Ash still drifted eastward, coating the charred remains of the forest in a fine, grey shroud.
The clearing behind them smoldered — blackened earth stretching in a wide circle where the undead horde had once stood. The cabin was gone, reduced to splintered ruin and cinders. The air still tasted faintly of burnt bone and scorched mana, a bitter, dry flavor that Aleric couldn't seem to swallow away.
They could not stay. The forest felt too quiet, as if the land itself was waiting for the next blow to fall.
Fafnir stood in his sealed form, crimson scales catching the early morning light. Even diminished, he radiated quiet dominance — the kind that didn't need to roar to be felt. The heat coming off his hide was a steady, rhythmic thrum, like a furnace behind a closed door.
Athena broke the silence first. "We should move."
Aleric nodded, glancing once more at the devastation. His chest felt tight, the weight of the morning's violence finally settling in. "They're going to notice this."
Fafnir gave a low, amused rumble, a sound that vibrated in Aleric's very marrow. "They already have."
Aleric frowned, his hand tightening on the strap of his pack. "What?!"
"Power leaves echoes," Fafnir replied. "And fear caused by power travels even faster than wind."
Athena's gaze shifted toward the distant horizon, her eyes narrowing as she read the currents of the air. "He is right. People will come."
Fafnir lowered himself slightly, his massive joints clicking like tectonic plates. "There is a settlement west of here. Beyond the treeline."
Aleric blinked, surprised by the dragon's sudden utility. "You can sense that?"
Fafnir's eyes narrowed faintly. "When I burned the Lich from the sky, I climbed high enough to survey the land. There were smoke columns. I noticed farm lands as well. Everything that points to human society." He flexed one talon slightly, carving a shallow trench in the fused glass. "Mortals build close to one another and they leave forests razed."
Athena added calmly, "Flying also allowed him to see further than we both would have been able too."
Fafnir snorted, a puff of sulfurous steam escaping his nostrils. "I did not need to fly to notice them, my perception is the best among us."
Aleric exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. "Okay. That works."
Fafnir lowered himself further. "I will carry you partway. We can not land within sight of the village."
Aleric climbed onto his back, the scales feeling like sun-warmed stone. Athena followed with fluid grace, her movements as precise as a dancer's.
Moments later, Fafnir launched.
This time, the takeoff was controlled — powerful, but not catastrophic. The forest canopy bent beneath the gust, but it did not flatten. Ash spiraled upward in swirling columns as they rose. Aleric felt his stomach drop as the ground fell away, replaced by the dizzying, endless green of the forest floor.
They soared low above the trees. Mid-flight, Fafnir adjusted altitude briefly — not climbing high, but enough to scan the horizon.
"There," he said.
Through gaps in the canopy, Aleric saw it — smoke rising from clustered rooftops at the forest's edge. A village, small and isolated. Perfect for gathering information. It looked so peaceful from above, so blissfully unaware of the dragon soaring over its head.
"We will have to land before they see you," Aleric said, his voice whipped away by the wind.
"I am aware," Fafnir replied dryly.
They descended into a smaller clearing roughly a kilometer from the settlement. Fafnir touched down softly, the impact barely more than a thud. Aleric and Athena dismounted, their boots hitting the soft mulch of the forest floor.
Then, White light engulfed the dragon.
Aleric shielded his eyes, the brilliance searing his vision. When the light faded, a tall red-haired man stood where the dragon had been. Broad-shouldered. Bare-chested. Emerald eyes sharp and watchful. The air around him still felt warmer than it should, a shimmering haze distorting the space around his skin.
"Tone it down," Aleric said immediately, feeling a sudden, protective instinct for the village ahead. "If we walk in like this, people are going to panic."
Fafnir exhaled irritably. The invisible pressure eased. "Insufferable," he muttered.
"Thanks, Faf."
Athena's shoulders trembled, a rare, genuine spark of amusement lighting up her face.
Fafnir's eye twitched. "…What did you say?"
"It's an abbreviation," Aleric said casually, enjoying the dragon's obvious annoyance. "You know, for when we want to be low profile."
