The beast hadn't returned.
But its absence was a weight of its own.
The forest outside the cave lay shrouded in fog, so thick it looked painted on with smoke. The rain had stopped sometime in the dead of night—or changed into something too soft to hear—but no one had dared move until light bled through the clouded canopy. Even then, they rose slowly, like old bones resisting the call to walk again.
Erias hadn't slept.
He still sat near the mouth of the cave, back pressed to the stone, eyes raw and red-rimmed but open. Watching. Listening. Replaying every second—the twitch of that thing's head, the strange flicker of its not-antlers, the way it _felt_ the air rather than smelled it.
Mana beasts weren't new.
But _that_—that wasn't just twisted. It had _thought_. Or something like it.
Erias clenched his shaking hands, fear wasn't an emotion the hardened man had felt in a long time.
Behind him, Garran crouched near the gear pile, inspecting the cloth-wrapped blade he'd been carving since their first night here. His movements were methodical—controlled. But his jaw clenched tighter than usual. Every few seconds, his eyes flicked toward the entrance.
"Gone," Erias said hoarsely, breaking the silence for the first time since nightfall. "It didn't come back."
Garran grunted. "Doesn't mean it won't."
Lyara stirred from the far side of the cave. She was half-curled beside the girl, one arm draped protectively over the small frame. The child was asleep still—shivering, skin slick with a low fever—but alive.
Lyara sat up slowly, hair plastered to her neck, and rubbed warmth into her arms. "It felt like it knew we were here," she said. "Didn't care."
"Worse than caring," Garran replied. "Curiosity. Like it was… weighing us."
No one spoke after that. The word _weighing_ hung too long in the air, like rot you couldn't scrape off.
Lyara busied herself preparing the last of their foraged supplies. A few dried roots, a handful of cracked nuts, and the remaining portion of roasted mushroom. She divided it into uneven thirds without asking—Garran and Erias wouldn't take more than their share anyway.
"We can't stay here," she said quietly as she worked. "If it doesn't come back, something else will."
Erias didn't argue. He watched the trees.
Garran exhaled through his nose, sitting back on his heels. "Then we talk after we eat."
Lyara handed him his portion and passed the smallest share to Erias. He hesitated, then took it, chewing without taste. The harsh grain had turned soft overnight, and the roots were nearly too hard to bite through. But it was food. And food meant time.
The girl stirred and made a soft noise—half-whimper, half-dream.
"She's warmer today," Lyara said, placing the back of her hand on the child's neck. "Still burning, but it's better."
"I don't mean to sound hopeless but she won't last," Garran murmured. "Not here."
No one disagreed.
Erias looked toward the edge of the forest where the fog still clung to the trees like a dying breath. The silence wasn't peaceful—it was draining.
They finished eating in silence. What little warmth the food provided vanished fast, swallowed by the damp air. There were no full stomachs—just enough in their bellies to keep thoughts from slowing.
Garran was the first to shift his weight and speak.
"If we're moving," he said, voice low but steady, "we go north. The cliff ridge. It's got cover. High ground. Plenty of stone to wall us in if we settle for real."
He glanced toward the girl curled up in Lyara's lap.
"And it's defendable," he added.
Erias stayed seated, arms resting on his knees. "Those caves might already be taken," he said. "Beasts, or worse."
Garran shrugged. "Everything's taken until it isn't. You clear it. Claim it. That's how it's always been."
Lyara tightened the blanket around the girl before answering. "And when the cave mouths freeze overnight and there's no fresh water for half a day's hike?"
Garran didn't reply, but the twitch in his jaw was answer enough.
"We need to be near the river," Lyara continued. "You've seen the moss out there. The root clusters. Even after the rains, the water's still clean. There's fish too—Erias caught one with his bare hands the day before we reached the cave."
"That was luck," Erias murmured.
"It was opportunity," she countered. "The forest is dense, if we settle just a little walk away from the river we can avoid the mana tainted east. Edible plants. Wildlife that hasn't been distorted. And the trees filter most of the rain's mana before it hits the ground."
"The forest is also crawling," Garran said. "Beasts, spores, whatever was sniffing around last night—it came from those same trees."
Erias let the two of them go back and forth a while longer. He listened to the rhythm of it—the worry behind Garran's practicality, the urgency behind Lyara's calm. Both were right. And both were wrong.
He sat up straighter, rubbing the last of the numbness from his fingers. "The riverbank," he said at last.
Both turned to him.
Lyara's brow furrowed. Garran tilted his head.
Erias continued, "Not deep in the woods. Not on the cliffs. Just… the flat where the trees thin and the water runs narrow. If we build there—high enough from the bend—we'll have fish, clean water, soil that doesn't rot at the root."
