The journey turned brutal.
No more measured marches. No more careful rest stops.
They moved day and night, pausing only when the weakest could go no further—and even then, only for hours stolen from exhaustion's grip.
The fox's appearance had changed everything.
Bara pushed them harder than before. Kari ranged wider with her scouts, eyes always scanning the shadows.
The warriors slept in shifts, weapons never far from hand.
And behind them, always—that sense of being watched.
Nothing attacked again.
But the forest remained too quiet.
Too still.
Like something was holding its breath, waiting.
Violet walked until her feet bled inside her boots.
Stumbled forward when her legs forgot how to carry her.
Kept moving because stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant remembering that fox's voice:
You would make a fine addition to my collection.
Three weeks became two. Two became one.
The forest began to thin.
The trees grew familiar.
The mountains took on shapes she recognized from childhood.
Almost home. Almost.
***
Greyhollow hadn't changed.
The same worn cottages. The same muddy paths between them.
The same faces—weathered by wind and work, marked by too many harsh winters.
But the conversations had shifted.
Men gathered at the well, voices low and urgent. Women clustered near market stalls, words hurried and worried.
"—heard it from a trader coming through. Winterbeasts in the northern woods. A whole pack of them, moving south."
"My cousin saw tracks. Said they were massive. Fresh. No more than three days old."
"And there's something else. Something worse. Monsters. A whole horde of them, marching this way."
"Monsters? What kind?"
"Don't know. But the trader said they walked on two legs. Carried weapons. Moved like an army."
Fear rippled through the village like wind through wheat.
Garrett stood at the edge of the gathering, silent. His bad leg ached from standing too long, but he listened.
One of the men noticed him. "Garrett? What do you think? About the beasts and the... the army?"
Garrett's jaw worked. He stared at nothing for a long moment.
"If things become troublesome," he said finally, voice flat, "I'll leave."
Shocked silence.
"Leave?" The village elder stepped forward, face twisted with disbelief. "This is our ancestral home. Our fathers built these cottages. Our grandfathers cleared these fields. You'd just... abandon it?"
"Yes."
The word fell blunt as a hammer.
"But—"
"My home," Garrett interrupted, "is where my family is safe. Not where my ancestors bled." His eyes swept the gathered villagers. "You stay if you want. Die for dirt if that's what you choose. But I'll take Maria and Violet and we'll go somewhere the monsters aren't."
He turned and walked away, using his crutch more heavily than usual.
Behind him, the villagers whispered—some with disgust, others with the first stirrings of the same fear that drove him.
Maria met him at the door. One look at his face told her everything.
"What happened?" She pulled him inside, closed the door against curious eyes.
"Winterbeasts in the northern woods." Garrett lowered himself into his chair with a grunt. "And something else. An army, they're saying. Monsters marching south."
Maria's hand flew to her mouth. "Gods. When?"
"Don't know. Could be days. Could be weeks." He rubbed his bad leg absently. "But if it gets worse, we leave. Tonight if we have to."
"But Violet—"
"Will come with us." His voice hardened. "I don't care if I have to drag her. We're not staying to be slaughtered like cattle."
Maria nodded slowly. Her hands twisted in her apron. "Should we pack?"
"Not yet. Don't want to start a panic." Garrett stood, grimacing. "But have things ready. Food that travels. Warm clothes. Medicine."
"Where will we go?"
"South. Maybe west. Anywhere that isn't here when the beasts arrive."
He picked up his bow and quiver, testing the string. "I'm going hunting. Need to go deep—there's nothing left near the village. Everything's fled or been taken."
"Be careful."
"Always am."
He kissed her forehead and left.
***
The deep forest swallowed him within minutes.
Garrett moved through it like a shadow—years of hunting making each step silent, each breath controlled.
There some muscle pain but pain was an old companion. He'd learned to ignore it.
An hour in, he found tracks. Rabbit. Fresh.
He nocked an arrow, following the trail. Moved downwind. Kept low.
There—
The rabbit hopped into a small clearing, nose twitching. Fat. Healthy. Perfect.
