Chapter Four – The Twin Griffins
Ten days had passed since Auron had slain the Shadow Lynx.
The forest still breathed with that memory
the silence after a predator's death, a reverent stillness that weighed upon the trees. Snow had melted into dark soil, and the smell of smoke still lingered where his fires had been.
Auron had survived like a phantom, foraging, hunting, tending wounds that refused to heal. Hunger was constant, sleep shallow. That morning, when he lifted the cart's lid, there was nothing left but a cracked loaf of bread and the brown stain of dried blood on the wood.
His supplies were gone."Seems like I've run out of supplies," he murmured, his voice hoarse from disuse.
He had known this moment was coming. It was time to leave the forest.
Before he did, he walked to the edge of the grove where a single grave lay beneath the roots of an old oak. The snow here never fully melted. The air was colder, stiller.
Auron knelt. The earth was damp beneath his fingers. For a long time, he said nothing.
"Grandpa," he whispered at last, "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you." His voice trembled, then steadied. "You carried the weight of the world on your back. I didn't even carry my own."
He drew a slow breath and tightened his grip on the bracelet around his wrist. The wolf sigil shimmered faintly under the winter light.
"I can't undo what happened," he said, eyes dark as ash. "But I will make them remember every one of them. The blade, the hand that held it, and the power that sanctioned it."
The silence deepened. Wind swept through the branches, carrying snowflakes that glowed like sparks.
"I'll live, Grandpa," he said softly. "And I'll make sure your name isn't buried here with you."
He rose, turned from the grave, and began to run.
For ten days he had trained, pushing the strange energy within him mana, as Godfrey had called it; to obey his will.
At first it burned like fire, wild and uncontrollable. Now it flowed like a river through his veins and muscle. He could condense it in parts of his body arms, legs, fingertips strengthening them beyond human limits.
Skin that once tore easily now resisted like tempered steel.
Each breath drew mana inward, refining it in the vessel of his core. Godfrey had called that place the dantian. the wellspring of a warrior's spirit.
Auron could almost see it now: a small sphere of light pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Two hours after leaving the grave, exhaustion caught him.
He dropped beside a stream, scooped water into his hands, and laughed quietly to himself. "Mana is amazing," he said between breaths, marveling at how it had changed him.
Then he froze.
A faint vibration rippled through the ground followed by a low hum in the air. It was not the wild pulse of beasts nor the rhythmic mana of nature. This was refined, disciplined, human.
A caravan.
He climbed a ridge and peered through the trees. Below, a line of carriages rolled along a snow-packed road. Soldiers in polished armor flanked them, their tabards marked with twin griffins rearing upon a crimson field.
House Arvel. The name stirred faint memory; nobles of the northern provinces, famed for their mines and steelwork.
Caravans like these carried maps, food, and guides. He needed all three.If I'm to leave this forest alive, he thought, I'll need their help.
He descended.
The first man to spot him shouted, and half a dozen guards surrounded him, spears raised."Who goes there?" one barked.
Auron raised his hands. "A traveler," he said evenly. "I became disoriented in the woods. I seek passage."
The guards exchanged glances. His clothes were torn, his eyes hollow but steady. He didn't look like a bandit too young, too controlled.
From the main carriage, a tall man dismounted. His armor was silvered steel, worn but immaculate, a blue cloak draped over his shoulders. The twin griffins gleamed upon his chestplate.
"I am Sir Asher Arvel," the knight said, voice measured. "Captain of this escort. Who are you, boy?"
"Auron. No house. No title."
Asher studied him the gaunt face, faint burn scars, and the quiet defiance in his posture. "And how did you come to wander these woods?"
"I ran from death after bandits struck."
That made the knight pause. Then he nodded. "If you mean us no harm, you may walk beside the wagons until we reach the next outpost. Food will be shared if you work for it."
"I'll work," Auron replied.
Asher motioned for the guards to lower their weapons. "See to it."
From the carriage window, a boy's face appeared hair like spun gold, eyes bright with curiosity. "Sir Asher, who's that?"
