**The Forest Within Gravalk Territory**

As the forest fell silent, shapes hidden in the darkness began to emerge one by one.

The first to move was Kruk.

His nose twitched.

Lowering himself over the crushed leaves, he drew in a short breath.

*Sniff.*

The scent of blood still lingered faintly in the air.

Kruk glided toward the body of a fallen human.

Keeping low, he brought his nose close, inhaled once, then nudged the corpse with the tip of his boot.

The body rocked limply.

"...Hah."

"...So it's over."

He put a little more force behind his foot.

Thud.

"If Shaka comes back empty-handed, he won't even smell a drop of ale tonight."

Just then, footsteps approached from behind.

Not the rustle of leaves—

the dull pressure of boots sinking into soil.

It was Murkan, the village chief.

Before his shadow had even reached him, Kruk nudged the corpse once more with his foot.

"Hey... wake up."

He stepped back with an awkward grin.

"Didn't think they'd be this weak."

Murkan said nothing.

Without even lowering his gaze, he pushed another corpse aside with the tip of his foot.

Then he stopped.

His eyes drifted beyond the trees—

toward the direction the humans had fled.

Branches brushed together.

Shaka returned, slipping silently through the forest before stopping in front of Murkan.

"I lost them."

Shaka shrugged as if it hardly mattered.

Murkan's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"All of them?"

Shaka avoided his gaze.

"They moved strangely. They pretended to scatter, but kept their spacing. Even overlapped their own tracks on purpose."

Murkan's eyes grew colder.

"Trained."

He paused.

"No wonder you couldn't catch them alone."

"Should I go after them again?"

Murkan didn't answer.

Instead, his nose twitched.

Something caught his attention.

A faint scent of milk drifted through the trees.

His gaze shifted upward.

A basket.

Shaka stepped over, lowered it from the branch, and carried it back.

The cloth covering it had fallen halfway open.

Inside lay a newborn human infant.

Smooth, hairless skin.

Tiny arms reached aimlessly into the air.

Kruk crouched beside the basket.

He leaned in until his face was only inches away and inhaled slowly.

Once.

Then again.

One of his ears twitched.

"...That's a good scent."

A grin spread across his face.

"Chief..."

"It's mixed."

"That's not a human scent."

Murkan answered quietly.

"A hybrid."

His nose twitched once more.

"It's the first time I've smelled anything like this."

His eyes never left the child.

"So..."

"The humans have been up to something filthy again."

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Murkan finally broke the silence.

"Take the child."

The forest offered no reply.

ㅡㅡㅡ

**Murkan's Settlement**

From the leather tents a short distance away came the sound of slow breathing, mingled with the faint rattle of chains.

People moved across the packed earth.

The large wooden doors opened.

Thud.

A wave of warmth, roasted meat, and oil drifted out.

"The smell alone makes you hungry."

The fire crackled softly.

The bed of glowing coals pulsed like a living thing, while fat dripped steadily from slabs of meat hanging above the flames.

Murkan dropped himself onto a fur-covered seat.

Shaka and Kruk silently took their places beside him.

"Liquor."

At the single command, the slaves sprang into motion.

Meat and drinks were laid before them.

As Murkan accepted his cup, he set the basket down beside him.

"Is there a woman still producing milk?"

The slaves froze.

One of the Owlin women stepped forward.

She never raised her head.

"There is."

She hesitated before continuing.

"A human woman captured not long ago. She... isn't entirely herself. She keeps whispering someone's name."

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her apron.

"But... the milk hasn't stopped."

Kruk chuckled.

"From that caravan we hit last time."

He wiped his mouth after draining his cup.

"We killed every guard and only brought back two women. There was a human baby lying beside the unconscious one, but we thought it was dead and left it behind."

Murkan turned his head.

"So?"

The Owlin woman answered immediately.

"She's in the women's quarters. She whispers the name whenever she wakes. When she's exhausted, she falls asleep."

She hesitated again.

"...The name is Gren."

Murkan's gaze settled on the newborn's ankle inside the basket.

A faint mark, as dark as swallowed light, barely showed against the skin.

His breathing paused for an instant.

Then he lowered his chin.

"Don't let her die."

"Keep them together."

"We'll see if it survives."

His thick, fur-covered foot nudged the basket.

It slid across the floor and stopped in front of Shaka.

Shaka looked down at it.

Then at the baby's ankle.

Slowly, he raised his eyes.

His gaze met Murkan's.

Silence.

Shaka picked up a piece of meat and tossed it into his mouth.

He emptied his cup.

