, a wild boar emerged.

  Not just any boar—this one was massive, shoulders hunched, eyes bloodshot, tusks crusted with dried mud and old fights.

  It wasn’t protecting piglets.

  It was hunting.

  Kai froze. His wooden sword hung limp in his hand.

  The boar snorted, dug its hooves into the earth, and charged—straight at Kai.

  I didn’t think.

  I yanked my dagger from my belt and threw myself between them.

  The boar was fast. Stronger than it looked.

  But my father’s lessons pyed in my head: “Don’t meet force with force. Redirect it.”

  I sidestepped at the st second, grabbed the boar’s ear, and used its own momentum to swing it off bance.

  As it stumbled past me, I drove the dagger down—hard—into the base of its skull.

  It didn’t make a sound.

  Just colpsed, heavy and final.

  My hands were shaking. Not from fear. From the sudden stillness that followed.

  Kai stood pale, staring at the dead boar, then at me.

  “You… you killed it,” he breathed.

  “It was going to gore you,” I said, wiping the bde on my tunic. “It wouldn’t have stopped.”

  He swallowed hard. “I… I didn’t even see it coming.”

  “You weren’t looking,” I said quietly. “You were looking for deer. The forest doesn’t care what you’re looking for. It only cares if you’re paying attention.”

  He didn’t argue. Just picked up his wooden sword like it weighed nothing now.

  We dragged the boar back to the vilge—too heavy for two kids, but we managed.

  Old Man Heril took one look and cpped me on the shoulder. “Good kill. That one’s been tearing up crops for weeks.”

  That night, Kai sat on our doorstep, silent for a long time.

  Finally, he said, “I thought I was ready.”

  He looked at his hands. “But I wasn’t.”

  I sat beside him. “You will be.”

  I didn’t promise to teach him. Not yet.

  But I knew I’d have to.

  Because the forest doesn’t forgive the unready.

  And neither will the world beyond our vilge.