The road out of Fairhollow was narrow and overgrown, flanked by trees heavy with fog. Bell rode at the front, eyes scanning ahead, sword at his hip. Seria followed beside him on foot, nose buried in a leather-bound map.
Cid, as usual, lounged in the back of the cart with his legs hanging off the side.
"I'm just saying," he called forward, "if this 'shortcut' gets us eaten by a swamp troll, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' while being digested."
"It's not a swamp," Seria muttered. "It's the Old Hunter's Road. Cuts straight to the plains."
"The road is literally named after someone who hunted monsters," Cid replied. "That's not comforting."
The trees grew thicker. Mist curled around their feet like breath. Birds had stopped singing.
Bell slowed his horse. "Do you hear that?"
Seria paused. "No wind. No birds. Nothing."
That's when the first one struck.
A blur lunged from the underbrush—low, fast, serpentine. Bell barely raised his blade in time to deflect the strike. Its fangs clanged against steel, and the creature skidded back into the mist.
Seria gasped. "Forest Vyn!"
Bell narrowed his eyes. "I thought they were extinct."
Cid sat up in the cart. "What's a Forest Vyn?"
As if answering him, three more erupted from the fog.
They were sleek and long, like scaled wolves crossed with vipers. Four legs, coiling tails, slit eyes that shimmered green in the dim light. They moved like liquid across stone, too fast to track.
Bell leapt from his horse, sword drawn. "Cid, stay in the cart!"
Cid muttered, "Oh now I get orders..."
The first Vyn lunged again. Bell met it head-on, blade flashing in a wide arc. The steel kissed its side—scales burst, and green blood splattered across the grass. The beast yelped but didn't retreat.
Another coiled toward Seria. She raised her hand, shouting, "Eira—!"
A gust of freezing wind burst from her fingers, knocking the creature off its path and coating the nearby trunk in frost.
The third one slithered around, heading straight for the cart.
Cid stood, lifted the edge of a tarp, and tossed something small into the mist.
A loud pop exploded—followed by a blinding flash.
The beast recoiled, shrieking and crashing into a bush.
"Alchemist flashbomb," Cid said casually. "You're welcome."
Bell dodged a lunging tail, slid under its swing, and drove his sword up through the beast's jaw. It convulsed once, then collapsed.
Another snapped at Seria's leg. She spun and slammed her staff into its skull, then blasted it with a fireburst that sent it rolling backward, smoking and dazed.
The last one circled the cart again—but Bell was already on it. He struck low, aiming for the soft part beneath its chin, and the blade sank in deep.
Green ichor splattered the road.
And then, silence.
Three bodies twitched in the grass. One still breathed—barely.
Seria approached it slowly. "These things haven't been seen in over a century."
"They were bred to be assassins," Bell said. "Fast, silent, venomous."
"Which begs the question," Cid added, wiping his hands on a cloth. "What the hell are they doing here?"
Seria knelt beside the wounded Vyn and placed a hand on its side.
It twitched weakly.
She whispered a few words in a forgotten tongue—and its body pulsed once with light before going still.
Bell raised an eyebrow. "You blessed it?"
"I asked for its memory."
Her eyes fluttered shut.
A moment passed.
Then she gasped and staggered back.
"What did you see?" Bell asked quickly.
Seria's voice trembled. "A man in shadow. No face. Only a serpent… and fire."
Cid tilted his head. "That's vague and extremely worrying."
Bell looked toward the foggy trail ahead.
"We need to move."
They left the bodies behind and pushed on until the sun broke through the trees.
As the light returned, so did the birdsong.
Cid leaned back in the cart again. "So… definitely not extinct. Great."
Bell rode silently for a while before speaking. "Those things weren't hunting for food. They were tracking something."
"Or someone," Seria said quietly.
Cid didn't say anything.
But as the wind passed over him, a faint hiss echoed from deep in the trees behind them.
Too soft to hear.
Too old to name.