Satyr’s Children | Book 1: Siren
“Dad…" While Ali kept her eyes fixed on the treetop, Triton tugged at his father’s hand. “There—"
“What is it?" David turned sharply, instantly alert.
“It's… it's gone…" Ali whispered, her voice trembling. “I only blinked once… and that ‘birdman' disappeared."
“What birdman?" David's gaze followed the direction Ali was pointing.
The branches of the grotesque tree were completely empty. Yet Triton was certain his father had noticed it too: at the very tip of the thickest branch, several dead leaves were trembling faintly, impossibly moving in the utterly still air, as though they had just been disturbed by the weight of something.
“Probably a wandering monster," David said after a moment's thought. “We'll be reaching the Supply Point in a moment. Stay close. Don't fall behind."
The words “Supply Point" struck Triton like a spell dispelling paralysis, snapping his senses back into motion. His legs were almost numb, the bone-deep cold seeping into his joints; his arms felt as heavy as lead, while the heart hammering inside his chest voiced its dull protest. One more step, and perhaps his body would simply come apart.
It was time to rest.
A qualified Trailblazer party typically travels at a pace of roughly three to four kilometers per hour over difficult terrain. Numbered sectors such as Stone Church Sector 3 were approximately four to five kilometers across, covering an area of roughly fifteen to twenty-five square kilometers. Simply crossing one from end to end was itself a test of endurance and willpower.
Fortunately, the Trailblazers of the Northwatch had long since established several Supply Points at key junctions, strategic locations, and dangerous edges throughout the Forbidden Zone. Sector 3 alone had two.
Now the Featherflight Party needed to make their way to the nearest one and take an absolutely necessary break.
But before they could do that, they had to shake off every potential pursuer.
As they smeared cold, sticky river mud over themselves, David called to his son.
“Triton, if we keep moving in a straight line, our path will be completely exposed and easy to predict. How do we get rid of the tracker, then?"
“Hmm… We should lay down a false trail, using broken branches and footprints to lead the pursuer toward…" Triton cautiously surveyed their surroundings. “That clear dirt road leading to Stone Church Sector 2. Then we can change direction without making a sound and head for the Supply Point."
“Is that so?" David did not look at his son. He simply asked in a calm voice, “But a competent tracker could easily see through such a trick. You could retreat along your original path for a while, then make a sudden turn—or cross your own trail at a right angle."
Did I remember the training wrong?
Triton hesitated.
“Trit, you're right." Ali whispered softly. "Just stick to your judgment!"
“Uh…" Triton scratched the back of his head. “I mean, even identifying a false trail takes time. And even a ‘competent tracker' would need to stop and examine the evidence carefully before ruling out the wrong options. The Guild veterans have always told us: 'Once an unknown or overwhelmingly powerful enemy has you in their sights, you cannot shake them off immediately. But you can always buy yourself an advantage in time, until the threat is gone.'
“If I were the tracker… even as an Apprentice Trailblazer, I could spot a retreat along the original trail at a glance. Even walking backward, the distribution of weight in the footprints and the drag marks would be completely different. Doubling back and then crossing our own trail at a right angle wouldn't erase the original route. It would only make the trail more complicated.
“So creating a false trail is still the lowest-risk option, and the one most likely to buy us time. It would take the pursuer several minutes to determine which direction we had really gone. At our current pace, that's more than enough time to reach the Supply Point and hide."
“Correct." A faint smile flickered across David's face. “But I hope that next time when Ali isn't beside you, you'll still be able to defend your judgment like that."
Triton said nothing. A warm flush quietly crept from his neck to the tips of his ears.
Ali proudly bumped him with her shoulder armor. He stuck his tongue out at his twin sister, pretending to be annoyed.
Supply Points in the Forbidden Zone had never been designed with the word “comfort" in mind. They were typically low, hemispherical fortresses forged from massive stone and magic, with most of their bulk buried deep underground like a light-shy burrowing creature, built to withstand the endless energy storms and assaults of monsters. The portions above ground were covered in defensive runes. There were no windows, only a low, narrow entrance cast from heavy metal.
David unhooked his Trailblazer badge from inside his coat and placed it in his palm. He then pressed his entire hand against a recessed panel beside the entrance. Triton and Ali followed suit.
The Supply Point's security system required dual authentication: the physical imprint of a Trailblazer's identification badge, together with a scan of stable biometric signatures from a living body. This was intended to prevent access by monsters or the Fallen. The Supply Point security network functioned like an invisible web spanning all of Halcyon, while the Polaris branch and House Morningdew held the ropes that controlled the web together. Once a Trailblazer was confirmed dead or Fallen, their access privileges were immediately erased and their credentials deactivated.
