Missing Kids

The forest grew darker as night fell, but Turai's enthusiasm showed no signs of waning. His relentless pursuit of the Vanishing Felicans had left Hubert and Marin struggling to keep up, their roles reduced to that of support rather than active Wanderers.

They found themselves constantly extracting Origin Cores and storing corpses in the Wanderer's Storage, a pouch that belied its mundane appearance with its magical capacity.

"Ten," Hubert muttered, counting the cores as he secured the latest one. "Ten Felicans in one day. I've never seen anything like it."

Marin nodded, her eyes fixed on Turai's back as he scouted ahead. "He's something else entirely. It's almost... unsettling."

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, replaced by a crescent moon that cast wan, silvery light through the canopy. The forest took on an otherworldly quality in the dim illumination, shadows seeming to writhe and dance at the edge of vision.

Hubert cleared his throat. "Turai," he called out, his gruff voice carrying easily in the stillness. "The light's fading fast. We should make camp while we can still see to set up properly."

Turai turned, his eyes gleaming with an almost feverish light. "Just one more," he pleaded, a hint of excitement in his voice. "I have a new method I want to try. Please, Hubert. We leave at sunrise anyway, so this is my last chance."

Hubert and Marin exchanged glances. The older man sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, then. One more. But be careful - the darkness favors them, not us."

A grin split Turai's face, and he nodded eagerly before turning back to the task at hand. As they moved deeper into the forest, Marin couldn't help but marvel at the young boy's stamina. Where she and Hubert were beginning to feel the day's exertions, Turai seemed as fresh as when they'd started.

Suddenly, Turai raised a hand, signaling for silence. In the distance, they could hear the soft padding of footsteps. Unlike the usual solitary Felican, however, these sounds suggested multiple creatures.

"Over there," Turai whispered, pointing to a massive oak tree. "We can observe from behind it."

The three quickly took cover, peering around the thick trunk. What they saw made their eyes widen in surprise. Not one, but six Vanishing Felicans moved through a nearby clearing, their sleek forms barely visible in the dim light.

A predatory smile played across Turai's lips, his eyes alight with anticipation. Hubert and Marin, meanwhile, found their thoughts turning to more practical matters.

"Six Origin Cores," Hubert murmured. "That would bring our total to thirteen. A small fortune in any market."

Marin nodded, but her brow furrowed with concern. "Yes, but six at once? That's not a fight I'd want to take on, even in broad daylight."

As they whispered between themselves, neither noticed Turai's sudden disappearance. It was Marin who first realized the boy was gone, her heightened senses alerting her to the absence of his presence.

"Hubert," she hissed, eyes darting around frantically. "Turai's vanished!"

"What?" Hubert exclaimed, his voice louder than intended in his surprise. The sound echoed through the quiet forest, and both Wanderers tensed, expecting to hear the Felicans fleeing at the noise.

But no such sound came. Puzzled and increasingly worried, they cautiously peered around the tree once more.

The sight that greeted them was nothing short of astonishing. There stood Turai, his small frame dwarfed by the carnage surrounding him. Six Vanishing Felicans lay dead at his feet, their dark blood staining the forest floor and splattered across Turai's clothes and face. The boy's expression was eerily calm, almost detached, as he surveyed his handiwork.

Hubert was the first to break the stunned silence, striding forward with a mixture of awe and exasperation on his weathered face. "By all the gods, boy!" he exclaimed. "That was... incredible. But you can't just disappear like that! We're a team, remember?"

Turai turned to face him, blinking as if coming out of a trance. "I'm sorry, Hubert," he said, his voice steady despite his blood-soaked appearance. "I saw an opportunity and I took it. I didn't want to risk losing it by alerting you."

Marin approached more cautiously, her eyes taking in every detail of the scene. "Turai," she said softly, "how did you do this? I've never seen anyone move with such stealth, let alone take down six Felicans single-handedly."

A small, satisfied smile tugged at Turai's lips. "I used their own trick against them," he explained. "When they create that darkness to disappear into, they're not actually vanishing. The darkness shrouds them and makes it so that everything they do is unnoticed. Even their footsteps. It's like erasing their existence, I guess you could call it. I figured out how to do something similar but I simply erased my presence. They never saw me coming."

Hubert and Marin exchanged glances, a mixture of amazement and unease passing between them. The implications of Turai's abilities were staggering, and neither was quite sure how to process what they'd just witnessed.

Pushing aside his conflicting emotions, Hubert set about the now-familiar task of extracting the Origin Cores and storing the corpses. As he worked, he couldn't help but marvel at the boy's growing prowess. "You're full of surprises, kid," he muttered, more to himself than to Turai. "Full of surprises indeed."

With their unexpected bounty secured, the trio moved to a different part of the forest to set up camp for the night. As they sat around a small, carefully concealed fire, the mood was a mixture of triumph and contemplation. Turai seemed lost in thought, no doubt analyzing his new technique, while Hubert and Marin found themselves reassessing everything they thought they knew about their young companion.

As the fire crackled and the sounds of the nighttime forest surrounded them, none of them had any inkling of the troubles brewing back in town. In the peaceful solitude of their camp, they were blissfully unaware of the chaos that had erupted at Turai's orphanage.

Back in town, Mrs. Benson sat slumped in a chair, her face pale and drawn. The orphanage, usually a place of laughter and childish chatter, was eerily quiet. Broken furniture and scattered belongings bore silent witness to the violence that had occurred mere hours ago.

A group of men, faces hidden behind dark cloth, had stormed the building just as the sun was setting. They had moved with ruthless efficiency, rounding up several of the children. Mrs. Benson, still weak from her recent encounter, had been powerless to stop them.

"Why?" she had cried as they dragged the terrified children away. "They're just innocent children!"

One of the men had paused at the door, turning to face her. His eyes, cold and devoid of empathy, had bored into hers as he spoke. "Innocent? Perhaps. But they're far from ordinary. They'll sell pretty well."

With those cryptic words, they had vanished into the gathering darkness, leaving behind a shattered sanctuary and a host of unanswered questions.

As Mrs. Benson sat in the ruined common room, tears streaming down her face, her thoughts turned to Turai. She found herself grateful that he, at least, had been away when this tragedy struck. But even as she clung to that small comfort, a nagging fear gnawed at her heart. Somehow, she knew that this was only the beginning, and that Turai, with his extraordinary gifts, might be at the center of whatever storm was brewing.