Chapter 6 – The Light and the Cub
The first light of dawn crawled across the cave walls, dim and cold. Mist hung over the forest beyond, pale and silent.
John tightened his grip on the spear, its faint golden runes pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Behind him, Tamara stretched her arms, scanning the trees with the calm focus of someone who'd lived her whole life on the edge of danger.
"Let's move," she said quietly. "The longer we stay, the more they'll gather."
He nodded and followed her out.
The forest was too still. Dew clung to blackened leaves, and the smell of damp earth filled the air. A faint clicking echoed somewhere ahead—slow at first, then multiplied.
John froze. "They're back."
Tamara's eyes narrowed. "Stay close."
The ground erupted. Shadows dropped from the branches above, glistening limbs unfolding as the spiders descended in a frenzy of motion. Their carapaces gleamed with a sick, oily shine, their humanlike faces chittering with warped hunger.
John's pulse spiked. One lunged at him, fangs bared. He met it mid-leap, the spear flashing in a tight arc. The blade tore through its skull; the body hit the ground twitching.
Another came from behind—Tamara intercepted, moving like water. She spun aside, seized one of its legs, and twisted. The crack was sharp and final. Her heel slammed into the creature's chest, pinning it long enough for John's spear to finish the job.
They fought back-to-back, their rhythm effortless. She flowed between attacks, precise and silent; he struck with raw instinct, each movement guided by desperation and growing awareness.
A final spider lunged from above. Tamara sidestepped, grabbed its fangs, and used its own momentum to drive it into the ground. John's spear ended it in one clean motion.
Silence returned—broken only by the echo of their breaths.
The air shimmered faintly. Dozens of small motes drifted upward from the corpses, faintly glowing—Light fragments.
John straightened, sweat streaking his neck. "We should split these."
Tamara shook her head. "Keep them."
He frowned. "That's not right. We fought together."
"I'm already past what these can give," she said simply. "I'm already at the middle of F-tier. Low-grade Light won't strengthen me anymore. You need it more than I do."
He hesitated. The motes drifted toward him, dissolving into warmth under his skin. "You're sure?"
Tamara's gaze softened for the first time. "Positive."
He nodded once, quietly grateful. "Then I'll make it count."
She smiled faintly. "See that you do."
They continued deeper into the forest. The terrain shifted; the air grew colder, the mist thicker. Frost clung to the grass, and the shadows between the trees seemed to breathe.
That was when they heard it—low, guttural, broken by shallow gasps.
They found the clearing moments later. A massive bear lay sprawled across the ground, its fur glowing faintly with fading Light. Beside it, a cub no larger than a child's pack whimpered softly, nudging its unmoving mother.
Tamara knelt, her expression grim. "A Lumibear… she was strong. Something powerful killed her."
Before John could speak, the temperature dropped. Breath misted from his mouth. Ice began to creep over the grass.
From behind the fallen bear, a shape emerged—four-legged, sleek, and cruelly beautiful. Its fur shimmered like frozen glass, eyes glowing a piercing blue. Every step it took left frost behind.
Tamara exclaimed "It's a middle F-tier monster be careful"
The beast lowered its head, lips curling into a silent snarl.
It moved faster than thought.
The ice blast came first—a jagged wave of frozen air that tore across the clearing. John dove aside, barely escaping the brunt, while shards sliced his arm open.
Tamara countered instantly, darting around its flank, her bare hands tracing sharp, deliberate strikes along the creature's ribs. Her movements were refined—measured—like someone trained from birth to kill.
The wolf snarled, turning on her, its jaws filling with blue light.
John didn't think. He threw himself between them as the second blast came. It hit like a wall. The cold bit deep, burning through his chest. He staggered but didn't fall.
Tamara shouted something he didn't catch, already moving. Her strike drove into the creature's eye. The wolf reeled, howling, but she couldn't reach the killing blow before it turned on her again.
John steadied himself, every breath agony. He raised the spear. The runes flared, golden against the cold.
"Not this time," he growled, and drove the weapon forward.
The blade pierced the wolf's chest. Frost exploded outward in a violent burst, cutting his cheek and freezing his hands, but he didn't let go. Tamara struck again, precise and final—straight through the throat.
The creature collapsed in a hiss of steam and shattered ice.
Then silence.
Two lights drifted upward from the bodies—the wolf's cold blue and the bear's gentle white.
John looked at her, voice low. "You take the wolf's Light."
Tamara studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "And you take hers."
He reached toward the Lumibear's fading glow. The warmth spread through him, soft and steady, like sunlight breaking through frost. His wounds burned—then dulled, not healed but eased.
The cub whimpered, its tiny body trembling. When John turned, it stumbled toward him. Hesitant at first, then sure.
It pressed against his leg, glowing faintly, eyes filled with a strange recognition.
Tamara watched with quiet amusement. "It seems you've been chosen."
John looked down at the cub. "Guess I took her mother's Light."
"Then it trusts you," she said softly. "Light remembers its source."
He reached out, resting a hand on the cub's head. It leaned into his touch, small warmth against the chill morning.
Tamara stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "It'll follow you now. You should give it a name."
John hesitated, then shook his head. "Not yet."
They left the clearing behind, the cub padding quietly at his side. The frost thinned with each step until the trees opened into a long, broken road. The remnants of carriages lined the path—rotted, half-buried, forgotten.
John paused, looking back once at the forest's dark edge.
Tamara adjusted her cloak, eyes on the road ahead. "We've left the Forgotten Forest," she said. "Whatever comes next… it won't be easier."
He tightened his grip on the spear. The cub brushed against his leg, its light steady and warm.
"For once," he said, his voice low but certain, "I'm fine with that."