‘…This man. He isn’t Vito?’

Laerte was bewildered.

‘I had heard of grooms being switched on the wedding day before—but…’

She had never imagined that she would find herself in such a situation, involving the man she believed she would marry. A faint dizziness overtook her.

At weddings, the couples were chosen in advance. If someone other than Vito had been chosen for her, then surely he must be standing as groom to someone else.

On this moonless night, with only torches to light the way, the place was too chaotic to search for anyone. Even Elder Jorge, who was overseeing the ceremony from the platform, failed to notice that the man standing before his granddaughter was not her future husband and proceeded anyway.

Her eyes turned towards the unfamiliar groom. Silver strands of hair escaped from beneath his hood, and the surrounding torchlight tinted his almost bloodless skin crimson.

In keeping with tradition, his face was hidden by a mask. Nevertheless, he towered over Vito by at least a head, with broad shoulders to match.

Shaken, Laerte studied him closely. His thick, muscular arms bore a tattoo: a black hexagon surrounded by the outspread wings of a bat. From that, she could only surmise that he belonged to a merchant guild.

With the shadow of the mask concealing the color of his eyes, she could not read his thoughts. Nor could she tell if he was as disoriented as she was.

‘What… what do I do? Then where is Vito?’

Several of the clan who had reached adulthood were due to be married tonight.

Moments earlier, the man who had boasted loudly that he would marry her that night, having just completed the purification rite at the sacred spring, had disappeared. His absence left Laerte feeling deeply unsettled.

“Haa.”

Her unease slipped out as an unconscious sigh, and the groom’s head turned briefly in her direction.

“……”

When his gaze fell on her from beneath the mask, Laerte hesitated before asking in a small voice.

“Excuse me. I think the groom has been switched.”

“Does that matter, when the duty to the clan must be fulfilled?”

The cold reply closed her mouth. Whether something had gone wrong or not, as he said, perhaps it did not matter greatly.

“But…”

Laerte had barely begun to speak again when—

Whishhh.

A fire-tipped arrow traced a long arc through the air from somewhere and struck the person waving the celebratory banners.

Thud. Thwack.

“Kyaaah!”

Laerte froze at the sudden storm of flaming arrows.

“Aaagh!”

Then, in the distance, she spotted a single arrow with an unusually long tail, heading straight for the altar.

“Grandfather!”

Her desperate cry had not even reached him when—

Thud.

Elder Jorge widened his eyes and collapsed sideways after being struck by the massive, spear-like arrow, as though a candle had been extinguished.

“Kyaaah! Grandfather!”

Laerte fought through the chaos, ready to rush toward him—

Snap.

A hand shot out and seized her.

“We must flee.”

At the man’s cold words, Laerte shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Grandfather… the Elder…”

But then she glanced down. Blood already stained the ground beneath her feet. All around, screams erupted, blood spraying into the air until she could scarcely breathe.

“This way.”

The man beside her tugged her arm with rough insistence.

Whoosh. Thud.

An arrow struck the very spot where she had just been standing. Laerte screamed.

“Kyaaah!”

“We must run.”

The man’s judgment had been correct.

The hunt.

The night of the hunt had begun.

The Henant clan, known in legend as the descendants of the Fairy King, were themselves prized prey. On the Night of the Fairies, or on their wedding nights, anyone who stepped beyond the protection of the barrier became a target for outsiders who coveted the clan and wanted to make them the focus of a savage feast.

Those outside had always hungered for what lay within.

Just a few steps beyond the light of the torches, the forest became pitch black and she could barely see a step ahead. Yet the man led her unerringly through the darkness as though he were a beast born with night vision.

“Haa… haa…”

Dragged forward by the strength of the hand gripping her arm, Laerte stumbled along. Something seemed to snag beneath her foot, and when she looked down, her body stiffened.

The hem of her white bridal gown, worn so carefully for this wedding, was drenched in blood.

“Haa… haa…”

In the dark, the heavy stains of blood looked black, as if they were devouring her from the ground up.

“Kyaaa! Aaagh!”

Even though the screams behind her had long since faded, Laerte could still feel phantom hands reaching for her, pleading with her not to abandon them and begging her to flee together.

Each time damp leaves and grass, wet with dew, clung to her bare skin, it felt as though unseen souls were brushing against her — souls that could not close their eyes and were clinging to her, trying to stop her from leaving them behind.

Her steps began to falter.

That was when a voice, sharp and cold as a winter gale, sounded close by.

“It is not yet time to rest.”

“……”

Laerte had no strength left to answer. Everything was too bewildering.

‘Where is Vito now, and what is he doing? We weren’t the only ones who were to be wed tonight…’

Had he escaped the hunt? She had searched around earlier and found no trace of him.

