The Jurra Forest was unlike anything back home dense, wild, and humming with unseen life. The trees towered above us like ancient watchmen, their thick canopies swallowing sunlight and painting the forest floor in dusky green. Moss covered everything: stones, tree roots, even fallen logs like the earth had been wrapped in velvet.
Old Man Tavon led them deeper into the woods with the ease of someone who had walked these paths for decades. He said little, occasionally muttering names of herbs or pointing to broken branches we didn't understand the meaning of.
Tension clung to the trio like mist. As they trudged deeper into the woods, the wear of their past experience showed in the way their shoulders slumped and their eyes darted at every sound. Old Man Tavon, who led the way with a quiet confidence, glanced back and narrowed his eyes.
"What's wrong with you three?" he asked, voice rough but concerned. "Did the forest not grow gentle with you?"
The three exhaled in unison, as if releasing a breath they hadn't realized they'd been holding. Leo ran a hand through his hair and forced a crooked smile.
"Kinda," he muttered. "We didn't exactly run into any monsters, but... we saw something worse."
Old Man Tavon's brow furrowed. "What happened?"
El spoke up, her voice unusually quiet. "They saw illusions. Mine was... my mother."
The old man rubbed his chin, the white stubble rasping under his fingers. A slow, wheezy chuckle escaped him. "Ah. Then the forest has already tested you."
He looked at each of them with knowing eyes and added, "Don't worry. Those were just lies phantoms spun from your own minds. Whatever you heard, whatever you saw... none of it's real. They're fragments of memory, stitched together to unnerve you."
Leo, brushing past a thick curtain of branches, hesitated. His fingers curled around the bark. "But mine was different," he said slowly. "It wasn't something I remembered. It showed me a vision. A girl I've never met."
Old Man Tavon turned, interest flickering in his weathered eyes. "The forest doesn't give visions, boy," he said, amused. "It can't show what doesn't already exist in you. It doesn't invent, it reveals. Whatever you saw back there... it's a part of you."
Leo didn't argue further. The words sank into him like stones in a river. If the forest only showed pieces of memory, then what had he seen? Who was that girl?
Do I really know her? he thought, staring ahead as if the trees might somehow answer. His voice dropped to a whisper, meant only for himself.
"Who is she…?"
Then the old man looked around—serious this time.
"Stay sharp," he said without turning. "And keep your hands near your hilts. Forests like these don't stay quiet for no reason."
None of them knew what he meant at the time.
They walked for what felt like hours, ducking under branches and weaving through thick underbrush, until the trees began to thin. Eventually, they stepped into a clearing.
That's when they saw it.
At first glance, it appeared to be a massive boulder dark, bristled, and dirt-caked. But then it moved. Slowly. Deliberately. The shape rose onto four legs, and its spiked back glinted under shafts of sunlight. Heavy, guttural breaths echoed from it, and when it turned toward them, its glowing amber eyes locked on—predatory, deliberate.
Matthew was the first to speak, his voice cracking the silence.
"What the hell is that…?"
Old Man Tavon leaned casually against a nearby tree. "Swordbear," he said. "Beast-type. Menace rank."
"What does Menace rank mean?!" Leo asked, his voice almost a squeak.
Tavon shrugged. "Means you should be afraid."
The creature shifted, claws tearing into the earth. It resembled a bear but one born of nightmares. Thick black fur jutted with natural spikes, and its forearms were as thick as tree trunks. When it stood fully upright, it towered over them at least seven feet tall.
"Leo," Tavon called calmly. "Ready your sword."
Leo blinked. "What—?"
But it was too late.
The bear let out a guttural roar and charged.
Leo didn't move.
He couldn't.
His feet were rooted to the ground, his body frozen by a mixture of fear and disbelief. The beast closed the distance with terrifying speed, its claws blurring through the air. Just before impact, someone shoved him hard from the side.
He stumbled, falling on his back.