"...Me?"

Murkan didn't answer.

Shaka rose to his feet.

"Fine."

"I'll do it."

He picked up the basket and headed toward the women's slave quarters.

Squish.

Mud clung to his boots with every step.

Without another word, he walked toward the leather tent.

Thud.

Thud.

Somewhere nearby, bones cracked beneath a heavy cleaver.

Crack—

A splinter of bone flew through the air.

Thwack.

It struck someone squarely in the forehead.

"Damn it!"

The man wiped away the blood and shouted.

"I told you not to stand next to me!"

"The hell's wrong with you? I'm the one who got hit."

The butcher never even looked up.

"Then move."

The meat cleaver came down again.

Thunk.

—

Shaka pushed aside the leather flap and stepped inside.

The tent smelled of leather, sweat, and damp earth.

A human woman sat curled against a wooden post in the corner.

"So... that's her."

Her eyes weren't focused on anything.

Shaka grabbed her chin and lifted her face.

Her gaze remained empty.

There was nothing behind it.

He watched her for a moment.

Then his fur-covered hand pressed against her breast.

Milk slowly welled up.

"So it's true."

He uncovered the basket and lifted out the infant.

Gently, he placed the baby in front of her.

At first...

there was no response.

But the moment the child touched her—

her hand moved.

A ragged breath escaped her lips.

The baby began to cry.

Then—

her arms shot forward.

She pulled the child tightly against her chest.

The tiny mouth searched instinctively.

For a brief moment it fumbled.

Then it found her.

*Suck.*

The baby's shallow breathing deepened.

The woman's shoulders trembled once.

The child never stopped nursing.

The broken, uneven breaths settled into a steady rhythm.

It drank desperately, as though clinging to life itself.

Her fingers slowly wrapped around the baby's back.

They tightened.

Then gradually relaxed.

The arm that had hung lifeless finally moved like a living arm again.

Her lips trembled.

"...Gren..."

Shaka missed nothing.

The eyes that had seemed dead only moments ago...

were alive again.

He had seen enough.

A crooked smile spread across his face as he turned away.

The moment he stepped through the leather flap—

*"A good scent."*

Kruk's words echoed in his mind.

Shaka grinned.

For an instant, his fangs showed.

"I wonder..."

"How long they'll last."

The leather flap fell shut behind him.

Inside the tent,

there was no crying anymore.

Only the quiet, rhythmic sound of a baby nursing.

The child's breathing never faltered.

For now...

that was enough.

ㅡㅡㅡ

**Office of Maltimos Well, Chief Scientist of the Kingdom of Delos**

Maltimos Well stood alone, holding a brass relic in his hand.

Behind the towering cross at his back stood an altar fashioned from interlocking gears and wings of bone.

It was a symbol devoid of salvation—

or mercy.

A stack of old experiment reports lay open across his desk.

> **S[q] = ∫ L(q, q̇, t) dt**

**— Crossbreeding failed.**
**— Crossbreeding failed.**

A knock.

The door opened.

"A report, sir."

His spectacles landed softly on the desk.

"...The escaped subjects?"

The administrator stepped forward and laid down a document.

"Two test subjects fled into the Gravalk Forest."

"They gave birth there."

He paused before continuing.

"The subjects abandoned the newborn in a stream."

"Captain Hirk attempted recovery, but after the beastfolk intervened and two of his men were killed, he was forced to withdraw."

The moment the report ended—

**Bang!**

**Crash!**

The brass relic slammed into the stone floor.

Metal split apart, the sharp crack echoing through the office.

Maltimos turned toward the window.

His own reflection stared back at him.

The scar caught his eye.

"So..."

"Even against the beastfolk..."

"...they chose to retreat."

"If it had been abandoned, it would have ended there."

"If it had died, it would have ended there."

Sunlight spilled across his face,

revealing the long scar that ran from the corner of his right lip to his jaw.

A wound left by **her**.

The price of allowing emotion to interfere.

"The Gravalk territory..."

The administrator spoke cautiously.

"...is a place where humans can scarcely operate."

"You know as well as anyone how powerful they—"

Before he could finish,

Maltimos cut him off.

"...Forget the pair."

Crossbreeding with implanted phase patterns...

could never be reproduced.

Which meant—

"We continue tracking the child."

His hand came down on the desk.

"Pass the order along."

The administrator quietly placed the remaining documents on the desk.

Maltimos never looked at them.

"You may leave."

The door closed.

Silence settled over the office.

If the child had survived...

it would surface again someday.

That single possibility...

was enough.