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Harry's heart hammered against his ribs as the Deathbird hovered above them, dark flames gathering around its skeletal form like a funeral shroud. The creature's massive skull tilted at an unnatural angle, those empty eye sockets somehow conveying malevolence despite their emptiness.
"Stand ready! Do not retreat!" The captain's voice cut through the paralysis of fear gripping them all. His sword gleamed dully in the crimson light of Caelid's diseased sky as he positioned himself at the center of his remaining men. "Form up! Shields forward!"
Harry glanced back at Millicent, who had pressed herself against the broken stonework. Her golden eye was wide with terror, but she nodded at him—a silent acknowledgment that he should focus on the threat rather than her safety.
"What the bloody hell is that thing?" Harry called to Roddard, who had taken a defensive stance to his right.
"Deathbird," Roddard replied. "Ancient predators. They feed on battlefields. Been around since before the Erdtree, some say."
Harry barely had time to process this information before the Deathbird moved. One moment it was suspended in air, the next it had dropped like a stone, talons extended toward Perran—the soldier who had spoken about finding his family transformed into trees. The young man barely managed to raise his shield before the massive creature slammed into him, sending him sprawling.
"Perran!" the wounded soldier—Jakon—cried out.
Lightning crackled down Harry's arm, instinct taking over as he channeled energy through his body. The familiar sensation of power gathered in his palm, and Harry thrust his hand forward, releasing a brilliant spear of golden electricity directly at the Deathbird's exposed ribcage.
The lightning struck true, dancing across bone and sinew. The creature staggered, momentarily distracted from Perran's prone form. It turned its eyeless gaze toward Harry, and he could swear those empty sockets narrowed.
"That barely fazed it," Harry muttered, his stomach sinking.
"Move!" Roddard shouted, shoving Harry aside as the Deathbird lunged with terrifying speed. The knight's spear flashed upward, scraping against the creature's skull with a sound like nails on a chalkboard.
Harry rolled to his feet, drawing his Lordsworn Greatsword. The weapon felt comfortingly solid in his hands—a reminder of all the training he'd endured over the past week. He just hoped it would be enough.
The Deathbird reared back, spreading wings that seemed impossibly large for a creature composed mainly of bone. What caught Harry's eye, however, was the darkness gathering around one of its wing-bones—a swirling, oily blackness deeper than any shadow. The darkness solidified, extending from the skeletal wing like an extension of the creature itself, forming what could only be described as a sword of pure darkness.
"What in Merlin's name—?" Harry began.
"Death Flames," Roddard interrupted, his voice grim. "Ancient magic. Predates even the Erdtree. They burn through anything—flesh, stone, even Scarlet Rot."
Harry's eyes widened. "Even Rot? But I thought nothing could—"
"There's always a balance," Roddard said, circling carefully to flank the creature. "Life and death, growth and decay. The Death Flames are the natural counter to the Rot—both ancient, both terrible in their own way."
The captain had rallied his men into a tight formation, shields interlocked. "Steady!" he shouted. "Wait for it to commit!"
Harry's mind raced. If ordinary lightning barely scratched this thing, he'd need something stronger. Maybe Vyke's Dragonbolt? But he'd need time to channel that much power, time the Deathbird wasn't likely to give him.
The creature struck with sudden, horrifying speed. Its blade of Death Flames sliced through the air, narrowly missing the captain as he dodged aside. One of his men wasn't so lucky—the black sword caught him across the shoulder, and Harry watched in horror as the man's armor, flesh, and bone all seemed to disintegrate simultaneously. The soldier didn't even have time to scream before half his torso simply ceased to exist, leaving the rest to collapse in a spray of blood.
Something cold settled in Harry's stomach.
"Harry!" Millicent's voice carried from behind the stone barrier. "Circle to its blind spot! It can't see directly behind its head!"
Harry nodded, grateful for the tactical insight. Gripping his sword with both hands, he began moving to position himself behind the creature, using the distraction provided by the soldiers' shields to mask his approach.
