The town of Eldor slowly came back to life around us, emerging from the nightmare like a flower unfurling after a long, dark winter. As Rowan, Maya, and I made our rounds through the streets, I watched the townspeople with a careful eye. Most seemed relatively unharmed—startled, certainly, but alive and gradually returning to some semblance of normalcy.
But not everyone.
Some residents lay motionless in the streets or slumped against buildings, their bodies healthy and unmarked, yet utterly unresponsive. Their eyes remained open, fixed on some distant point, blank and lifeless despite their continued breathing. These were the casualties of the beasts mental assault—prisoners trapped in some psychological prison even after the creature's death.
Hours passed as we helped where we could, guiding confused citizens, checking on those who seemed most disoriented. The town's healers and local guards worked alongside us, gradually restoring order to Eldor.
By mid-afternoon, we found ourselves in the town hall, standing before the Lord of Eldor Erin Macalister in his modest office. The room was small but well-appointed, with neat stacks of documents on a polished wooden desk and maps of the surrounding region hanging on the walls.
Lord Macalister was a striking figure—a beastman whose wolf-like ears poked through his short brown hair. His white long-sleeved shirt was partially covered by a forest green vest, and crisp brown trousers completed his ensemble. Despite his noble attire, there was nothing soft about him. His gaze was stern, penetrating—the look of someone who had seen far more of the world's darkness than most.
We approached and bowed formally. "Lord Macalister," we said in unison, the traditional greeting showing proper respect.
He waited for us to raise our heads, then cut directly to the point. "My people tell me you're responsible for breaking the creature's spell. Is that correct, boy?"
I hesitated for just a moment before responding. "Yes, sir. I killed it."
Something in my response seemed to intrigue him. His eyes narrowed, studying me with an intensity that made me involuntarily gulp. "How old are you?" he asked, leaving space for me to provide my name.
"Kai," I answered. "Kai Foster. I'm 12, sir."
A sly smirk replaced his serious expression. "Twelve? And you managed to break the spell of a B-class Nightmare Slug?"
The term caught me off guard. "Nightmare Slug?" I asked, my confusion evident.
Lord Macalister seemed almost amused by my ignorance. "You're truly unfamiliar? Nightmare Slugs are extremely rare creatures. They typically inhabit deep forests and caves, rarely emerging into towns like this. While they're classified as B-class monsters there relatively weak in terms of raw physical strength, their abilities on the other hand are... complicated."
He leaned forward, his wolf ears twitching slightly as he spoke. "They release a green mist that, when inhaled, induces a dream-like state completely controlled by the monster. The mist naturally induces fear—and the more it manipulates your dreams, the more powerful that fear becomes. The goal is to drive you to a point where you ultimately surrender your mind to the beast."
A chill ran down my spine as I remembered my own encounter. Surrender my mind. That must have been what happened when the creature tried to convince me to kill myself—a final attempt to break my will.
"There are only two ways to escape its spell," Lord Macalister continued. "Either someone kills the creature from the outside, or you no longer contain any fear in your heart. Since the monster's ability works entirely through fear, eliminating that emotion breaks its control. But that's easier said than done—the green mist makes you extremely susceptible to fear."
His piercing gaze returned, more intense than before. "So, Kai. How exactly did you break free and kill this beast?"
I chose my words carefully. "To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. Like everyone else, I don't remember what the creature made me see. But somehow, I woke up, and as you said, its physical form wasn't particularly difficult to defeat."
The lie felt heavy on my tongue. How could I explain the rage that had consumed me? That feeling wasn't like any anger I'd ever experienced—it felt almost external, like a parasite that had bloomed inside me and taken complete control. Something about it felt... wrong. Alien.
Lord Macalister studied me for a long moment, as if trying to read the thoughts I wasn't sharing. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him, at least for now.
"The people who remain unresponsive will likely never recover," he said, changing the subject. "Those were the people who inevitably handed their mind over to the Nightmare Slug, now that it's dead so is their mind in a sense."
My hand unconsciously clenched into a fist, that strange rage bubbling just beneath the surface, waiting.
Watching.
Waiting.