"I know," Alaric growled. He grabbed his bow, but instead of aiming for chests, he aimed for the ground at their feet. "Don't aim for the heart! Take their legs, their shoulders, or the trees beside them! We need to break their line and get to the clearing!"
The air was filled with the sound of snapping branches and the rhythmic thud of arrows. It was a nightmare come to life—the very people who had been laughing and betting an hour ago were now a silent, predatory pack. Alaric pulled Salviana closer, shielding her body with his own as they began a desperate, fighting retreat into the dark heart of the Wilds.
"The lone figure," Salviana whispered, looking back at the carvings in her mind. "Alaric, who was the one standing in the corner?"
Alaric didn't answer. He was too busy dodging a bolt aimed for his throat, his mind already racing to find the "eye" that had turned his family into monsters.
