Cel pushed himself upright. The world tilted immediately - floor trading places with ceiling, walls bending in directions they shouldn't. His hand shot out, caught the creature's bulk for balance. The violet blade still protruded from its throat.
He needed that back.
His feet found uncertain purchase against wood that groaned beneath his weight. Each step toward the corpse required conscious effort, his body refusing to remember how walking was supposed to work.
His hand reached for Silent Moon's hilt. Missed it entirely, fingers closing on air as the world tilted a half-second too late. He tried again, slower this time, and caught the leather wrapping.
The blade slid free easily, steel parting from flesh with barely any resistance. Cel stumbled backward with the sudden release, nearly falling before his feet remembered their purpose.
Silent Moon came free. The violet steel emerged slick with blood that dripped in thick lines down its length. Cel stumbled backward with the sudden release of resistance, nearly falling before his feet remembered their purpose.
"Move." Hestia's voice cut through the fog clouding his thoughts. "Now."
The group reformed itself with desperate efficiency. Hestia positioned herself at the front, her ribcage armor pulsing with wine-red light that threw shadows across the destroyed interior. Lior's parents moved to the middle, his mother supporting her son with an arm wrapped around his waist. Lior's face had gone pale, one hand pressed against his ribs where the creature had caught him repeatedly.
Cel took the rear position.
They moved through the destroyed entrance into night air that felt sharp and cold against Cel's blood-crusted face.
The village spread before them in varying states of destruction. Fires still burned in scattered locations, throwing orange light that competed with the wine-red glow preceding their group. Smoke drifted through streets that had become unfamiliar in the chaos.
Cel's attention swept across their surroundings, searching for threats through vision that refused to focus properly. Silent Moon remained manifested in his grip, the weight familiar even when everything else felt wrong.
Then movement caught his eye.
Perhaps fifteen steps to their left, partially obscured by smoke and shadow. A creature stood watching them.
Not the massive armored thing they'd just killed. One of the others - burnt-leather skin stretched over wrong-jointed limbs, eyeless head tracking their movement with impossible accuracy.
Cel's grip tightened on Silent Moon. His body tensed, preparing for combat he wasn't sure he could survive in his current state.
The creature didn't move.
Just watched. Its eyeless face following their progress with the particular attention of a predator assessing prey.
But it didn't attack.
Cel's confusion deepened. Why would it just stand there? These things had been tearing through the village with savage efficiency, killing anything that moved. Yet now one stood frozen, making no move to close the distance.
Another appeared to their right. Then a third ahead, positioned near a collapsed wall. All of them watching. All of them motionless.
Cel's gaze tracked across the creatures, trying to understand what had changed. What was different now compared to earlier when they'd been fighting for their lives?
Through the fog, one thought sharpened into focus.
Hestia.
She was the difference.
Cel studied the creatures more closely. Their postures carried something he hadn't expected to see - tension that went beyond predatory readiness. The way they held themselves, the distance they maintained, the complete lack of aggression despite obvious opportunity.
'Are you kidding me?'
These things - creatures that had torn through villagers and students alike, that had destroyed homes and killed without hesitation - were afraid of her?
But the evidence was undeniable. Each creature they passed maintained its distance, tracking their movement but making no move to interfere. Some even retreated slightly as Hestia approached, backing away from the wine-red glow preceding her like something that burned rather than illuminated.
The defensive circle materialized ahead through smoke and scattered firelight. The formation had expanded since Cel had seen it last, incorporating perhaps twenty students now. More villagers huddled inside the protective space, some wounded, others simply terrified.
But the fighting had changed. The desperation Cel remembered from earlier had eased into something more controlled. Students held their positions with greater confidence, their movements coordinated rather than panicked. Creatures still tested the perimeter occasionally, but they faced organized resistance instead of barely-contained chaos.
Instructor Saren spotted them first. Her gaze found Hestia, then swept across the rest of their group with practiced assessment. "Casualties?"
"None dead," Hestia responded. Her tone carried the clipped precision of someone reporting rather than conversing. "Two wounded. One civilian family requiring protection."
Saren nodded once. Gestured toward an opening in the formation where students shifted aside to allow passage. "Get them inside."
They moved through the gap. Students closed ranks behind them immediately, reforming the defensive line without needing instruction.
The interior held perhaps fifty villagers now. Some clustered in small groups, speaking in low voices. Others sat alone, staring at nothing with expressions that suggested they'd stopped processing what was happening around them.
Lior's parents moved toward the other residents. His mother glanced back once, her wheat-blond hair catching firelight, face tight with worry for her son. Then they disappeared into the crowd.
Cel positioned himself at the formation's edge. Found a gap between two students and started to occupy it. His hand closed around Lior's shoulder, preparing to push him toward the protected center where the wounded waited.
"You should get in and—"
Someone grabbed the back of his collar. Pulled him backward with force that nearly toppled his already-unsteady balance.
Cel turned and found Hestia. Her crimson eyes studied his face with uncomfortable intensity.
"Why did you do that?" The question emerged sharper than intended, irritation bleeding through despite knowing she probably had good reason.
Hestia didn't answer immediately. Instead she raised her hand, extending fingers. "How many?"
