Chapter 2: Southern Hospitality

The wind slammed the door shut behind the stranger, the sound like a gunshot in the tense silence of the room. Water pooled at his feet, dripping from his soaked cloak, but he didn't seem to notice. Instead, his dark eyes swept the room looking between the boy and his father.

"Thanks for letting me in," the man said, his voice rough, like gravel scraping in a tin can. "Storm like this can make short work of a man traveling alone."

The man's presence felt out of place, and though Pa had welcomed him in from the storm, there was a tension hanging in the air that even Altair could feel.

"You've got a name, stranger?" Pa asked, his tone sharp. His cane resting on his lap like a weapon.

"Call me Kostas," the man replied, his lips twitching in what might have been an attempt at a smile. "Don't mean to intrude, but I'll pay for the trouble. Got some coin, if that's what you need."

"We don't take payment for kindness," Pa said flatly. "Storm's fierce tonight. You can stay by the fire to dry off, but come morning, you'd best be on your way."

Kostas nodded and moved closer to the hearth, his damp boots squeaking on the wood floor. He unfastened his cloak, draping it over the back of a chair.

"Storm doesn't seem like it'll let up," Pa said gruffly.

Silence hung heavy as the wind howled. Pa set a plate and cup before Kostas, who nodded his thanks. He ate slowly, his movements too smooth. Altair watched him, noticing the strange cut of his clothes, the precise movements of his hands, the faraway look in his eyes.

Pa cleared his throat. "What brings you this far from the city, Kostas? Roads out here don't see much traffic this far out."

Kostas's lips twitched again. "I'm a traveler. Always been, always will be." He tore a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth. "The storm caught me off guard, though. Could've sworn the skies were clear not thirty minutes ago."

Pa grunted, clearly unsatisfied. "Storms out here don't come out of nowhere."

"No," Kostas said, his tone light. "I suppose they don't."

Thunder cracked, rattling the windows. Altair flinched, glancing at the door. In the flickering firelight, shadows danced across Kostas's face, sharpening his features into something almost unnatural. Altair shook his head, telling himself he was imagining things.

"You've got a fine boy here," Kostas said suddenly, breaking the silence. His eyes fixed on Altair, and this time, his smile was unmistakable. "Strong. Healthy. Bet you're a hard worker, aren't you?"

Altair's throat tightened. "I—I try," he mumbled, looking down at his plate.

"Altair pulls his weight," Pa said, his tone protective.

Altair," The man repeated, rolling the name over his tongue like he was savoring it. "An unusual name for a farm boy. It suits him, though." Kostas leaned back in his chair. "How proud you must be."

The air felt heavier, the storm outside growing louder. Altair shifted uncomfortably, his fingers tightening around his fork.

"Altair," Pa said firmly. "Go check the animals before the rain gets worse."

Altair stood immediately, grateful for the escape. "Sure thing," he said with forced casualness, grabbing his coat and heading for the door.

He felt Kostas's eyes on him the entire way.

The rain hit him like a wall of icy needles. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, head down as he trudged toward the barn. Lightning split the sky, briefly illuminating the yard in stark white light.

Altair reached the barn and scrambled inside, shutting the door behind him with a heavy man is so thought He leaned against the door, catching his breath as the storm continued its relentless assault outside.

The animals were restless. The cows shifted in their stalls, their hooves scraping against the ground. The chickens fluttered uneasily, clucking low and nervous. Even the old mule, usually too stubborn to care about storms, was stamping its hooves and braying softly.

"Easy, now," Altair murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he wiped water from his face. He moved toward the stalls, letting his hands brush the animals' sides in a soothing rhythm. "It's just a storm, not the end of the world."

Altair crouched beside one of the cows, running his hand along its flank as it huffed nervously. "There's a good girl," he said softly. "I'm here. You're safe."

Next he ran his hand along a horse's rough fur, then checked the water trough, even though he knew it was full. He lingered by the hayloft, idly rearranging a few bales. Each small task was a way to postpone the inevitable.

The storm raged on outside, but in the barn, the sound was muffled, distant. Altair closed his eyes, letting himself feel the warmth of the animals around him. He'd always been better with them than with people. They didn't demand much—just care, attention, and a steady hand. Out here, at least, things made sense.

After a while, he leaned back against a post, pulling his knees to his chest. "You know," he murmured to the room, "Pa always said animals can sense what's inside people. Maybe that's why—-"

But then, something caught his eye.

Near the barn door, in the wet dirt tracked in by his boots, were footprints. But they weren't his.

Altair frowned, his stomach sinking. The prints were larger than his own, and the shape of them wasn't quite right—Not human, Not animal. He followed them with his eyes, his breath catching as he realized they didn't lead out into the woods.

They led to the house.

Altair scrambled to his feet, the calm he'd felt moments ago shattered. The thing that made those footprintswas in the house. What had he done? He'd left Pa alone in the house with that man—with that thing. He bolted for the door.

Altair burst into the house, his boots slipping on the wet floor as he skidded to a stop. His eyes darted frantically around the room.

"Pa?" Altair called, his voice trembling.

In the center of the room stood Kostas, his back to Altair. His head tilted slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear. The light caught his features in strange ways—his face too smooth, his posture too still.

Pa was facing the beast head-on, clutching his cane as he struggled to keep himself upright.

Altair froze. "What… what happened?"

"You're… not human," Pa rasped, his voice trembling.