Athena broke. "Little Faf," she added, barely containing laughter.
"I am ancient beyond your comprehension."
"And currently shirtless," Athena replied sweetly.
Aleric cleared his throat quickly, trying to steer the conversation back to survival. "Right. And you're Thena."
Athena tilted her head, considering the name. "…Its acceptable."
Fafnir growled under his breath as they began walking toward the village. Behind them, smoke continued to rise from the ruined clearing.
And above—Shadows crossed the sky.
One Hour Later — The Devastated Clearing
They did not arrive chaotically. They arrived together.
Six griffins descended through the smoke-laced air in staggered formation, wings carving controlled arcs through drifting ash. Steel-plated barding covered their leonine bodies, engraved with the crowned griffin crest of Valerheim — a sword clutched in its talons. The sound of their wings was a rhythmic, heavy thrum that seemed to command the air itself.
Their riders wore blue-and-silver plates built for aerial maneuverability. Rank insignia marked their pauldrons. At the center flew the largest griffin. It sported storm-gold feathers. Its face carried a scar across its beak and it amber eyes were unblinking.
Its rider raised a gauntleted fist. The formation widened and then descended. Talons struck vitrified earth. Ash lifted in a slow wake.
The lead rider dismounted without assistance. She removed her helmet, the cool air hitting her sweat-dampened hair.
Captain Elowen Virelle. Early thirties. Bronze hair braided tightly against her scalp. A thin scar traced from brow to cheekbone — earned, not decorative. Her expression was measured, analytical. She looked like a woman who counted every grain of sand before she walked on it.
The Griffin Corps were not ornamental knights with wings. They were a surgical instrument. Each rider wore segmented armor engineered for full rotation mid-flight. Their cloaks were short and split to avoid tangling in saddle hooks. Every buckle, every strap, every blade was positioned for access while inverted at two hundred feet.
Their griffins were not uniform either. No two ever were.
Vaelstrix — Elowen's mount — was the largest. Storm-gold feathers faded to charcoal at the wingtips, and thin scars lined the leonine flank beneath barding polished to a muted sheen. One talon was darker than the rest — regrown after a wyvern hunt five years prior. Vaelstrix did not screech idly. He watched. Calculated. When he shifted his weight, the others adjusted unconsciously. The bond between rider and beast was a visible thing, a shared language of posture and breath.
Lieutenant Corren Dath landed to her right, lean and hawk-faced, armor etched with subtle kill marks. His griffin, Skyrend, bore a white blaze across its brow like a blade-strike. Sergeant Halric — broader, heavier — rode Emberclaw, a rust-feathered brute with burn scars from a southern campaign against fire drakes. Scout-Mage Ilyra's mount, Whisperwind, was smaller but faster, ash-grey with pale eyes that tracked magical distortions before mortal senses could register them. Rennic and Torvale formed the rear arc, their griffins — Dawnshriek and Stoneplume — moving with mirrored precision.
They did not chatter. They did not posture. When Elowen said "Scan the perimeter," they moved as if a single mind had issued the command.
Elowen herself was not the loudest among them — nor the most decorated. She was the most exact. Her authority didn't come from her rank, but from the terrifying precision of her mind.
Her armor bore fewer embellishments than her officers', but the steel at her gauntlets showed repeated sharpening along the knuckle ridges. Her braid was woven tight, not for style, but because loose hair blinded you in a dive. The scar from brow to cheekbone was cleanly healed — no vanity stitch, no attempt to hide it. She wore it like a medal.
When she surveyed the vitrified earth, she did not react. She assessed the damage. She observed the perceived blast radius. She could still feel the residual heat from the ground, where the greedfire touched earth. Her mind moved the way a griffin flew — in arcs, not lines.
And when she rose slowly from the fused soil, her squad watched her, not the destruction. Because if something had survived this clearing, she would decide whether it lived longer.
She inhaled slowly, the scent of ozone and death filling her nose. The mana in the air itself still seemed destabilized from the event that happened there.
"Look for tracks," she ordered.