Access to a Supply Point was not an act of charity. The moment authentication was completed, the system recorded the identities of all three users. When they returned to the Guild to settle their mission rewards, a fixed maintenance fee would be automatically deducted from their payment. This served both to ensure that the facilities were treated with due seriousness and to prevent abuse, while also providing the dwindling resources needed to keep this precarious lifeline functioning.
After struggling through two reinforced doors flickering with magical light, the Featherflight Party finally squeezed into the cramped space that could only barely be called safe.
Triton and Ali collapsed almost simultaneously onto the cold, hard stone stools, letting out two exhausted sighs of relief. David, meanwhile, walked straight toward the small purification array in the center of the room, where its light had dimmed to a faint glow. He deftly opened the insulating cover protecting the energy crystal.
In an instant, moon-white magical radiance spilled out like liquid mercury. The array gave off a deep, low hum, bathing the room in a gentle glow as it slowly and steadily purified the tainted air within and soothed the three frayed nerves.
This array was the heart of the Supply Point. Under normal conditions, it continuously transmitted its status—energy levels, structural integrity, access records—back to Guild headquarters. If a Supply Point fell silent for an extended period or suddenly went offline, it meant that something terrible had happened in the surrounding area.
“You two must be freezing. Come here."
Triton and his sister dragged their nearly stiffened bodies and their seats toward the array. David drew upon the array's energy and cast a simple hearth spell, its orange-red warmth driving the bone-deep chill from their bodies.
“Triton, check the most recent visitor entries," he ordered. "Ali, go get the supply packs."
Triton cast one reluctant glance at the reassuring glow of the firelight before turning toward the stone table. He picked up the thick visitor log, its cover mottled with stains and dust.
The soft rustle of turning pages, the deep and steady hum of the magic array, and the crisp crunch of compressed rations mingled together, filling that tiny, isolated corner of the Supply Point, sealed away from the rest of the world.
Energy crystal recharging, supply consumption, monster traces, routine entries… Triton turned the pages mechanically, his eyes skimming over row after row of formulaic records, until a familiar name seared itself across his vision.
Unlike the restrained calmness of the official briefing, this firsthand account was steeped in the terror of someone who had actually been there. It detailed the ill-fated party's encounter with "Bert" in grim, painstaking detail. Even the sight of the dirty water stains bleeding irregularly across the paper and the warped, trembling handwriting was enough to send a suffocating sense of despair washing over him.
“Dad, I found it." Triton cleared his throat and began to read aloud.
“…After clearing out the pack of monsters along the Sector 2 boundary, the sun had already gone down. We knew we would have to spend the night at the Supply Point…"
…
Triton opened his eyes.
The night air of the Forbidden Zone carried a grave-cold, fetid tang, and there was still roughly half an hour's walk before reaching the Supply Point. His party had only just fought its way free of a heap of blood and mangled monster corpses. Since then, everything around them had fallen utterly silent. No wind. No insects. Nothing but the heavy, uneven rhythm of their own footsteps and the frantic pounding of their hearts.
The lantern in Aurelia Pagano's hand flickered on and off nervously. One of the young Felin's cat ears twitched in alarm, while her long, slender black tail lashed anxiously from side to side.
Then she stopped dead.
“Aurelia, what—" His question died in his throat.
A completely motionless humanoid figure stood a short distance ahead of them, its outline indistinct. Its bowed head left its entire face submerged in a thick, viscous darkness. It did not move at all, like a stone statue that had stood there for a hundred years, patiently waiting for something.
“Sir…" The Felin maiden turned her head slightly, her golden eyes shining in the darkness, yet filled with terror.
“Don't panic, Aurelia." Triton lowered his voice, soothing the younger Trailblazer. "We'll go around it and cross from the other side of the river. Don't look at it. Not even once."
“Hey! Who's there? What's going on?!" A voice like a thunderclap exploded beside Triton.
“Shut up, Arcadio!" Triton grabbed the young man's heavily muscled arm and yanked it down, his fingernails digging into the Felin's flesh. It took all his strength to suppress Arcadio's violent urge to charge. "Don't draw its attention! You'll let your emotions give us away!"
“But there's only one guy! If it's a monster, the three of us can totally—" The burly young Felin impatiently slammed the fearsome enchanted knuckle-dusters on his fists together, sending a shower of blinding sparks crackling into the darkness.
