The last of the Black Knives hit the ground, lifeless steel clattering beside him. The night was silent again, save for the children's ragged breathing.
The Hound stood in the clearing, blade resting heavy against his shoulder, its edge dripping with the work it had done. His wolf-mask glared in the moonlight, unblinking, unreadable.
The weary man stepped forward, planting himself between the children and that monstrous figure. His voice was steady, but his hand trembled against his side.
"You'll not take them. Not after what they've suffered."
The Hound tilted his head slightly, as if weighing the man's resolve. His voice came low, deep, the kind that settled into the bones:
"You mistake me for them."
The blade slid into the earth at his feet with a dull thud, deliberate, a show of control rather than surrender.
"I do not hunt for coin. I hunt for blood worth carrying forward. These children… are marked."
The children shrank back, the weight of his words heavier than his weapon.
Kairo's eyes glowed faintly, crimson threads reflecting the moonlight. He studied the Hound, silent as ever, but within him a cold recognition stirred. This man wasn't here to save them. He was here because of them.
The weary man spat into the grass.
"Marked or not, they're not yours. I'll protect them with my life if I must."
The Hound regarded him for a long, unbroken moment. Then, to the children's shock, he nodded.
"Then prove it. Keep them alive. Keep them from turning the power inside them against themselves."
His hand wrenched the blade free, slinging it back across his shoulder.
"If you can… then they will be worthy. If you cannot… I will return."
And with that, the Hound turned, vanishing into the darkness as though the night itself opened to let him through.
The children clung to each other, shaken, uncertain if they had been spared… or chosen.
The weary man's jaw tightened.
"He'll be back. That wasn't a warning. That was a promise."
Kairo's crimson gaze lingered on the shadows where the Hound had disappeared. For the first time in many nights, his silence carried weight enough to chill the air.
The hunt wasn't over. It had only just begun.