When he looked up, El and Matthew were standing side by side, swords drawn, holding back the beast's wild first strike.
Steel met claw with a screech that rang through the clearing. The impact knocked them back, but neither faltered.
Off to the side unmoving, unbothered Old Man Tavon stepped from the shade of the trees.
He didn't rush in. He didn't bark orders.
Instead, he calmly walked to a thick-rooted tree, lowered himself with a grunt, and sat cross-legged as if preparing for a nap. He looked like a man at peace, completely unfazed by the chaos only yards away. His sharp eyes followed every motion, but his expression remained unreadable.
He cupped his hands. "Focus on its movement!" he called. "Use your whole body. Don't just swing, commit!"
That broke Leo out of it.
Tavon folded his arms.
Watched.
Leo scrambled to his feet, gripping his sword. The bear's gaze snapped to him again—it could tell who the weakest was. It lunged. Leo did the only thing he could: he dodged. Just barely. He felt the wind of its swipe graze his cheek.
He countered with a low swing toward its forelimb.
Steel bit flesh but only shallowly.
"Tsk…" he muttered. "It's like cutting stone."
"El, now!" Matthew shouted.
El twisted mid-step, spinning like a dancer with a death wish. Her blade swept in a clean arc across the bear's left arm. A hit deep, but not enough.
Matthew followed with brute strength, sword raised high before crashing it down into the creature's shoulder. It landed with a sickening crunch. The bear stumbled back, blood matting its fur.
Still, it wasn't enough.
They fought for minutes, trading blow after blow. Minor cuts, slashes, and bruises marked them. They were tiring.
The bear was not.
Its stamina was monstrous. Each strike came with the same force as the first.
El's breathing grew ragged, her blade trembling in her hands. Matthew bled from one arm, crimson soaking his torn sleeve. Leo's legs barely held him upright.
Then El slipped.
Her foot caught on a root. She hit the ground hard, her sword flying from her grasp.
The bear moved to strike—
Tavon stood.
Slowly.
He cracked his neck, picked up El's sword, and stepped forward—unhurried, almost bored.
The beast roared and lunged.
What happened next defied logic.
One moment, Tavon stood in front of them. He murmured something a whisper lost to the wind. The next, there was a flash too fast to follow and a sudden gust that swept across the clearing like a shockwave.
Matthew and Leo instinctively raised their arms to shield their eyes.
When they looked again, Tavon was behind the beast.
El's sword was sheathed across his back.
The creature stood frozen, emitting a low, guttural noise… then split clean down the middle.
Blood sprayed in a wide arc as the two halves hit the ground with a twitch.
"Time's up," Tavon said, turning, resting the sword across his shoulders like a walking stick.
Later that night, the fire crackled softly in the heart of Jurra Forest. Orange flames danced along gnarled roots and thick brush, casting flickering shadows. Smoke rose lazily into the starless sky.
They sat in a circle El, Matthew, Leo, and Old Man Tavon. A slab of bear meat, skewered on a stick, roasted over the fire. The same bear that had nearly killed them hours earlier.
They hadn't returned to Tavon's hut. That had been his decision.
"Stay the night here," he had said. "The forest will teach you what you need out there."
Silence reigned. Not just from exhaustion but from the weight of what they had survived.
Leo stared at the meat turning over the fire.
Then he remembered Tavon's words.
"Old man," he said quietly, "you said that bear was 'Menace rank.' What does that mean, exactly?"
Tavon leaned forward, plucking the cooked meat from the stick and letting it cool in his hands. "Ah," he muttered. "Suppose it's time you understood what you're dealing with."
He looked at them, eyes glinting in the firelight.
"There are different types of monsters out there. Not just random beasts. They're categorized by what they are, how they think, and what they can do. Each one varies in kind and threat."
He took a bite, chewed slowly, and continued.
"The one you fought today was a Beast type. Creatures of instinct. Not dumb but they don't think the way we do. They're dangerous because they don't hesitate. You fought one. Barely survived. That says something."
