The forest was quiet again, though not the peaceful kind of quiet. It was simply the kind that breathed and watched.
Wooosh~
Every gust of wind that stirred the blackened leaves sounded like sothing alive was holding its breath.
Damien walked at the rear of the group, one hand resting casually against the hilt of his blade, eyes half-lidded but never relaxed. Every few paces, his gaze flicked from the trees to the ground, then to the faint tracks that trailed like veins through the earth.
Ahead of him, the small band of survivors he’d nearly killed only an hour ago trudged along, guided by the soft golden glow that filtered through the canopy. The two won huddled close to one another.
One clutched a child against her chest; the other walked beside Aquila, her face pale from awe and fear. The children — three of them, all too young to understand the danger they were in — sat atop the griffin’s back, their tiny fingers tangled in its feathers.
Damien had insisted they rest on Aquila. "She won’t bite unless I tell her to," he’d said, earning a skeptical look from one of the mothers.
Fenrir padded alongside them — a massive silhouette of silver-gray fur and burning blue eyes, its paws making no sound on the underbrush. The won rode its broad back, gripping its fur tightly, too terrified to do anything else.
The rcenary, the one Damien had accidentally knocked out earlier, now walked near the front. His na was Rehn. He was a rugged man, older than Damien by a few years, though his mannerisms were careful, almost deferential — the tone of soone who had seen enough to recognize when he was outclassed.
He’d downed a healing potion not long after waking, and though his steps were steady, his eyes still betrayed exhaustion. Beside him walked the other man, tall and soft-spoken, who had introduced himself as Bren — a craftsman escorting his sister and her children.
"Stay to the left," Rehn murmured, raising a hand as they approached a narrow bend in the trees. "The right path sinks into marshland this ti of year."
Damien nodded silently. His gaze swept across the darkness, scanning for mana fluctuations.
He could sense them — faint ripples beneath the soil, steady pulses from above the canopy. Most were harmless, ambient creatures that simply existed here. But a few were... heavier. Watching.
"Do you co through this forest often?" Damien asked, his tone low but calm.
"Every few weeks," Rehn replied. "Not by choice. But I know the routes — and where not to step."
"That’ll be useful," Damien said. "Keep leading."
The man hesitated. "You trust that easily?"
Damien gave him a sidelong glance, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You’re still breathing, aren’t you? That ans you’re useful."
Rehn let out a dry laugh. "You’re a hard one to read, rcenary."
"I’m not that hard," Damien said softly, eyes flicking toward the canopy where a shadow had shifted. "You just have to know when to stop talking."
Before Rehn could ask what he ant, the forest moved.
A branch cracked overhead, then another — sharp, deliberate. Fenrir’s ears twitched; Aquila’s feathers rippled as it let out a low, warning screech.
"Stay behind ," Damien ordered, his tone calm but edged.
The ground shuddered. Out from the dense brush ahead, sothing erged — a creature of twisted bark and sinew, shaped vaguely like a stag but its antlers glowed with runic veins of blue. Mana Beast — Grade Seven, by the feel of its essence.
Damien gestured toward Rehn without looking back. "Yours."
The rcenary blinked in disbelief. "Mine—? You’re serious?"
"Practice makes survival."
Rehn exhaled sharply, drawing his blade. The air shimred faintly as his mana flared — wind-aligned, from the looks of it. The beast let out a deep, vibrating roar that shook the leaves.
It charged.
Rehn t its advance head-on, sidestepping at the last second, his blade slicing along its side with practiced precision. The stag-like creature stumbled, turned, and swiped with a jagged antler. Rehn ducked low, narrowly avoiding a decapitating blow.
Damien watched impassively from behind, his arms crossed. He wasn’t going to intervene — not unless he needed to. This was Rehn’s fight, and the man was doing better than Damien expected.
A flash of wind erupted around Rehn’s feet as he spun, driving his blade through the beast’s throat. It let out a guttural cry before collapsing, its antlers flickering dimly, then going dark.
Rehn panted heavily, stepping back. "Not bad for soone who almost died this morning."
"Not bad," Damien agreed, crouching to inspect the creature. "You still cut too shallow on the first swing, though."
Rehn frowned. "Excuse ?"
"Grade Sevens have layered hide. You only broke the outer shell. The kill ca from luck — not precision."
