The camp was quiet in the way only a battlefield could be, a haunted silence between the screams. Soldiers limped through the mud, dragging wounded comrades or scavenging from the dead. The scent of burning moss, boiled blood, and ruptured bone still hung thick in the air. But the fighting, at least for now, had stopped.
Elira sat on the edge of a broken cart wheel, her glaive leaned beside her, one hand pressed against the dried blood along her jaw. Her eyes had not left Thal for several minutes.
He stood alone a few paces from the barricade, silent, arms folded across his bare chest. He wore only a short kilt of scorched brown leather around his hips, the fabric ragged at the edges and blackened by old burns that had eaten away at it, leaving it smaller than it had clearly been made to be. The rest of him was exposed to the cold air, his skin dark and tanned like sunbaked earth, smooth over hard muscle. No scars. No burns. Just the unsettling perfection of something that did not age or weather like ordinary flesh. His hair was short and dark. But his eyes, those were what held Elira. They glowed gold, even in the daylight, casting a faint luminescence that made the air around his face seem to shimmer. No one approached. No one dared. His presence was too large, too heavy, too still and that was exactly what Elira could not stop thinking about.
She had seen the ridge. She had walked through the aftermath where the enemy had died. The earth itself had been torn open. Massive skid marks gouged the ground, deep trenches carved through soil and stone alike as if something massive had been dragged or had dragged itself at impossible speeds. Trees lay uprooted, their root systems exposed to the sky, thick tendrils of earth still clinging to them, the ground beneath torn apart where they had been ripped from their beds. Bodies lay scattered not where they had fallen, but where they had been thrown, limbs twisted by forces that had nothing to do with blades.
A wounded soldier stumbled past Thal now, bleeding from a gash across the thigh, too weak to walk straight. The man tripped on a rut in the mud, his body tilting toward Thal.
Thal did not move. He did not extend his hand. He simply turned his head, those gold eyes locking onto the falling man. The soldier froze mid-fall, his face draining of color as he met that gaze. He flinched, twisting his body to crash into the mud rather than touch Thal, scrambling backward on his elbows with a whimper before dragging himself away, clutching his wound.
Thal returned his gaze to the horizon, arms still folded, motionless.
Elira realized she had stopped breathing.
A fly buzzed near Thal's face, circling the dried blood on his temple. He did not blink. He did not twitch. Then the air imploded.
The fly vanished. Thal's hand remained at his side, motionless, but the wind hit Elira three seconds later. A hot blast that smelled of ozone and scorched air, flattening the grass in a perfect circle around Thal's feet. The force of it rattled the broken cart wheel she sat on.
Valen sat close, a flask resting between his boots, his expression unusually serious."He is calmed down."
Elira did not respond. She was staring at the grass. It lay pressed against the earth in a three-meter radius, every blade pointing away from where Thal stood.
Nyra paced nearby, her voice low. "No. He is resting."
Valen blinked. "Same thing, is it not?"
"Not with him."
Luken approached quietly, staff slung across his back, his illusion still in place, pristine and composed, hiding how drained he really was. He looked at Elira, though her gaze had not moved. "What are you thinking?"
Elira narrowed her eyes. "Back there. When we came to the ridge. All those bodies. Every single one of them slaughtered. Fast."
Nyra nodded. "We knew that."
"But we did not hear it." Elira turned her head now, slowly and deliberately. "Think about that. That many creatures dying, bones snapping, bodies flying, and we did not hear it happen. Not even a whisper."
Valen creased his brow. "You think he killed them that fast?"
Elira looked down at the dried blood on her armor, the soot caked into the crease of her fingers. "Faster. But that is not what bothers me."
She stood up, brushing dirt from her armor, and walked toward the edge of the clearing where the ridge began. The others followed. She stopped at the line of death, where the enemy had been cut down.
"Look at the ground," she said.
They looked. The earth was not just disturbed; it was scoured. Massive gouges tore through the soil, deep channels where something had dug in and propelled itself forward with impossible force. Topsoil had been stripped away in patterns that spiraled outward from points where bodies lay. Trees lay on their sides, massive root balls exposed to the air, clods of earth still hanging from the tangled wood, the ground beneath them ripped open like a wound. Small stones had been driven into tree trunks like bullets. The air itself had burned the leaves on the low shrubs, blackening them in perfect hemispheres.
"He moves," Elira said, her voice quiet, "and the world breaks around him."
Luken folded his arms. "I have seen him kill. He is not subtle. That kind of power does not sneak."
Elira pointed at one of the uprooted trees, its roots exposed and soil still crumbling from them. The trunk had been sheared off cleanly, but the cut was not from a blade. The wood had been pulverized by air pressure alone.
