The wolves were gone, melted into the night, but the silence left behind was not peace; it was the tight, breathless quiet of prey waiting to be stalked again.
The storm refused to subside, yet its essence had shifted. The roar echoed hollow now after the wolves' retreat. There was no rain at all, only roaring wind, but it was high above and just circling in the sky, as though wary of descending to touch the ground.
The hunters stood frozen, half-crouched in postures of wary defense, their weapons still clenched like ancient statues of warriors paused mid-battle. Their eyes, wide and unblinking, still held the lingering imprint of the silver lightning; ghostly reflections that etched into their irises. For long, suspended moments, no one dared to stir.
Then the slab groaned again.
"Off it. Now!" Barik barked.
Together, the battered survivors slipped off the stone and onto the hillside proper. The slab sagged behind them, its far end tilting further into the abyss until the whole ledge looked like a jaw about to snap. Only when they were clear did the father and son lower their axes, shoulders sagging.
Barik leaned against his ax, every muscle trembling. The slab beneath him still thrummed faintly, like a beast's heart slowing after a sprint. He dared not shift his weight.
Thalen limped toward him from the other side, dragging his shattered spear haft, mud streaking his scarred face. For the first time in years, they looked at each other, not as father and son, but as survivors who had stood on the brink of death together.
No words passed between them at first. Just the unspoken truth: without that light, they would all be dead.
"Dara," Barik croaked.
She still stood, machete in hand, shoulders squared. Blood trickled from her side, but her gaze swept the treeline, fierce and unyielding, as though daring the wolves to return. Only when she saw they were really gone and the surroundings were silent did she finally sink to her knees.
Joeren was at her side in an instant, pressing a cloth against the wound.
"Easy," he murmured, though his hands shook worse than hers.
The hunters collapsed where they stood. Some clutched their wounds. Others pressed their foreheads to the mud, as if grateful to feel solid ground.
Thalen's men gathered what remained of their strength. Cugat dragged a wounded boy free from the mud. Others tried to relight torches.
For now, they only had the burning tree lighting the periphery and the memory of that searing silver.
They kindled a bonfire. The slow-burning trunk of a felled tree smoldered not far behind them on the hill's slope.
When the worst had been bound, they huddled in a semi-circle facing the bonfire and the slope of the hillside. Yet no rest came easily. All eyes turned now and then toward the ridge, where the last traces of silver still glimmered faintly in the mud, like veins of light buried under the earth.
Barik watched the longest. He wanted to believe it was Elder Ruvio; striking like a storm-spirit, scattering the pack. But what if it wasn't? What if it was something else entirely, something older, something they had woken by spilling blood on this cursed hill?
He shivered despite the fire. Somewhere below, the river rumbled, hidden by storm. And above it all, the memory of that light burned in his thoughts, a question without an answer.
A fine rain drifted down, tempering the heat radiating from wood and flame, dappling their skin with cool touches amidst the warmth. Yet the interplay of fire and rain conjured an unsettling illusion.
It's so magical. They were enveloped by spectral clouds, fog born from the heat's dance with water droplets hanging heavy in the air.
"What in the gods' name was that?" one of the younger hunters whispered.
No one answered.
Barik bent, pressing a hand to the ground. The soil was still freezing-cold where the light had flared. The ground was still faintly humming, as though the earth itself breathed with power.
He looked up, eyes meeting Thalen's. "This wasn't a chance," he said, his voice hoarse but certain.
His father's jaw tightened. He did not argue.
Somewhere beneath them, or within them, something had stirred.
And it had chosen sides.
"We must go," Dara said, her voice strained. Her leg wound was bleeding freely now that the adrenaline was gone. "Before they come back."
Thalen looked at her and agreed. He gave his men no time to wallow. "Cauterize what you can. Tear cloth for bandages. We won't let the storm take more than it has. We'll move as soon as we can," his voice firm, despite the exhaustion.
He pushed himself upright, leaning on the haft of a ruined spear. His men gathered together, faces drawn hollow by fatigue and fear. Barik and his hunters limped over, weapons dragging, the torchlight painting their cuts and bruises in stark relief. For the first time, the two groups stood side by side, not separated by distance or rank, but bound by survival.
Barik gazed at his father and his team. They were in worse shape than they were, having fought on the flat ground. They had come to their aid, and yet, they were the most vulnerable.
Hands fumbled for flint and knives. Joeren, teeth clenched against pain, pressed his last clean strip of shirt to Rian's bleeding foot. Dara herself tore open her own tunic and bound her side in rough layers. She winced, but when Barik tried to help, she shook her head. "Save it for those worse off."
Barik obeyed, though unease gnawed at him. His promise to Ruvio echoed louder now that the wolves were gone. Eris' group. The cave. Had they survived, or had that light…? He turned his gaze toward the storm-dark slopes below, where the river gorge vanished into shadow.
"Could they still be alive?" he echoed his thought suddenly, voice breaking through the silence.
Thalen's head snapped up. "What? What are you talking about?"
Then, Barik told his father what happened in the cave: the carcass of the glass-back, the wounded teammates that they left behind, and the two youngsters, Eris and Kaylah, who stayed with them.
