When he opened his eyes, the ceiling of the hut was spinning around his head.

  He dragged himself toward the wall of the hut and leaned against it.

  His vision was doubled, and he felt a strange wave of nausea.

  A hand gently touched his shoulder and whispered, “Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

  He felt a mass of nausea in his stomach shifting from one side to the other.

  He held his head in his hands; the sounds around him began to fade, growing more and more distant until he suddenly found himself somewhere else.

  He found himself beside the sea.

  He was gazing at the calm, azure waters.

  He had never seen the sea so beautiful.

  He was absorbed in watching the gentle waves, which had sent flocks of cranes soaring above them.

  Suddenly, he heard Atna calling his name.

  He looked behind him and saw a sea of blood and corpses stretching out.

  Among the bodies, he saw Kima running toward him, slipping as she tried to cross the flowing blood.

  Behind her, a large pack of wolves advanced.

  He tried to scream, but his eyes fell upon the leader of the pack — Father Jozma.

  He shouted, “Kima, run! That’s not Father Jozma — he’s a skinwalker!”

  “Kima… Kima…”

  At that moment, he jolted awake.

  He was drenched in sweat.

  Large beads of sweat covered his forehead.

  He was panting, and his hands were trembling.

  He tried to rise halfway, but dizziness overtook him and he collapsed to the ground again.

  One of the children grabbed him and pulled him toward a corner, pressing a finger to their lips in a gesture of silence.

  Then, in a barely audible voice, the child whispered, “They can hear us. Stay quiet.”

  With fear in his voice, he asked, “What happened? How long have I been asleep?”

  Another child leaned closer and said softly, “Two days… At first, there were sounds of shouting and fighting. A howling sound I had never heard before. Then suddenly, everything went silent.”

  “Hours later, Jozma’s voice came, pounding on the door, telling the children to come outside.”

  Another child continued, “His voice was strange. He kept repeating just one word… ‘Open… open…’”

  “The door was opened. Then we heard screams. Horrible screams.”

  The soft sobbing of several children filled the hut.

  Some were pressed into corners, terror written across their faces.

  Others had buried their heads in their knees, quietly crying.

  A shiver ran through Befal’s body.

  What were they to do now?

  Maybe they had left.

  He asked the child beside him.

  The boy replied, “A few minutes ago, we heard something moving.”

  Just then, something dragged its claws across the outside of the hut.

  A thin voice whispered, “Open the door, children… it’s me, Eima… open…”

  One of the children said, “Open it, it’s Eima!”

  That was enough for the voice to grow more eager. “Open… open…”

  Befal whispered sharply, “Hush. That’s not Eima.”

  A child began crying loudly.

  Befal shouted, “Get away from here! I know what you are! You’re a skinwalker!”

  The sound stopped for a moment.

  Then the claws scraped harder against the walls of the hut.

  The voice shifted, changing from Jozma’s to Atna’s to Eima’s, repeating over and over, “Open… open…”

  The terrified children huddled together on the other side of the hut, weeping.

  Befal knew that the only thing separating them from the creature in the darkness was the mud-brick wall of the hut.

  Two days had passed, and Kima and the others had not come.

  Perhaps they never would.

  Perhaps their fate had been the same as the rest of the tribe.

  They had to endure.

  He looked at the children and whispered, “From my entire tribe, only these remain. I will not lose my tribe again.”

  If he could buy time, perhaps Kima and the others would return.

  So he shouted, “We’re coming out, Jozma… Atna… we’re coming out! But you said not to open the door until we receive a sign. Give us the sign.”

  The scraping stopped.

  Jozma’s voice answered again, “Open the door.”

  Befal replied, “I will open it. You were supposed to sing the Song of Beginning. We will sing it so you can follow.”

  He began to sing.

  The children joined him in trembling whispers, their voices filling the hut.

  Suddenly, Jozma’s voice broke and distorted.

  A fragmented scream cried, “Stop… enough…”

  There was the roar of a tiger.

  Another broken voice gasped, “Stop… enough…”

  It was as though the children’s song tormented the creature.

  Befal realized it quickly and urged them to sing louder.

  There were sounds of leaping, crashing against the walls, howls and agonized shrieks.

  For hours, the children sang without stopping, until they had no strength left.

  At last, there was silence.

  One child asked, “Have they gone?”

  Befal did not know.

  He shook his head. “We wait. Then I will go out. If it is safe, I will knock five times and sing, as Jozma said.”

  They opened the door with difficulty.

  Befal stepped outside, and the door shut behind him.

  The light blinded him at first.

  Then he saw what lay before him — and trembled.

  Streams of blood ran beneath his feet.

  Blood was splattered everywhere.

  He turned his head and saw half of Atna’s body hanging from the roof of the hut.

  His legs slipped, and he fell.

  His breath caught in his chest.

  He struck his chest, fighting for air, nearly losing consciousness before breath returned.

  As he pushed himself back, his hands sank into something soft and wet.

  He didn’t need to look to know what it was.

  He had touched flesh and hair before while gathering the dead with Kima —

  but this time, it belonged to someone he knew.

  He turned his head and saw the severed head of one of the Eimas staring at him with half-open eyes.

  He sprang up and staggered away.

  After a few steps, he stopped, bracing his hands on his knees, trying to master the chaos within him.

  He lifted his gaze — and froze.

  Bodies torn apart.

  Some impaled on their own spears.

  Some twisted unnaturally, legs bent around their necks.

  He could not believe what he was seeing.

  He walked slowly toward Jozma, who lay face-down on the ground.

  Softly, he said, “Jozma?”

  He turned him over.

  It was not a body.

  It was an empty skin.

  Jozma’s eyes bulged from their sockets.

  His abdomen was split open.

  There was nothing inside.

  Beside the hollow skin lay the empty, rotting hide of a wolf.

  Small worms crawled across it.

  He searched the surroundings.

  There was nothing — only corpses.

  He went to the neighboring huts.

  One stood open, soaked in blood.

  Another had its roof torn apart.

  No living soul remained.

  Only their hut had been spared.

  The thought of being alone sent a tremor through him.

  What should he do now?

  Lost in these thoughts, he noticed a figure in the distance.

  you enjoyed this chapter, follow the story to witness what Befal will choose next —

  Will he run?

  Will he fight?

  Or will he discover that the darkness was never outside the hut?

  New chapters coming soon.

  Stay with the tribe. ????