Chapter 55 — What Follows the Hunt
We didn't stop until the forest changed.
Not subtly—decisively. The trees thinned, the ground sloped downward, and the air lost that heavy, watching pressure that clung to places where blood had been spilled recently.
Only then did Korran raise a fist.
We froze.
Bran leaned on his hammer, breathing hard. Selia wiped her blades clean on a strip of cloth like nothing had happened. Lysara was already scanning the perimeter, eyes unfocused, senses stretched just shy of casting.
I sank onto a fallen log.
That's when my leg finally gave me permission to feel pain.
It came hot and sharp, blooming from my thigh down to the ankle.
"Sit still," Lysara said, kneeling in front of me before I could argue.
"I said later."
"And I said sit."
I complied.
She didn't use magic. Just cloth, pressure, practiced hands. That bothered me more than the injury itself.
"You misjudged the charge," she said quietly.
"I adapted."
"You survived," she corrected. "That's not the same thing."
I didn't answer.
Bran snorted. "She's right, you know. That thing wanted to turn you into paste."
"Everything wants that," I said. "It's not special."
Selia smirked. "Careful. That's how legends start. Or gravestones."
Korran crouched near the edge of camp, eyes never stopping. "They knew where we'd be. And when."
"So someone's been watching us for a while," Bran said. "That's comforting."
"No," Korran replied. "Someone's been tracking him."
Silence.
I didn't look up, but I felt it—the shift, the unspoken weight settling on my shoulders.
Lysara tied off the bandage. "That creature wasn't meant to kill you."
I met her eyes. "Then what?"
"To see how you fight when cornered," she said. "Who you prioritize. How far you'll go without revealing everything."
Selia leaned back against a tree. "You passed."
"That's not reassuring."
"It should be," she said. "Means they don't think they can take you yet."
Yet.
The word stuck.
Bran broke the tension, as always. "So what's the plan? Because if we're being stalked by rich idiots with monsters, I'd like to hit them first."
"We move quieter," Korran said. "Shorter routes. Fewer fires."
"And fewer heroics," Lysara added, pointedly.
I exhaled slowly.
"Agreed."
Everyone blinked.
Selia raised an eyebrow. "Wow. He learns."
"Don't spread it around."
The night settled uneasily. No fire—just cold rations and colder thoughts. Sleep came in fragments.
When it was my turn to watch, the forest felt closer than before.
Not hostile.
Interested.
I rested my hand on my sword and let my breathing slow.
Volrag used to say the world tests you in cycles. First with pain. Then with pride. Then with choice.
Tonight had been pain.
The next test worried me more.
Footsteps approached softly.
Lysara stopped beside me. "You're thinking too loudly."
"Someone out there knows more about me than I like."
She nodded. "Yes."
"About us," I corrected.
A pause.
"No," she said. "About you."
I didn't ask how she knew. Didn't ask who.
"Do you regret it?" she asked instead.
"What?"
"Stepping in front of that charge."
I thought of the Behemoth's eyes. The weight of its intent. The moment where instinct and decision had aligned perfectly.
"No," I said. "But next time, I won't let it get that close."
She smiled faintly. "Good."
Then she hesitated. "They weren't probing your strength alone."
I looked at her.
"They were testing whether the mask cracks under pressure."
My jaw tightened.
"It didn't."
"No," she agreed. "But it shifted."
She left me with that.
Dawn crept in slowly, pale and unwelcome.
When the others stirred, Korran gave the signal.
We moved.
Not running.
Not hiding.
Just… aware.
Whoever had sent those mercenaries would adjust their approach.
So would I.
The hunt wasn't over.
It had just learned my pace.