"They could still be alive," Barik repeated, but did not add anything more. He had no heart to suggest going back and putting the others in danger again.
"Yeah, they would be alright." One of them murmured not too loudly, as if talking to himself, and many of the hunters nodded, although they were not sure. They were hoping they were right. Murmurs spread through the weary men. Some looked away, ashamed at the thought of leaving comrades. Others grimaced at the idea of coming back to the cave.
Thalen cut short the murmurs with a sharp gesture, his hand slicing the air. "Alive or not, we can't aid them now. They're beyond our grasp. Our priority is getting back to Haven, and we move as soon as we're able."
He grasped the unspoken concern Barik wanted to voice, but the weight of responsibility for his men sat heavily on him. "I gave your mother my word I'd bring you home alive. These men have families waiting for them, too, and I promised they'd see morning's light and walk back into Haven breathing."
Joeren's jaw worked; he remembered the wounded Renzo and Tonovan in the cave, but reason pressed against his defiance. He saw Dara clutching her thigh, Rian pale from blood loss, the younger lads trembling as they tried to keep their firebrands lit against the rain. Even Thalen's veterans were little more than walking wounds.
The night was long, their future was still uncertain, to march back now could be suicide, but to stay here and wait for the wolves frightened them more. Still, they have to recover first before anything else.
Thalen exhaled, bitter and low. " The tree is still burning, we've got fire to protect us for now. We'll rest for tonight and leave before dawn."
Barik did not answer, but the silence was his tacit agreement.
They set about tending wounds in earnest, using poultices from soaked pouches, heat from sputtering flames. Some cried out when flesh was burned shut; others grit their teeth, staring hollow-eyed into the dark. No songs. No talk. Just the rhythm of pain and necessity.
There were too many dead wolves around them. They could not carry them back since it would attract other predators. They threw them all into the flooded pit. They would attract fewer predators there while in the water.
The storm's rage finally subsided, leaving only the soft hiss of light rain pattering across the sodden mud, mingling with the broken groans of men too exhausted to rise.
Unified in their vigil, they faced the fire's protective glow on the lower side of the hill, their nerves taut with the dread of wolves returning.
It was Cugat's sharp intake of breath that drew their attention. A shadow moved at the tree line; quick, slinking. A wolf. Alone. Its eyes glinted once in the rain before it vanished into the dark. Then, they remembered Dara's warning earlier. She said they have to go; the wolves will come back. Now, they fully trusted her experience.
The camp stiffened.
"They're not gone," one of the younger hunters whispered.
"No," Thalen said grimly. "They're waiting."
No one dared to speak of pursuit. The Alpha's pack had scattered, but the silver light that broke them might not flare again. Chasing wounded predators was a fool's errand, and every man here knew it.
Barik clenched his jaw, staring at the trees. "They'll circle us. Maybe even now."
Thalen's voice was steady, though his body trembled with exhaustion. "We continue our rest for now, sleep if you can; when we've recovered enough, we return to Haven once we see the first ray of sunlight. "
Grim nods in answer to him. No one argued. The ground itself felt heavy beneath them, still echoing the silver flare. To linger here was to tempt fate.
The wounded were bound as best as hands could manage. Dara sat with her back to a shattered rock, her machete still within reach, though her blood-soaked bandages were at her side. Men cast glances at her; different kinds of glances. Joeren collected her bow and gathered every usable arrow for her.
They had seen her fight, seen her step from the shadows of support into the fury of the vanguard. Three wolves had fallen before she even drew her blade, and when the arrows were gone, she cut through the storm with the kind of precision only hardened killers knew.
Some of the hunters whispered admiration: She saved us. Others, more cautious, muttered that such skill did not come from ordinary training. What else had she hidden? What other truths lie veiled in silence? The unknown caused fear of a hidden danger.
Yet in the end, none challenged her. Even those who feared her strength could not deny the truth: without her, they would have been bones in the mud.
Joeren, once the loudest to boast, sat near her in quiet reverence. He had pressed cloth to her wound, had seen her fight when his own arrows failed. The boy who once competed with her marksmanship now bowed his head, eyes burning with something deeper than awe. Respect. He would never doubt her again.
He's no hero, not even strong enough to protect himself, but he silently vowed to give his life to defend her against anyone who crossed her.
When the last bandages were tied and the fallen lay on stretchers, Thalen turned to the gathered hunters. His face was a mask of shadow and rain, but his voice carried the iron of command.
"Once we reached home, we carried with us the tale of what happened here. The pack, the Alpha, and…" He hesitated, gaze flicking toward the ground where the faint shimmer of silver had already faded. "…the light. Other than that, keep them to yourselves."
He was hinting to all: keep Dara's secret skill. It was not right to ostracize her because of that. Whatever secret she had, she will eventually tell them when she's ready.
"We're lucky no one died."
The men shifted uneasily. Some crossed themselves, others bowed their heads, but they all agreed.
So they gathered themselves; two groups beaten into one, bound by scars and shadows.
The unseen wolf circled beyond the trees, and the silver's mystery hung between them.
Before sunrise, they set out for Haven under the cloak of night's last shadows, the darkness slowly yielding to the first light of dawn.
***