The sun was still high in the sky.

  Light skimmed along the canyon walls, stretching their shadows across the red rock. The wind had calmed, but the tension remained—suspended, dense, raw. Not a single word had been exchanged since they had filled their canteens at the spring.

  Althéa walked in front. Lucanis in the middle. Kael brought up the rear.

  Their steps crunched over the dry dust. Silence had settled in—not the silence of relief, no—the kind that follows an argument, a fracture, something too heavy to be said all at once.

  From time to time, Althéa cast a furtive glance over her shoulder, toward Kael. But she said nothing. Not yet.

  Then, halfway up a steep incline, she stopped. Just long enough to force the others to do the same.

  She turned slowly, her gaze fixed on Kael. Her tone was calm, but her voice betrayed a wound still open.

  “I don’t know…”

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you, Kael.”

  Kael raised his eyes to her. He didn’t try to answer right away. His gaze drifted for a moment to the stone wall, then he lowered his head, a trace of shame in the movement. No irony this time. Just a breath.

  “I understand.”

  Silence threatened to fall again, heavy as a lid. But Lucanis spoke.

  “He did what had to be done,” he said. “That’s all.”

  Althéa turned a sharp, almost shocked look toward him.

  “What had to be done? Really?”

  “You think it had to come to that?”

  Lucanis didn’t look away.

  “Yes. Because if Kael hadn’t done it, that Class-S would have kept evolving. And by now, we might already be dead.”

  He paused. His voice grew heavier.

  “And besides… we’re not blameless either. We saw nothing. We failed to anticipate. We weren’t even capable of putting together a plan… while he had understood everything. And us—we were ready to kill him.”

  Lucanis turned toward Kael, visibly uncomfortable.

  “I’m sorry, Kael. Truly.”

  Kael shrugged, a thin smile on his lips.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “And besides… Althéa hits pretty hard, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to forgive her either, one day.”

  Lucanis let out a short laugh—nervous, but sincere.

  Althéa watched him for a moment. Then she replied, her tone sharp… yet touched with a strange softness.

  “You deserved it. Did you see yourself? You were unbearable.”

  Her gaze softened a little. Almost nostalgic.

  “And yet… you pulled it off.”

  They resumed walking. This time, side by side.

  Not united. Not reconciled. But bound, perhaps—by what they had seen, by what they had endured, and by what still lay ahead.

  They kept walking. For a long time.

  The canyon stretched endlessly, winding like a sleeping beast. Each step seemed to carry them farther from their starting point, without ever truly bringing them closer to the exit.

  The walls grew higher, darker. Daylight slowly waned, clinging to the ridgelines as if reluctant to let go.

  Lucanis sighed, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

  “Three days,” he said suddenly.

  Althéa turned toward him, surprised.

  “What?”

  “There are three days left before the Trial begins. Three. And we still haven’t reached the other side. We’ll have to speed up. Time’s running out.”

  A brief silence followed.

  Kael lifted his head, his brow creasing slightly.

  “So it’s that close already?”

  Lucanis nodded.

  “Yes. The Trial starts in seventy-two hours. And at our current pace… we’ll barely be out of the canyon by then if we keep dragging our feet.”

  Althéa quickened her pace without a word. Her steps grew more decisive. Kael followed suit, equally silent.

  No more words were exchanged over the next few minutes. The wind had risen—cold and dry—kicking up small spirals of sand around them.

  Something weighed on the air. Not fear—not yet—but a dull urgency, like a silent countdown.

  They moved forward in a line, three points lost in the mineral vastness.

  Each locked in their own thoughts.

  Each walking against fatigue, against doubt, against the invisible slope of destiny drawing closer.

  The sun was beginning its descent, painting the canyon walls in shades of orange and copper. Shadows were slowly climbing up from the hollows of the rock.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  That was when they saw them.

  Four silhouettes, in the distance. Low to the ground. Fast. On all fours.

