The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint metallic tang of blood. Somewhere behind them, the dragon's carcass rotted in silence. The group packed without a word, their movements stiff from exhaustion. No one looked back.
They circled wide around the clearing. The weight of what they'd done lingered like fog.
Lena finally broke the silence.
"Wait. Did anyone burn the body?"
Nycto paused mid-step. "No. You never told us to."
Lena pressed her palm to her forehead. "Great. Yesterday I was so dizzy from that headache, I must've forgotten." Her eyes swept the treeline. "We should've done it."
Tomoe turned. "Why? What difference does it make?"
"That wasn't just some beast." Lena's voice dropped. "That was a lesser dragon. It shouldn't even exist here."
Haitham froze, bow hanging limp in his hand. His eyes widened.
"Oh, no… my arrow."
Everyone looked at him.
"It's still in its hide," he muttered, face pale.
Nycto's grip tightened on his swords. "Then whoever owned it knows exactly where it died."
Tomoe's jaw set. "We don't have time for this. Move."
Haitham's voice cracked. "Wait—owned it? Who can even tame a dragon?"
"Someone dangerous," Lena answered. "Judging by how it fought, it's battled humans before."
Nycto gave a sharp nod. " a collector or worse — it was trained. Either way, the owner won't forgive us."
Haitham swallowed hard. "So what do we do?"
"We walk," Nycto said flatly. "And pray they're too busy searching for whatever they came here for to track us down."
Lena narrowed her eyes. "And what exactly are they looking for?"
Haitham hesitated, then admitted, "An artifact. There's a dungeon nearby. Old, deep, dangerous."
Tomoe's voice was firm. "We're not going in."
"Of course not," Haitham said quickly. "It's suicide. And we don't have the time."
The forest quieted. The only sound was the crunch of boots on frost.
Then Lena's head snapped up. Her voice cut through the stillness like a whip.
"Formation. Wolves!"
From the mist, shapes lunged — grey forms with gleaming eyes and slavering jaws.
Nycto was first to meet them, twin katanas flashing in clean arcs, each strike carving fur and flesh. Tomoe surged forward with a roar, her fists cracking bone as easily as wood. Lena slammed her palms to the ground — roots burst upward, coiling around snapping muzzles and dragging wolves screaming into the dirt.
At the rear, Haitham fumbled with his bowstring. His hands shook. His thoughts screamed louder than the battle.
If I miss. If I hit one of them
A wolf broke past the front line, lunging for him. Its fangs glistened, breath hot with blood.
Haitham's arrow loosed.
Thwip.
The wolf collapsed mid-leap, sliding lifeless at his feet.
Haitham stared at the body, chest heaving, bow trembling in his hands.
One shot. One kill. But how many more are coming?