Three months later.
The forest echoed with snarls.
Altheron's blade sang as it cut through the air, biting into the matted hide of a wolf-like beast. Its eyes burned crimson, its breath carried the stench of rot. Another lunged from the underbrush, jaws wide—but an arrow struck it down before it reached them. Emi lowered her bow, silver hair loose in the wind, lips set in grim focus.
Their first true hunt.
The beasts were not ordinary wolves; jagged horns jutted from their skulls, twisted remnants of the chaos that dungeons had spilled into the world generations ago. Their claws gleamed like knives, their howls stirred a primal dread that could rattle even hardened men. The very ground seemed restless beneath their boots, as if the land itself had not forgotten the madness of the berserk dungeon.
The pack moved as shadows, weaving between the trees. One lunged straight for Emi's throat—Altheron was faster. His sword flashed like lightning, steel ripping through flesh. Black ichor splattered across the moss.
Another beast barreled toward a farmer scrambling for safety. Emi shoved the man aside, but a claw tore across her arm before she loosed an arrow point-blank into its eye. The creature fell with a shuddering thud at her feet.
Altheron caught the sharp hiss of her pain. Anger surged hot in his chest. He pressed forward with renewed ferocity, cleaving through another beast. The last and largest came charging—horns lowered, crimson eyes fixed on his heart.
Steel met bone. The impact jarred his arms, his boots carving trenches into the soil. Snarling, the monster forced him back, hot breath flooding his face. For a heartbeat, it seemed neither would yield. Then Altheron twisted, driving his blade beneath its ribs. The beast gave a thunderous cry that rattled the branches before collapsing lifeless at his feet.
The forest fell silent.
Altheron exhaled, wiping his blade clean.
"That was… a little more than the Guild slip promised," he muttered, rolling his shoulder where a claw had grazed him.
Emi knelt beside the child she had shielded, binding a cut with swift fingers. "You complain too much. They're breathing—that's what matters."
He arched a brow at her arm.
"And you're bleeding."
"So are you," she shot back without missing a beat. "Call it even."
A low chuckle escaped him, rare and unguarded.
"Fair enough. For a first hunt, we held our ground."
Emi smirked faintly, brushing dirt from her knees.
"We lived because we watched each other's backs. Remember that."
Their words faded, but the bond between them spoke louder than the silence that followed.
By dusk, the last traces of battle were gone. Altheron sheathed his sword while Emi tended once more—this time to the farmer who had watched it all unfold, trembling like a leaf.
"You're safe now," she said gently, wrapping his shallow wound with a strip of cloth torn from her cloak.
The man stared at her, disbelief giving way to gratitude deep enough to glisten in his eyes.
"If not for you… we'd be lost."
Altheron placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Then keep the little ones safe. Tomorrow matters more than thanks."
The days that followed tied them to the village in ways no coin-slip could.
They labored beside the people, repairing fences shattered by the beasts, hauling water for crops, comforting frightened children. Emi's laughter softened the air as she showed a girl how to braid flowers into her hair. Altheron, steady as stone, carried loads that would break lesser men.
One evening, while mending a broken cart wheel, Altheron felt a farmer's rough hand clap his back.
"Never thought I'd see a sword-hand fixing wood," the old man said.
Altheron shrugged, faint smile tugging his lips.
"Wood doesn't bite as hard as wolves."
The farmer's laughter rang across the fields.
Slowly, the villagers stopped seeing them as strangers. They were guardians.
Even Roth—the scarred adventurer who once mocked them—watched in silence from the edges. On the third day, he finally stepped forward, scratching his neck.
"You two…" His voice was rough, hesitant. "Didn't think you'd last. Seems I was wrong."
Emi smirked. "That sounded suspiciously like a compliment."
Roth snorted. "Don't push it." He gave a curt nod, but Altheron saw the flicker of respect in his eyes.
That night, the village gathered around a fire. Flames crackled, painting weary faces in shifting light. The elder, a bent man with skin like weathered bark, leaned forward. His raspy voice carried over the hush.
"You think dungeons are just holes in the ground—dark maws waiting for fools. But listen well. Not all can be seen with mortal eyes."
The villagers stilled.
"Some slumber deep beneath the earth, stirring only when the land itself groans awake. Others wear disguises—forests, ruins, even a calm pond might hide their gates. Walk past, and you'd never know… until it claimed you. These hidden dungeons…" His gaze swept the firelit crowd. "…they hold foes beyond reckoning. And treasures enough to topple kings."
Altheron leaned forward slightly.
"Then how do we fight what cannot be seen?"
The elder's cloudy eyes locked on him.
"By listening. By watching. Even the air changes when such places stir."
He spat into the fire, sparks leaping skyward.
"Why do you think monsters still roam when that berserk dungeon fell long ago? Because hidden ones still breathe. Their spawn kill and multiply until their numbers cannot be scoured away. Now they are woven into the land itself. Even the air carries their mark."
The villagers murmured prayers, fear heavy in their voices.
At last, the elder's tone dropped to a whisper, brittle but sharp.
"If you wish to glimpse the truth… seek the shrine. There, perhaps, lies what even kings dare not name."
The flames roared higher, scattering embers into the night sky.
Emi frowned softly, curiosity sparking in her eyes.
"A shrine…?" she murmured. But the elder spoke no further, as though naming it again would summon its shadow.
At dawn, a new notice hung on the Guild's board: an escort mission to the neighboring town of Caelburn, guarding a merchant caravan through forest roads often prowled by beasts.
Altheron read the slip aloud.
"Caravan work. Long roads, little pay… and too many teeth waiting in the brush."
Emi tilted her head, a grin tugging at her lips.
"And yet, you're still holding it."
He sighed.
"You already decided, didn't you?"
"Of course."
Altheron shook his head, though a faint smile betrayed him. Together, they accepted.
The road to Caelburn stretched ahead, wide and uncertain. Yet the elder's words lingered with every step. For in every forest, every ruin, perhaps even beneath their very feet… the unknown waited.