Could he have fled with another woman he was paired with?

Had her clansmen, who had been celebrating the wedding just moments earlier, managed to escape the attack unharmed?

Amidst the chaos, a flood of questions filled her mind.

Some would certainly have been injured, but if they could reach the heart of the forest, they might survive under Henant’s protection. Within the barrier, the clan could draw upon its healing powers.

‘Grandfather. Grandfather must be safe…’

The sight of Elder Jorge collapsing had been a shock, but as she fled, she had caught a fleeting glimpse of attendants rushing to lift him and carry him toward the barrier.

And yet—while she fled blindly, it had become clear that she herself was straying farther and farther from the safety of the barrier.

‘To be driven so far outside the barrier…’

Laerte could feel the air itself changing. Unlike the gentle breezes within, the farther she went from the barrier, the more the chill night air lashed against her skin like the edge of a blade. The forest that had always embraced her in warmth now seemed to reject her coldly, as though she were a stranger.

“Sometimes, not being able to save a friend is the hardest thing to endure.”

Old Bona, who had raised her, had said as much before. She told Laerte that there had been an attack during her own Night of the Fairies.

She had heard that such attacks were common in the clan’s history, but experiencing one herself would be an entirely different matter. She prayed that no such horror would befall her on her own Night of the Fairies.

Would Laerte now live with that same pained expression, gazing up at the sky, weighed down by sorrow and regret, like Old Bona? Would she never be able to forget those who had fallen, dressed in shimmering, rainbow-colored gowns, their blood scattering like strings of crimson coral beads?

No sooner had this thought crossed her mind than nearby leaves rustled violently and three dark figures leapt out.

“Here! Two of them!”
“Catch them!”
“Kyaaah!”

Laerte screamed in terror.

Swish—

A blade cut through the air, striking down their foes.

“Argh!”

One man, sliced clean on the diagonal, collapsed instantly.

Clang. Clang, clang!

He pushed her behind him with one hand, fending off the remaining two with the other.

Laerte pressed her trembling hands over her mouth, her face turning white with the fear that her screams would attract more of them.

The man with the sword moved so swiftly that he appeared to be a flickering black flame.

“Khk.”
“Aaagh!”

Soon, the attackers who had charged forward reeking of blood also fell. The man shook the blood from his blade and came toward her.

“Are you all right?”

“Y-yes.”

Laerte’s heart pounded madly, like a drum.

‘A strange voice.’

The less familiar it sounded to her ears, the more foolishly she thought—how much more at ease she would feel if the one holding her hand now were Vito.

“We must flee quickly.”

But before long, Laerte collapsed, her legs trembling too weakly to carry her.

“I can’t go any farther.”

Her delicate silk bridal shoes had long since been ruined and lost. Limping barefoot, her feet bloodied, she faltered—until the man lifted her into his arms.

“I hear water. Let us go just a little farther.”

Laerte tried to wrap her arms around his neck, clinging to him.

‘He must be just as unsettled as I am.’

She could not bear to burden him further when he was already striving to shield her from danger.

As he had said, before long a stream revealed itself, its waters glimmering even in the dark. Near the bank, where the current was shallow, the man found a narrow crevice in the rocks.

“This way.”

Without a moment to hesitate, Laerte grasped the hand reaching out from the darkness and crawled into the tight space.

While she sat numbly, the man went in and out, gathering wood. He lit a fire, then piled stones and brush to cover the cave’s entrance so no light would escape.

The air within the cave circulated, as if it led somewhere deeper, and it was cozier than she expected.

Only when the small flame’s warmth reached her did Laerte finally let her body relax.

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

The man’s arm had been cut by a blade. Seeing the blood spreading beneath the torn fabric, she stepped toward him.

“This much is nothing.”

“But you’re bleeding.”

Yet she had neither medicine nor bandages to treat him.

After a moment’s hesitation, Laerte tore her skirt.

Rip.

The hem, already ruined from running, was pulled away, and she cut a long strip of clean fabric to bind his arm. The spreading blood seemed to stop as the cloth stemmed the flow.

“It’s not a serious wound.”

The man spoke, seemingly to dismiss her anxious gaze. But the silence that followed became oppressive.

Although their bodies were safe in the cave, her mind wandered through the forest, caught among hands reaching to seize her and blades thrusting at her from every direction.

Then the man grasped her arm.

“Kyaah!”

Laerte cried out, instinctively wrenching herself free.

“Ugh.”

The movement pulled at his wound, and his face twisted in pain.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Yet she didn’t know what to do, or what she should do from here. The weight of it all pressed her down.

His cool hand slowly came to rest on her shoulder.

“We must bear a child.”