I worked the knife through the thick hide of the Dreadclaw bear, the blade slicing steadily despite the weight of the task. Its fur, coarse and dark, came free in large, heavy sections. The claws, sharp and gleaming, were carefully removed—trophies of a kill I could hardly believe I'd earned. Blood stained the ground, but I didn't waste a thing. Every inch of the beast would serve a purpose.
I bundled the meat and fur into a cloth cover I had brought, stuffing it until it was bursting. The weight was more than I could eat alone, and a smirk crossed my face as an idea formed. A feast at camp... this haul was enough to feed dozens. I could already see the shock on their faces.
But as I knelt to secure the bundle, a prickling feeling crept over me. I paused, eyes narrowing. Someone—or something—had been watching me. It was a subtle sensation, like a whisper of wind against the back of my neck, and I'd been brushing it off for hours. Paranoia, I'd told myself. Or maybe it was just the wilds playing tricks on my mind.
Still, I couldn't shake it. I stood, scanning the dense trees and fog that surrounded me, my hand hovering near the hilt of my sword, ready for anything that might emerge from the shadows.
I let out a long sigh, tension easing from my shoulders. Nothing moved in the fog-drenched woods, no shadow slipped between the trees. Maybe it was just my nerves after all. "Whatever," I muttered under my breath.
I bent down and hoisted the heavy bundle of meat and fur over my shoulder. The sheer weight of it almost buckled my knees, but I gritted my teeth. Extra strength training, I thought, smirking despite the strain. Every step would make me stronger.
With a glance at the map, I traced the route through the Shadowcrag Mountains. If my calculations were right—and they usually were—I'd hit camp by nightfall. That left just enough time for one last hunt, or maybe just enough time to prepare for whatever might be lurking in the darkness. Either way, the journey ahead was long, and this load would make it feel even longer.
Adjusting the weight on my back, I pressed forward, the dense fog swallowing me as I began the trek back, every step sinking me deeper into the shadowy wilderness.
***
After three grueling hours of marching through the thick fog, the military camp finally came into view. It was a shabby sprawl of worn-out tents, scattered haphazardly across the rocky ground. Thin, ragged banners flapped weakly in the breeze, barely recognizable under layers of dirt. The soldiers—if you could even call them that—were mostly scrawny kids, ranging from ages of fifteen to twenty, their sunken faces pale from hunger. Their uniforms hung off their skeletal frames like rags, and every movement looked strained, like they hadn't eaten or rested in days.
As we approached, Gideon raised his arm, signaling for us to halt. "Attention!" His voice thundered across the camp, snapping everyone into stiff postures. The entire camp seemed to stir, the soldiers dragging themselves into military stance. They lined up before us, but their eyes told a different story. There was no fire, no pride in their gaze—only emptiness. Their eyes were hollow, devoid of any hope, the kind of stare that had seen too much.
"We've got some fresh meat!" Gideon's voice boomed again. "These are your new brothers and sisters, so take good care of them."
But the soldiers of the Lost Legion looked back at us with those thousand-yard stares, like they'd been through hell a hundred times over. It was clear—we had just stepped into a nightmare.
Rylan approached Lyra cautiously, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to find the right words. "Do you... do you think Lucan's alright by himself?" he asked, his voice tight with worry. Lyra didn't respond, just kept her arms crossed and stared off into the distance, giving him a cold shoulder that stung more than he expected.
"I... I'm sorry, I…" Rylan stammered, guilt creeping into his tone.
Without turning, Lyra finally spoke, her voice sharp but quiet. "You better hope he comes back alive, Rylan."
Her words hit harder than any slap. Rylan felt his heart sink into his stomach. He knew she was right. If Lucan didn't make it back, it was on him. The weight of that realization crashed over him, and for the first time, he truly understood—this wasn't a game. If Lucan didn't survive, how could he ever face his parents? The thought of their grief twisted inside him like a knife. He felt guilt strike like a bolt of lightning, overwhelming and relentless.
All he could do now was wait, clinging to the fragile hope that Lucan would return safely.
Rylan's eyes were glued to the horizon, the distant shadows stretching longer as the sun dipped lower. His legs ached from sitting, but he didn't move. Every rustle of the wind in the trees made his heart jump, hoping it was Lucan returning. The camp behind him was buzzing with activity—soldiers moving between shabby tents, scrawny figures huddled around small fires—but Rylan's focus remained on the empty stretch before him.
A voice broke the silence. "Why are you just sittin' here, kid?"
Rylan jerked, turning to see a man standing nearby, a spear slung lazily over his shoulder. Gilmore, a veteran with big ears and a sharp gaze, looked down at him.
Rylan hesitated, his voice coming out quieter than he intended. "Waiting for a friend."
Gilmore snorted, his lips curling into a smirk. "A friend, huh? You better stop thinkin' like that if you wanna last. Friends out here are just bodies you'll be burying. Better start thinkin' about yourself."
Rylan didn't answer, his hands tightening into fists. Gilmore's words stung, but he kept his eyes forward.
"Tsk." Gilmore shook his head and walked off, muttering under his breath, " What a Softie kid."
As Gilmore disappeared into the camp, the weight of his words pressed down on Rylan. He clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him like a predator. If Lucan didn't come back, it would be his fault. He had pushed him too hard. The thought of Lucan's parents, of their hopeful faces when they sent him off, twisted his stomach. He glanced at the fading sun, anxiety crawling up his spine.
A quiet shuffling behind him made him turn. Lyra approached, her face hard to read in the fading light. She handed him a leather water flask without a word, then sat beside him, her gaze following his to the horizon.
"He still isn't back?" she finally asked, her tone even but laced with concern.
Rylan shook his head, the guilt too heavy for words.
Lyra sighed, leaning back, eyes fixed on the sky. "Do you really think Lucan's the type to die out there?" She nudged his shoulder. "Come on, you know him. He's probably out there laughing, hunting something bigger than he should."
Rylan allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. "Yeah... probably." His voice was tight, but the memory of Lucan's antics did bring some comfort.
Lyra chuckled softly. "Remember that C-rank boar he took down when we were twelve? We thought it was a monster, and he dragged it back like it was no big deal."
Rylan's smile grew. "Yeah... spent weeks bragging about it. Made us all look like idiots." He exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. "If anyone can handle themselves out there, it's Lucan."
Lyra smirked. "If anything, the monsters should be worried. He's probably messing with them right now, doing something stupid like flipping them off."
They both laughed, and for the first time that day, Rylan felt some of the weight lift from his chest. He glanced at Lyra, her usual cold demeanor softened in the light of shared memories. They both knew Lucan's knack for unorthodox tactics, his ability to turn any hunt into a challenge, but also a game.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Rylan noticed movement. His heart leapt into his throat. A small figure was approaching from the distance, barely visible in the twilight. He blinked, eyes straining, and then recognition hit him like a bolt.
"Lucan!" he shouted, scrambling to his feet.
Without another word, he and Lyra bolted toward the figure. As they closed the distance, Rylan saw the familiar wild grin on Lucan's face, his pack heavy with spoils, dragging behind him. Dirt-covered and exhausted, but alive.
Lucan waved lazily as they reached him, the grin never leaving his face. Before Rylan could even process it, they were all colliding into a rough embrace, laughter bubbling up between them.
"Miss me?" Lucan said, voice teasing despite his clear exhaustion.
Rylan didn't answer—he just laughed, the relief so overwhelming it stole his words. They were together again, and for now, that was all that mattered.