The night outside was restless. Wind howled through the broken arches of the ruined fort, carrying the smell of damp soil and burnt wood. Ragnar sat against a cold stone pillar, his body still stiff from the battle earlier. His shadow clung to the ground like a second skin, whispering faintly—hungry, restless, waiting.
The fire in the center of the room was dying, throwing weak orange light across tired faces. Dax had collapsed on his side, snoring softly. Ruin sharpened his blade with deliberate strokes, his eyes half-closed but never unaware. Kael leaned against the far wall, his gaze fixed on nothing, his silence heavier than the ruins around them.
Selene sat closest to the fire. Her silver chains glowed faintly, like veins of moonlight carved into her skin. She had her knees pulled to her chest, her breath shallow, her eyes unfocused.
Ragnar noticed the tremor in her hands as she tried to warm them near the fire. He didn't say anything at first. But something inside him stirred—an echo of the boy who once understood hunger and cold better than anyone.
Without a word, he pulled his cloak off his shoulders and tossed it toward her.
Selene blinked, startled. "I don't need—"
"Take it," Ragnar interrupted, his tone flat. "You're shivering loud enough to wake the dead."
For a moment, she hesitated. Then, quietly, she pulled the cloak around herself. The firelight caught in her silver eyes, softening them. She lowered her gaze, whispering so only he could hear.
"You pretend you don't care… but you always do."
Ragnar looked away. He didn't answer. The shadow at his feet rippled faintly, like it was mocking him.
Hours passed in uneasy silence. The group didn't truly rest—every ear strained for the sound of pursuers, every heartbeat waiting for the clash of steel. When the wind outside quieted, it was Ruin who finally spoke.
"So, Law Thief," he muttered, his voice sharp against the stillness. "What's your next move? Or are we just drifting until death finds us?"
Ragnar's eyes narrowed. "You think you're still alive because of drifting?"
Ruin smirked, not looking up from his blade. "I think I'm alive because I haven't trusted anyone long enough to put a knife in my back."
Dax, half-awake, grumbled. "Then why are you still here, Ruin? You could have walked away a hundred times."
Ruin's smirk faltered. He didn't answer.
Kael's voice cut in, cold and calm. "Because he knows monsters gather where Ragnar walks. And when they come… standing beside him is the only way to live long enough to taste their blood."
No one argued. The truth hung heavy in the air.
Later, when the others finally dozed, Selene stayed awake. Ragnar noticed her staring into the fire, her eyes reflecting more than just flames.
"You should sleep," he said quietly.
She shook her head. "I can't. Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces. The people I've failed. The ones I couldn't save." Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. "How many graves will follow us before this ends?"
Ragnar didn't answer at once. His jaw tightened. He knew the weight of graves—he carried them all his life. Finally, he said:
"Count them if you want. Or keep walking until you can't anymore. Either way, graves will come. The question is whether you let them bury you too."
Selene looked at him, her silver eyes searching his face. For once, she didn't see just the monster everyone feared. She saw the broken boy still clawing his way through endless nights.
She smiled faintly, tired but sincere. "You sound almost human, Ragnar."
He met her gaze for a moment too long before looking away. His chest felt tight, but he didn't know if it was from her words… or the shadow inside that hated hearing them.
The night deepened.
Just as Ragnar's eyes finally began to close, a sound tore through the silence.
Crack.
Everyone was instantly alert. Dax grabbed his weapon. Ruin stood with his blade already drawn. Selene clutched the cloak tighter, her chains glowing faintly. Kael tilted his head, his expression darkening.
The sound came again—wood splintering, stone shifting.
From beyond the ruined arch, a low growl echoed. It wasn't human.
Shadows flickered at the edge of the firelight, long and thin, twisting unnaturally.
Ragnar stood, his eyes burning red-black in the dark. His shadow writhed eagerly at his feet, already sensing prey.
"Looks like the night isn't done with us," he muttered.
And then the ground trembled.
Something massive was approaching.