The hunters' circle tightened, two hundred strong, steel flashing in the pale moonlight. The children clung to one another, Kairo and Igron braced but caught off guard.
Then came the sound of boots — slow, deliberate, crushing the earth like a drumbeat of war.
From the tall grass emerged a giant of a man clad in scarred black steel, his steps carrying the weight of a beast unleashed. On his back, a greatsword, wider than a door and nearly as tall as he was, rested like a coffin lid waiting to fall.
The hunters faltered. Whispers rippled through their ranks.
"The Hound…"
His eyes scanned the children first — alive, but cornered. Then Kairo and Igron. Finally, his gaze settled on the ragged man who had led them this far.
The silence was suffocating until the Hound's voice broke it, deep and coarse as grinding stone.
"...I thought you'd protect them."
The man froze, jaw tightening, unable to meet the Hound's stare. His fists clenched. "I did what I could. There were too many—"
"Too many?" The Hound's growl cut him off, low and dismissive. His hand reached back, unfastening the greatsword. The earth shuddered when its edge kissed the soil.
"Then I'll finish what you couldn't."
The hunters shouted their war cries, surging forward. But the Hound moved first, swinging his great blade in a single arc that split the ground and sent men flying like rag dolls.
The battle for the children had begun anew.