CONTENT WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THEMES OF ANIMAL HARM AND SEXUAL ABUSE WHICH MAY BE UPSETTING FOR SOME READERS.

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"Someone should kill it!"

"Call the guards!"

"Stick a spear through its head and let it die!"

Jiro woke to the shouts outside his window.

The dimness of the room enveloped him as he opened his eyes. There was no movement on the wooden walls except for the hints of fiery red and orange light that glittered through holes in the tiny cracks on the capiz panes—shades of dawn invading.

"Don't go near it!" Someone shouted again, a horrified woman's voice.

Jiro pushed out of the banig and walked to the window, sliding the shelled panels open. He stuck his head to look outside, where a crowd gathered below in front of the tavern. Bodies interweaved in curiosity and fear as they pointed at a dark figure in their midst.

When Jiro saw what got everyone out of their beds so early in the morning, the sleep in his eyes faded. He rushed to reach for his father's kampit under the pillows and ran to the stairs without bothering to put on his boots or shirt.

Jiro came out of the tavern's front door and found Piriu standing at the top of the steps. The large man kept away from the people, but he stared at the beast lying on the dirt road—a riod.

"It killed two men last night!" someone in the crowd declared.

The riod heaved, alive but dying. One of its curled horns was shattered, and white fragments scattered on the ground. Dark shiny liquid covered its black fur—blood.

A man in the crowd dared to step closer, but it growled and bared its teeth. The man jumped back, and everyone stayed clear. When the animal whipped its tail, they all gasped and held their breaths.

Jiro knew that riods lived in the mountainous regions of Daracka. Most of their population were in Kataro and Aradack, some were also found in Kimara, but they lived away from the sea, and this one might have lost its way. By the Kimrackans' reactions—the fear in their eyes and the worry in their voices—they had rarely seen a wild beast like this.

Jiro came closer, and the riod didn't favor him over the rest. The animal snapped its teeth though his legs were too far to reach.

By instinct, he began to study the details of the scene. The blood on the ground came from several stab wounds on the creature's belly. Flecks of red sprinkled everywhere, and its paws registered several times on the road in scarlet ink. The prints made circling patterns. It had seen action, and it had given a good fight before it was brought down. And it seemed that its foe had gotten away.

As if someone dragged a torch over the dirt, a good portion of the ground was black and scorched. There was something different about how deep the blackness was. Unordinary. And Jiro couldn't tell why it was so familiar.

His eyes perceived another print, one shaped in the foot of a man or, by its size, a young boy. At first glance, he suspected someone in the crowd had stepped close enough to the riod to get their feet soaked in the puddle of blood. But a longer look made it discernible that it was not the case. As soon as he noticed it, he found the pair of the first footprint, then another, and another.

Has the riod eaten a boy? Jiro worried, but there was no carcass nearby.

There was something unusual about the prints. The human ones followed the same pattern as the creature. By the traces of red, the boy and the riod seemed to have circled each other the way fighters did when gauging their opponents.

Jiro's eyes followed a wrestling braid of blood, trailing until it reached the current position of the beast.

Has a boy taken this riod down?

The creature was larger than a large adult man. Jiro was sure that no boy could have brought it down alone, not without help. It would take a group of hunters to prey on such a beast. Not even the Aradacko dared to hunt the riods alone in the mountains of their island. The beasts were too strong and dangerous—a predator on top of the chain.

The riod heaved in pain, and another gasp rolled over the crowd. The people showed fear, but Jiro sympathized with the animal as he walked closer to it on his bare feet, knife in his hand.

"What are you doing, boy?" Piriu's voice was a warning.

Jiro's feet strode over the pool of blood that surrounded the beast. It growled and clawed at him. A puff of terror came from the gathered crowd as he positioned himself and stood behind the riod's neck. He knelt beside it, making it snarl and claw, but the swipe of its paws had no weight, and it couldn't turn its fangs to him.

Jiro had done this many times before. He never enjoyed it, but it was the necessary mercy for every prey that met its fate, though this one was a predator.

The riod moaned and breathed in panic. A familiar apprehension hinted in its yellow eyes.

"You're going to get hurt!" someone shouted.

"Thundering skies! He's out of his mind!"

Jiro ignored them. The cold handle of the kampit pressed against his palm as he pulled the blade from its sheath. He pushed the riod's cheek with his free hand, pinning its head to the ground to restrict it from struggling. It was already too weak, but it would suffer longer before it could die in the way it was now.

Jiro positioned the blade's sharp edge to its neck and sliced with a quick swipe. More blood spilled onto the road. The kampit and his hands were soaked red. The beast writhed for two more breaths and then stilled.