The Deathbird screeched—a sound so primal and wrong it made Harry's teeth ache. It swept its flame-sword in a wide arc, forcing the soldiers to scatter. The captain shouted commands that were lost in the chaos as men dove for cover.
Harry saw his opening. Darting forward, he swung his sword at the back of the Deathbird's skeletal leg. The blade connected with a jarring impact that reverberated up his arms, but at least it struck bone rather than passing through empty air. The creature stumbled slightly, more from surprise than injury, Harry suspected.
It whirled with impossible speed, those empty eye sockets fixing on him with malevolent awareness. The Death Flame sword dissolved, only for the darkness to gather in its beak instead.
"Potter! Move!" Roddard's warning came just in time.
Harry threw himself sideways as a gout of black flame erupted from the Deathbird's beak, scorching the ground where he had stood moments before. He could feel the heat of it even from several feet away—not a normal heat, but something that seemed to sear the soul rather than just the flesh.
Rolling to his feet, Harry positioned himself between the Deathbird and where Millicent hid. He wouldn't let this thing anywhere near her.
"We need to attack together!" he shouted to Roddard and the remaining soldiers. "Coordinate!"
The captain nodded grimly, gesturing his men into positions around the monstrous bird. "On my mark!" he called. "Three points of attack!"
Harry readied himself, drawing upon the training of the past week. If normal lightning wasn't enough, perhaps he could try a different approach. He felt for the Scarlet Rot energy he'd reluctantly learned to channel—the Dancer of Decay technique might give him the speed he needed to strike effectively.
Before he could implement this plan, however, the Deathbird suddenly beat its skeletal wings and lifted into the air, hovering just beyond their reach. The black flames gathered around its skull like a halo.
"It's preparing something," Roddard warned, his spear at the ready. "Be on guard!"
Harry watched in horrified fascination as the flames coalesced into what looked like a crown of darkness atop the creature's bleached skull. There was something malevolently intelligent in the way it surveyed them from above, as if choosing which of them to destroy first.
"What's it doing?" Harry asked, not really expecting an answer.
The Deathbird's crown of black flames pulsed with malevolent energy as it hovered above the battlefield. Harry's skin crawled at the sight—there was something fundamentally wrong about those flames, as if they existed in opposition to life itself.
Roddard's helmeted head tilted upward, and even through the metal, Harry could sense the knight's growing alarm. "Everyone scatter!" Roddard shouted suddenly. "It's forming a Crown of Death!"
As if triggered by Roddard's warning, the crown atop the Deathbird's skull pulsed once, twice—and then released a volley of projectiles. Harry watched in horror as what looked like elongated bone fragments—shaped almost like feathers but composed entirely of skeletal material—shot outward in all directions. Twenty-five deadly projectiles plummeted toward the ground, embedding themselves in the corrupted soil with sickening thuds.
"Don't just stand there!" Roddard bellowed, already in motion. "Those will explode! MOVE!"
Harry didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted toward Millicent, who was struggling to her feet behind the stone barrier. Without hesitation, he scooped her up with one arm, ignoring her startled cry, and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.
Behind them, one of the bone feathers had impaled the ground just meters from where Millicent had been hiding. It quivered ominously, black flames licking along its length.
The captain was barking orders to his men, who scattered in all directions. But two of them—including the wounded Jakon—were too slow, too disoriented by the chaos. Harry saw Jakon stumble, his injured shoulder slowing him down as he tried to reach cover.
"No—" Harry began, but it was already too late.
The bone feathers exploded simultaneously, each eruption a miniature cataclysm of Death Flames. The blast caught Jakon and another soldier in the open, and Harry could only watch in horror as the black fire engulfed them.
Harry clutched Millicent tighter against him as the concussive force of the explosions washed over their position.
"Are you okay?" he asked Millicent, who nodded shakily against his shoulder.