The riders moved instantly. Two took high over watch. One remained mounted, scanning the treeline. Two dismounted to investigate the ground.
Sergeant Halric knelt near the epicenter, pressing a gauntleted hand against blackened soil. "…This was not wildfire."
Scout-Mage Ilyra closed her eyes, fingers hovering over the earth. Faint sigils shimmered and faded, ghosts of a power that had already moved on. "There is necromantic energy remnants here," she said. "Lich-class or greater."
Silence followed, heavy with the weight of that word.
Elowen's gaze shifted toward the ridge. "You think there was an undead incursion?"
"Yes, Captain. But…" Ilyra hesitated. "There was something else."
Halric rose and walked outward to where the forest had flattened. "The burn radius is too uniform," he said quietly. "This doesn't look like spellcasting. When a spell is fired there is always a clear path or direction that shows which direction it was fired at. Here there is nothing."
Elowen crouched, touching the fused earth again. Glass-veined soil radiated outward in a perfect circle. "…If it wasn't spellcasting, what else can create such devastation?"
Above them, a griffin shifted nervously, its talons clicking against the stone.
"How far does the damage go?" she asked.
"around seventy-five to one hundred meters," Ilyra replied. "Mana readings spike beyond measurable range — then drops sharply. As though whatever made this restrained itself mid-event."
Elowen stood slowly. "Then it would mean two apex monsters fought here."
"And something survived," Halric said, his voice grim.
"Captain!" Scout Rennic called from the treeline.
Near the edge of the clearing, footprints could be found. Three sets. Two were humanoid, the last pair was large, with inconsistent strides of variable depths.
"Those look like dragon tracks," Elowen said flatly. She mounted in one smooth motion, the leather of her saddle creaking. "The tracks were heading west. Toward the outer villages."
"What are the rules of engagement?" Halric asked.
"If it attacks the village, we intervene," she replied. "Otherwise, we observe." She drew her blade — not for show, but protocol. "We ride now."
The griffins launched in unison.
At the Forest Edge near the village
Aleric paused, a sudden, cold prickle at the base of his neck. He felt it. "…Do you hear that?"
Athena tilted her head, her expression sharpening. "Wingbeats."
Fafnir's expression shifted slightly, his emerald eyes flashing. "Griffins."
Aleric's stomach tightened; the reality of being hunted finally sank in. "Already?"
"This kingdom moves efficiently," Athena said, her voice calm but alert.
Fafnir smirked faintly. "Shall I remove them?"
"No," Aleric and Athena said simultaneously, their voices overlapping in the quiet air.
Fafnir sighed, the sound a low, frustrated hiss. "Your restraint will be the end of you."
"Not if we play this smart," Aleric replied, forcing himself to keep walking.
Ahead, the outer village came fully into view. The village was surrounded by a wooden palisade. A watchtower was built next to the main gate. Smoke could be seen slowly drifting out from chimneys. Everywhere they looked, they saw people leading ordinary lives, unaware that a sealed goddess, a summoner, and the dragon walked toward them — while an elite aerial order tracked their trail from above.
"You wanted information," Athena murmured.
"Yeah," Aleric said, his eyes scanning the village square. "And now we're on a clock."
A shadow passed over the treeline, much closer now.
At the Village Gate
Two guards stood at the open gate. Both wore worn leather armor and wielded spears. They looked like members of a local militia. One yawned, the sound long and bored. The other squinted at the approaching trio. "…Travelers?"
Aleric adjusted his cloak, forcing an easy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Morning. We are hoping to restock our supplies and maybe rent a room for a few days."
The taller guard's eyes lingered on Fafnir, taking in the bare chest and the sheer presence of the man. "…You're not from around here."
"Obviously," Fafnir muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.
Aleric stepped forward, trying to smooth over the dragon's arrogance. "The merchant route was blocked south. We heard something about undead activity in the forest?"
That did it. Both guards stiffened, their boredom vanishing in an instant.
"Undead?" the shorter one asked quickly.
