Late afternoon. Rainstorm.

  Cobbled way. Woodlands.

  I ran.

  The forest was slick beneath my feet, roots and mud conspiring to trip me as rain hammered through the canopy.

  Allen's weight dragged at my back, every step heavier.

  Climbing higher ground burned my legs raw.

  My breath tore in and out of my chest, sharp and ragged, while branches clawed at my skin, leaving fresh cuts across my arms and face.

  Rain slid down my neck, bit into my bones, and refused to let go.

  The glyph from Allen's satchel was powerful—but not enough. A shield, not a blade.

  Still, it had bought us moments—just enough to flee while the creature reeled in pain and confusion.

  Behind us, the forest screamed.

  The beast charged blindly, crashing through trees and shrubs, reducing them to splinters.

  Its roars drowned out the dying storm, echoing through the woodlands in endless fury.

  Each step it took felt closer than the last.

  I pushed harder.

  If only someone in the village heard these. They had to—

  The thought shattered as the noise stopped.

  No crashing. No roars.

  Only rain.

  The sudden silence pressed in on me, thick and wrong.

  My heart thundered in my ears as instinct tightened every muscle in my body.

  I ran faster, because silence like that meant bad omen.

  A growl rolled through the trees.

  It rose—twisted—then burst into a shrill scream that pierced straight through my skull.

  My skin prickled. Every hair on my body stood on end.

  "This is bad."

  The beast was moving again.

  Not blindly this time.

  It found us instantly, its magically sharpened senses cutting through the darkness with ease.

  The ground shook as it charged, massive and unstoppable.

  Towering trees snapped and fell like fabric in its path.

  The foul smell of beast filled my nose.

  Too close.

  I closed my fingers around Ol' Lucia's runestone.

  The shadows split as the creature emerged—looming, monstrous.

  It reared up on its hind legs, blotting out what little light remained, and raised one paw to strike.

  I threw.

  The stone flew true, straight toward its glowing garnet eye.

  "Lucentrus Millenia!"

  The runestone ignited midair.

  Light detonated.

  Golden threads burst outward, blinding and overwhelming, like the sun tearing itself free from the stone.

  I threw up an arm, shielding my eyes as the forest vanished into white.

  Darkness didn't fade—it was erased.

  The beast shrieked.

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  It stumbled back onto all fours, roaring in pain as the light burned into its eye. The brilliance began to fade—

  Then the thunder came.

  A violent crack split the air, deafening and absolute, as if the sky itself had collapsed into the forest.

  The sound slammed into the creature, relentless, merciless.

  It howled, panic flooding its movements.

  Blind. Deaf. Cut off from whatever magic sustained it.

  Terrified, the moss-hopper reacted on instinct.

  It dug into the earth with frantic strength, tearing soil and roots apart as it tried to flee underground, away from the light, away from the sound.

  The thunder slammed into me too, rattling my chest, leaving my ears ringing with pain.

  I didn't wait.

  I ran.

  Only when the ground steadied beneath my feet did I allow myself to breathe.

  The border of the woodlands came into view, familiar shapes emerging through the rain.

  Home.

  Relief washed through me, heavy and trembling.

  Ol' Lucia's runestone pulsed weakly behind me, spent.

  Light and thunder—two forces bound together in a single stone.

  Far more powerful than any of us had realized.

  I hadn't failed.

  I collapsed at the doorstep, mud smeared across my cheek.

  The world tilted, and then there was only rain and relief.

  ??????????

  Evening. Drizzling.

  Orphanage.

  I woke to chaos—distant roars, blinding light, thunder shaking the walls.

  My head pounded, but Julian's voice cut through the fog: "The moss-hopper is still out there."

  The color drained from every face in the room.

  Ol' Lucia closed her eyes briefly. Then she straightened, resolve burning through her fear.

  She led everyone into the dining room, pushed the table aside, flipped back the carpet, and pulled open the iron latch beneath.

  One by one, she ushered them down. Fiorella clutched her doll; Millie supported Allen, still unconscious and shivering despite his warm clothes. Julian followed, still trembling from cold.

  When they begged her to come with them, she only smiled—a smile far braver than any of us felt.

  Outside, a distant roar rolled through the drizzle.

  Lucia placed her hand on the iron ring, steady and unyielding, before letting the latch fall shut.

  "Someone has to stay," she said quietly, "to face the beast's wrath."

  The latch closed. Silence fell.

