The forest stood silent beneath winter’s rule.

  Snow rested on every branch, every frozen lake, every sleeping stone, as if the world itself had been buried under a pale, unmoving breath. Nothing stirred. Nothing dared.

  At the base of a cliff where darkness opened into the mouth of a cavern, a small fire flickered weakly against the cold.

  Four figures sat around it.

  They were human—at least by shape—but their clothing spoke more of travel and exploration than survival in winter. Thin cloaks. Light gear. Nothing that should have withstood the biting air that swallowed the forest whole.

  And yet… none of them shivered.

  The cave entrance loomed above them, jagged stone descending like the teeth of some ancient beast waiting patiently for prey to wander inside. Beyond the threshold, only darkness remained.

  One of the four kept glancing toward it.

  Young. Nervous. Shoulders tight with tension he tried—and failed—to hide.

  “Hey, rookie.”

  The voice came from an older man seated across the fire, lazily turning a skewer over the flames.

  “Y-yes, sir!”

  A beat of silence—

  then laughter burst from the other two.

  “Sir?” the older man scoffed. “Who the hell are you calling sir?”

  The young man flushed instantly, posture stiffening.

  “You look like you’re regretting coming here already,” the man continued, smirking. “What, first job too much for you?”

  “W-well… I…”

  He swallowed.

  “Y-yes, s—”

  More laughter.

  The older man exhaled through his nose, amusement fading as his gaze drifted toward the cavern beside them.

  “…Can’t blame you,” he admitted quietly. “It is the Chaos Maw.”

  The rookie followed his eyes.

  So did the others.

  For a moment, only the wind spoke—slipping through the trees, nudging the fire until its flames bent low, threatening to vanish. The older man shifted closer, raising a gloved hand to shield the embers, feeding them a small piece of dry wood until the light steadied again.

  “Hey, kid,” one of the others said, voice casual but curious.

  “You mentioned hearing stories about this place back in your nation. What kind of legends do they tell?”

  “Yeah,” the older man added, still watching the dark.

  “How close are they… to the ones we grew up with?”

  The rookie hesitated.

  Even speaking seemed to chill him more than the winter air ever could.

  “From the Holy Church’s library…” he began slowly, “…the labyrinth dates back thousands of years. The Dragon Monarch—Charybdis—was defeated and sealed here by the First Hero. They fought for months… until the dragon was finally slain. That victory ended its rampage.”

  Silence followed.

  Then the three veterans burst out laughing.

  The rookie blinked, flustered.

  “W-wait—did I say something wrong?!”

  “No, kid,” the older man said, waving a hand as he caught his breath.

  “Not surprising. You read the Church’s version.”

  “Details are vague for a reason,” another added. “Truth’s inconvenient when you’re busy building faith.”

  Confusion tightened the rookie’s brow.

  “…So it isn’t true?”

  “It’s missing the most important part,” the older man said.

  Snow hissed softly as wind swept past the cave mouth. The fire trembled again, and he leaned forward, adjusting the stones around it, guarding the fragile warmth before continuing.

  “I read a translation once,” he said. “Ancient elven scripture. Older than any church record.”

  The rookie leaned in despite himself.

  “Thousands of years ago,” the man went on, voice lower now, “a cult of dark elves trespassed into Charybdis’s domain. They provoked him… and his wrath didn’t stop with them.”

  The forest around them felt quieter.

  “Continents burned. Cities vanished. Even the dark elves were wiped out by his breath alone. And when his anger turned toward humanity—

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  we were nothing. Barely a rising race.”

  The rookie’s throat tightened.

  “Hope died,” the man said simply.

  “Until the Hero appeared.”

  Wind howled faintly through the trees, carrying snow like drifting ash.

  “Blessed by the gods, she faced the Dragon Monarch here—

  in the Great Forest of Lunar.”

  The flames reflected in his eyes.

  “Their battle reshaped the land. Power great enough to birth life itself… not just destruction. And in the end—

  neither won.”

  The rookie’s eyes widened.

  “The first moment,” the man said softly,

  “a mortal rivaled a god.”

  Silence pressed close around the fire.

  “But the real ending…” he continued, “…isn’t in your church books.”

  The wind eased.

  The flames steadied.

  “She didn’t kill him.

  She tamed him.”

  No one moved.

  “They fell in love,” he said. “Both of them broken. Both of them exhausted. And the Hero, seeing the ruin their clash caused, gave up her divinity to restore the land… creating the forest that stands around us now.”

  Snow drifted quietly beyond the cave.

  “After that, she entered an eternal sleep. Waiting for death… and reincarnation.”

  The rookie barely breathed.

  “And Charybdis,” the man finished, voice almost lost to the fire’s crackle,

  “sealed himself with her. Created the labyrinth… the Chaos Maw…

  so he could wait for her inevitable return.”

  Silence returned.

  Deep. Ancient.

  From within the cavern behind them—

  darkness listened.

  The fire crackled softly, its faint warmth fighting a losing battle against the winter night.

  Snow drifted through the trees in slow, silent curtains, swallowing sound and distance alike. Beyond the dim ring of orange light, the forest was nothing but pale darkness and the whisper of wind brushing against frozen branches.