We saw a burned clearing about an hour back," Aleric said. "It looked bad. We tried avoided it as much as possible."
The guards paled, their knuckles turning white on their spear-shafts. "There was a patrol that went missing two days ago near the western clearing," the taller one muttered.
Athena tilted her head, her gaze soft but probing. "Were those rumors?"
The guard swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet morning. His refusal to answer was an answer on its own.
Aleric widened his eyes slightly, playing the part of the concerned traveler. "That doesn't sound good."
Fafnir crossed his arms, the muscles in his chest rippling with a restless, dangerous energy. "Can we enter, or do you want to continue discussing this towns' incompetence?"
The guard bristled — then hesitated. The news of possible undead, the thought of what might have happened to the missing patrol and the now three witnesses. The logic of a frightened man won out over his pride. "Right. You can enter. Just go speak to Elder Marrow in the square to relay what you have found."
They passed through, the heavy timber of the gate feeling like a closing trap behind them. Athena offered a small, polite smile as she crossed the threshold. The taller guard blinked, his spear dipping slightly. For half a second, something about her felt… significant. Familiar. Like a half-remembered dream of a statue he'd seen as a child.
"Have we met?" he asked uncertainly.
"Unlikely," Athena replied gently, her voice a soft chime that seemed to linger in the air.
Then she walked on.
Wingbeats thundered as they entered. The guards froze, their faces turning upward as the wind from above nearly knocked them off their feet. A shadow swallowed the gate. Six armored griffins descended in a tight spiral beyond the palisade. Villagers screamed, the sound of panic rising like a flock of startled birds.
Captain Elowen Virelle dismounted in one fluid motion, her boots hitting the dirt with a heavy, purposeful thud. Her gaze swept the area. Sharp. Searching. "You two," she said calmly, her voice cutting through the noise of the crowd.
The guards snapped upright, their spines straightening as if pulled by wires.
"Has anyone unusual entered this village within the last hour?"
The taller guard frowned. Unusual? He replayed the morning. Farmer with chickens. Old Marta is arguing about flour. Routine traffic. The memory of the three travelers—the beautiful woman and the shirtless giant—seemed to slip through his mind like water through a sieve.
"…No, Captain."
"No travelers came from the western treeline?" Elowen asked evenly, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the marketplace.
The shorter guard shook his head. "No, Captain."
Elowen studied their expressions. Genuine confusion. Residual mana still lingered beyond the walls. She felt it, a faint, electric prickle against her skin. But the guards did not.
"Split into pairs," she ordered, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "Search quietly. We don't want panic. Detain only if necessary."
"Yes, Captain."
The griffins shifted restlessly as the knights dispersed.
Twenty meters away—Aleric stood near a produce stall, inspecting apples with forced interest, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"…That was too close," he muttered, the scent of the fruit suddenly sickeningly sweet.
"Mortals tend to overlook what they do not expect," Athena replied softly, her helm casting a shadow over her eyes.
Fafnir smirked, a predatory glint in his emerald gaze. "Your presence bent their perception."
Aleric glanced at her, a sudden, uneasy thought crossing his mind. "We're not mind-controlling anyone, right?"
Athena gave him a sideways look, one eyebrow arched. "Would you prefer if I did?"
"…No."
"Then no."
A griffin screeched somewhere beyond the rooftops, a piercing, lonely sound. Aleric lowered his voice. "Can they track you?"
"Not easily," Fafnir said, his voice a low, confident rumble. "Not like this."
Above the village, griffins circled, their shadows dancing over the thatched roofs. Below, Captain Elowen Virelle scanned rooftops and crowds — analytical, unsatisfied. She knew something had passed through. She simply lacked proof.
Athena adjusted her helm, her movements calm and deliberate. "Information first," she murmured.
Aleric nodded, forcing his hands to stop shaking as he tucked an apple into his bag. "Then we figure out what kind of kingdom we just landed in."
Above, griffins searched for monsters. Below, three travelers walked through the marketplace unnoticed. The hunt had not ended. It had simply changed shape. The air in the village felt heavy, like the moment before a storm finally breaks.