Peaceful, he dreamed. A smaller, pale sun suspended above him as he reminisced with his sister. Julia sat, laughing along with the memories of their parents. She told him stories of Joran and Elise, and of her experiences in the capital.

  He peeked into the void overhead, the home realm of the moon, and wandered in its vastness. Turning his attention back, Rue sat cross-legged where his sister had been, Nia’s light tracing over her smooth cheeks. They remained silent, appreciating the view.

  Then, a scream erupted from the skies, and he woke.

  “Vayrel!” Merac shouted with all his will, his voice cracking under the strain.

  Aric’s eyes shot open, looking around in a panic. He freed his sword and began donning his light armor. The others could be heard leaving their tents, hurried in the chaos.

  “Steady yourselves,” Sergeant Daryn said, tense but prepared. “After it pounces, encircle it in formation.”

  Aric started unfastening the tent flap buttons, his fingers fumbling as his hand trembled.

  “Stay where you are, Aric. Remember your training. Trust in us to kill this demon,” Sergeant Daryn ordered, hearing his tent rustle. “Besides, you’re no good to us at night.”

  Aric paused, his breath rapid. Even after he became skilled enough to fight, he was told during his training to never assist at night. Unless the worst should happen. Aric dug his hands into his temples, helplessness washing over him again.

  Something massive roamed around the encampment, its footsteps clear and audible.

  “I’ve never seen a vayrel stand brazen in the open before an attack?” He heard Rue question aloud, woven with hesitation. “They’re creatures of ambush?”

  “This vayrel’s either dumb, or full of itself,” Merac mumbled.

  From the way their voices shook, he knew they could see it, standing just meters away from them. A gurgled hiss, from beyond the tent, echoed against his bones.

  Aric squeezed his sword for comfort. Then, the ground pounded as something big dashed across it.

  “Here it comes!” Rowen screamed.

  A beat of nothing. Then, something crashed down. The skittering sound of evading feet drowned against it.

  A guttural howl came, a declaration of death. The ripping of claws through shields, and swords through flesh resonated in his ears.

  I can’t just sit here a coward, he thought to himself.

  Out of nowhere, he was jolted as a giant, rotting hand pierced through the tent walls. Its claws ripped across, shredding the fabric like paper. Aric scrambled backward, moonlight spilling onto his travel bed.

  “Another one?!” Christoph yelled, exasperated.

  “Aric!” Merac cried, though Aric didn’t hear it.

  Sharp fingers felt around like it was searching blind. The arm fled his defiled sanctuary, a hovering, empty eye taking its place. Its dotted-white pupil fixed on him, desperate hunger emitted from it like heat from his branding.

  “Aaaah!” he shrieked, stabbing his sword toward it. With lightning speed, the face vanished.

  He leaned closer to the gash in fabric and could see Merac, his steel glimmering with wild swings. A towering beast stood before him, matching his intensity. Nearing nine feet tall, the monster looked down on him. Blood wept from deep cuts in its decaying skin, its wails primal, as if it were the origin of fear itself.

  Merac thrust his sword deep into its abdomen as it slashed his chest. He fell back, screaming in pain, his weapon wedged deep into the vayrel. It crept closer, its intent vivid.

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  Before Aric could think, he stormed into the fray, a battlecry tearing from his throat. He whipped his sword at the creature’s long legs with all his power.

  The vayrel turned as he closed the gap, its instincts quick, and sprang backward, dodging his attempt.

  Pain scorched through Aric’s skin. For the first time, moonlight danced on it, like thousands of hot needles piercing his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he bore it and lunged between the two, shielding the fallen Merac with his body.

  The vayrel swiped high and swift. Aric ducked low and slashed its chest. Blood, darker than a human’s, spat across his face. He winced, wiping his eyes free of its blood, but it was too late. The next blow barreled toward him.

  He flinched, bracing for the impact, but was yanked downward, Merac’s hand gripped his armor and pulled him from its path.