"It's toying with us," she said, her golden eye fixed on the Deathbird, which was circling overhead like a vulture. "These creatures are intelligent, Harry. They've been hunting in the Lands Between since before the first civilization."
The remaining soldiers had regrouped around their captain, shields raised defensively. Harry set Millicent down carefully behind a large boulder.
"Stay here," he said. "Please."
"Be careful," she whispered. "Those flames... they'll burn through any defense."
Harry nodded grimly and turned back to the battle just in time to see the Deathbird fold its wings and dive, plummeting like a meteor toward the soldiers' position. The captain shouted for his men to brace, but the impact was devastating—the creature slammed into their formation with bone-crushing force.
One soldier went down immediately, crushed beneath the Deathbird's massive talons. The sickening crunch of armor and bone giving way carried clearly across the battlefield, followed by an agonized scream that cut off abruptly.
"Tomard!" Perran cried out, his voice breaking with rage and grief.
Harry watched as the young soldier charged forward, abandoning all caution in his desperate attack. His sword struck the Deathbird's leg with a metallic clang, barely scratching the ancient bone.
"Perran, fall back!" the captain ordered, but his subordinate was beyond reason, hacking frantically at the creature that had killed his friend.
The Deathbird almost seemed to regard Perran with curiosity, its skull tilting at that unnatural angle. Then, it raised one skeletal foot and prepared to crush him just as it had Tomard.
Drawing on the Scarlet Rot energy he'd spent days learning to control, he activated the Dancer of Decay. Power surged through him, a heady rush that made his vision sharpen and his muscles respond with unnatural speed. The familiar whispers started immediately—seductive voices promising greater power if he'd just surrender a little more of himself to the Rot.
Not today, he thought fiercely, pushing the whispers aside.
Harry covered the distance to Perran in seconds, leaving a trail of crimson spores in his wake. He tackled the soldier out of the way just as the Deathbird's foot came down, sending them both rolling across the corrupted ground.
"Are you mad?" Harry gasped, the Rot-enhanced speed making his words come out breathless and strained. "It'll kill you!"
Perran's eyes were wild with grief and fury. "It killed Tomard! It killed Jakon! I don't care if I die too!"
Harry hauled the man to his feet. "Your captain needs you. We all need to work together or none of us survive this."
The Deathbird screeched, those empty eye sockets somehow focusing on Harry with malevolent awareness. It seemed to recognize the Scarlet Rot energy emanating from him, and Harry had the distinct impression it was... pleased? Interested?
"It's stronger now," Harry realized aloud, watching as the creature moved with even greater speed. "It's feeding on the deaths."
"Of course it is," Roddard confirmed, rejoining the fight with his spear at the ready. "Death Birds grow stronger with each life they take. The more who fall, the more powerful they become."
"Brilliant," Harry muttered.
Drawing on the Rot's power again, Harry charged directly at the Deathbird. The speed was intoxicating—the world seeming to slow around him as he moved faster than ever before. He slashed at the creature's leg with his sword, the blade connecting with bone.
But the Deathbird was faster than it looked. It twisted away from Harry's second strike with unnatural agility, bone-wings extending for balance. Black flames gathered at the tip of one wing, forming that deadly sword once more.
Harry raised his own blade just in time to block the downward strike of Death Flame. The impact sent shockwaves through his arms, and even though he'd stopped the blade itself, heat seared across his face and chest. It was like being burned and frozen simultaneously.
Before he could recover, the Deathbird's other wing swept forward, catching him in the ribs. The blow sent him stumbling backward, gasping for air that suddenly wouldn't come. Pain blossomed across his side, and Harry was certain he'd felt something crack.
The creature pressed its advantage, its massive skull lunging forward, beak opening to reveal rows of teeth that had no business being in a bird's mouth. Those teeth aimed straight for Harry's chest, and for a terrifying moment, he was certain he was about to die in this nightmare world, far from everyone he'd ever loved.
