The rise&fall

The sun hovered low above the forest as the group made camp near a clearing west of the cursed ruins. A flickering fire crackled quietly between them, surrounded by a ring of smooth stones. Rangi sat cross-legged, polishing her blade with slow, methodical strokes. Leeyang leaned against a tree, arms folded, eyes constantly scanning the canopy above like a hawk hunting for movement. Gogjen poked the fire with a stick, watching the embers jump and curl like restless spirits.

Huwue sat slightly apart, her back to a mossy log, arms wrapped around her knees. Her blue robe was still damp with morning dew, her face unreadable in the flicker of firelight.

"So..." Gogjen finally said, trying to lift the mood, "anyone wanna talk about the assassin who tried to turn us into kebabs earlier?"

Rangi didn't look up. "Nothing to say until we understand what they want."

Leeyang's gaze flicked from the trees to Huwue, then back to the flames. "They weren't after us," he said slowly. "They were after something else."

"Maybe the Dragon Blade?" Gogjen offered.

"Maybe," Leeyang muttered. His voice was calm, but the tension in his jaw betrayed unease. His eyes settled on Huwue again, just for a second longer than necessary.

She didn't speak. Didn't flinch. Just stared into the fire as if the flames were whispering things only she could hear.

The fire popped. A faint wind moved through the trees, carrying the scent of burned moss and wet earth. Night was swallowing the last of the light. Crickets chirped somewhere in the underbrush, but even they seemed cautious.

Huwue finally stood. She muttered something about collecting water and walked toward the shadows beyond the clearing. Gogjen watched her go, a slight crease forming between his brows.

"Do you think she's okay?" he asked.

"She doesn't talk much," Rangi said.

"She listens, though," Leeyang added, almost too quickly.

They fell into silence again.

That night, while the others slept, Huwue stood alone beneath the moon. The silver light draped over her shoulders like silk, yet she shivered. Her hand trembled slightly as she held it up — a faint shimmer pulsed beneath the skin, just below the wrist. Like a scar that wasn't there. Like a memory trying to break through.

She took a deep breath. Her shoulders rose and fell, slow and heavy.

"I didn't ask for this," she whispered to no one.

No one could know.

---

Far away, deeper in the forest than most dared to travel, a man with a charred mask knelt beneath an ancient, twisted tree. Seven others stood behind him — cloaked in black, their faces lost to shadow.

"It is her," the masked man said. His voice echoed with something unnatural, like wind scraping steel.

"The cursed child?" one of them asked, barely a whisper.

"She walks with them. They don't know."

A long silence passed between the group, like breath held too long.

"Do we strike now?" another hissed.

"Not yet," the masked leader said. "She does not know what she is. That makes her dangerous... but still controllable."

Another voice rasped, "Then we wait… until the fire breaks her spirit."

The masked man rose. "We follow. And when she is alone — we take her."

The others nodded in unison.

Then, as if the forest had swallowed them whole, the Silent Fang vanished into the dark.

---

Back at camp, Huwue returned silently, placing a filled canteen near the fire. No one stirred. She sat again, her face calm, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

Leeyang's eyes opened slightly from where he pretended to sleep, watching her through half-lidded suspicion. The wind shifted once more. A branch creaked overhead.

Gogjen rolled over in his blanket and muttered something about meat skewers in his dreams.

Rangi, unmoving, had her hand resting near the hilt of her dagger even in her sleep.

The fire burned low.

And in the crackling silence, only one truth remained — none of them truly knew who Huwue was.

Not yet.

---

That night, Huwue finally let herself fall asleep. But rest did not come with peace.

She was standing in the middle of her village again — the sky grey, the air heavy. Small houses lined the muddy road. Children stood far away from her, whispering. Adults pointed.

"There she is... the cursed one."

"She burned them alive... her own parents."

Huwue turned, desperate to run, but every path led to smoke and ash. The smell of charred wood filled her nose.

"No... I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

She saw herself — smaller, maybe six years old — standing in front of her parents' house, flames licking through the walls. Her mother's screams echoed like knives in the air. Her father's silhouette collapsed behind the fire.

Villagers dragged her back. A priest spat salt in her face.

"Keep her away! She brings death!"

"She's not a child — she's a curse wrapped in flesh."

Their words tore into her like claws. She covered her ears, but the voices still rang loud and cruel.

Then she saw her younger self again — looking right at her.

Eyes glowing with the same cursed shimmer.

"You couldn't stop it then," the small version said, tears on her cheeks. "And you won't stop it now."

Huwue woke with a gasp, her hand clenched so tight it hurt.

The fire had almost died. Everyone else was still asleep.

She curled tighter into her cloak, eyes wide and wet, staring at the last ember glowing in the dark.

And she thought:

Maybe they'll find out one day.

But not yet.

Please... not yet.