"It floods," Garran said flatly.
"I know," Erias replied. "But not always. Not often. The last one—" his voice dipped "—was a Skyblight swell. I've seen it before. When the rain's that intense, that sudden, the pressure breaks and then it goes quiet."
"You're sure?" Lyara asked.
"No," Erias said honestly. "But it fits the patterns I've seen. We'll get calm soon. A window. If we use it right, we can dig into the riverbank, build walls that curve with the land. Raised beds for planting. Trenches to divert runoff. It's not perfect… but it's a start."
They were quiet again—different this time.
Not fear.
Calculation.
Garran exhaled, then frowned. "Let's say we do all that. You still haven't answered the bigger problem."
Erias looked over at him.
Garran leaned forward. "We don't have a builder. We don't have hands to spare. Just the three of us and a sick kid. That plan sounds like a dream."
Erias gave a small nod. He had expected that.
"I helped with the layout back in the village," he said. "Worked the iron for Varn's family when they were raising the grainhouse. I wasn't the one placing beams, but I saw enough. Learned enough."
Garran looked skeptical, but didn't interrupt.
"I can draw up something simple," Erias continued. "A longhouse, nothing fancy—just logs and bark seal. The trick's in the joins. If we notch one piece of wood just right, cut a socket for the other, we can wedge them tight without nails."
Garren's eyes lit with understanding. "Like a locked joint?"
Erias nodded. "Exactly. It'll hold for a while, if we cut it right."
"With what?" Garran asked dryly. "You planning to bite the trees down?"
"There's still steel back at the village," Erias replied. "If we can find anything solid—door frames, hinges, the forge rack—we can rework it into a blade. Something heavy. An axe."
"That's a long way to walk for a maybe," Garran muttered.
"But it gives us a path," Erias said. "We need tools. We make tools. Then shelter. Step by step. It doesn't matter if we're only three. If we don't start building, then all we're doing is surviving."
He looked toward the girl, still curled under the cloak.
"She needs more than that. So do we."
"If we move, we'll need to decide soon. Tomorrow. Or we risk carrying her in worse shape," Lyara said.
"We'll scout the riverbend today," Erias said. "Then loop back. See if the rain's churned up anything salvageable downriver."
Garran stood, blade in hand. "Then let's move before the next beast does."
Lyara stood just outside the cave mouth, wind curling her braid against her back, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
She watched Garran tighten the leather strap on his salvaged pack, his blade secured at his side. Beside him, Erias was checking the edge of a shorter blade—one of Garran's spare pieces, recently wrapped in dyed cloth torn from Lyara's cloak.
She stepped forward, offering Garran a small cloth pouch tied with frayed string. The faint, earthy scent of herbs wafted from it.
"Dried bloodgrass and ridgeleaf," she said. "If you find meat, sprinkle this on the cut. Helps it keep."
Garran raised an eyebrow. "Useful. If I find meat that isn't chewing _me_ first."
"Exactly why I'm saying this now." Lyara's voice was sharp, then softened slightly. "Don't be stupid. If it's risky, leave it. I'd rather eat roots for another night than light a fire for the two of you."
She looked between them—Garran's grim resolve and Erias's quiet focus—and jabbed a finger at both their chests.
"You're more useful alive. Don't make me prove it."
Erias gave a faint nod, appreciative but silent.
Garran grunted. "Message received."
"And if anything happens while we're out?" he asked.
"I'll guard the cave," Lyara said, glancing back at the girl still wrapped in the makeshift cloak. "She's not getting dragged back out into that storm. And neither am I."
She gave Erias a firm look. "Make sure she sleeps. If she stirs, press her hand and talk low. The fever's still hanging on, but her pulse is steadier."
Erias met her gaze. "We won't be long."
She nodded once and stepped back inside. The moment passed—one of those brief, unspoken shifts where roles became rules. Then the men turned toward the trees.
Mist still hung low, but the rain had stopped entirely now. The forest looked wounded in the silence, like it too was recovering from what passed in the night.
Erias and Garran walked side by side, feet quiet against damp earth. It wasn't until they were a hundred paces from the cave that Garran spoke.
"You think anyone else made it?"
Erias didn't answer right away. His blade hung loose in his hand, ready more for accident than fight. "I don't know. Maybe."
"Is it worth looking?"
"That's the question," Erias said. "We're not even whole ourselves."
Garran gave a bitter chuckle. "Three people and a half-dead girl. Some village."
"We build," Erias replied simply.
"Out of what? Bones and good intentions?"
He wasn't mocking—it was weariness, layered with realism.