  Lucanis raised a hand, stopping Kael and Althéa mid-step.

  “Over there. You see them?”

  Kael narrowed his eyes. The shapes stood out against the slanting light, their rapid movements betraying a predator’s agility.

  “Class-Four,” Lucanis specified. “The same kind I fought before I ran into you, Kael.”

  A smile stretched across Kael’s lips.

  “Finally, some Class-Fours. About time. I was starting to get bored of Class-S. Too pretentious, those ones.”

  Althéa raised an eyebrow, amused despite herself.

  “For Class-Four, we don’t need a plan.”

  Lucanis nodded.

  “We crush them quickly, then we move on.”

  Kael stretched his arms, almost theatrically.

  “Ah, I feel younger already. A good old back-alley brawl.”

  But the beasts had caught their scent. They accelerated, charging straight toward them with hungry ferocity.

  That was when Althéa stopped short.

  “Wait.”

  Both men turned toward her.

  She was looking at Kael, a sharp glint in her eyes.

  “You’re going alone.”

  Kael’s eyes widened, surprised.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I want to see what you can do with your Needle-Blade.”

  Lucanis crossed his arms, clearly intrigued as well.

  “It’s true—we’ve seen you scheme, bait, manipulate… but actually wield a weapon? Not yet. And honestly, you don’t exactly look very… academic.”

  “Translation: you look like you’d handle it like crap,” Althéa added.

  Kael puffed out his chest, feigning offense.

  "I did kill a Class-S, just so you remember. With style, too."

  "With luck, more like," Lucanis muttered.

  "We’ll see if you’re capable of doing anything other than thinking and scheming," Althéa finished.

  Kael slowly drew his Needle-Blade. The weapon hummed softly between his fingers, as if it, too, were eager to prove its worth.

  He twirled it awkwardly, nearly hitting himself. Althéa stifled a sigh. Lucanis rolled his eyes.

  "Very academic," he repeated.

  The creatures were closing in.

  Kael grinned broadly.

  "Alright. Let’s see if I’m just dead weight… or a legend in the making."

  And he charged.

  Kael held his Needle-Blade in one hand, palm loose, fingers relaxed — probably too relaxed. His cloak snapped in the wind as if he were posing for a heroic painting. Chin raised, gaze sharp, he looked like a warrior brimming with confidence. Very confident.

  Maybe a bit too much.

  The four Class-Four rushed straight at him, clawed paws pounding the ground, jaws gaping open, their shapes sharpening with every stride. Mutant dog-like things, built to bite, leap, and tear.

  The first one jumped.

  Kael tried to sidestep — or at least, something that vaguely resembled it. His foot struck a badly placed stone, his balance wavered, and his strike went wide, slicing through empty air a good ten centimeters from the target.

  "Shit."

  The Class-Four didn’t hesitate. It landed on him with a low growl and sank its fangs into the lower hem of his uniform. The fabric stretched, tore. Kael stumbled backward, swearing under his breath, yanking his arm back as if he were about to take flight.

  "Okay, stay calm," he muttered to himself, shaking his leg. "We call this… a warm-up."

  A second monster lunged from the side. Kael attempted a parry with his Needle-Blade, but the motion was so clumsy that he ended up simply smacking the creature with the hilt.

  The beast barely recoiled.

  A third one leapt. Kael raised his weapon with the grace of an adrenaline-fueled scarecrow, made a hesitant flourish, then stumbled backward in a rushed step, nearly tripping over another stone.

  He grimaced.

  "Everything’s fine!" he shouted toward Althéa and Lucanis, who were still standing motionless farther back. "It’s a freestyle technique. Totally under control."

  One of the mutant dogs brushed past him, and he bent sharply to avoid it.

  The three creatures were circling him now. The fourth was scrambling up the slope. Kael was breathing fast. A shallow cut marked his arm, a strip of fabric was missing, and that damned Needle-Blade still felt like it wanted to dance on its own between his hands.

  He raised his arms theatrically.