  “That is… very different from what the Church teaches.”

  The young man spoke almost under his breath, as if afraid the words themselves might offend something listening in the dark. His brows were drawn tight, confusion plain on his face.

  He had always treated the old legends as nothing more than stories told to children or drunk adventurers. Something entertaining. Harmless.

  But if what he had just heard was true…

  Then those stories had shaped the very existence of humanity.

  His fingers tightened slightly around the tin cup in his hands.

  “Then the Majin and the demi-humans…” he murmured, still trying to piece the thoughts together. “They worship Lord Charybdis because… he truly is their ancestor?”

  No one answered immediately. The fire popped, sending a brief spray of sparks upward before they vanished into the cold.

  “And the hero…” he continued quietly, voice thinning, “the one they call the Mother of Monsters… that must be the hero...”

  He had searched the forest’s history when he first became an adventurer. Dug through half-rotten records, listened to rambling storytellers, chased fragments that never formed a complete picture.

  Until now.

  Across the fire, the veteran adventurer exhaled through his nose, more amused than shaken.

  “Whether it’s true or not,” he said lazily, “doesn’t change our pay.”

  A few of the others chuckled faintly. The tension loosened, just a little.

  The young man frowned.

  That wasn’t an answer.

  “…Then why are we here?” he asked.

  The question slipped out before he could stop it.

  “We’ve been stationed at the entrance to the Chaos Maw for two days now. No explanation. No briefing.” His gaze moved between the others. “Doesn’t that bother anyone?”

  The veteran shrugged, adjusting his cloak closer around his shoulders.

  “The Guild didn’t tell us. Means we don’t need to know.”

  He nudged a piece of firewood with his boot.

  “They want bodies here, we sit here. Simple job. Easy coin. I’m not complaining.”

  Another murmur of agreement circled the camp.

  Only the young man stayed tense, unease settling deeper in his chest like slowly freezing water.

  Something felt… wrong.

  Not dangerous.

  Just wrong.

  From the far side of the fire, one of the quieter men finally spoke.

  “…Could be the Crimson Battalion.”

  The words dropped into the circle like a stone into still water.

  Every head turned.

  The veteran’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That rumor again?”

  “I heard it from a caravan guard who came through the southern pass,” the man replied. “Said the Battalion’s been moving along the forest edge. Destroying monster settlements. Wiping out demi-human tribes.”

  The wind shifted, carrying a thin blade of cold through the camp.

  “…Including an ogre village.”

  This time, no one laughed.

  Ogres were not weak.

  Even young ones could split armored men in half. Their magic and swordsmanship were the kind that turned battles into massacres.

  An entire village disappearing wasn’t normal.

  It was a warning.

  The veteran clicked his tongue, though his expression remained mostly unchanged.

  “If the Guild was worried about the Crimson Battalion,” he said, “they wouldn’t send a B-rank party like us to babysit a hole in the ground.”

  He gestured vaguely toward the distant dardarkness where the entrance to the Chaos Maw lay buried beneath snow and stone.

  “They’d send real muscle.”

  The logic was simple. Comfortable.

  And yet…

  The young man’s unease didn’t fade.

  “…Then where is the captain?”

  Silence answered him.

  The veteran’s shoulders lifted in a careless shrug.

  “Scouting,” he said. “Like he said he would.”

  “He’s been gone too long.”

  “He’s A-rank.”

  A faint smirk tugged at the veteran’s mouth.

  “If something in this forest could kill him, we’d already be dead.”

  A few quiet chuckles followed, thin but present.

  The kind people used when they wanted reassurance more than humor.

  The young man tried to smile.

  It didn’t quite work.

  The wind grew louder for a moment, snow sweeping sideways through the trees in a pale veil.

  He glanced out past the firelight without really meaning to.

  And then he froze.

  “…Wait.”

  No one reacted at first.

  His eyes strained against the storm-blurred distance, heart beginning to beat faster for reasons he couldn’t name.

  “There’s… something out there.”

  Now the others looked.

  At first, they saw nothing.

  Only falling snow.

  Only darkness.

  Then—

  A shape.

  Far beyond the fire’s reach.

  Barely more than a distortion in the white haze.

  Someone let out a slow breath.

  “…A person?”

  The figure moved.

  Slowly.

  Unsteadily.

  Relief spread through the camp like thawing ice.

  “The captain,” one of them said with a grin.

  “About time,” another muttered.

  Tension melted. Shoulders loosened. Someone even laughed softly.

  The young man felt it too—

  that fragile, hopeful warmth—

  Right until the figure took another step forward.

  And something about the movement felt… wrong.

  Too stiff.

  Too uneven.

  Like a puppet remembering how to walk.

  His smile faltered.

  Snow thinned for a heartbeat, the distant silhouette sharpening just enough to see—

  Not clearly.

  Just enough.

  His eyes widened.

  The color drained from his face so quickly it almost hurt.

  His lips parted, but the sound caught in his throat, strangled by a fear he didn’t understand.

  “N-no…” he whispered.

  The others were still smiling.

  Still relieved.

  Still unaware.

  His whole body began to tremble.

  Because the thing walking toward their fire—

  “…That’s… not him…”

  ---

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  ...