Kealix was asleep before the fire had even died out. The cave walls, jagged and cold, had offered the first true refuge he'd found in days. But that fragile peace shattered in an instant.
"Young master—wake up immediately. We are in danger."
Hero's voice rang out with sharp urgency, louder than usual, cutting clean through the veil of sleep.
Kealix jolted upright, fully alert. No groggy confusion this time. The memory of the blood-colored forest, the nightmarish creatures—still too fresh, too raw. His hand instinctively went to his side, fingers brushing against the smooth edge of his cards.
His gaze darted around the cave. The stony interior looked unchanged—walls still coarse, shadows still deep. Nothing had moved. Nothing seemed different.
"What is it?" he whispered, barely breathing. His heart pounded, but his voice stayed steady. Controlled.
"I heard movement outside," Hero replied, tension coiling tightly in every word. "Rocks—shifting. The creatures may have returned."
Kealix's blood ran cold.
Those things.
Pale, veined, impossible.
He hadn't thought they could climb—but if they could?
"Frost," he whispered, turning toward the small form near the cave wall. "If it comes to the worst... will you fight?"
The white pup stirred at his voice. Its fur shimmered faintly as the magic holding its disguise dispersed. Frost shifted from his passive, garment-like state into his original form—a silvery creature of warmth and quiet strength. His eyes gleamed with awareness. The pup wagged his tail once in answer, silently, carefully.
Kealix allowed a brief smile to pass across his face. Just a flicker.
Not alone.
He turned toward the cave entrance, expression hardening.
"Are you sure, Hero?" he asked, quieter now. Voice low. Focused.
"Positive," Hero replied without hesitation.
Kealix moved closer to the cave's mouth, boots pressing softly into the packed dirt. He kept low, hands ready, every muscle coiled. The night air outside was colder than it had any right to be. It clung to his skin like wet ash.
Then he heard it.
Faint. Subtle.
The roll of stone against stone.
The sound slipped in like a whisper—soft, but enough to snap every nerve in his body taut. A shiver rippled down his spine, sharp and electric, like a thousand fine needles pressed against flesh. The kind of chill that didn't come from cold.
He pressed his back against the rock wall, holding his breath. Peered out through the narrow opening.
Nothing yet. Just the dark. Just the skeletal trees beyond.
But something was out there.
He could feel it.
Kealix stood shirtless just beyond the mouth of the cave, the cold night wind biting against his bare skin. Only his black pants shielded him from the elements now, and even they felt thin—too thin—against the breeze that crept down the mountain like a whisper of warning.
Above, the stars had finally emerged from their veil. Tiny points of light shimmered in the vast dark sky, offering the faintest illumination to the corrupted land around him. But the moon was absent, as if it had chosen not to witness whatever was about to unfold.
Kealix crouched low, pressing himself close to the stone wall flanking the cave entrance. For an hour, he didn't move. He simply listened—body still, eye scanning the tree line below the slope. Every few minutes, he would glance to the side, checking the steep curve of the mountain, the jagged cliff that kept most creatures away.
Still, nothing. No movement. No sound.
Only silence.
They're gone, he thought, his jaw tight. They must've gone back.
He exhaled through his nose and stood slowly, stretching out the tension that had gathered in his spine like coiled wire.
"They must have gone back," he murmured aloud, voice low and uncertain. He turned, stepping back toward the safety of the cave.
And then—
A sound ripped through the night sky.
A screech. Distant, yet sharp. Piercing.
It echoed across the forest like the cry of a dying god.
Kealix froze mid-step, heart leaping into his throat. His instincts overrode reason before thought could catch up—he spun and rushed back to the entrance, dropping low, scanning the dark canopy of the forest beneath the cliff. His pulse thundered in his ears. One hand rested instinctively on his hip, where his blade usually hung. But he had no weapon ready. No magic summoned.
Where is it?
His eye darted across the horizon, squinting into the dark. Something had made that sound—something big. He could feel it. The pressure in the air had shifted.
Then he saw it.
Far below, the trees were shaking. Not swaying. Thrashing.
Violent. Deliberate. As if something massive was tearing through them with no regard for what stood in its way.
Kealix's breath caught in his chest.
No… not again.
A sudden burst of motion—and something exploded out of the forest canopy.
His good eye widened in horror.
The creature that emerged was colossal—a bird-like monster with ragged, black feathers that looked more like torn shadow than plumage. Its hooked beak gleamed in the starlight, and jagged bone-like spikes jutted out along its edges. Its talons were massive, strong enough to crush boulders—and in them dangled three of the pale, faceless creatures from before.
Limp. Lifeless.
It killed them? Kealix's mind reeled. That thing—killed them?
He didn't have time to process it.
The creature turned midair, wings twisting like blades through the sky. It moved with terrifying speed—directly toward the mountain. Toward him.
Panic surged through Kealix like fire in his veins. He dropped flat onto the stone ground, chest pressed tight against the cold rock, barely breathing. His body screamed against the scrape of rough stone against skin, but he didn't move. Didn't dare.
"That settles it," he whispered through clenched teeth, "we leave. First light. No hesitation."
The cold gnawed at him, but it was the fear that made him shiver. Real fear—bone-deep, animal, primal.
His black pants melted into the surrounding darkness, offering just enough concealment. A stroke of luck. But he knew Frost wouldn't have been so lucky. The white-furred pup and the glowing deck of cards would have stood out like torches in the night. Thankfully, he'd ordered them both to stay hidden inside the cave, sealed in silence until he called.