Erias stopped at the edge of a moss-strewn ridge and turned to look at him. "We start small. A shelter. A fire. Then we go back for the steel in the wreckage. Make tools."
Garran leaned against a leaning trunk, arms folded. "It's not much of a town with three people."
"It's more than none," Erias said. Then his voice dropped lower. "You think joining another settlement is better?"
"It's an option," Garran admitted. "Somewhere already standing. Somewhere dry."
Erias's jaw tightened. "No place takes in strays without reason. Not unless you've got something to offer. Food, skill, protection."
"Which we _do_ have."
"And even then, we'd be eating their rations. Taking up their space. Sleeping in beds meant for their dead." He looked away. "You remember how hard Tairen had it. How many fights he had to prove he was worth feeding."
Garran fell silent. He remembered.
"He had incredible eyes and the hands to match, a better scout than any of them," Erias continued. "And still, he bled for months before they treated him like more than a shadow."
The silence stretched, broken only by the call of distant wind threading through pine.
"_We build_," Erias repeated. "Even if it's just for us."
They said no more as they continued towards the ridge.
The ridge rose like the spine of a buried beast—jagged stone jutting out of wet soil, crusted with moss and silt. Erias led them through the narrow trail he'd scouted on the way in days ago, a path half-choked with fallen branches and soft mud. Their boots sank with each step, but the ground here was firmer than most—less prone to swallowing men whole.
The air was thick, not with rain, but with tension. Fog still clung low to the roots, but above them, the canopy filtered weak light from the overcast sky. The storm had not returned, but the memory of it made everything feel stretched—like the calm before a scream.
"We're close," Erias muttered, pushing aside a frond heavy with water. "Just past that outcrop."
Garran grunted, not winded but not relaxed either. He had one hand on the hilt of his makeshift blade, the other holding back branches as they moved. The air here was warmer than it should've been—humid, thick with mana—and it pressed against their lungs in ways that made breathing harder than it had any right to be.
As they rounded the ridge's southern curve, Erias raised a hand suddenly. Both men froze.
Below, maybe thirty paces downhill, movement shimmered in the fog. It didn't come with sound—not at first—but the strange shimmer of distortion told them enough.
Mana beasts.
Not one.
A pack.
Shapes blurred between brush and root, no two alike. One was lean and six-legged, another heavy with tusks that curled like bone scythes. Mana buzzed like hornets in their wake, making the trees twitch and the ground groan with each step they took.
The beasts were hunting.
And the wind was in their favor.
Erias ducked low, gesturing toward a thick patch of brush overgrown with creeping vine and wet ferns. They slid into it without a word, hearts hammering, blades drawn but still. Garran cursed under his breath as a root dug into his thigh.
The pack moved past slowly, their heads low, sniffing. Searching.
One of the beasts stopped.
Its head turned—too smooth, too slow—and its eyes shimmered with mirrored light, like fog caught in silver. It sniffed the air, pausing long enough that Erias's breath caught in his throat.
Then it growled low and padded on.
Minutes stretched long. The brush didn't move. The men didn't move.
Then, finally… silence again.
Garran exhaled so softly it was more a sigh of existence than relief.
"Let's move," Erias said. "Quickly."
They broke cover and half-sprinted to the spot he remembered—under the rock shelf, where the moss peeled back and the ground dipped shallow. There, clustered like pearls in the soft soil, were the mushrooms. Round, white, with firm caps untouched by mana bloom.
They worked fast. Garran sliced them at the stems with his blade while Erias bundled them in the cloth wrap from his belt. It wasn't enough for a feast, but enough for two, maybe three days. It would buy them time.
They turned back, retracing their path without pause. The forest was quiet now, but that didn't mean safe.
When the cave's outline finally reappeared through the mist, Garran groaned in exaggerated relief.
"No meat," he said. "Unless you count my left foot. But we've got mushrooms. Again."
Erias gave him a look.
"I'm just saying," Garran continued, "Lyara's going to have to get creative with roots and fungus. If we keep eating this way, I'll have to start chewing bark for variety."
Erias shook his head, smirking faintly. "Better bark than beast."
"Not by much," Garran muttered. "Might still try to eat me in my sleep."
They ducked under the cave's overhang as the fog thickened once more behind them. Lyara looked up as they entered, her eyes flashing with relief, but she said nothing at first—only reached for the bundle of mushrooms with gentle urgency and started sorting them.
The girl slept, curled beneath her damp blanket, her breath still shallow, but steady.
Erias knelt by the fire pit. No wood. No flame. But the day had been won in silence and fog.
It wasn't much.
But it was another day alive.