Earlier that day, those brutal weapons had drunk the blood of more than a dozen monsters in succession. Even after their last reserves of magic had been completely exhausted, they still managed to smash a monster's skull apart through nothing but the sheer physical strength of their wielder.
“How do you know there's only one?! We just went through a hard fight. We don't have the strength to deal with another whole pack of monsters before reaching the Supply Point!" Triton cut him off sharply. Anger sent his blood boiling, pounding against his skull, making his head throb. "Arcadio Pagano! Don't you ever think that getting a Silver Trailblazer badge ahead of schedule makes you invincible! Have you forgotten that last time we almost—"
“But Sir, we—"
“Enough, brother… For the Kingfisher's sake, could you just keep your voice down?" Aurelia sounded as though she were on the verge of tears. She squeezed her eyes shut in despair. “Arc, please..."
Under the captain's furious glare and his younger sister's pleading eyes, Arcadio finally let out an annoyed grunt through his nose. Sullenly, he fell silent and shoved his knuckle-dustered hands into his trouser pockets.
The party stepped carefully into the bitterly cold stream, each step feeling heavier than the last. The monster blood smeared across their bodies seeped into the water, trailing dark ribbons behind them. Every one of them kept their eyes fixed firmly on the darkness directly ahead of them, not willing to let their gaze stray for even an inch.
When Triton finally felt like that they had put a safe distance between themselves and the figure, he risked a glance back.
Every hair on his body stood on end.
The figure had somehow appeared directly behind them without a sound, still bearing that horrifying bowed-head posture, perfectly motionless.
When did it cross the river? How could it have made no sound?! Damn Arcadio, he still…!
Then Triton saw it.
A tent stood conspicuously in the direction they were heading.
“Sir…" Aurelia's cat ears flattened tightly against her head, while her long tail curled fearfully between her legs. “Who… who does that camp belong to? Why is there no fire… or even a light?"
Though the catlike blood in her veins granted the Felin maiden natural night vision, she stubbornly held the wavering lantern aloft with trembling hands. She knew that this faint thread of light was the only lifeline her human captain could cling to in the terrible darkness of the Forbidden Zone.
Countless thoughts raced through Triton's mind. What were they supposed to do now? Who would dare to make camp outside a Supply Point, in this abyss that swallowed countless lives? What exactly was the silent figure following them, as its face hidden in shadow all the time? Ahead of them was an unidentified camper; behind them, an incomprehensible pursuer. Should they risk seeking help from this suspicious "safe haven" before them—or turn around and face that unknown horror head-on?
“Oh what a pain in the ass…" Arcadio grumbled, the impatience giving his voice a reckless edge. “Since we've decided to hide, then let's fucking hide properly already!"
Before the words could fully leave his mouth, the robust Felin seized Triton and Aurelia by their shoulders. With a startling burst of strength, he roughly hauled them forward and sent them crashing straight into the tent, whose flap had been pulled partly open, gapping in the darkness like the jaws of an enormous beast.
“Arcadio, you—!" Triton's angry curse had barely begun when another voice cut him off.
“Oh! Good evening."
The voice was warm and clear, carrying exactly the right amount of concern, as though they had simply bumped into each other on the street.
“Did you guys happen to… run into some trouble?"
All three of them slowly turned their heads and looked into the tent—
There stood a young human male with short, rust-red hair. He appeared to be holding a backpack, busy gathering his belongings in the darkness. The well-maintained plates of his armor gleamed faintly in the light of Aurelia's lantern.
Confronted by three blood-soaked strangers who looked as though they had crawled straight out of hell, the young man showed only a fleeting flicker of surprise. Almost at once, however, his face settled into an expression of effortless acceptance, as though their sudden arrival were to be expected.
“My dear fellow Trailblazers, you must be exhausted." His voice was warm and reassuring. “Come in and rest for a while. Give me a moment. I'll finish packing, then take you to the nearest Supply Point."
As he spoke, this red-haired young man continued to pack his bag with smooth, practiced efficiency. For a brief moment, he raised his head. His bright amber eyes, still glistening even in the shadows, swept over the blood and injuries that caked across their bodies, and a gentle smile touched his lips.
“Ah, I see you guys had a hard time dealing with the monsters." He said it in the casual tone of someone making conversation about the weather. “How long have you been in the Forbidden Zone, though? If you're worried that you've been out here too long and need to get back as soon as possible, I can take you directly to the nearest barrier exit as well."
Silence fell over the tent. No one answered him. No one could make a sound.
They knew him.
The owner of the tent was the young master of House Morningdew, the eldest son of Lord Marcus, the friendly man everyone called “Bert"—Gilbert Morningdew.
