The air finally stilled, although the smell of blood still lingered. Broken carts lay scattered across the muddy road, roofs were torn open, and charred wood smoked faintly under the night sky. The raiders had been defeated, yes—but victory didn't erase the silence of the dead or the cries of the wounded.
Villagers worked through the ruins with shaking hands. Some dug through collapsed walls to drag out survivors, others stood in groups, holding one another and weeping. The rest of the companions helped where they could, moving debris, lifting beams, offering what strength they had left.
Kael leaned against a half-toppled fence, arms heavy, the blood on his blade already drying. His chest rose and fell in slow, uneven breaths, but his wounds had knitted themselves faster than they should have. Faster than what even a werewolf's blood was supposed to allow.
"Hold still," Elara said softly, kneeling beside me. Her hands were stained red, not with her blood but with that of the villagers she had already tended to. "You're covered in cuts. Don't move."
I gave a faint smile. "It looks worse than it is."
She shot him a look, half-annoyed, half-worried. "Don't say that. I've seen men bleed out from less." Her hands glowed faintly as she pressed them over a gash on his arm. Healing magic, warm and gentle, seeped into his bones. The pain dulled, the skin knitting itself closed under her touch.
"You're getting good at that," I muttered.
Her lips curved faintly, though her eyes stayed down. "I only know the basics. But… when I was out there fighting beside you, swinging that staff…" She paused, biting her lip before meeting my eyes. "I was terrified. But at the same time—I felt alive. I've never felt that before."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The world around us was heavy with grief, but in that silence, something like trust began to root itself between us.
"Fear is natural," I said finally. "But during combat like that, fear is what keeps you sane, it's what keeps you... alive."
Her cheeks flushed slightly, but she only nodded, withdrawing her hands once the wound sealed. "Still… you shouldn't heal this fast. This is abnormal for a Nord."
He paused, he didn't answer.
Because deep down I didn't know either.
Later that night, when the survivors had gathered together, the Companions made camp near the edge of the ruined village. A fire crackled in the center, casting long shadows on the dirt.
Vilkas sat with a mug in his hand, boasting loudly. "You should've seen the one I split in two! He was twice my size, but he fell like a tree!"
Farkas laughed, thumping his brother's shoulder. "You always talk like you're the hero of every fight. Did you forget the one who nearly cleaved your helm off? I had to drag him off you!"
"You exaggerate," Vilkas grumbled, but the grin never left his face.
Aela leaned back, polishing her bow with slow, deliberate strokes. "Brag all you want. We all know who landed the cleanest shots."
Skjor chuckled, the firelight dancing in his scarred features. "The fight's over, and we're alive. That's all that matters." His eyes slid across the flames and lingered on me for a second longer than necessary.
He said nothing, but Kael felt the weight of his gaze. He'd seen the way he fought. The way he recovered. It wasn't ordinary. Not even for one of them.
The fire crackled. Stories were told, laughter echoed, and slowly the mood lifted, at least for a little while.
But when Kael finally lay down on the grass, his mind refused to quiet.
[System Notification…]
The faint sound rang in his head as though from nowhere, half-whisper, half-static. His vision flickered with faint light only he could see.
[Bloodline detected.]
[Aberration. Preparing for evolution.]
The words twisted, warped, and broke apart like shattered glass.
He sat up with a start, his breath quickening. "What… was that?"
No answer came. The night was silent except for the soft breathing of the Companions around the fire.
He lay back down, uneasy. Sleep claimed him anyway, dragging him into darkness.
Dreams came...
* * * *
I stood in a forest drowned in shadows. The moon above was broken, splintered, dripping red light. Wolves circled around me, their eyes glinting like silver. Their howls echoed endlessly, filling the void.
Then I saw it—something larger, something wrong. A beast crouched in the darkness, its eyes burning like coals, its fangs stretching unnaturally long. It stared at me, unblinking, as though it knew me.
The wolves around me lowered themselves, tails tucked in fear.
And then—
[System Warning.]
The words tore across the dream like lightning.
[Predator identified.]
[Not of your pack.]
The beast moved.
My heart slammed against my ribs—
I woke with a start, drenched in sweat, the fire reduced to faint embers. My chest heaved as I tried to calm my breath.
The dream clung to me like chains. The System's words echoed in my skull.
Not of your pack?
What had I just seen?
And what in Oblivion's name was hunting... me?