The roar of the Tier Six monster echoed through the night, a sound that seemed to shake the air itself. Flames from the campfires flickered violently as the knights scrambled into a hurried defensive formation. Steel clashed against steel, but even before the first blow landed, it was clear the scale of the threat was beyond their strength.
Sylas crouched low near the dunes, his thin blanket wrapped tightly around him. His heart beat steadily—controlled, focused. He didn't move yet, merely observed, every motion of the monsters, every reaction of the knights, every slight tremor in the ground.
The Tier Six stepped forward, each footfall leaving deep furrows in the sand. The smaller shadows moved with terrifying coordination, darting from tree to tree, testing the perimeter, striking where they sensed weakness.
The captain, Tier Four himself, barked commands with a voice meant to steady the knights, but even he faltered. The knights fought bravely, but their strikes barely scratched the massive scales of the Tier Six.
Sylas's mind raced.
They're strong, but bound.
Every knight followed rules: protect the princess, hold formation, strike when commanded. Their strength was immense compared to his, but their chains—honor, duty, loyalty—slowed them. He could see it clearly.
That's my advantage, Sylas thought. I don't fight. I survive.
Step by step, he moved along the desert edge. The dunes were open, but safer. If the monsters came toward him, he could run, disappear into the vast emptiness where no shadows waited.
A scream cut through the night. One of the smaller shadows had leapt onto a knight, slashing with clawed hands. The camp erupted into chaos. Torches swung wildly, horses panicked, and the knights' formation fractured under the pressure.
Sylas slowed, letting the noise mask his own movements. He pressed himself against the sand, nearly invisible in the dim glow of the firelight. Every knight, every scream, every clash of steel worked in his favor.
The captain realized the danger of staying. His eyes flicked toward the princess's carriage. Protecting her was paramount. He signaled a retreat, moving the princess toward the desert edge. A few knights followed, dragging their shields and struggling to maintain any semblance of formation.
Sylas continued his careful approach. His body ached from malnourishment, his arms and legs weak, but his mind was sharper than any blade. He observed every opportunity, every distraction. The chaos was growing, and with each passing second, his path to survival widened.
The forest shifted again. The shadows moved closer. The Tier Six lifted a massive claw, bringing it down on a knight. A crash echoed through the camp. Flames scattered sparks into the night.
Sylas slowed near the dunes, counting every step, timing his movements to avoid notice. The princess and her small escort were already moving toward the desert. The knights were focused on defending her. That left him unseen.
The forest is full of monsters.
The camp is full of rules.
And I… am free.
Step by step, Sylas slipped along the edge of the chaos, toward the desert. Every instinct, every calculation, was focused on one goal: survive the night, and live to see another day.
The roar of the Tier Six and the clash of steel faded behind him as the dunes stretched out ahead—open, cold, and honest.