All three leaned in closer.
"There are seven types in total," Tavon said. "First is Fodder Beast weak, dumb, mostly harmless unless you're careless."
"Like the Skyhopper," El said suddenly.
"Skyhopper?" Matthew frowned.
She nodded. "The first creature we ran into here."
"Oh. That weird thing."
Tavon smirked. "Exactly. Then comes Lesser Monsters. One alone might not be deadly, but together? Packs, swarms. They overwhelm you before you can blink."
He tossed a bone into the fire. His tone dropped lower.
"Third is what you fought. Beast. You already know how that plays."
He coughed, then continued, more grim now.
"Fourth is the Predator. Not the strongest—but the smartest. Trappers. Ambushers. They'll study you. Lure you. Strike when you least expect it."
He let that sink in.
"Fifth is the Greater Beast. Same raw power, but bigger. Meaner. Sometimes Smarter."
Leo swallowed.
"Then there's the Apex Monster," Tavon said, voice grim. "Massive. Ancient. Primal. Their destruction is total. Entire kingdoms have fallen to one Apex left unchecked."
Tavon leaned back. "Those are the types."
"And the ranks?" Matthew asked.
"There are six levels of threat," Tavon replied, ticking them off. "Nuisance—barely dangerous. Menace—can injure or kill small groups. Hazard—can wipe out villages. Calamity—a town's worst nightmare. Catalyst—shifts the course of wars. And…"
He paused.
"Oblivion. Rare. Apocalyptic. A force that can unmake nations."
He bit into his meat again, wiping his hands on his cloak.
Leo tilted his head. "So… seven monster types. Six ranks of threat. But…"
He glanced at Tavon. "You only mentioned six types."
Matthew started counting on his fingers beside him. A beat later, his eyes widened. He'd noticed it too.
Tavon slowly lowered the meat.
His posture shifted subtly tense now, alert.
"…Nephilim," he said at last.
The fire seemed to quiet.
"Those creatures," Tavon said, voice low, "aren't just monsters. They're omens."
El leaned forward, brows drawn. "I thought they were myths."
"Myth?" Tavon scoffed. "No. They're real. Very real."
He stared into the fire its flames dancing in his eyes, eyes that held old memories and older scars.
"I remember a book about them," El said. "Tucked behind a shelf at home. I thought it was just superstition."
Tavon didn't answer at first. His face was haunted. When he finally spoke, his voice was gravel.
"They're not bedtime stories. They're history carved in blood. You don't write warnings for fairy tales. You write them for what survived."
Matthew asked, "So what does it say about them?"
"In history," El replied, "they're said to be born of mortal blood and the divine. Heaven experimented on animals, that's how monsters were born. Then they experimented on humans."
She looked down.
"That's how Nephilim came to be."
"You're right," Tavon said quietly. "They were made outside the natural order. The Supreme Being made creatures to be beautiful, balanced, and peaceful. But Nephilim… They exist only for chaos."
El added, "The creatures of heaven were the ones who taught humans to forge weapons. That's how the age of war began."
"If they're so dangerous," Matthew asked, "why not just wipe them out?"
Tavon barked a dry, humorless laugh. "Ha! You think we didn't try?"
He shook his head. "We sealed them on what's now called the Damned Continent. But they don't just have monstrous strength. They have mortal minds. If we're clever… imagine them."
He stared into the fire, eyes distant.
"Our ancestors held them back for millennia. But no seal lasts forever. So listen closely…"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"If you ever come across a Nephilim… don't fight. Don't play the hero. Run. Survive. There's no shame in that."
He fell silent.
So did they.
Only the crackling fire remained speaking of fears not yet named.
Nephilim.
The word stirred something in Leo.
Not just fear.
Something darker.
Anger.
But not toward them.
Toward something else.
Something buried.
He didn't understand it.
He only prayed he'd never have to find out.