Garrett drew his bow. Held his breath. Aimed for the kill spot just behind the shoulder—
Every instinct he'd honed over decades screamed.
He pivoted right and loosed the arrow in one smooth motion.
A massive hand caught it mid-flight. Snapped the shaft like kindling.
"I came here sensing some great presence."
The voice rumbled like distant thunder. A figure emerged from behind a tree that shouldn't have been able to hide something so large.
"But look here—it's just a hunter."
Bara stepped into the clearing. His polar bear features were unmistakable—the white fur, the massive build, the barely controlled power in every movement.
Garrett's mind cataloged details automatically: Weaponry—war axe, well-maintained. Scars—numerous, old and new. Stance—warrior, not bandit.
"Who are you?" Garrett's voice stayed level. "Aren't you supposed to be in the Valley of Winds? What are you doing here?"
Bara's eyes narrowed with interest. "Oh? You know of the Valley?" He tilted his head. "And you recognize what I am. That's rare for humans."
His gaze found the battle-axe strapped to Garrett's back. A smile crossed his face—predatory, eager.
"You look like a warrior. Why don't we talk with our axes?"
Garrett's hand moved to his weapon. Not drawing—not yet. Just ready.
"I wish no harm. Just state your business."
"Business?" Bara's laugh was sharp. "Well, if I said we're looking for a home, what would you do?"
He surged forward—not an attack, just a test. His palm struck Garrett's chest, pushing.
Garrett slid back three paces, boots digging furrows in the dirt.
"My family lives here." Garrett's axe came off his back in one smooth motion. "If you're bringing trouble with you, I'll have to ask you to leave."
He swung.
One-handed, using his momentum. The blade cut air with a sound like tearing silk.
Bara blocked with his forearm—but the impact lifted him. Just inches, but lifted him.
His feet left the ground.
Bara's eyes went wide. "Ho..."
"Interesting. Looks like he's finally getting serious. It's good to have a real fight now and then."
"Well, I'll have to refuse." Bara's grin widened. "That little girl... what was her name? Ah! Violet. She lives here. We have to live close by—"
Garrett froze mid-swing.
His entire body went still. So still he might have been carved from stone.
Then the air changed.
Bara's instincts—honed from a lifetime of battle—screamed warning.
But he couldn't move fast enough.
Couldn't even blink fast enough.
Garrett's axe appeared above his face. Not moving. Just there—
like it had teleported...
The blade hovered three inches from Bara's skull.
Close enough that he could feel the displaced air.
The presence radiating from Garrett hit like a physical force.
Not mana.
Not aura.
Something else—something forged from years of protecting what mattered, from pain and loss and the desperate strength of a man who had already lost too much.
Bara's throat went dry.
This... this is...
"How do you know my daughter?"
The words came quiet. Cold. Absolutely lethal.
"PAPA!"
Violet's scream cut through the tension like lightning through clouds.
Garrett's axe stopped. Frozen three inches above Bara's shoulder, trembling with restrained force.
Violet burst into the clearing—running, stumbling, barely keeping her feet. Her face was streaked with tears and dirt and exhaustion.
She crashed into Garrett with enough force to stagger him.
Her arms wrapped around his waist. Her face pressed against his chest.
She was shaking—not from cold, but from the accumulated weight of months spent running and fighting and watching people die.
"I missed you—" Her voice broke on a sob. "I missed you so much—"
Garrett's axe dropped.
His arms came around her—one hand on her head, the other on her back—holding her like she might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly.
"I missed you too, Littlebird." His voice cracked. "Gods, I missed you too."
They stood like that—father and daughter, separated by months and reunited in a forest clearing while a polar bear Beastkin watched with something like understanding in his ancient eyes.
Bara lowered his arms slowly. Carefully. Making no threatening movements.
He'd fought warriors. He'd fought mages. He'd fought monsters that wore flesh like borrowed clothes.
But the presence that had radiated from Garrett in that moment—
That was something else entirely.
That was a father protecting his child.
And Bara knew, with absolute certainty, that if Violet had been in danger instead of safe...
He would've met the death...