When Amina's father finally returned home that evening, he was nearly unrecognizable. His steps were slow and heavy, each one dragging as though his legs no longer belonged to him. His clothes were torn, soaked with sweat and dirt, and his skin was marked with deep scratches and bruises. Blood-both dried and fresh-streaked the side of his face, and his breathing came in shallow, trembling gasps. He carried no animals from hunting, no tools, not even his water flask. He was moving only with the last strength remaining in his battered body.

He reached the house with shaky limbs, and just as he touched the doorframe, his knees buckled. His body collapsed forward, falling heavily onto the doorstep. The wooden floor thudded beneath his weight, but he couldn't even cry out. He lay there helplessly, sprawled across the entrance like a man defeated. His vision blurred. His hands twitched, trying weakly to push himself up, but his entire body refused to respond. Exhaustion and pain swallowed him. Minutes passed-long, silent, torturous minutes-until they became nearly an hour.

Inside the house, Amina busied herself sweeping the floor and humming softly, unaware that her father was lying right outside. She thought he was still deep in the forest, hunting as usual, and she expected him to return late, as he sometimes did. Her mother was inside the kitchen, preparing the evening meal and muttering about how her husband left without breakfast again-a habit she endlessly scolded him for.

After a while, Amina felt a strange heaviness in her chest. Something was wrong. She couldn't explain it, but the feeling nagged at her until she couldn't ignore it anymore. She opened the front door slightly to look outside, expecting perhaps to see her father's hunting bag or hear him approaching from the distance.

But instead, the moment the door creaked open, she froze. Her eyes widened with terror. Her mouth fell open, and a sharp scream tore out of her throat.

Her father-her strong, proud father-was lying on the doorstep like a broken doll.

"PAPA!" she cried out, her voice trembling violently.

She dropped the broom instantly and fell to her knees beside him. Her hands fluttered helplessly over his wounded face, his bruised arms, unsure where to touch without causing more pain. Tears welled in her eyes as she shouted inside the house.

"MAMA! COME QUICK! IT'S PAPA!"

Her mother rushed out immediately, wiping her hands on her wrapper. But when she saw her husband's battered condition, she froze for a heartbeat, her face draining of all color. Then, with a loud gasp, she knelt beside him.

"By the heavens! What happened to you?!" she cried, her voice cracking.

Together, Amina and her mother dragged him carefully into the house, struggling with his weight and limpness. They laid him gently on the woven mat near the fire. Amina's mother hurried to fetch herbs, water, and cloth, while Amina knelt beside him, gently dabbing his forehead and trying to calm her shaking hands.

For nearly three hours, they worked on him. His wife cleaned the wounds on his arms and chest, pressing herbal pastes onto the bruises. Amina poured small amounts of water between his lips, begging him softly to drink. His breathing remained weak, but he slowly found enough strength to keep his eyes open.

After stabilizing him as best they could, mother and daughter sat beside him, waiting silently. The room was heavy with fear. The fire crackled softly, its glow reflecting off their anxious faces. Every few minutes, Amina looked at her father, hoping-praying-that he would speak.

Finally, Amina broke the silence.

"Papa... what happened?" she asked gently. "What really happened to you?"

Her father remained silent. His eyes stared at the ceiling, unfocused. His lips trembled, but no words came out. Amina's mother exchanged a worried look with her daughter and placed one hand on his chest.

"My husband," she said softly, "who did this to you? Tell us. You're safe now, speak to us."

Still, he said nothing.

Another ten minutes passed. The tension in the room grew like a tightening rope. Amina's mother repeated the question, even more softly than before, but he still didn't answer.

Then, after nearly half an hour of painful silence, his chest rose and fell with a long, shaky breath. He slowly turned his head toward them. His eyes were filled with exhaustion, fear, and something far darker.

Finally, in a hoarse whisper, he spoke.

"I... was chased... by the monster."

Amina's heart stopped. Her mother's hands froze.

Her father swallowed hard, gathering strength to continue.

"I fought him," he said, his voice trembling. "But he fought me harder. He beat me... until I could barely stand. I wasn't strong enough to defeat him. He tried to kill me." His voice broke. "I escaped... barely... with my life."

Amina covered her mouth, trembling.

Her mother stared at him in horror. "A monster? You mean... the same creature? The same one that attacked-?"

Before she finished, Amina interrupted softly, her voice shaking like a leaf.

"Papa... is it the same monster that chased me last time? The one that tried to kill me?"

Her father turned his head toward her. His eyes clouded with worry.

"It may be," he whispered. "I cannot say for certain, but... I recognize the voice. I recognize the hatred in it."

Amina shuddered violently. The memory of that creature-its massive body, its fierce eyes, its terrible voice-flashed in her mind like lightning. She hugged her knees to her chest.

Her mother placed an arm around her.

"Amina," she said gently, "don't worry. We will handle this. We will find a way to protect ourselves. Just be careful. Be mindful of where you go. Don't wander alone. This monster-this thing-seems to be hunting our family."

Amina nodded slowly. "I understand, Mama. I'll be careful everywhere I go. I won't let this creature catch me again."

Her mother wiped Amina's tears, then turned to her husband, who still lay weakly on the mat.

"As for you," she said softly but firmly, "you need rest. You should stop hunting for at least two weeks. Your health is getting worse. Your body needs time to heal."

Amina nodded in agreement. "Yes, Papa. Please rest. Please recover. Nothing must happen to you."

Her father exhaled weakly, closing his eyes. "I will rest," he murmured, though his voice carried the stubborn determination of a man who had survived too many battles. "Don't worry, Amina... I will recover."

But deep inside, Amina could see the fear in his eyes, the fear he tried to hide.

And she knew-this was only the beginning.