Morning mist clung to the forest floor, curling around roots and stones like silent serpents. Dew glistened on every leaf as the sun climbed steadily above the treetops. The group had settled into a rhythm—traveling during the day, keeping watch in pairs at night, and learning to trust one another a little more with each step.
Kael, once a quiet shadow among them, had started to speak more freely. His bond with Arya in particular was growing, drawn not by words, but by the way she smiled at him when he showed her a simple flame spell, or the way she fussed when he went too long without eating.
"You remind me of her," he told Arya one evening as she braided her damp hair beside the fire.
"Your mother?" she asked gently, her voice barely louder than the crackling wood.
He nodded. "Not because you know magic. But because you care. She used to scold me for reading too much without sleeping. You're like that."
Arya smiled warmly and reached out to tousle his hair. "Well, someone has to make sure the great Arc Mage doesn't starve."
Selena watched the exchange with a soft expression. The boy had endured far too much—but he was healing. Slowly. And together.
That night, the group camped near a crescent-shaped cliff overlooking a ravine laced with glowing blue moss. Luther had scouted ahead and deemed it safe. The land felt untouched, wild, but no longer hostile. Until the wind changed.
A howl echoed through the forest—deep, guttural, and far too close.
Everyone tensed.
Luther stood instantly, sword drawn. "That wasn't a wolf."
Arya's hand hovered near her dagger, and Selena's eyes began to glow faintly with pulsing silver light.
Then it emerged.
The creature burst from the trees like a living storm. A wolf—no, a beast—twice the size of a horse. Its fur shimmered like molten silver, veins of glowing amber running through its limbs. Flames danced across its paws with each step, leaving charred grass in its wake. Its eyes were burning coals, locked onto the intruders of its domain.
"Back!" Luther shouted, stepping in front of the others. "That's a Blazefang! It should be extinct!"
Arya pulled Selena behind her. "Where's Kael?!"
Before anyone could answer, the beast roared and lunged.
Luther met it head-on, blade flashing in a wide arc. The sword struck the beast's flank, leaving a glowing scar—but the creature didn't slow. Selena threw up a barrier just in time to block a fiery swipe of its claws, but the heat singed her skin.
Arya darted behind it, slashing at its hind legs, drawing its attention. The Blazefang turned, fury rippling off its body in waves.
Then Kael appeared.
He stepped from the woods calmly, eyes locked on the creature, not a trace of fear on his face. He didn't shout. He didn't cast a spell. He simply raised his hand—and whispered a single word in a forgotten tongue.
The Blazefang froze mid-snarl.
Its flames dimmed, then receded. Its body trembled, not in fear—but in recognition. Slowly, it lowered itself to the ground, bowing its massive head toward Kael.
Selena stared in disbelief. "What… did you do?"
Kael approached the beast and pressed his palm gently to its forehead. "It speaks in a different way. I didn't fight it—I listened."
The Blazefang rumbled softly, like a purring thundercloud. It licked Kael's arm and sat beside him, eyes closed, content.
"He's not just powerful," Arya whispered. "He's chosen."
Kael turned to them with a wide grin. "His name is Stormclaw. He's been alone a long time, too."
Luther sheathed his sword, still catching his breath. "We just fought for our lives while you went out and made a friend."
Kael shrugged with a small, proud smirk. "You should try talking more."
They laughed—together this time. The tension broke like a dam. It was the first real laughter since they left Aeloria. A moment of peace.
But it didn't last.
That night, as the fire crackled and Stormclaw curled beside Kael like a great flaming sentinel, Luther stood watch. His gaze swept the treeline, as it always did.
And that's when he saw them.
Two shadows, barely more than wraiths, moving with trained precision along the ridges above the ravine. They weren't beasts. They weren't lost travelers. They moved like soldiers—scouts.
He narrowed his eyes. The emblem on one of their cloaks caught the moonlight.
Aeloria.
Luther's hand moved to his hilt. His heart pounded—not with fear, but with grim certainty.
They had been found.