"He is not sneaking," she said. "He is just moving faster than the sound can carry. Faster than the air can get out of his way."
She walked back toward the camp, her boots crunching on the scorched earth. She stopped twenty paces from Thal and watched him.
"He walks with us," she said. "Always. Even in battle. Heavy steps. Slow turns. But when he is alone, he moves like that." She gestured at the devastation on the ridge, at the uprooted trees and gouged earth. "And the world tears itself apart around him."
Nyra frowned. "He has always been fast."
"Has he?" Elira dropped her voice. "Or does he only walk slowly when we are around?"
Luken blinked, his expression shifting. He looked at Thal, then back at the ridge where the bodies lay among the exposed roots and torn earth. "No," he said slowly. "He always moves like that. With us. When we are around."
Valen slowly leaned back, his eyes widening. "He has never run when we were nearby. Not once. Not during any of the fights. Not even when we were surrounded. He walks. Every time."
Elira watched Nyra's face go pale. The woman's mind seemed to be flicking back through all their travels, the slow and steady footfalls behind them, the way she always ran ahead, the way he never pushed past them no matter the danger. Even against the Harbinger.
Elira exhaled, her gaze sharp now. "You ever wonder what would happen if he did not hold back?"
Valen let out a nervous laugh, then cut it short when no one joined in.
Luken looked toward Thal, still standing silently as soldiers passed him by like he was not real. "Why would he hold back?"
Elira's voice was quiet now. "Because if he did not, we would be caught in the crossfire. The wind alone would break our bones. The shockwave would crush our organs."
The words landed. Elira watched them hit. Valen stood up with wide eyes. Luken's jaw tightened. Nyra just stared.
Elira could see it dawning on all of them. Thal had never run beside them. Never surged ahead. Never exploded into motion when they were near. But the moment he was alone, with no one around to shield, he moved like a blade drawn across a battlefield. Like war incarnate, leaving devastation in his wake.
Elira looked toward Thal again, her voice nearly a whisper. "He was not just holding back for our sake. He was protecting us from himself."
Nyra swallowed hard, unable to tear her eyes from him. "Then why fight at all?"
"Maybe he does not know how to stop," Elira said.
Nyra did not respond. Her face had gone slack, her mind clearly too full of questions, of memories, of the cold realization that she had never truly seen the full extent of Thal, not even after all these years. That they had not walked beside him. Not really.
Then a deep and snorting exhale rolled up behind them like a burst of wind from a forge bellows. Nyra nearly jumped out of her skin.
She spun around, axe half raised by instinct before recognition hit her. "Tar!" she hissed, lowering the weapon, hand over her chest. "You cannot just sneak up on people like that!"
The enormous Minotaur stood there in his full and silent glory, arms crossed and nostrils still flaring from the amused breath he had let out. His dark fur was matted with dried blood and soot, but his wide shoulders were relaxed, his hooves sunken deep in the churned-up earth. His horned head tilted slightly, eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction at her reaction.
Despite her frustration, Nyra cracked a grin. "You enjoyed that, did you not?"
Tar gave no verbal answer. But the way his massive chest rumbled with the faintest sound, a low huff somewhere between a growl and a chuckle, was answer enough.
Elira turned from where she stood and did a full double take.
She had seen monsters. Killed her share. But the thing lumbering toward them now made her instinctively adjust her grip on her glaive, not from fear, but sheer reflex. He towered over them. Easily two heads taller than even Thal. A walking mountain of muscle and quiet menace. And yet, there was something measured about him. Something deliberate.
"Elira," Nyra said, catching her expression. "Meet Tar."
Elira blinked once. Twice. Then gave a slow and low whistle. "You were not kidding when you said he was big."
Tar's ears twitched slightly at the sound, but he made no move toward her. His attention remained mostly on the trio. When his eyes settled on Luken, Elira saw the mage stiffen on instinct. Valen did not even try to hide his unease, stepping behind Nyra without a shred of shame.
"He does not talk," Nyra said with a smirk. "But do not let that fool you. He understands everything."
Valen raised an eyebrow. "Everything?"
Tar slowly turned his head toward him.
Valen quickly looked away. "Right. Got it."
Elira, for her part, studied him with an experienced eye. "One of Thal's companions?"
Nyra nodded. "Since before I met Thal. Tar and his sister, Tor. He raised them."
Elira did not hide her surprise. Her eyebrows lifted, her head turning back to study the scars. "Raised them?" Her eyes flicked back to Tar, lingering on the long scars etched across his arms. "Not trained them. Raised?"
