They didn't get far. Leo's body, pushed far beyond its limits, gave out after only a few hundred yards. He slumped against the broad trunk of an ancient pine, his breathing shallow, his skin clammy.
"It's no use," he panted, his vision swimming. "I can't... I need to stop."
Mira's face was a mask of fear, but she nodded, her pragmatism taking over. "Okay. Okay, just rest here. Don't move. I'll find us shelter."
She vanished into the twilight, leaving Leo alone with the creaking of the trees and the pounding of his own heart. He focused on breathing, on the simple, painful act of drawing air into his lungs. The memory of Yusuke's power was a fading ghost in his muscles—a tantalizing, terrifying glimpse of what it felt like to be truly strong.
Mira returned sooner than he expected, her expression grim. "I found something. A trapper's hut. It's old, looks abandoned. Come on."
She helped him to his feet, and they half-walked, half-stumbled to a small, dilapidated log cabin nestled in a small clearing. The door hung crooked on its leather hinges, and the single window was caked with grime, but the roof looked sound. It was shelter.
Inside, it was dark and smelled of dust, old pelts, and cold ashes. A crude wooden bunk with a mattress of dried moss was pushed against one wall, and a stone hearth dominated the other. It was barren, but it was a fortress compared to the exposed woods.
Mira helped Leo onto the bunk, where he immediately collapsed, shivering uncontrollably as the adrenaline fully faded. She worked quickly, building a small, efficient fire in the hearth with wood from a neat pile in the corner. As the flames took hold, pushing back the shadows and the cold, a semblance of safety began to seep into the room.
"I need to check your injuries," she said, her voice all business. She examined the bloody, swollen mess of his right index finger first, cleaning it with water from her canteen and wrapping it tightly with a strip of clean cloth from her kit. She then checked the gash on his temple from the goblin's rock, the deep bruises blooming across his ribs and shoulder from the Warden's blows.
"You're a mess," she murmured, but her touch was gentle.
"I feel like one," he rasped.
They sat in silence for a long time, listening to the fire crackle. The warmth was slowly driving the deep chill from Leo's bones, but the cold dread in his gut remained.
"What happens now?" he finally asked, staring into the flames.
"Now, we wait for you to heal," Mira said, not looking at him. "Then, we go home. We get on the first train back to New Arcanis. You tell Master Korran everything."
Leo flinched. "I can't tell Korran. He'll confiscate the ring. He'll report it to the Association."
"And maybe that's what should happen!" Mira's composure broke, her voice rising. "Leo, this thing is a part of you now! It's talking to you! It's calling you a 'vessel'! That's not a tool; that's a parasite! We need help. Real help. Not more secrets."
Before he could argue, a heavy footstep crunched on the frozen ground outside.
They both froze, their eyes locking in panic. Had the Warden found them? Had Jorgen's team tracked them?
The leather-hinged door creaked open, and a massive, fur-clad figure filled the doorway, blocking out the dying light. It was Jorgen. His face was smeared with soot and a fresh, bleeding scratch ran down his cheek. His warhammer was slung over his back, and his eyes, sharp and assessing, scanned the dim interior before landing on them.
"Well," he grunted, his voice a low rumble. "Look what the Drakes dragged in."
Mira shot to her feet, positioning herself slightly in front of Leo, her hand drifting towards the knife in her belt. "This is our shelter."
Jorgen let out a short, humorless bark of laughter. "This is my shelter, girl. Or it was, twenty years ago. Seems you two squatters have better taste in real estate than you do in hunting grounds." His gaze fell on Leo, who was trying and failing to sit up straight. "You. The kid with the death wish. You got a name?"
"Leo," he managed, his voice weak.
"Jorgen," the big man replied, stepping fully inside and letting the door swing shut. He didn't seem hostile, just... tired and immensely solid. He walked to the fire, holding his thick, scarred hands out to the flames. "That was a hell of a stunt you pulled back there. Drawing the Warden's attention like that. Stupid. But brave."
"It was my fault it found us," Leo said, the guilt surging back.
"Probably," Jorgen agreed bluntly. "The Shattered Ridge has been its stalking ground for a month. The blood from your Crust-Boar kill was a dinner bell." He turned from the fire, his eyes narrowing as he took in Leo's battered state, the bandaged finger, the pallor of his skin. "What I can't figure out is how you did it. One second, you're a scared kid about to be paste. The next, you're moving like a Guild elite, throwing around energy attacks I've never seen before. Then you're a puddle again."
Leo's heart hammered against his ribs. He could feel Mira tense beside him. This was the moment. The questions they couldn't answer.
"I... I have a relic," Leo stammered, the half-truth feeling flimsy on his tongue. "It gives me a burst of power. But the backlash is... severe."
Jorgen's eyes, sharp as flint, bored into him. "A relic, huh? Must be some relic. Looked like more than a burst. Looked like a whole different fighter was wearing your skin." He paused, letting the weight of his suspicion hang in the air. "The Association would be very interested in a relic like that. So would the Guild."
A cold fear, different from the fear of monsters, trickled down Leo's spine.
Then, Jorgen did something unexpected. He sighed, a long, weary sound, and lowered himself onto a stump that served as a stool, the wood groaning under his weight.
"Relax, kid. I'm not going to turn you in." He stared into the fire. "Seen too many 'interesting' things get taken away by men in nice uniforms, only to be locked in a vault or strapped to some rich Guild brat. The world ain't fair. A kid from the Low District gets a lucky break, he should be allowed to keep it."
The relief was so sudden it made Leo lightheaded.
"But," Jorgen continued, his tone hardening, "luck runs out. And whatever that thing is, it's burning you from the inside out. I've seen that hollowed-out look before, on hunters who pushed their mana cores too far. You're not just tired. You're empty."
He was right. The "32% integrity" was a physical truth.
"You can't stay here," Jorgen stated. "The Warden's wounded, but it's not dead. My team drove it off, but it'll be back, and it'll be angrier. The whole ridge is going to be crawling with Association surveyors and Guild scouts by morning, investigating the energy signatures from your little light show and the Warden's rampage."
Mira found her voice. "We were planning to leave. To go back to the city."
"Smart girl," Jorgen nodded. "But you won't make it to the train on your own. Not with him like this." He jerked a thumb at Leo. "And the main outpost is the first place they'll look for survivors to question."
He stood up, his decision made. "There's a supply sled heading south at first light. It bypasses Frostpine. I know the driver. I'll get you on it. It'll take you to a small logging town with a rail spur. You can get a train back to New Arcanis from there without any fuss."
He looked at Leo, his expression unreadable. "You got a second chance today, kid. A lot of hunters didn't. Don't waste it by being stupid. That relic of yours... it's a weapon. And a weapon without a strong arm to wield it is just a liability. You need to build the arm. Not just rely on the weapon."
With that, he turned and left, the door creaking shut behind him, leaving them alone with the crackling fire and a new, precarious lifeline.
Leo looked at Mira, seeing the same conflicted emotions on her face that he felt: overwhelming relief, lingering fear, and the dawning realization that their problems were far from over. They were going home. But they were carrying a storm back with them.