"A stray," Asher said.
Lucian Arvel, fourth son of House Arvel, was barely older than Auron. He leapt from the carriage, landing in the snow with an undignified thud.
He brushed himself off and smiled. "A stray, huh? You don't look like one."
"Never judge a book by its cover," Auron said.
Lucian laughed. "Then you must be a good book."
Something in his openness, his lack of malice, disarmed Auron. It was the first honest gaze he'd met since the night his world ended.
"I'm Lucian," the boy said, extending a gloved hand. "And if you're hungry, I'm sure Asher won't mind sharing."
Auron hesitated, then took the hand. "Auron."
Asher watched, faint amusement in his eyes. "My lord, you're far too trusting."
"Trust is how you make friends," Lucian said brightly.
"Trust is also how you die young," Asher replied, though warmth softened his words.
By nightfall, the caravan had stopped in a clearing beside a frozen river. Tents were raised, fires lit, and the smell of stew filled the air.
Auron sat near the edge of camp, eating in silence. Lucian joined him, unbothered by the stares of servants and guards.
"You really lived in that forest all this time?" Lucian asked.
"Ten days. Maybe more."
"Alone?"
"I had to," Auron said, staring into the fire. "When you're alone, there's no one left to protect you but yourself."
Lucian was quiet for a while. Then he said softly, "You sound older than you look."
"Maybe I do."
They ate in silence after that.
Suddenly, Asher approached. "Lord Lucian, a knight has arrived with urgent correspondence."
Lucian brightened. "A message from Rodrik?"
Asher nodded, his tone grave though his eyes held an odd stillness. "Yes. Lord Rodrik will be joining us in the coming days, my lord."
Midnight draped the forest in silence so complete that even the fires seemed to burn quieter.
Auron couldn't sleep. Something in the air felt wrong an unease that crawled along his spine, whispering of danger.
He rose from his bedroll, slipping past the guards' soft snores. The night smelled of river mist and ash. Moonlight spilled over the silver-tipped tents of House Arvel.
At the edge of the camp, Asher moved beyond the perimeter his steps deliberate, too silent for a patrol.
Auron frowned and followed, keeping to the shadows.
Asher reached the riverbank where fog pooled thick, swallowing sound. He glanced behind him once before disappearing into the trees.
Auron's mana stirred, instinctive and alert. Two signatures brushed against his senses not human. Wild. Untamed.
Beastborn. One of the ancient hybrids of man and creature.
He quickened his pace, keeping low. Through the mist, faint voices reached his ears.
"Asher," growled one rough, inhuman. "The shipment must be soon. Our lord grows impatient."
A shadow shifted. Asher's voice came low, strained. "The boy will be delivered in time. Rodrik arrives in five or six days. I'll deliver him before then. No witnesses, as promised."
Auron froze. The boy.
Lucian.
The golden-haired noble who had offered him bread, who had smiled at him like a friend.
The taller of the cloaked figures extended a hand. Gold flickered between them. "Payment," the Beastborn rasped. "When the cub is ours, the rest follows."
The mist thinned just enough for the moonlight to touch their faces, fanged, eyes luminous with predatory hunger.
Auron's heartbeat thundered in his ears. He stepped back slowly, careful not to stir a leaf. Every instinct screamed to strike, but reason held him still.
If Asher saw him, he would die tonight.
He melted into the shadows, retreating until the whispers faded behind him.
Back at camp, Lucian's tent stood still, the young noble sleeping soundly within. Auron watched him for a long moment.
That laughter, that warmth it had all been genuine. And now the boy was a mark, a prize in some foul exchange.
Auron clenched his fists. The wolf sigil on his wrist gleamed faintly beneath the moonlight, pulsing once like a heartbeat.
"Not yet," he whispered, voice raw. "I won't let anyone who showed me kindness die unjustly. Not again."
As dawn crept over the treeline, he still hadn't closed his eyes. The bracelet burned faintly against his skin, the spectral wolf within stirring as if it too sensed what was coming.
Blood would be spilled.