Silence fell over the street. The people around him gave him respect and awe but only for a short while before they began to speak again. When they were sure the riod was dead, many stepped forward courageously.

"Out of the way!" The city guards finally arrived, carrying their spears. As they tried to push through, the crowd took over the scene, and Jiro walked back to the steps of the tavern. People gave notice, but the dead riod took more of their attention. They all moved and engulfed the creature in the middle of the road.

Piriu stood by the tavern's door with wide eyes. He gaped for a moment, then closed his mouth and swallowed. And before Jiro could approach the tavern, Piriu pointed at his bloody hands and feet.

"You're not going to drag that into my inn. Go out back and wash," Piriu said, jerking a thumb to the back of the tavern. The grays of his beard caught the glow of the early day as he spoke. "And you're going to pay for the cleaning of that." He gestured at the riod that vanished among the sea of people.

Jiro gave no argument though he didn't think it was fair for him to pay for what he'd done. The riod had already littered its blood there, and he only added a bit more. But it was a mercy. It was the right thing to do.

Jiro strode off to the rear of the inn, where a high wooden fence surrounded the back of the building. Piriu kept his kegs of ramka here. Barrels were stacked up beside a well, where a half-filled bucket hung high over it.

With the water in the pail, Jiro washed the kampit first. It was the first time he'd used it. He wiped it clean on his trousers so no blood stained its blade before replacing it in its sheath.

Jiro then rolled the legs of his trousers up to his knees and began to wash his feet. He watched as red merged with the clear water, flowing to the ground and following a canal.

When he finished, the backdoor of the tavern opened, and Alet stepped out. She carried a small barrel in front of her so he couldn't see her face, but he knew it was her. He had grown familiar with her dark hair and her petite frame. Her arms circled the barrel, pressing it to her chest, its size blocking her view as she sauntered near the well with a limp.

Jiro instinctively looked down at her leg and saw the edge of a bandage wrapped around her ankles. The cloth peered out from under the hem of her trousers.

Alet placed the casket down with a heavy thud and looked up at Jiro. "What are you doing here?" She glanced at his bloody pants and the knife in his hand. "What happened to you?" she asked.

Jiro raised a brow. "There was a riod out front." He could still hear the crowd's murmur, but it had already dwindled since he walked to the back of the tavern.

"And you decided to lay down with it to comfort it as it died?" she taunted, oblivious to what he had done. Her blue eye traveled over his bare chest and glazed the tattoo on his arm before coming up to meet his own eyes.

There was nothing funny about what she said, and Jiro only shrugged. He glanced again at her bandaged ankle. "Are you alright?"

Alet followed his gaze and looked down. Her face spread in realization, and she tugged her trousers low enough to cover the edge of the wrapped bandage. "It's nothing," she said.

Her movement drew Jiro's eyes to her feet. "Impossible," he whispered when he saw how small they were. They weren't small for her size—no, they were perfect—but they were small, like a boy's and not a man's.

"What?" Alet looked down again, making sure the bandage didn't show anymore.

Jiro's eyes then came up to her face, his lips parting and gaping at the revelation. His mind processed the detail—the dying beast in front of the tavern, the bloody prints that suggested a fight, and Alet's limping walk. He examined her, observing him from foot to head. Nothing else seemed wrong except for her ankle. Not a single scratch on her exposed skin.

When Jiro didn't answer, Alet glared. "Stop gawking at me. I don't have time for your strangeness." She waved him away and walked back up to the backdoor of the tavern, hobbling as she climbed the steps.

Impossible. Jiro stared at her as she entered the building. He couldn't wrap his mind around the conclusion of his thoughts. Alet's feet were small, the same size as the bloody footprints he'd seen dancing a wrestle with the riod's.

When the door shut behind her, Jiro diverted his attention to the barrel she had just carried out. She was a small young woman—young enough to be a girl. Petite and fragile.

Whatever his mind was concocting was impossible, but he grimaced and stepped up to the barrel. He wrapped his arms over its body, and with the strength of his arms and legs, he made a Lift. The barrel lifted to the level of his knees before slipping from his grasp and thunking loudly on the ground, almost crushing his foot. Its content sloshed upon impact.

The possibility of his conclusion was no longer the question. But how was it possible?

He wanted to rush into the tavern to confront her, to demand an explanation, and to answer the questions in his head that he couldn't form in words.

Jiro walked up the steps, almost running, but right before he opened the door, he heard a faint conversation from inside the tavern. His ears caught words that stopped him in his tracks.

"Have you drawn your bath yet?" Piriu's voice was husky.

"I will," Alet said—a strain in her answer.

"Good," the man said, low and lazy. "You'll do it right after this. And wear the red one when you come to my room. You'll look ravishing, and I find it more stimulating."