  Coming to their aid, Sergeant Daryn and Rue raced past him, their strikes sharp and unpredictable.

  “Aric!” the sergeant barked between his attacks. “Drag yourself under your tent!”

  “I can still help!” Aric shouted, his throat raw.

  “Your curse, Aric! Heed his command.” Rue snapped, blocking a blow.

  He looked down—layers of skin had burned away in jagged patterns. Muscle tissue showed in the worst spots, his flesh still searing. As adrenaline drained, pain swept in like a wildfire.

  His weapon slipped from his finger. He collapsed into the dirt, writhing.

  Just a little more, he thought, as Merac dropped the fallen tent over him.

  Back on his feet, Merac stumbled forward. Patient and locked, he observed the vayrel’s timing.

  It swung at Daryn, scraping his throat as blood sprayed. But Merac saw a chink in his guard.

  He surged in. He drew a long dagger from his belt and closed the distance. Close enough to feel its breath fog the distance between them.

  With fury, he plunged the dagger up beneath the demon’s jaw. The tip burst through the top of its skull.

  Merac roared in its face, claiming the right as the victor. Its body slumped to the ground.

  The moment breathed heavy.

  Aric lifted the tent and surveyed the battlefield. Rue knelt beside Daryn, who lay bloody. Merac stood wrapping his wounds. Behind him, where the unseen battle unfolded, Rowen was facing the dirt motionless, his arm missing. He couldn’t find Christoph, but figured that implied enough.

  He dropped the tent flap, his flesh still feeling flayed, grimacing at how quick and severe the fight was. His thoughts blurred as he fell unconscious.

  “Wake up, lad,” he heard someone say. The words muffled, almost as if they were underwater. Aric’s eyelids lifted, as if he’d had too much to drink the night before.

  “Don’t make me bury you, too,” Merac chuckled, shoving him further awake.

  Aric blinked in slow, heavy succession, the morning sun over them. Merac helped him up.

  “How long was I out?” Aric asked, swatting at the bugs feeding on his burn wounds.

  “Three hours. We figured we’d let you sleep while the moon was still out. Rue and I spent the dark hours digging the graves, and packing camp.”

  “Right,” Aric muttered, the taste on his tongue bitter. “How are you, Rue, and Sergeant Daryn?”

  “I’m in one piece thanks to you.” Gesturing down at his bandaged wounds, smiling as if it could’ve been worse. “Rue seems to have taken the least damage, that slippery vixen.”

  “And sergeant?”

  Merac paused, pressing his lips together as if they were holding back his tongue.

  “The damn beast cut his throat. Deep. He was a brave man, led well and fought like a true hunter. We found Christoph’s twisted body thrown fifty feet toward the lake. Dead before he landed, I reckon.”

  Aric let his head fall back, the weight of reality settled in thick and cold.

  “Come now. Before we depart, we should speak one last time to our fallen.” He gestured to where Rue stood, her back turned to them.

  Legs stiff and skin raw, he marched behind Merac.

  They walked over toward Rue. She stood in quiet prayer, her shadow stretching over the three fresh dirt mounds—a final proof of their stories.

  She turned. No tears or hidden emotions showed. She waited for Merac to give his wishes.

  Seconds passed, Merac said nothing. The chirping of the morning birds filled the silence.

  At last, he spoke, “Christoph, you were a good hunter and a better man. Rowen, you were a right little shit, but you were one of us. And Daryn… I’m grateful for your teachings. I’ll see to getting the rest back safe and sound.”

  Rue and Merac grabbed their forearms, covering their brandings, and waited for Aric to follow.

  “We’ll carry your mark. May the Dead One guide you to a new hunt,” they said as one, Aric trailing a breath behind.

  “Let’s take our leave. We have a five-day journey ahead of us,” Merac said, now prepared to lead. “Rue, take the back. Aric, lag behind me.

  They mounted their saddles and rode off. Aric took one last glance behind him, recollecting yesterday’s ordeals. He inhaled deep, exhaling as he turned forward, riding into a new day.