"Both," Nyra said, softer now. "They are like family."
Elira took another step, slow and deliberate, circling Tar with the wariness of a seasoned soldier. Her weapon stayed low, but not far from reach. "He looks like he could uproot a building."
"He probably has," Valen muttered.
Tar rumbled again, something between a chuckle and a growl, deep and low in his chest. He moved closer to Nyra and lightly bumped her shoulder with one massive hand, careful not to unbalance her.
She smiled up at him. "I am fine."
He did not seem convinced. Elira watched him sniff Nyra's hair once with a slow exhale before stepping beside her. His gaze drifted forward, settling in the direction of Thal.
Elira followed it, her lips tightening. "If that one is the blade," she muttered, "then this one is the hammer."
Luken finally relaxed, his grip on his staff loosening slightly. "And together they are unstoppable."
Tar remained still, looming like a statue carved from dark stone. But his presence changed the air around them, not with danger or comfort, but with raw and undeniable strength.
Elira crossed her arms. "I do not know what kind of war we are in anymore, but I am starting to think we are not the ones leading it."
Nyra glanced sideways at her. "Then who is?"
Elira did not answer right away. She just looked at Thal. Then Tar. And shivered.
Tar, still looming like a monument over the field, gave a low grunt and turned from the battered horizon. He moved without urgency, the earth crunching beneath his hooves with each deliberate step. As the remaining soldiers busied themselves with the wounded and their dead, Tar walked over to a fallen log just at the edge of the clearing, large and moss-caked and half-rotten but solid enough to bear the weight of a creature like him.
Nyra followed without thinking. She did not need an invitation.
Elira watched the woman's shoulders drop, her body heavy with strain, but something easing in her posture as she drew near to Tar. His quiet and grounded presence offered something Elira could not name. Maybe it was nostalgia. Maybe it was trust. Maybe it was just that, unlike everyone else, Tar never looked at Nyra like she was strange or fragile or unpredictable.
He sat heavily, the log creaking under his massive weight and immediately tilting toward him. Nyra, mid-step, did not react fast enough. With a slight thunk, she slid halfway down the bark and bumped shoulder-first into Tar's thick side.
"Really?" she muttered.
A low rumble echoed from his chest. Not quite a laugh, but close. His tail flicked once behind the log, rhythmically, like a cat toying with something just out of reach.
Nyra smirked. "You are enjoying this too much."
Tar glanced down at her, eyes half-lidded and ears twitching slightly, and then looked back out across the field, utterly content.
Valen and Luken watched from a short distance away, both leaning on the remnants of a broken wagon. Elira stood nearby, her eyes flicking between the trio and the larger figures around them with a sense of growing curiosity.
"That thing has got a sense of humor," Valen muttered under his breath. "Never thought I would say that about a Minotaur."
Luken did not respond, but his expression had softened slightly.
Then Tar did something that made everyone pause. He looked up, took a deep breath, hissed through his nostrils, then he let out a low and distinct call. A deep-chested sound that was not quite a word but was unmistakably directed at Thal. It was not loud. Was not a shout. But Thal heard it.
Even from across the clearing, standing halfway behind the edge of broken ruins, his head turned slightly, just enough to reveal one golden eye beneath the short curtain of his dark hair. That singular eye locked onto Tar for a heartbeat. Then nothing. He turned away and walked on. No nod, no call back, no shift in pace. Just a calm departure, as if the sound meant nothing.
Nyra frowned. "That is odd."
Valen stepped up now, arms crossed. "He never ignores Tar. Tar grunts, Thal listens. Tar points, Thal goes."
Elira blinked, glancing between them. "You all say that like it is normal."
"It is," Nyra replied. "Well, normally."
Tar was still watching where Thal had vanished behind the smoke-veiled tree line, his ears slightly drawn back. He did not seem hurt. Elira saw no tension in his massive shoulders, no wounded posture. Just awareness. His tail had stopped flicking.
Luken looked to Nyra, then back to the horizon. "He heard him. You saw it too. But he did not come."
"Did not even hesitate," Valen added. "Just walked away."
Nyra was quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed on the line of trees Thal had passed through. "Something is off," she said softly. "He always responds. To Tar, at least."
Elira tilted her head. "Maybe he is just tired. Or thinking."
"No," Luken muttered. "That is not it."
Nyra did not answer. Her jaw was clenched and Tar stayed perfectly still, as if whatever that moment was, it had spoken louder to him than to any of them.
Elira watched the Minotaur's face, trying to read what he understood that the rest of them did not. But the creature gave nothing away. He simply sat there, massive and motionless, staring at the empty tree line where Thal had disappeared.