The scent of blood hung in the air, thick and sour. The flies didn’t care that the dead had worn crests—soldiers or not, their bodies lay scattered like discarded dolls, their flesh had become part of the forest now. Crows circled above and descended in twos and threes, pecking without pause through cracked armour.

  Zyren forced himself to breathe through his mouth, though it did little to quell the sickness rising in his stomach. His gaze lingered on the overturned cage, the broken caravan tracks veered off into nothing.

  Kaelith’s voice cut through the silence. “There’s another one.” “There’s another one,” Kaelith murmured, pointing past the blood-soaked dirt.

  Zyren followed her outstretched hand, his gaze landing on a second body at the end of a bloody drag mark. The soldier’s armour was cracked, his leg missing. He hadn’t been torn apart in the same way as the first—he had bled out, slowly, agonizingly.

  Zyren swallowed hard. “We have to go. Now.”

  Kaelith didn’t flinch. She crouched by the cage, running her fingers along the latch, studying the scene as if it were a puzzle to be solved.

  “This isn’t fresh,” she said absently. “The other one was more recent. We’re moving away from it.”

  “Something went wrong here,” Zyren insisted, motioning to the carnage. “This was the work of humans, but something slipped out of control. You think they’ll just let this go? This has to be worth paying—”

  “They won’t pay for this.” Her tone was quiet but firm.

  He turned to her sharply. “What?”

  “They sent it,” she continued, rising slowly to meet his gaze. “They knew what it was. And by now, they’ve realized the caravan didn’t make it. But this”—she gestured at the broken bodies—“this is acceptable risk to them. Cleaning it up? Not worth the effort.”

  Zyren hated how much sense that made. He clenched his jaw, looking back at the bodies. “Even so… we won’t do any better than them if we run into it.”

  Kaelith didn’t argue. She crouched and began sketching a rough map into the wet earth with a stick.

  “If we’re here, and the creek was over this ridge, the other body is over there. Which means this—” she circled the space in between “—is the danger zone.”

  She stood. “Northwest. Higher ground, less exposed.”

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  She looked at him expectantly.

  Zyren didn’t answer. “What about the body where we camped?”

  Her brow furrowed. “What body?”

  “I knew I heard voices last night,” he snapped. “I went back. Found a soldier—dead. Killed cleanly. One strike through the ribs.”

  Kaelith froze.

  “You didn’t mention the voices,” Zyren pressed. “You didn’t wake me. You didn’t even look surprised when I mentioned them.”

  “Zyren…” she said, lifting a hand slightly, palm down. “Calm down. Don’t—”

  “Were you away? Or did you do it?” he cut in. “Did you kill him?”

  Her eyes widened, not in fear, but in alarm. “No—”

  Before he could press further, her body slammed into his. Zyren hit the mud hard as Kaelith rolled over him, sword drawn.

  “Surnai,” she whispered.

  “Run!” he shouted, pushing her up and drawing both daggers.

  The forest exploded.

  Branches groaned, leaves hissed with motion. Vines burst from the undergrowth. Thorns zipped past like darts. Kaelith hacked through the first wave, blade flashing. Zyren ducked, spun, and moved in lockstep behind her.

  Then something green lunged from the gloom.

  Zyren twisted and slashed. A semi-amphibious creature crashed to the ground beside him, thorn-vines writhing in its shoulder. Without hesitating, he jammed a dagger into its chest, algae peeling from its slick hide.

  Behind him, leaves rustled. He spun just in time to dodge a spear strike from a second Surnai.

  He dropped low, drew his sword, and rose in a wide arc. The creature danced back, spear jabbing. The two circled—Zyren slashing, the Surnai stabbing—but neither found an opening.

  Then there were more.

  Kaelith appeared at his side, parrying one strike and countering another. But it was no use. They were surrounded, pressed tighter with each exchange.

  “We need to move!” she shouted, her sword deflecting a thorn-spear.

  Zyren didn’t answer. He rolled over the body of the fallen Surnai, grabbed both daggers, and leapt again. One foe fell. Another struck—but missed.

  “Go!” he roared, tossing a spear at the Surnai blocking Kaelith’s path. It missed, but the moment of hesitation was enough.

  She dashed past him, and they broke into a full run.

  The forest tried to stop them. Vines reached like fingers. Branches clawed their faces. But Kaelith knew how to move here—tight spaces, sudden turns, ducking under fallen logs.

  Then came the rain.

  It started light but thickened fast, turning roots to traps and leaves to slick blades. The Surnai calls grew fainter behind them, muddled in the downpour.

  Kaelith pulled him under a half-fallen tree wedged between two others.

  “We can hold here,” she said, already working a torn piece of cloth around her arm.

  Zyren scanned the trees, breath harsh. “I’ll cover the entrance.”

  He grabbed a few dangling vines and wove them into a curtain, sealing their shelter. Water dripped around them, but not in.

  Kaelith winced as she pulled a thorn from her arm and wiped the blood with a sleeve. “Just a graze.”

  Zyren sat close beside her, soaked through. “You saved me back there.”

  “You covered me first.” She gave a small nod. “We’re even.”

  He exhaled. “Try to rest. I’ll keep watch.”

  She leaned back against the trunk, pulling her damp jacket around her shoulders, then tucked herself into a sleeping wrap.

  Zyren shifted to face the opening, but his mind was elsewhere—on the body near their camp, the unanswered questions, and the way Kaelith had hesitated.

  Now wasn’t the time to ask.

  But the moment would come.