They left the massacre behind, but the forest carried its echoes. The air still stank of rot, of wet earth tainted with old blood. Their clothes carried the scent, no matter how much the rain tried to wash it away. The forest was damp, the ground uneven, making every step a struggle. Every few steps, Zyren caught signs of destruction—a snapped branch, deep gouges in the bark of trees.

  They moved carefully, their footsteps deliberate. Even their whispers barely rose above the sound of rain dripping through the canopy.

  Zyren broke the silence first. “Have you ever seen something like that?”

  Kaelith’s eyes flicked toward him before she answered. “I’ve seen cages like that before. That’s how the humans transport prisoners.”

  A flicker of something in her expression. Not fear.

  Disgust.

  “But I’ve never seen anything that strong.”

  To the east, crows circled something unseen, black shapes against the grey sky. Zyren watched them for a long moment. “What were you looking for?”

  “Thornhold gets raided sometimes by locals,” she said, stepping over a fallen branch with practiced ease.

  Zyren narrowed his eyes. “Locals?”

  Kaelith smirked. “People who don’t like humans controlling everything.” She pressed forward. “I thought we’d find traces of their scouts, maybe follow them back to a camp. Could’ve been worth some coin.”

  She suddenly halted, tilting her head toward the sky. Drops of rain landed on her upturned face.

  “…Didn’t expect this, though.”

  The rain had started again, it’s cool touch a welcome relief against the thick, stagnant air. For a moment, it felt cleansing, as if it could wash away the past few days.

  Kaelith wiped a droplet from her cheek. “At least it’ll cover our tracks.”

  ---

  The rain didn’t stop.

  At first, it had been a blessing, masking their movements, muting their scent. But as time dragged on, it became a relentless adversary, turning the ground unpredictable—sometimes thick and heavy, sometimes slick and treacherous. Walking became a struggle, each step a battle. . Fire became nearly impossible, their only source of warmth coming from whatever dry kindling they managed to protect.

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  At first, they spoke in hushed tones. By the second day, conversation had faded. Their only words were confirmations of direction, using whatever glimpses of the sun or stars they could find to avoid walking in circles.

  Then—

  A sound.

  Not the rain. Not the wind.

  Waves.

  Kaelith let out a breath of relief. “We made it.”

  Zyren frowned. “What?” His stomach twisted. “Made it where? Did you know where we were heading?”

  Kaelith froze.

  A flicker of hesitation. Barely a second—but he saw it.

  Zyren’s mouth opened, the question forming—

  Then the growl came.

  Low. Deep. Hungry.

  A second later, something crashed through the trees behind them. Footsteps—heavy.

  Kaelith’s breath hitched. “It found us.”

  The second growl was louder. Stronger. Zyren felt it in his chest.

  He knew this sound.

  Not just the sound. The weight of it. The scent.

  Ash.

  His stomach turned. “No.”

  Kaelith’s voice snapped him back. “RUN!”

  ---

  The forest betrayed them with every step, the mud sucking at their boots, branches lashing at their faces. But behind them, their pursuer had no such struggle. The trees—the very forest itself—seemed to bend away from its path.

  Zyren risked a glance back—

  And there it was.

  A Cragling.

  Not like the ones he had fought before. This one was larger.

  Kaelith stumbled. Zyren passed her before he could stop himself. The Cragling lunged, a sword in hand—too small for a it, surely stolen from one of the guards.

  Instinct took over. Zyren threw himself forward, slamming into the beast’s side. The blade veered off course, missing Kaelith by inches as she scrambled to her feet.

  She barely looked back. “I’ll get help!”

  Then she was gone.

  He barely had time to react before the Cragling was on him again. The chase was over.

  Now it was a fight.

  The beast swung its blade. Zyren ducked, but the wind from the blade’s force alone nearly knocked him off balance. Grasping for some hope, he remembered how he got some advantage in the Burned Forest. Before the Cragling made a move, Zyren turned and ran—not away, but through the trees, weaving between them, forcing the beast to slow its swings.

  The fight stretched on. He struck when he could, his daggers slicing shallow cuts into its thick skin. But nothing stopped it. The Cragling wasn’t reckless—it was relentless. It never overcommitted, never left an opening. It was hunting.

  Zyren’s breath burned in his lungs. His muscles ached. He had to find a way out.

  Then the Cragling’s blade caught on a tree.

  Zyren lunged. The beast dropped the sword, and slammed its massive fist into Zyren’s chest.

  He hit the ground hard. His vision blurred. His ribs screamed.

  The Cragling raised its hand—

  Something crashed into it.

  Zyren barely registered the impact before he saw him.

  The Orc from the ship.

  He hit the Cragling with raw force, knocking it back.

  Zyren gasped, pushing himself up—Kaelith was there.

  She stood beside a crew of pirates.

  Her posture was rigid. Uncomfortable.

  And in that moment, Zyren knew.

  She was one of them.