  "Alright. Maybe this is the moment to call in reinforcements?" he yelled toward the other two. "Just to balance things out a bit. Like, two versus four. Or three. Or even just an encouraging look. I’ll take it."

  Althéa didn’t answer. She was watching him, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised—half annoyed, half amused.

  Lucanis let out the hint of a smile.

  Kael exhaled.

  "I hate dogs."

  And all four beasts lunged again.

  One of the Class-Four leapt, claws fully extended, aiming straight for his torso.

  Kael raised the Needle-Blade… too late, too high.

  By sheer reflex—or statistical miracle—he took a half-step back, tripped yet again over a treacherous stone… and the Needle-Blade, carried by a chaotic, uncontrolled motion, shot straight into the creature mid-air.

  The weapon pierced its flank with a sharp, dry sound. The impact sent it tumbling sideways. It collapsed with a short, broken whine.

  Silence.

  Kael froze, eyes wide, knees bent in a completely absurd stance. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.

  "There we go!" he shouted, arms spread wide. "One down. Easy."

  He straightened up, giving his cloak a small, dramatic flick.

  "I hope you’re taking notes back there. Elegance. Precision. Controlled panic—"

  "Kael," Althéa cut in, arms still crossed. "You’re still in the middle of a fight."

  He blinked.

  One of the three remaining beasts was already circling him. Another was sniffing the blood of its fallen packmate. The third was already leaping.

  Kael clenched his jaw.

  "Right. Not the time for applause."

  He stepped back once, then again. This time, his foot slid naturally through the dust without catching. His body bent a little better. He turned the Needle-Blade slightly in his palm—badly, but with the intent of a real movement.

  He avoided a beast’s leap, pivoted awkwardly, and attempted a slashing strike. Too stiff. The blow missed by inches—but he didn’t fall. He stayed on his feet.

  His footing was still uncertain, his posture shaky, but something was changing. He wasn’t running anymore. He was holding the line.

  A bead of sweat ran down his temple.

  "Alright," he muttered, "if I can’t be an artist, maybe I can become a passable butcher."

  He smiled and reset his guard, as best he could.

  An arrow whistled through the air.

  Then another, barely a second later.

  Both Class-Four collapsed instantly, struck clean through the skull mid-leap. A double impact—dry, surgical.

  Kael blinked, frozen.

  Althéa was already lowering her bow. She hadn’t even changed expression.

  "Two arrows. Two kills. And I only had two," she sighed.

  Lucanis nodded slowly, impressed.

  Kael felt a flush of embarrassment rise to his face. He lowered the Needle-Blade just a little—not enough to look like surrender, but enough to betray the blow to his ego.

  "It’s fine… I was warming up," he grumbled.

  The last Class-Four, more cautious, prowled a few meters away. Its yellow gaze was locked on Kael. Alone. Exposed.

  He took a deep breath, pushing aside embarrassment, shame, fatigue. He bent his knees slightly. This time, his feet found their place in the dust. He let his weight shift naturally, without overthinking it.

  When the creature charged, he didn’t retreat. He pivoted.

  The dodge was fluid—almost beautiful. Not perfect—too wide, too tense—but effective. He felt the beast’s breath brush his neck. And in that same motion, he twisted his wrist.

  The Needle-Blade cut through the air. A dull sound. Resistance.

  The metal drove into the beast’s flank, then its belly. A hoarse cry. A spray of black fluid. The creature crashed onto its side, gutted, dead before it hit the ground.

  Kael remained there, arm outstretched, breathing hard.

  Silence.

  He lowered his weapon and turned his gaze toward Althéa.

  She looked at him for a moment, her face unreadable. Then she shrugged.

  "Better."

  Lucanis smiled—this time, genuinely.

  "You’re improving."

  Kael wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. He tried to smile, a little crooked.

  "Looks like I’ve got a style of my own."

  He glanced at the corpses around him.

  "A very… adaptive style."