Kostas turned slowly, his form rippling like heat on a summer road. His face twisted, stretching into something monstrous—jagged teeth, glowing eyes, and a grin that made Altair's blood run cold.

"No," the creature said, its voice deeper now, layered with an unnatural echo. "But I amhungry."

Altair's legs felt rooted to the floor as the monster's gaze locked onto him.

For the first time, Altair noticed how wrong his eyes were—too dark, too reflective, like polished obsidian.

"You shouldn't have left, boy," Kostas said, his voice a low growl. "You smell… strange. Like fire and stardust."

Altair's stomach churned as Kostas took a step toward him. The man's movements were fluid, unnatural, like a predator stalking its prey.

"Stay back!" Pa shouted, his voice hoarse but filled with fury. He swung his cane at Kostas's torso, but the stranger barely flinched.

"Stay down, old man," Kostas sneered, swatting Pa aside as though he were no more than a fly. Pa hit the ground hard, a pained cry escaping his lips.

"Pa!" Altair's voice cracked, his body frozen in place as he watched Pa's cane clatter to the floor. His vision blurred with tears. It was his fault—he'd left, he hadn't seen the signs, he hadn't stayed to protect him.

Kostas loomed over Altair now, his grin widening as he crouched low. His teeth glinted, sharp and inhuman. "So much power in such a fragile shell," he murmured, almost to himself. "You'll be exquisite."

"Run," Pa rasped, his voice weak but insistent. When Altair didn't move, Pa's voice rose, commanding. "Run,boy!"

The words broke through Altair's terror like a lightning strike. Kostas lunged, his claws—when had his hands turned to claws?—raking the air where Altair had been standing a moment before.

Altair ducked and bolted, his instincts taking over as he sprinted for the door. The storm swallowed him immediately, rain and wind battering his face as he ran blindly into the night.

Behind him, he heard Kostas snarl, the sound guttural and feral, followed by the heavy thud of his pursuit.

Altair's heart pounded as he pushed himself harder, his legs moving faster than he'd ever thought possible. His breath came in ragged gasps, but his senses were sharper now, the world around him strangely vivid. He could see the outline of trees in the dark, feel the slickness of the mud beneath his feet, hear the snapping of branches as Kostas closed in.

The barn loomed ahead, its doors half-open. Altair veered toward it, slipping inside and pressing himself against the wall. He struggled to quiet his breathing, his mind racing.

He listened to the storm, to the sound of Kostas prowling outside. The stranger was sniffing the air, his movements deliberate and precise, like a wolf on the hunt.

Altair swallowed hard, his thoughts tumbling over themselves. He'd seen animals act like this before—coyotes stalking the herd, dogs tracking a scent. Kostas wasn't human, not even close.

His hands fumbled in his pockets, searching for anything he could use. His fingers brushed against something smooth and cool. The slingshot.

Altair pulled it out, his mind racing. It wasn't much, but it was all he had. His fingers trembled as he gripped it tightly, his heart hammering in his chest.

He glanced around the barn, looking for stones or anything he could use as ammunition, but there was nothing. Panic rose in his throat. He couldn't fight like this. He was useless.

But then, as he raised the slingshot, he felt a strange warmth in his hand. He looked down and blinked in shock. A glowing, golden stone had appeared in the sling, its light faint but steady.

Altair didn't have time to question it. Kostas's shadow loomed at the barn door, his eyes gleaming like twin stars.

"You can't hide, boy," Kostas said, his voice a sing-song mockery. "You're mine."

Altair gritted his teeth, his fear giving way to a surge of determination. He took aim, his hands steady despite the shaking of his body.

He fired.

The golden stone flew straight and true, striking Kostas squarely in the eye. The monster howled in pain, reeling backward as blood—black and viscous—poured from the wound.

Altair didn't stop. He fired again, and again, each shot hitting its mark. The barn filled with the sound of Kostas's furious screams, the glow of the stones illuminating his monstrous form.

But now Kostas knew where he was. The monster stumbled forward, his movements jerky but no less terrifying.

Altair took a steadying breath, the storm around him fading into a distant roar. He pulled back the slingshot, his fingers trembling but firm as he aimed at the hulking, bleeding figure of the monster. It staggered closer, its one good eye locked on him with raw fury, its jagged teeth bared in a snarl.

The weight of the moment pressed on him, but Altair didn't falter. He wasn't sure how the stones kept appearing in the sling, but he didn't care. He felt it—the connection between the weapon and himself, an unspoken understanding that this was his fight, and he could end it.

The monster lunged, and Altair fired.

The projectile tore through the air with blinding speed, striking true. It embedded itself deep into the monster's throat with a sickening thud. The beast recoiled, gurgling as dark blood spilled down its chest. It stumbled, collapsing to its knees.

Altair stood frozen, chest heaving, every muscle in his body taut as he prepared for it to rise again. But it didn't. He tightened his grip on the slingshot, ready to fire again, ready to end this for good.

He pulled back the sling one last time, his heart hammering in his chest, his aim steady as the monster raised its head for a final, desperate lunge.

But just as he released, something else struck the monster—a single arrow, swift and unerring, piercing its heart.

The beast froze, its snarl fading as it collapsed with a final, bone-shaking crash. Before disintegrating into a puff of dust, leaving behind only a single curved claw.

Altair stood there, his slingshot still raised, his last projectile soaring harmlessly past the lifeless body.

"Who…?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm.

From the darkness beyond the barn, a figure stepped forward, a bow in hand and their face obscured by the rain.