"Stupid kid!" Roddard's voice rang out as his spear intercepted the attack, the shaft jamming into the Deathbird's beak and halting its momentum.
The knight followed through with a punishing gauntleted fist to the creature's skull. The Deathbird merely caused a hairline fracture to appear along one cheekbone.
Roddard didn't hesitate, spinning his spear around and driving its tip downward, piercing through the bone of the creature's foot, pinning it momentarily to the ground.
The Deathbird's screech was deafening—a sound of rage rather than pain. It yanked its foot free with violent force, taking a few backward steps as black flames gathered around.
"You alright, Potter?" Roddard asked, not taking his eyes off the creature.
"Been better," Harry managed, wincing as he straightened up. His ribs protested with every breath, but he was still standing, still fighting. "That thing's bloody fast."
"And getting faster," Roddard confirmed grimly. "We need to end this quickly, before it grows too strong."
The Deathbird seemed to understand their plan. It beat its wings once, twice, lifting slightly off the ground—and then its skeletal tail whipped forward with impossible speed. The blow caught both Harry and Roddard squarely, sending them flying through the air like ragdolls.
Harry's world spun as he crashed to the ground, his back slamming against the corrupted soil of Caelid. Pain shot through his ribs where the Deathbird's tail had caught him, and for a moment, all he could do was gasp for breath that wouldn't come. Through watering eyes, he saw the massive creature rising into the air again, those empty eye sockets somehow radiating malicious triumph.
"Harry!" Millicent's voice cut through the fog of pain. She was scrambling toward him from her hiding place, her golden eye wide with fear. "Are you alright?"
Harry managed to push himself up on one elbow, wincing as his ribs protested. "Been better," he wheezed. "But I'm still breathing."
Millicent reached him, her remaining hand hovering uncertainly over his injuries. "That thing is too powerful. It's feeding on every death, growing stronger with each kill."
Harry glanced across the battlefield. Roddard was staggering to his feet, his armor dented from the impact. The captain and Perran had regrouped, shields raised against the hovering menace, but their stance was defensive, desperate. They were losing this fight, and everyone knew it.
"We need something it isn't expecting," Harry said, his mind racing through their limited options. "Something that might actually hurt it."
Millicent bit her lip, her expression conflicted. "I... I might be able to help," she said quietly.
Harry turned to her, hope kindling despite their dire situation. "You have an idea?"
She hesitated, her fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of her tattered dress. "I could use the Rot," she whispered, as if afraid to speak the words aloud. "Not just small butterflies, but... more. The way Mother could."
"You don't have to," Harry said softly, even as the Deathbird screeched overhead. "We'll find another way."
Millicent's golden eye met his, filled with turmoil. "Roddard said the Death Flames can burn through Rot. What if I try and it doesn't work? What if I unleash more corruption for nothing?"
The Deathbird swooped down again, forcing the captain and Perran to scatter. Its beak closed around another soldier's shield, crushing both the metal and the arm behind it. The man's screams cut through the air.
Harry reached out, taking Millicent's hand in his. "Sometimes," he said, thinking of all the times he'd broken rules at Hogwarts because there was no other choice, "you have to use what you have, not what you wish you had."
She stared at him for a long moment, conflict written across her features. Then she nodded once, decisively. "Help me get closer. I need to be able to see it clearly."
Harry struggled to his feet, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs. He offered Millicent his arm for support, leading her to a position with a better view of the battle but still partially sheltered by a twisted outcropping of rock.
"I'll buy you time," he said, drawing his sword again. "Whatever you're going to do, make it count."
Millicent squeezed his hand briefly. "Be careful," she whispered.
Harry nodded, then turned and ran back toward the fight, the Dancer of Decay's energy surging through him once more. He pushed the whispers aside—those seductive voices promising power in exchange for surrender—and focused on reaching Roddard.
