The forest stank of wet fur and iron.
Ryn crouched behind a fallen log, his fingers digging into the damp earth as the howl echoed through the trees again—closer this time. It wasn't the natural cry of any forest creature. This sound raised the hairs on his neck, vibrating in his chest like a plucked bowstring.
Lira pressed against the log beside him, her breath shallow. The makeshift bandage on her shoulder had darkened with fresh blood during their flight from the caves.
"Hellhound," she whispered. "Malrik must really want you dead."
**[Astra Hellhound]**
*Bred to track Astra signatures*
*Tears flesh with shadow-infused fangs*
*Pack hunters (3-5 usually)*
Another howl answered the first, this time from their left. Ryn's pulse hammered against his ribs. They were being flanked.
Lira gripped his arm. "Listen carefully. Hellhounds track Astra like sharks smell blood. Your little wind trick back at the tower? That's painted a target on your back."
A branch snapped thirty paces ahead. Something large moved through the underbrush, its breath coming in ragged snorts.
Ryn's fingers found the shadow-forged dagger at his belt. "What do we do?"
"Split up." Lira's good eye gleamed in the dim light filtering through the canopy. "I'll draw them east toward the river. You head west—there's an old trapper's hut near the bluffs."
"No." Ryn's grip tightened on the dagger. "You can barely stand."
Lira bared her teeth in something that wasn't a smile. "I've survived worse." She reached into her boot and produced a small vial filled with murky liquid. "Mare's bane. One drop will make your Astra taste like poison to those beasts."
She uncorked the vial with her teeth and downed half its contents before Ryn could stop her. Her face contorted as if she'd swallowed fire, veins standing out dark against her suddenly pale skin.
"Lira—"
"Go!" She shoved the vial into his hands. "Drink it and run. Don't stop until you reach the hut."
The crashing in the bushes grew louder. Ryn caught the gleam of amber eyes through the foliage—too high off the ground, burning with unnatural intelligence.
He gulped the remaining liquid. It burned like acid, sending spasms through his gut. The world tilted violently before snapping back into focus.
Lira was already moving, crashing through the underbrush with deliberate noise. "Hey, mutts! Over here!"
The forest erupted.
A massive shape burst from the bushes—easily the size of a bear, its black fur streaked with crimson markings. The hellhound's maw dripped shadowy saliva that hissed where it struck the ground. It didn't even glance at Ryn as it bounded after Lira.
Two more followed, their howls shaking the trees.
Ryn forced himself to wait until the sounds of pursuit faded eastward before moving. The mare's bane left a metallic taste coating his tongue, his Astra feeling strangely muted beneath his skin.
He crept west, each step careful and deliberate. The forest grew denser, the ground sloping upward toward the bluffs Lira had mentioned. Every rustle of leaves set his nerves on edge.
Then the wind shifted—and brought with it the unmistakable coppery tang of blood.
Ryn froze. That wasn't part of the plan.
Against every instinct screaming at him to keep running, he turned toward the scent.
The clearing told the story in brutal simplicity.
Lira stood back-to-back with a lightning-blasted oak, her iron bar slick with black blood. Three hellhound corpses lay at her feet—but the victory had cost her. Deep gashes scored her legs, and her left arm hung at an unnatural angle.
Worse, she wasn't alone.
**[Commander Dain | Wolf Crest High Captain]**
*Moonfang Axe glowing with captured starlight*
*Silver armor scored with old battle marks*
*Smiling like a man who enjoys his work*
Dain circled Lira with predatory grace, his axe trailing faint silver light through the air. "Captain Lira. I'd heard you'd gone soft, but protecting noble brats?" He tutted. "You used to have standards."
Lira spat blood. "Still do. Unlike you, jumping at Malrik's whistle."
Dain's grin widened. He moved faster than Ryn would have thought possible for a man in full armor.
The Moonfang Axe flashed.
Lira barely raised her iron bar in time. The impact sent her crashing to one knee, the makeshift weapon bending under the force.
Ryn didn't think. He moved.
The wind answered his call this time—not the uncontrolled burst from the tower, but a focused blade of air that sliced between Dain and Lira.
Dain spun, his axe coming up instinctively to block. The wind shear shattered against the Moonfang's glow, but the distraction cost him.
Lira's kick took him behind the knee. As Dain staggered, she drove the twisted remains of her iron bar toward his throat—
—only for Dain to catch her wrist and twist. The sound of snapping bone was louder than Lira's choked gasp.
Ryn was already running, dagger drawn.
Dain saw him coming. With a contemptuous flick, he sent Lira sprawling and turned to meet Ryn's charge.
The Moonfang Axe hummed through the air—
—and met shadow-forged steel with a shriek that set Ryn's teeth on edge. The impact numbed his arm to the shoulder, but he held his ground.
Dain's eyebrows rose. "Well now. The pup has fangs after all."
Ryn didn't waste breath on words. He pressed forward, letting the wind guide his strikes. Each movement felt more natural than the last, as if some long-dormant instinct had awakened.
For three heartbeats, he actually held his own.
Then Dain laughed and got serious.
The Moonfang Axe became a silver blur. It sheared through Ryn's defenses like paper, opening a shallow cut across his chest, then a deeper one along his thigh.
Ryn stumbled back, suddenly understanding why this man led Malrik's hunters.
Dain advanced, his grin feral. "Malrik wanted you alive. Didn't say anything about in how many pieces."
The axe rose for a killing stroke—
—only to jerk sideways as silver wire wrapped around Dain's wrist.
Lira, pale and bleeding, held the other end with her good hand. "Down, boy!"
Ryn dropped just as she yanked with all her remaining strength.
Dain's axe swung wide, embedding deep in a tree trunk. In that split-second opening, Ryn lunged.
His shadow-forged dagger found the gap between Dain's breastplate and pauldron. The metal parted like parchment, the blade sinking deep into flesh.
Dain roared, backhanding Ryn hard enough to send him flying. He crashed into a bush, the world spinning violently.
Through blurred vision, he saw Dain wrench the dagger free and throw it aside. Blood poured from the wound, but the commander remained standing.
"Enough games," Dain snarled, ripping his axe free.
Lira met Ryn's gaze across the clearing. Something unspoken passed between them.
Then she did the last thing Ryn expected.
She ran.
Not away—toward the nearby cliff edge.
Dain hesitated only a second before giving chase. "You can't escape, old woman!"
Lira reached the cliff's edge and turned, her broken arm hanging useless, her face a mask of blood and defiance. "Who said anything about escaping?"
She jumped.
Dain skidded to a stop at the edge, peering down—
—just as the wind screamed upward in a sudden vortex.
Not any wind.
*Ryn's* wind.
It caught Dain like a leaf in a storm, lifting him clear off his feet. For one terrifying instant, the mighty commander hung suspended in midair, his armor glowing silver against the darkening sky.
Then the wind died.
Dain fell.
His scream faded into the distance before ending abruptly.
Ryn crawled to the cliff's edge, his vision swimming. Far below, the river churned over jagged rocks. There was no sign of Dain—or Lira.
"Lira?" His voice cracked. "LIRA!"
Only the wind answered.