  I wasn't in top condition, but I'd rested by the hearth. Allen was unconscious. Julian was exhausted.

  Someone had to deliver the message to Delmar, and someone had to stand with Lucia.

  I told her about Yarissa and our morning catch, filling in the missing pieces.

  The hunters would be on their way any moment now, once the downpour eased.

  Thin strands of rain still fell from the heavens, but the sun finally pushed through the thick veil of clouds, emerging in quiet defiance.

  Lucia stopped me at the doorway, arms full of cloth strips. "Bare limbs won't do." She bound my forearm tight with layered fabric. Another strip went around my calf, knotted firm. The cloth bit into my skin, but I could still flex—light enough to move, strong enough to blunt a claw.

  She wrapped her own arms too, apron shifting as she worked, but the pile of cloth dwindled fast. When she reached for more, her hand paused over a pair of cracked old boots. She frowned, then pressed them into my chest. "Leather's tougher. You'll need it more than me."

  I watched as she cut the tops and bound them to my forearms with rope. The stiff hide creaked, heavier than cloth but not enough to slow me. My arms felt clumsy at first, then steadier—makeshift bracers born from worn boots.

  She only had fabric left for herself, binding her chest and shins with strips, no leather to spare.

  She glanced at the hearth, then seized a woolen hat from the peg.

  "The head's the worst to leave bare," she muttered, layering thicker cloth across my brow and cheeks. The fabric scratched, but it dulled the chill and promised to blunt a blow. She tied it firm beneath my chin, a clumsy helm born of wool and rope.

  When she finished, she pressed my shoulder, gaze sharp. "We're not soldiers, Thomas. But we'll fight like ones who refuse to die."

  I nodded, feeling the warmth of her care beneath the cold fabric and cracked leather. Improvised armor, fragile but ours. Nimble enough to move, strong enough to endure.

  Then I pulled on Julian's thick cloak, shield against the rain. It had been dried and warmed near the hearth, and the heat seeped into my skin. All the extra fabric made my body steadier, less chilled. I felt strength returning.

  I was well equipped: sling in hand, stones heavy in my pouch, short sword at my waist, and a barrel lid strapped to my back. Not soldier's gear, but enough to face what waited.

  Ol' Lucia and I stood in front of the porch, wary of the woodlands. Rustling branches. Distant growls.

  Her hand caught mine as the sound swelled, her voice steady, low, almost a whisper against the storm.

  "Lord Levia, guard us. Not soldiers, but Your children. Let our hands strike true, and our hearts not falter."

  I bowed my head for a breath, the words settling deeper than the cloth and leather. Faith and fear bound together, steadying my grip on the sling.

  The brush shivered, each moment clearer, nearer.

  Ol' Lucia lifted her spear, knuckles white, ready to engage. Then the hoppers broke from the thicket—four dog-sized, moss clinging to their backs, eyes gleaming, claws tearing at the mud. They found us, and charged.

  I studied their movement, sling whirling, stones flying—some missed, some struck. The field was wide; they nimbly dodged my stones.

  One staggered, another fell, and Lucia's spear cracked a skull as it drew too near. I kept the sling in hand; no need yet to drop it.

  Then the ground shook—three larger shapes emerged, sheep-sized, muscles knotted beneath slick hide. Stones bounced uselessly off their bulk, only face and legs vulnerable. I managed to bring one down, but the other two pressed close.

  Sword and shield would serve better here. I unsheathed steel, barrel lid raised, and stood side by side with Lucia as they lunged.

  These beasts were cunning. A claw swept the mud, stones flying like my own sling-shot. We ducked, evaded, the air thick with grit. Both turned on Lucia, sensing her as the weaker prey.

  I struck to keep them off, blade flashing, but dared not drive into their bodies—afraid the short sword might snap. My slashes aimed at head, face, legs, where steel could bite.

  Claws raked, teeth snapped. One beast slammed against the fence, railing splintering, shards flying. A smaller splinter pierced my forehead; blood blurred one eye. I staggered, but Lucia's cry pulled me back. We fought together, shield splintering, sword biting, until at last the hoppers fell, twitching in the mud.

  We stood breathing hard, battered but still whole. Our wraps, leather, and makeshift shield had spared us worse wounds. Preparation was not in vain. Behind us, the runestone trap still glimmered, untouched by the chaos. Yet from the woodland came echoes of growls.

  This wasn't over.