"We need to keep it distracted!" Harry shouted as he rejoined the knight. "Millicent has a plan!"
Roddard's helmet turned briefly toward where Millicent stood, then back to Harry. "Whatever she's planning, I hope it works," he said grimly. "We're running out of options."
Together, they charged the Deathbird as it descended upon the captain and Perran. Harry's enhanced speed allowed him to reach it first, his blade slashing at its leg while Roddard targeted its wing joint. The creature screeched in annoyance, black flames gathering around its beak as it prepared another deadly attack.
From his peripheral vision, Harry could see Millicent standing straighter, her golden eye closed in concentration. Her remaining arm extended outward, fingers splayed toward the Deathbird. Nothing seemed to happen at first, and Harry wondered if her powers had failed her.
Then he saw it—a subtle shift in the corrupted ground beneath the Deathbird. Tiny veins of crimson began spreading outward from where Millicent stood, like roots seeking water. They snaked across the battlefield with increasing speed, pulsing with the same sickly energy that marked Millicent's skin.
The Deathbird didn't notice at first, too focused on the more immediate threats of sword and spear. The captain managed to land a solid blow against its leg, and Perran's blade scraped across its skull, drawing its full attention.
The crimson veins reached the creature's position, converging beneath its massive talons.
Twisted tendrils of Scarlet Rot burst upward, wrapping around the Deathbird's legs like living restraints. They pulsed with crimson light, growing thicker and stronger by the second as they anchored the creature to the ground. More tendrils shot upward, seeking purchase on its skeletal form.
The Deathbird screeched in what sounded like genuine surprise, beating its wings frantically as it tried to pull free. But Millicent's Rot tendrils held firm, the twisted vegetation tightening with each movement.
"NOW!" Roddard bellowed, his voice carrying across the battlefield. "Attack while it's held! All together!"
The Deathbird thrashed against its crimson restraints, black flames gathering around its form as it tried to burn through the Rot tendrils. But for every tendril that withered under the Death Flames, two more erupted from the ground to take its place.
Harry saw their opportunity—perhaps their only one. "Captain!" he shouted to the soldier leader. "Take the left side with Perran! Roddard and I will take the right!"
The captain nodded sharply, immediately grasping the strategy. "Perran! With me!" he ordered, and the two men circled to position themselves on the creature's left flank.
Roddard was already charging forward, his spear held at the perfect angle for maximum penetration.
"Go for the joints!" Roddard called to Harry. "The connections between the bones!"
Harry nodded, focusing on the strange junction where the Deathbird's wings connected to its skeletal torso. There had to be some magic holding the creature together.
The captain and Perran struck first, their coordinated attack driving their swords into the Deathbird's left side. The blades scraped against bone with minimal effect, but the distraction served its purpose—the creature's attention swung toward them, away from Roddard's approach.
The knight took full advantage, driving his spear with all his considerable strength into the Deathbird's spine. The weapon struck between two vertebrae, and for once, penetrated deeply. The creature's screech shifted from anger to pain as Roddard twisted the spear, widening the damage.
Harry knew this was their moment—the one chance they might have while the Deathbird was both restrained and wounded. Drawing on everything he'd learned over the past eleven days, he reached for a different power—not the seductive, corrupting energy of the Rot, but the cleaner, more familiar sensation of lightning.
Vyke's Dragonbolt technique had been designed to channel lightning through a weapon, enhancing its cutting power. But as Harry gathered the energy within himself, he realized a standard application wouldn't be enough against this ancient predator. He needed something more.
Instead of directing the lightning into his sword, Harry gathered it in his palm, compressing it into a dense, crackling spear of pure electrical energy.
The result was unlike anything he'd created before—a massive thunderspear that pulsed with both golden lightning and crimson corruption, the two energies spiraling around each other without quite mixing.
"Die," Harry muttered, and with all his strength, he hurled the construct directly at the Deathbird's skull.
