The Clearing. Evening.
Grog sat apart from the others, his back against a tree, his sword across his knees.
The fire was low, the shadows long, the night pressing in. The creature's body lay under a tarpaulin at the edge of the clearing, hidden but not forgotten. Its smell was already beginning to turn—sweet and wrong, like meat that had been left too long in the sun.
His chest ached.
It had been aching for hours, a deep, burning pain that started somewhere beneath his ribs and spread outward. He had felt it before—in the pass, after the beast, when the wounds were fresh and the healers had told him to rest. He had ignored it then. He was ignoring it now.
He pressed his hand against his side. The bandages were damp. Not with sweat.
Blood.
He looked down. His shirt was dark in the firelight, the stain spreading slowly, steadily. He pulled his hand away. His fingers were red.
He didn't call out. Didn't move. Just sat there, watching the others, waiting for the pain to fade.
It didn't fade.
---
Lira noticed first.
She had been watching him all evening—the way he moved, the way he held himself, the way his hand kept drifting to his side. She had seen him wounded before, had seen him hide it before, had learned to read the signs.
She walked to him, knelt beside him, looked at his face.
"You're bleeding."
He shook his head. "It's nothing."
She reached for his shirt. He caught her wrist.
"Grog."
He met her eyes. Held her gaze for a long moment. Then he let go.
She pulled his shirt up.
The bandages were soaked, dark red, almost black in the firelight. She peeled them back carefully, slowly, trying not to hurt him. The wound beneath was worse than she expected.
The flesh around it was blackened, wrong, the edges curled and dark. The wound itself was deep—she could see the muscle beneath, the places where the creature's claws had torn through. It should have been healing. It wasn't.
She looked at his face. "How long?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Since the pass."
"The pass was weeks ago."
"I know."
---
Mirena came to kneel beside them.
She had been watching from across the clearing, had seen Lira's face change, had seen Grog's hand on her wrist. Now she looked at the wound, touched the blackened flesh, felt the heat radiating from it.
"It's infected," she said. "Not normal infection. Something else."
Grog looked at her. "The creature?"
She nodded slowly. "The claws. The thing that came through. There was something in it. Something that's still in you."
Lira's voice was sharp. "Can you heal it?"
Mirena was quiet for a moment. "I can try. But I can't do it here. I need supplies. Clean tools. Light." She looked at Grog. "We need to get you back to the palace."
Grog shook his head. "We have other things to do. The creature—"
"Is dead." Lira's voice was firm. "You're not."
He looked at her. She didn't look away.
"We go back," she said. "Tomorrow. At first light."
Grog was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded.
---
Aldric watched from across the clearing.
His leg was propped, his cane beside him, his face pale. He had been resting, trying to save his strength, trying to let his body heal. Now he watched Grog, Lira, Mirena gathered around the wound, their faces grim.
Gwen sat beside him.
"He's going to be okay," she said.
He looked at her. "How do you know?"
She was quiet for a moment. "Because he has to be."
He almost smiled. Almost. "That's not how it works."
"I know." She met his eyes. "But I have to believe it."
---
William stood at the edge of the clearing, his back to the others, his eyes on the darkness.
He had been thinking about the fight, about the moment when the creature had been over Aldric, about the moment when he had put himself between them. He had been thinking about what it meant to be a soldier, to be someone who stood between others and death.
He had been thinking about his brother, Edward, alone at the palace, reading reports, waiting for news.
He looked at the darkness.
The creature was dead. The portal was gone. But there was something else out there. Something that had been watching.
He could feel it.
---
The night passed slowly.
Lira took first watch, her bow across her knees, her eyes on the darkness. Grog slept—or tried to—his hand on his sword, his face pale, his breathing shallow. Aldric slept, his leg propped, his cane beside him. William slept, his sword in his hand, his back to a tree. Gwen slept, curled beside the fire, her cloak pulled tight. Mirena stayed awake, her staff in her hand, her eyes on Grog's wound.
She had done what she could—cleaned it, bandaged it, given him something for the pain. But she knew it wasn't enough. The infection was spreading. The blackened flesh was growing.
She looked at the creature's body, hidden under the tarpaulin.
Something in its claws had done this. Something that was still in Grog's blood.
She needed to understand what.
---
At dawn, they broke camp.
The horses were saddled, the packs were loaded, the creature's body was left where it had fallen. There was no time to bury it, no time to burn it. They needed to move.
Grog rode at the front, his face pale, his hands steady on the reins. Lira rode beside him, her bow across her back, her eyes on the trees. Aldric rode behind them, his leg propped, his cane tied to his saddle. William rode beside him, his sword in his hand. Gwen rode beside William, her eyes on the trail ahead. Mirena brought up the rear, her staff in her hand, her eyes on the forest behind them.
The journey back was slow, painful, silent.
---
The forest was still wrong.
No birds. No animals. No wind. Just the sound of the horses' hooves on the soft earth, the creak of leather, the breath of the riders.
Grog's chest ached with every step. The wound was burning now, the blackened flesh spreading, the pain radiating through his side, his back, his arm. He didn't complain. He didn't slow. He just rode.
Lira watched him. She wanted to tell him to stop, to rest, to let the wound heal. But she knew he wouldn't. She knew he couldn't.
They needed to get back.
---
They reached the edge of the forest as the sun began to set.
The palace was visible in the distance—golden stone, green gardens, the towers dark against the sky. But something was wrong.
Smoke rose from the village below.
Lira saw it first. She raised her hand, and the company stopped.
"What is it?" William asked.
She pointed. "The village. It's burning."
Grog's jaw tightened. "The creature?"
She shook her head. "I don't know."
They rode on.