Cel squinted, trying to make his eyes agree with each other. Her fingers doubled, split, drifted apart like they were arguing over how many of them there actually were. Three. Then six. Then—
"That's enough." Hestia lowered her hand before Cel could formulate an answer. Her tone shifted into something that brooked no argument. "Center. Where the wounded are being treated. Now."
Cel opened his mouth to protest. But he quickly closed it again as his body reminded him that standing upright required more effort than it should.
She had a point.
"Fine." The word came reluctant. He glanced toward Lior, who'd been watching the exchange with obvious uncertainty. "Come on."
They moved toward the formation's center. Lior limped beside him, one hand still pressed against his ribs, breath coming in short careful pulls that suggested broken bones or severe bruising.
The wounded area resolved itself as they approached. Perhaps a dozen people lay in various states of injury - some unconscious, others alert but clearly in pain. Blood stained the ground in multiple locations, dark patches that looked black in the inconsistent light.
And moving among them with practiced efficiency was Sylvaine Grovethorn.
Her armor still carried blood spatters from earlier fighting. The shield-shaped breastplate gleamed dully beneath the grime, the engraved roses and golden stems visible even through the mess. She knelt beside a wounded student, her hands glowing with soft green light as she worked.
Another student assisted her. Lior's friend - the girl who'd ranked last at the Academy. Cel knew her, if only by that.
Cel found an empty space near the wounded area's edge. Lowered himself to the ground with less grace than intended, his body folding awkwardly as his legs gave out the final distance. The impact sent fresh pain radiating through his skull, the dizziness spiking briefly before settling back to its constant presence.
Lior followed his lead. Sat down with careful movements, his face screwed up in obvious discomfort. His sky-blue eyes tracked across the wounded, then cut toward where his friend worked.
Then they waited. Minutes accumulated without measurement, time marked only by Sylvaine's gradual progress through the injured. The sounds of combat continued beyond the defensive circle - distant now, muffled by the bodies and voices between them and the perimeter.
Beside him, Lior had gone unnaturally still. His hands rested in his lap, fingers curled loosely. But his expression carried something that went beyond physical pain. Something tighter. More internal.
"What's wrong?" The question emerged quiet enough that the others nearby wouldn't overhear.
Lior's gaze cut toward him. Then away. "Nothing. I'm fine."
"You're not fine." Cel shifted slightly, trying to read whatever emotion was bleeding through Lior's usual openness. "There's nothing to worry about. We're safe here. Your family's safe."
"It's not that. It's... the creature."
Confusion flickered through Cel's thoughts. "What about it?"
Lior's jaw worked. His hands tightened in his lap, knuckles going white. "I killed it."
Silence stretched between them. Cel waited for elaboration that would explain why that statement carried the weight it obviously did.
"And?"
Lior's eyes found his. Wide and uncertain, carrying confusion that matched what Cel felt. "Taking a life... even a creature's life..." He paused, searching for words. "It doesn't feel right."
"It was a creature." Cel kept his tone neutral, trying to understand where this was going. "It would have killed us otherwise.
"I know." Lior's voice dropped lower. "I know that. Logically, I understand that killing it saved us. Saved my parents. That it was the right thing to do." His hands uncurled, then curled again. "But it still feels wrong. Like I crossed some line I can't uncross."
The statement landed with unexpected weight. Cel turned it over, comparing it to his own experience.
In the Ashlands. His first kill - the Ashlurker he'd fought with nothing but desperation and strength he hadn't yet learned to control. He remembered the fear during the fight. The animal desperation to survive. The moment when his blade had finally found something vital and the creature had stopped moving.
But what came after the fear ended was what stuck with him now.
Satisfaction.
Sharp and frighteningly pure. Not relief at surviving, though that existed too. Something deeper. More visceral. The primal understanding that he'd won.
He hadn't questioned it at the time. The creature was dead. He was alive. It was as simple as that.
However Lior's reaction was completely different. Horror where Cel had felt satisfaction. Guilt where Cel had felt triumph. The uncomfortable sense that killing - even justified killing - had changed something fundamental.
So which reaction was the right one?
Or was there even such a thing as a right response to taking a life? Maybe both reactions were equally valid. Or equally wrong. Or maybe the question itself was flawed, assuming that moral certainty existed where only messy human complexity could live.
The question made Cel's head hurt worse than it already did. He'd never been good at this kind of thinking. He had spent most of his life focused on immediate survival rather than examining the implications of his actions.
"I got an achievement for it though." Lior's expression shifted. Something like hope entering where guilt had been dominant. "The Moon Goddess acknowledged what I did." His mood brightened fractionally, like he was grasping at justification. "So maybe… it really was a good thing. If even the Goddess thought it was worth recognizing."
"You got an achievement?" Cel's attention sharpened despite the dizziness still clouding his thoughts.
"Yeah. Did you get one too?"
"No." The word came flat.
"Oh." Lior's excitement dimmed slightly. Then recovered as a new thought occurred to him. "I'm going to check what I got." His eyes had already started to lose focus, attention turning inward. "I'll be back in a moment."
His body went still. Breathing continuing but consciousness clearly elsewhere, diving into his soul-space to examine whatever reward the Moon Goddess had granted.
Cel watched him for a moment. Then made his own decision.
The Ledger of Nightmares manifested in his hands with familiar weight. Curiosity flickered past the pain, thin but persistent.
The creatures from tonight - what rank were they?