The thunderspear flew true, streaking across the battlefield like a comet before plunging directly into one of the creature's empty eye sockets.
The explosion was contained within the Deathbird's skull, but its effects were spectacular. Golden-crimson light blazed from every opening in the bone structure, and the right side of its skull cracked with a sound like breaking glass. The crack extended from eye socket to jaw, spreading like a spiderweb across the ancient bone.
"YES!" Harry shouted, triumph surging through him. Finally, they'd done some real damage!
The Deathbird's screech of pain echoed through the place. It thrashed violently, and Black flames erupted all across its body, burning through Millicent's Rot tendrils.
"It's breaking free!" Perran shouted in warning.
Harry turned to look for Millicent and saw her straining to maintain her hold on the creature, sweat beading on her forehead as she poured more power into the Rot tendrils. But the Death Flames were winning, burning through her constructs faster than she could regenerate them.
With a final, earth-shaking screech, the Deathbird tore free of its restraints. Its skull was still cracked, lightning energy crackling sporadically across the damaged bone, but if anything, it seemed even more dangerous now—a wounded predator driven to fury.
"Fall back!" the captain ordered, recognizing the danger. "Defensive positions!"
But the Deathbird would not let them, its wings sweeping outward in a black blur. The left wing caught one of the remaining soldiers across the chest, crushing his ribcage instantly. The right wing formed another Death Flame sword, which it brought down upon a second soldier before anyone could intervene. The man didn't even have time to scream as the black flames unmade him from existence.
"No!" Perran cried out, rushing forward despite the captain's orders.
Harry tried to intercept him, but he was too far away. The Deathbird's tail whipped around, catching Perran mid-charge and sending him flying. He struck a twisted tree with bone-breaking force, slumping to the ground in a motionless heap.
"Perran!" the captain shouted, his face twisted with grief and rage. He was the only one of his men still standing now, the others either dead or incapacitated.
Harry struggled to catch his breath, the exertion of creating the thunderspear leaving him momentarily drained. He'd put everything he had into that attack, and while it had damaged the creature, it clearly wasn't enough.
"We need to retreat," Roddard said suddenly, his voice low and urgent as he moved closer to Harry. "The Deathbird is focused on the soldiers. This may be our only chance."
Harry stared at the knight in disbelief. "You want us to just leave them to die?"
Roddard's helmet tilted slightly, and though Harry couldn't see his face, he could sense the grim calculation behind the knight's words. "They were ready to kill Lady Millicent moments ago. Now they're providing a distraction that might save her life. Grab her and move while we still can."
Harry glanced across the battlefield. The captain was bravely holding his position, shield raised against the Deathbird's relentless assault. Perran was stirring weakly where he'd fallen, clearly alive but barely conscious. The massive creature hovered above them, preparing another attack with those terrible Death Flames, but it seemed like it wanted to play first.
"That thing can fly," Harry argued, though part of him recognized the logic in Roddard's suggestion. "Even if we run, it'll just finish them off and come after us. We'd be delaying the inevitable."
"Sometimes delay is all we can hope for," Roddard countered. "Lady Millicent is exhausted from channeling that much Rot power. She needs protection, and our first duty is to her."
Harry found himself torn between his instinct to help everyone and the practical reality of their situation. These were the same soldiers who'd been ready to execute Millicent for the crime of being born from Malenia's Bloom. Did he owe them anything? Wouldn't Hermione tell him that the logical choice was to save those he cared about most?
But he couldn't shake the image of Perran's grief when he spoke of finding his family transformed into trees, or the captain's steadfast courage in the face of certain death.
"I can't," Harry said finally, gripping his sword tighter. "I can't just leave them."
Then, without warning, a massive figure launched itself from a nearby ridge—a blur of motion too fast for Harry to track properly. Something large and powerful arced through the air, directly toward the hovering Deathbird.
A flash of metal caught the crimson light of Caelid's diseased sky, and then the Deathbird's left wing separated from its body. The severed skeletal limb crashed to the ground with a sound like splintering timber, black flames sputtering along the ancient bones.
