The Hound wrenched his greatsword free from the soil. Without another word, he turned his back to them, his massive frame swallowed by the fog as he disappeared into the night.
The man exhaled slowly, his shame folding into acceptance. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke:
"If it is for the children's survival… then I accept. Whatever road lies ahead, they must walk it."
The children huddled together, some with tears, some with trembling fists. Kairo's crimson eyes glowed faintly, but he said nothing. Igron tilted his head back, grinning faintly, as though enjoying the weight of the silence.
Then the sound of wooden clogs scraped against the dirt.
A frail figure stepped from the shadows — the old mistress, the one who had sold them, her wrinkled smile stretched wide.
"You see?" she croaked, spreading her arms as if welcoming them home. "All of this… all of it was part of my plan. The hunters, the chaos, the pain. Without me, you never would have found your path to greatness. You should be thanking me."
The children recoiled. The man's jaw clenched, fury boiling in his eyes.
But Igron stepped forward.
In his hand gleamed a hunter's sword — chipped, bloodied, its edge dull but eager. He had taken it earlier in the chaos, plucked from the corpse of a fallen foe, and now he wielded it as though it had always been his.
His grin widened. He didn't wait for her to finish. He didn't argue.
One swift stroke — and her voice was cut short. Blood splattered across the ground, her body collapsing in the dirt with a lifeless thud.
The children gasped. The man froze. Kairo's eyes narrowed but he did not stop him.
Igron flicked the blade clean, smirking as he turned to the others.
"She wasn't part of the plan anymore."
No one spoke. The night swallowed the moment whole.
---
Far away, in the Upper Middle Realm, word of the Hound's victory reached a vast, shadowed hall.
Lady Eryndor sat upon her seat of iron and bone, silver hair cascading like a river of moonlight, her golden eyes alight with something between hunger and relief.
"The Hound has found them," her attendant whispered.
A slow, predatory smile curved her lips.
"Good. Bring them to me. Let us see which among these cubs… has the fangs to bear the name Eryndor."
Her laughter echoed through the chamber — cold, powerful, and full of promise.