The rain hadn't stopped, only softened to a steady, cold drizzle that blurred the line between earth and sky. The forest floor steamed faintly where the earlier downpour had soaked into warm soil, wrapping the Beast Glades in a shifting veil of mist. Every sound was dampened — our footsteps, the rustle of wet leaves — as if the woods were holding their breath.
We followed the tracks.
They were easy enough to spot even in the gloom: three-toed, talons gouging deep into the softened earth. The stride was long, measured. This was no panicked creature. It moved like it owned the ground it walked on.
Danya kept her eyes low, reading each mark like a book. Riken ranged wide to the left, scanning for signs of the Monster instead. Vell stayed near the rear, guarding our flank. I kept to the center, watching the way ahead while keeping half an eye on Squad One shadowing us a dozen paces back.
We hadn't spoken much since leaving the camp. The earlier tension between me and Tessa still clung to the air like static. She'd made it clear she thought we were stepping too far into dangerous ground. I didn't disagree — but that didn't mean I'd turn back.
The tracks led us deeper into a stretch of old forest. The trees here were massive, their trunks thick and scarred, roots twisting like stone serpents. Sunlight never fully reached this place, even in summer. Today, with the stormclouds still heavy overhead, it felt more like dusk than midday.
The moment came without warning.
Danya froze mid-step, her hand going up in a sharp signal. The rest of us halted instantly. Even Squad One behind us stopped, though I caught the faint scrape of Tessa's boots against wet rock.
Ahead, the mist shifted. Not with the wind — there was none — but as though something vast had moved through it. A faint, rhythmic rustle followed, like the whisper of sails catching a breeze.
And then it was there.
It emerged from the fog not with a leap or a roar, but with a quiet, almost regal certainty.
The Beast stood taller than a man, feathers slick with rain, each one edged in the faintest green luminescence — the same hue as the feather we'd found in the aqueduct. Its wings were folded close to its sides, but even at rest they hinted at a span wide enough to blot out the canopy. Its head was crowned with a line of narrow plumes that swayed gently, and its eyes — gods, its eyes — were not the eyes of an animal.
They were gold, ringed with a faint inner light. And they were looking directly at me.
I felt the weight of that gaze settle on me, cold and unblinking. Not a predator's glare. Not quite a challenge. More like… assessment.
No one moved. No one spoke. Even the drizzle seemed to hush.
The Beast tilted its head slightly, the way a hawk might when watching something from a branch. My fingers tightened on my weapon, but I didn't raise it. Beside me, Danya's knuckles were white on her spear. Behind us, I could feel Tessa's eyes boring into the back of my head, waiting for me to make the call.
It stepped forward once, talons clicking softly against a buried stone. My pulse spiked, but I held my ground. The golden eyes never left mine.
Then, as if deciding something, it let out a low, resonant sound — not quite a growl, not quite a call. The note seemed to vibrate in my chest. Its wings shifted slightly, droplets scattering from the feathers, and I caught the faint, sharp scent of rain-soaked ozone.
It didn't attack.
Instead, the Beast turned its head toward the east — toward the deeper woods, toward the place we'd last seen signs of the Monster. Its gaze lingered there for a long breath before returning to me.
And then, with a sudden sweep of its wings, it launched upward. The force of the movement sent a rush of wind through the trees, rattling wet leaves and sending sprays of rainwater pattering to the ground. In seconds, it vanished into the mist above, leaving only the faint tremor of disturbed air in its wake.
The silence that followed was almost painful.
Riken let out a slow breath. "Well. That was… different."
Danya shot him a look that told him now wasn't the time for commentary.
From behind, Tessa's voice came sharp and low. "You didn't move. It could've killed you."
I turned to face her, rain dripping from the edge of my hood. "It didn't."
"That's not the point."
"It is," I said, holding her gaze. "It saw us. It chose not to attack."
Vell's voice came from the rear, calm but edged. "Or it's waiting. Watching."
That thought lodged itself in my mind, stubborn and unwelcome.
The rest of the patrol back to camp was silent. The golden eyes stayed with me, burned into my thoughts. That moment — the way it had looked at me, the strange call, the choice not to strike — didn't feel random.
It felt like the beginning of something.
And I wasn't sure yet if that was a good thing.