The Deathbird's screech of agony was unlike anything Harry had heard before. It lurched in the air, suddenly unbalanced, its remaining wing beating frantically to maintain altitude.
"What in Merlin's name...?" Harry breathed, staring in disbelief at their unexpected savior.
The figure landed easily for something so large, absorbing the impact of a twenty-foot drop as if it were nothing. Harry's first impression was of tremendous size and power—a warrior who stood at least seven feet tall, with broad shoulders.
But as the figure straightened, Harry realized this was no ordinary warrior. The head that turned toward the wounded Deathbird was distinctly lupine—a wolf's head on a humanoid body, covered in dark fur that blended with ornate armor. A long cape billowed behind the figure, and in its massive hands, it wielded a greatsword unlike anything Harry had seen before, longer than he was tall.
"Who is...?" Millicent whispered, having recovered enough to stand beside Harry, leaning heavily on his shoulder.
The wolf-warrior moved, positioning itself between the Deathbird and the exhausted fighters. The creature screeched in challenge, still dangerous despite its missing wing. It gathered Death Flames into its remaining wing, forming another of those terrible black swords.
But the wolf-warrior was faster. It lunged forward, its massive greatsword cutting through the air. The Deathbird tried to parry with its flame-sword, but the wolf-warrior's blade passed through the black flames as if they weren't there.
In a single move, so fast Harry could barely track it, the greatsword struck. The blade cleaved through bone, separating the creature's head from its skeletal body.
The Deathbird's skull hung in the air, black flames still flickering from its eye sockets. Then it fell, landing with a dull thud on the corrupted soil. The headless body collapsed a second later, its bones disconnecting as whatever unholy magic had animated them began to fade.
Black flames erupted across the fallen creature's remains, consuming bone and sinew alike. Within moments, the once-terrifying Deathbird was reduced to smoldering ash and blackened fragments that crumbled at the slightest touch.
Harry stared at their savior in stunned silence. The wolf-warrior calmly wiped its blade clean before returning it to a sheath on its back. Now that the immediate danger had passed, Harry could see the figure more clearly—the wolf's head was indeed real, with intelligent eyes and an expression of concern as if he wanted to ask if they were alright.
"Who...?" Harry began, but was interrupted by Roddard's shocked exclamation.
"Princess Ranni's Shadow?" The knight's voice carried genuine astonishment, something Harry had never heard from the stoic warrior before. "Blaidd the Half-Wolf?"
The wolf-warrior—Blaidd, apparently—turned toward them, his amber eyes assessing each survivor in turn. When he spoke, his voice was deep and rumbling, yet perfectly intelligible.
"The very same," he confirmed, giving Roddard a respectful nod. "Though I confess surprise at finding a Cleanrot Knight so far from Malenia's domain."
"And I'm surprised to find the sworn wolf of Caria here in Caelid," Roddard replied, his initial shock giving way to caution. "What business does Princess Ranni have in this blighted land?"
Blaidd's gaze shifted from Roddard to Harry and Millicent, lingering on them with particular interest.
"I am here to help," Blaidd said simply, offering no further explanation.
The captain limped forward, still clutching his sword despite his obvious exhaustion. "Help whom?"
Blaidd merely turned his lupine head toward the remains of the Deathbird, which were still burning with those unnatural black flames. "Would you have preferred I arrived later?" he asked, a hint of dry humor in his rumbling voice.
Harry stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of Millicent. "We're grateful for the help," he said carefully. "But Roddard's question is fair. Why are you here? How did you find us?"
"We should not linger here," the half-wolf said grimly. "The Death Flames attract others of its kind. This one's siblings will come to investigate."
"There are more of those things?" Harry asked, unable to keep the dismay from his voice.
Blaidd's wolf features arranged themselves into what might have been a grim smile. "In Caelid? Always."
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