He wore the custom armor that was unmistakably his, decorated with distinctive rose-colored lines, every buckle and pin meticulously fashioned in the shape of a longsword. A wine-red velvet cloak draped over his shoulder, its fabric bearing the Morningdew family crest—a symbol of morning dew, abundance, and protection—gleaming brightly under the flickering lantern light.
Three weeks ago, “everyone's friend," “the hope of Polaris," “Young Master Bert," Gilbert Morningdew, had collapsed on the square outside the Trailblazers' Guild, brutally murdered by the blades and hatred of an enraged mob.
His blood flowed like a winding stream, washing past the boots of those who stood by to witness the horror. And for now, his body, by all means, should be lying peacefully beneath the deep soil of the family cemetery.
Before Arcadio could let another thoughtless remark slip from his wide-opened mouth, and before the teary Aurelia could completely break down under the succession of shocks, Triton stepped forward and planted his body firmly in front of the two young Felins of his party.
His voice came from deep in his throat, short and commanding: “Don't move. And don't say a word."
“… Much obliged, fellow Trailblazer." Triton then turned and forced himself to meet “Bert's" gaze. It was like staring into a bottomless ancient well, with something far below staring back at him. He worked every stiff muscle in his face into an expression that combined the exhaustion of someone who had barely survived and the polite gratitude of a fellow comrade. “We… could certainly use a few minutes to catch our breath."
“Your kindness is deeply appreciated, but…" His voice was dry, yet sincere. “Our party has one absolute rule: we never alter our designated rendezvous point for any reason while on a mission. Otherwise, we risk losing contact with the team assigned to meet us later. We'll rest for ten minutes to recover for a bit, and then we must head straight for our original rendezvous point."
“Oh, well, that can be carried out nicely for sure. Good thing I have a place for you guys to rest then." “Bert" smiled and nodded. “Take a seat. Make yourselves comfortable."
“You seem to know this area like the back of your hand. Have there been many fellow Trailblazers on patrol around here lately?"
Triton asked in a seemingly casual tone, testing the waters as he positioned the two young Felins closer to the tent entrance, where they could make a quick escape at a moment's notice. At the same time, his fingers moved rapidly and almost imperceptibly at his side, sending his younger teammates their agreed-upon silent signals: one of you keep watch on the entrance, the other check our weapons and prepare for either combat or escape. Keep quiet. Do NOT make a sound.
“Hmm… There seem to have been fewer parties coming through these past couple of days." “Bert" replied after a moment's thought. “But the monster activity around the core area of Stone Church seems much more intense than usual. Almost as if something is affecting them… Oh by the way, would you like something to eat? I've got some supplies to spare."
"We appreciate the offer, but no, thank you." Triton refused quickly and firmly. “We've already made plans to take the proper rest with our assigned team later tonight."
He could not allow anything that might have come from “the other side" to enter his body—or those of his younger teammates.
“Bert" nodded and said nothing more. Instead, he continued to pack his belongings in pitch-black, working at an unhurried, practiced pace, as though the complete absence of light posed no inconvenience to him whatsoever.
By the flickering light of Aurelia's lantern, now wavering like a candle guttering in the wind, Triton kept the sight of the pursuer outside the tent in the corner of his eye. It still stood silently a dozen meters away, like an overly tall gravestone planted in the darkness.
Time crawled slowly through the seemingly endless wait, every second felt like the dying struggle of a rat dropped into boiling hot oil.
Then, in the space between one heartbeat and the next—
The figure vanished without warning.
No sound. No trace. It was as though it had never existed.
“You all can leave now."
“Bert" suddenly stopped packing. His movement had ceased almost at the exact moment the figure disappeared. Clearly, he too had been keeping a close watch on everything happening outside.
“Are you sure you don't want me to escort you guys?" He turned those amber eyes toward the three of them once more.
“Sorry, but rules are rules," Triton said hastily, rising to his feet with firm resolve. “We can't make our teammates who had been waiting for us carry any more unknown risk. And thank you again for your help, I mean it."
Outside the tent, the world was utterly silent.
Triton urged his two teammates onward and stepped once more onto the road ahead, wrapped in a deep, oppressive malevolence—
…
Bzzzt.
The sudden sound broke through Triton's narration. He flinched so violently that he nearly stumbled off the stone stool he had been sitting on.
“Huh? What happened?" He hurriedly snapped the visitor log shut and looked up in confusion.
His father and sister were already tense, their eyes fixed on the Supply Point's only entrance as though facing an imminent threat.
Bzzzt.
The security array shuddered again.
Bzzzt.
Someone was trying to get in.
