The caravan hadn’t traveled ten minutes past the Mossback Ambusher’s canopy before the forest changed again.
The air thickened.
The shadows flickered.
And then—
something rose from the undergrowth.
A faint, invisible tremor.
Tidewhisper felt it first. His whiskers snapped upright.
“…Rowan. Stop the mount.”
Rowan pulled the reins. “What is it now?”
But it was Pyrope who whispered the answer.
“Movement. Fast. Too many legs.”
A beat of silence.
Then the forest burst.
A wave of tiny black bodies erupted from the ground—thousands of them—like spilled pepper suddenly alive.
“NOPE!” Anatolian shrieked. “Nope-no-no-no-no—NO!”
Lira clung to the side of the caravan. “Are those—?!”
Tidewhisper groaned. “…Bloodsucker fleas. Giant ones.”
The insects were ugly little balls of muscle—each the size of a small fist—with weak eyes but monstrous jaws. They were stupid, blind, reckless… and worst of all—
They swarmed.
They hurled themselves at the caravan like hailstones with legs.
Rowan gasped. “Pyrope—brace!!”
But Anatolian reacted first.
Or tried to.
He slapped one flea off his sleeve, gagged in pure disgust—
“WHA—UGH—GROSS—WHAT IS THIS—WH—NOPE—NOPE—NOPE—NOPE—”
He slapped another. And another.
One landed on his cheek.
“AAAAAAAA—NO—NO—GET IT OFF GET IT OFF—!!!”
He fainted.
Right there in the driver’s seat.
Body limp.
Eyes rolled.
Tongue out.
All while fleas continued assaulting the caravan like mindless, hungry rain.
Rowan stared at Anatolian’s unconscious form, utterly unimpressed.
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“…Not again,” Rowan muttered.
Lira tightened her scarf over her mouth, trying not to inhale panic. “Rowan—Pyrope—what do we do?!”
The fleas kept jumping.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Slamming into the carriage walls, the ant mount’s armor, the canopy overhead—so many that their bodies formed a moving carpet.
The caravan slowed.
Strained.
Stuttered.
And stopped completely.
They were stuck—completely buried in a living blanket of bloodsucker fleas.
Rowan and Tidewhisper Move
Rowan took position instantly.
He shoved open the side of the caravan and lowered his stance, horns gleaming.
“Lira, stay behind me!”
He swung his head, sweeping away a clustered wave of fleas. His hooves stomped with enough power to split ground—but the insects simply closed back in, jumping over their crushed siblings without hesitation.
These things had no sense of fear.
Only hunger.
Tidewhisper darted beside him, swift and fluid.
A flea lunged for his face—
he ducked, twisted, slapped it aside with lightning-fast precision.
Another shot at his neck—
he spun, tail whipping it out of the air.
Agile.
Precise.
Already exhausted.
“Tide—behind you!” Lira yelled.
“I see it!”
But for every flea dodged, three more replaced it.
The air vibrated with their clicking jaws.
The forest floor writhed with them.
And the sound—
the sound was maddening.
A ceaseless, brain-eating thk-thk-thk-thk of bodies slamming against wood, armor, skin.
Only Pyrope Can Break the Swarm
Pyrope stepped out into the open.
He exhaled.
Still Water Breathing steadied his pulse.
A flea leaped for his throat—
he swayed to the left, brushing it aside like it weighed nothing.
Another came for his face—
he tilted down, letting it fly over his head.
Three more lunged at his legs—
he stepped forward, light as a drifting leaf.
Rowan stared.
“Is he… dancing?”
Tidewhisper squinted. “No. He’s calculating every angle.”
Pyrope’s movements were sharp, precise, impossible to predict—
but every strike he made was controlled, measured, clean.
A slap to the thorax.
A kick sending one back into the swarm.
A palm strike cracking another’s jaws.
Bloodsucker fleas weren’t strong individually—
but Pyrope’s discipline kept the overwhelming mass from swallowing them whole.
He turned into the heart of the swarm, voice steady:
“Stay close. Don’t separate.”
Lira pressed behind Rowan.
Tidewhisper stuck near her.
The ant mount hissed and buckled, trying to shake the carpet of fleas clinging to its carapace.
The swarm climbed higher.
Heavier.
The caravan creaked under the living weight.
Rowan exhaled shakily. “Pyrope, we’re getting buried!”
“I know.”
Pyrope smashed aside another flea.
He needed a breakthrough.
A gap.
Anything.
But the swarm kept replacing itself—endless, mindless, stupid, relentless.
And then—
A voice cut through the clicking chaos.
Not a scream.
Not panic.
A tone somehow:
angry,
disgusted,
offended,
and absolutely done with life.
It came from behind them.
“…Urghh… what… the… hell… are these…”
Rowan’s eyes closed, hand on his head. “I’m late…”
Lira whipped around.
Tidewhisper froze mid-dodge.
Pyrope’s ears lifted.
Anatolian sat up slowly from the driver’s bench, eyes half-open, face twisted into an expression of pure, exhausted irritation—his originally white-to-cream fur tone now darkened nearly black from dirt and crushed fleas.
“…Get off.”
He swiped a flea.
Scowled.
“…Who woke me up.”
Another flea hit him.
He didn’t even flinch.
Just stared at it with the dead, hollow fury of a man who had already mentally resigned from life.
Tidewhisper whispered, stunned:
“…He woke up by himself?”
Lira covered her mouth. “He’s… he’s not screaming?”
Pyrope looked genuinely shocked.
Anatolian groaned louder this time—a sound so miserable and annoyed it rattled the fleas clinging to his coat.
“…I’m going to kill this entire forest…”
Pyrope blinked.
For a moment, even the fleas hesitated.
Just a moment.
And then—
Anatolian suddenly grabbed the reins and forced the mount forward.
The fleas
surrounded them.
Smothered the caravan.
Drowned the road in a tide of mindless, chittering bodies.
“Hold tight!”
Everyone—except Rowan—was speechless, stunned by Anatolian’s transformation.
but not by strength alone.
Some people change not because they want to…
but because the road gives them no choice.
If you’re enjoying the journey, any support — a follow, a comment, or simply continuing to read — quietly helps keep the wheels turning. No pressure at all.
and it remembers who walks it.