It had been the right call.
A gust of wind roared overhead as the monstrous bird passed over the cave mouth. Kealix gritted his teeth as the force of it shoved against his prone body, dragging him slightly backward across the cave floor. Jagged stone scraped at his ribs, the skin there already raw from the cold.
He didn't cry out. He couldn't afford to.
Above him, the shadow moved on, wings slicing the air like knives.
And still he lay motionless, muscles locked, breath held, eyes fixed on the black sky above.
As the shadow of the monstrous bird passed overhead, a cold realization struck Kealix like a slap to the face. His body remained pressed flat against the cave floor, but his mind churned.
Of course… that's why they were silent.
His lips barely moved as he whispered into the stone, "They're trying to avoid it."
The faceless creatures—the way they had crept so silently, so cautiously—it all made sense now. They hadn't retreated because of him. He wasn't a threat to them. They were hiding. Avoiding that thing.
Kealix closed his eye and tried to recall every detail, but it was difficult. The night had been too dark, the bird too fast. Still, even in that fleeting glimpse, he'd seen enough to draw conclusions. The way its hooked beak had torn into those creatures without hesitation… how it carried their limp bodies as if they were weightless.
They weren't just running from it. They were prey.
But that led to another, more unsettling thought. Where were the wolves?
Those twisted, mutated wolves he'd seen earlier—there should've been more. A forest like this should've been teeming with predators, locked in an endless battle for dominance and territory.
So where were they?
The thought unsettled him. Deeply. His instincts were rarely wrong, and right now they screamed that something was off. Too quiet. Too empty.
He remained perfectly still, muscles coiled, his breath shallow. He didn't dare move—not tonight. The forest was alive in a way that didn't welcome movement. It was watching, waiting.
And whatever lurked out there… it hunted in silence.
Kealix pressed his cheek against the cold rock and tried to calm the relentless pounding in his chest. The stone beneath him was unforgiving, digging into his ribs, but he didn't shift. Not an inch. He couldn't afford to be reckless, not now.
Stillness is survival.
Time crawled.
The night stretched on endlessly, each second dragging behind the next like a chain. Hours passed, but they offered no comfort. The cold worked its way deeper into his skin, but Kealix barely noticed anymore. He was too tired. Too alert. Too alive.
Another sleepless night.
His face tightened in silent frustration.
When the first blush of light finally began to stain the horizon, it didn't feel like relief—it felt like permission.
Permission to move. To breathe again.
Kealix sat up slowly, his body aching from the hours spent motionless. Every muscle protested, but he pushed through it. He slipped back into the cave as the sun's rays crept over the treetops, golden and thin.
Frost was curled up in the corner, fast asleep. His small chest rose and fell softly with each breath.
Kealix didn't hesitate.
He crossed the stone floor and gently nudged the pup awake. "Time to go," he said softly, his voice edged with urgency but not unkindness.
Frost's ears perked up immediately, and with a shimmer of light, he transformed into the sleek, black assassin's attire once more—smooth, quiet, nearly invisible in the shadows.
Kealix pulled on the cloak-like outfit, its weight both familiar and comforting. The fabric clung to his skin like a second layer, warm and protective. He gathered the glowing cards, tucking them securely into the folds of the outfit. They pulsed faintly against his side, a reminder of the power he still carried—though even that power felt small compared to what hunted this forest.
Without another glance toward the cave, he stepped into the morning light.
He didn't look back.
There was no safety here. No second chances.
Only forward.
Kealix tore through the ashen forest, branches clawing at his skin as he pushed himself harder. The dead trees blurred around him, their twisted shapes casting long, distorted shadows across the gray earth. The cold air burned in his lungs, but he didn't stop.
Something was wrong.
He was being watched.
Not by one thing.
By many.
It crawled over him like a swarm—eyes he couldn't see, presence he couldn't place. The kind of attention that made your skin itch and your instincts scream. Every time his foot hit the ground, the feeling intensified, like something just behind him was timing its pace to match.
Thirty minutes passed.
Maybe more.
His legs ached. His heart slammed against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
Then—
Movement.
A flicker in the shadows. Kealix skidded to a stop, boots scraping against ash-covered stone.
Shapes.
Black silhouettes emerging from behind the trees—silent, fluid, practiced.
Hero materialized instantly at his side, golden armor gleaming faintly even in the forest's dim light. His head shifted into its regal lion form, a low growl vibrating deep in his chest. Weapons shimmered along his arms, waiting.
Kealix didn't need a count. His eyes darted from shape to shape.
One. Two. Three. Four...
Twelve.
Twelve of them.
Wolves.
The same mutated beasts he had seen before—elongated limbs, pale, stretched skin over misshapen muscle, their bony ribs pressing visibly beneath the surface. Their mouths hung open in crooked angles, strings of saliva dangling from jagged teeth.
Why now?
They had hidden the past few nights. Avoiding something. Avoiding that bird.
But now they were here.
And hungry.
Kealix's breath caught. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, not from the run—but from fear.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The word repeated in his head like a heartbeat, almost too chaotic to stay formed.
The wolves fanned out around him. Closing in. Silent—so terribly silent.
But the wolves weren't waiting.
They didn't care if Kealix was ready.
They were already moving.
Kealix lowered his center of gravity instinctively, hand drifting toward his cards. The weight of Frost's assassin attire was a comfort—but comfort wouldn't save him now.
He was outnumbered. Outpaced. Surrounded.
And this time, he wouldn't have the luxury of running.