Rehn scowled but didn’t argue. He knew Damien was right.
The won cheered softly from Fenrir’s back, though it was more nervous relief than triumph. Aquila ruffled its feathers, huffing as if unimpressed.
The group resud their slow trek through the forest. The light had dimd further, filtered by the thick canopy, and every sound seed sharper now — twigs cracking, the rustle of leaves, distant growls.
Damien kept glancing at the ground. The soil bore faint grooves, as if sothing heavy had been dragged through recently.
He crouched, touching the marks. Still fresh.
Bren noticed his expression. "What is it?"
"Blood trail," Damien murmured. "Old, but not by much. Whoever attacked your group might have passed through here."
Rehn stiffened. "Then we should—"
"We stay on course," Damien interrupted. "You’re civilians. You don’t chase phantoms."
A low growl rumbled nearby — closer this ti. Fenrir’s head snapped toward the left, lips peeling back to reveal gleaming fangs.
Damien straightened slowly. "Grade Five. Fast. Hungry."
He unsheathed his blade. "Stay put."
Boooom!
Before any of them could respond, the trees exploded outward as a serpentine beast lunged — its scales black as soot, its maw lined with jagged teeth.
Damien t it mid-air.
The clash was over before it began. His blade carved through the creature’s throat in one smooth arc.
Psssst!
Blood spattered across the leaves, sizzling faintly where it touched the soil. The carcass fell beside him with a heavy thud.
The children gasped, clutching tighter onto Aquila.
Damien exhaled through his nose, wiping his blade clean. "Too easy."
He glanced at the others — all staring, wide-eyed. "Keep moving. The sll of blood will draw more."
The journey stretched on for hours, marked only by the rhythmic sound of boots and paws against the dirt. Occasionally, Aquila would screech softly, wings twitching as it scouted ahead. Fenrir remained silent, its gaze fixed forward, every movent poised and alert.
As dusk began to fade into full night, Rehn finally spoke, his voice quieter now. "You didn’t have to help us, you know. We could’ve found our way."
Damien didn’t look at him. "You could’ve tried. You wouldn’t have made it."
"That supposed to be comforting?"
"Supposed to be true."
Rehn chuckled under his breath. "You talk like soone who’s seen too many people die."
"I guess I might have," Damien said simply.
The rcenary hesitated. "And you still keep helping strangers?"
Damien’s eyes flicked toward him, unreadable. "I’m not helping. I’m balancing scales."
Rehn didn’t ask what that ant. He could hear the edge in Damien’s tone — not anger, but sothing heavier.
When they reached a clearing, Damien finally stopped. "We rest here."
The group gathered beneath a cluster of trees. Aquila crouched low, letting the children slide off gently. Fenrir lay nearby, a silent, watchful guardian.
Damien started a small fire, careful to suppress its light with a thin barrier of dark essence.
The children whispered among themselves, eyes wide as they watched Fenrir’s glowing form. One of them — a small boy with ssy hair — tugged at Damien’s cloak. "Mister... are we safe now?"
Damien looked down at him. The child’s eyes were too much like the one he’d seen dead by the gate. For a second, the rcenary’s throat tightened.
"Yeah," he said finally. "You’re safe now."
The boy smiled faintly, satisfied, and ran back to sit with the others.
Rehn leaned against a tree nearby, watching the exchange. "You’ve got a soft spot, huh?"
Damien didn’t answer. He just stared into the fire, the orange glow flickering against his pale face.
"Soft spots get people killed," he said eventually. "But sotis they keep you human."
The forest stirred again — distant howls echoing through the trees — but none approached. Perhaps the scent of Fenrir and Aquila kept them away.
Hours passed before the group finally drifted to sleep, save for Damien, who stayed awake, listening.
The night was long, but beneath the quiet hum of the forest, sothing pulsed faintly — a rhythm he recognized.
Mana. Not natural. Not wild.
It was controlled.
His jaw tightened. "So... you’re still here," he murmured, eyes scanning the shadows.
He let his hand fall to Fenrir’s head, feeling the beast’s slow breathing. "We’ll find you soon enough."
The wind stirred, carrying with it the scent of ash and old magic. Sowhere far behind them, deeper in the forest, sothing ancient within the sealed gates turned in its sleep.
But Damien was more interested in what had killed Veyne.
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