The winds howled across the desolate valley, whipping snow and ice against jagged rocks and barren slopes. The landscape, still ravaged by the endless winter gripping Narn, mirrored the despair in the hearts of the captives trudging forward. Their steps were heavy, their spirits broken, as Hyena Tracient guards barked orders and forced them onward with harsh blows.
Two Özels, a towering #67 and the wiry #95, marched at the rear, keeping a watchful eye on their prisoners.
"Hurry up!" #67 snarled, his voice reverberating through the valley. "If you can't keep up, we'll leave you here to freeze!"
#95 grunted, his sharp eyes darting to the rocky edges above. "Keep your voice down, fool. This is perfect ambush territory."
#67 scoffed but tightened his grip on his weapon. "You think anyone would dare challenge us? We're bringing these wretches straight to Razik. Nobody would be foolish enough to interfere with his plans."
"Don't be so sure," #95 muttered. "The Wild Tiger has been spotted in these parts. If he shows up—"
"Enough!" #67 snapped. "He's just an old Narn legend to keep cowards like you awake at night. Focus on the task at hand."
Unbeknownst to them, high above on a distant ledge, two figures observed the procession. Lord Talonir stood tall, his feathered cape swaying lightly in the wind, his sharp eyes scanning the valley below. Beside him stood a Tracient cloaked in the shadows of the ledge.
"They're within range," Talonir said, his voice low and calm. "We should move now before they reach the pass."
The other Tracient stepped forward, his form coming into view as the snow eased. His striped fur glowed faintly under the pale light, and his hand rested on the hilt of a blade at his side.
"There's no need," the Tracient said firmly. "I'll handle this myself."
Talonir regarded him silently before giving a single nod. "Do as you wish."
Without another word, the Tracient leaped from the ledge, his figure cutting through the air like an arrow. He landed in the valley with a thud that echoed through the narrow space, sending a cloud of snow and dust into the air.
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The procession halted abruptly as the Hyena guards and their commanders turned to face the disturbance. #95 squinted through the haze, his heart pounding.
"Who's there?" he barked.
As the dust settled, their worst fears were realized. Standing tall, his cape emblazoned with the Kaplan Clan symbol billowing in the wind, was none other than the Tiger Tracient they feared above all. The Hazël symbol gleamed on his shoulder, the unmistakable #4 stamped in it.
#95 took a step back, his breath catching. "The Wild Tiger… Lord Kon Kaplan."
Kon's scowl deepened as he rested his hand on the hilt of one of his swords, the golden blade gleaming even in the dim light. His gaze swept over the prisoners, then fixed on the two Özels.
"Özel #67," he called out, his voice cold and commanding, "Özel #95. Hand over the captives, and this doesn't have to get messy."
#67's bravado faltered as his legs trembled beneath him. "Y-you think we're afraid of you? We'd rather die than fail Razik!"
Desperate to mask their fear, the Özels rallied their troops. "Attack!" #67 screamed.
The Hyena soldiers charged forward, weapons drawn, snarling with blind rage. Kon stood still, unshaken, releasing a soft breath. His hand moved slowly to draw his sword, Yırtıcı, the yellow blade humming faintly with latent Mana.
"Kaplan Style," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the roar of the advancing army. "First Claw: Yırtıcı."
With a single slash, a radiant arc of energy erupted from his blade, cutting through the oncoming horde like a whirlwind. The shockwave of the attack swept across the valley, silencing the snarls and screams in an instant. When the light faded, the ground was littered with the fallen forms of every soldier.
#67 slumped to his knees, his weapon slipping from his grasp. His wide eyes stared in horror as Kon sheathed his blade and began walking toward the captives.
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#95, trembling, grabbed one of the captives—a hooded figure—and held a claw to their throat. "Stop right there!" he shouted. "One more step, and I'll—"
He froze mid-sentence, his body rigid. A faint shimmer surrounded him and his remaining minions.
Kon's voice cut through the stillness like a blade. "Interium: Sahte Hakimiyet (False Dominion)."
The Hyenas' claws twitched as they tried and failed to move. Slowly, the captive was released from #95's grasp and stumbled to the ground.
Kon approached, his gaze unyielding. "You're free to leave," he said flatly. "Disappear."
The paralytic shimmer dissipated, and the Hyenas wasted no time scrambling to their feet and fleeing. The valley was silent once more, save for the soft murmurs of the freed captives.
The captives swarmed toward Kon, their voices filled with gratitude and relief. Kon raised a hand, calming them. "You're safe now," he assured them. "Stay together, and wait for further help."
As the crowd settled, Kon's attention was drawn to the hooded figure who had collapsed in the snow. He knelt down, gently lifting them.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice softening.
A trembling, melodic voice replied, "I… I think so…"
Kon's heart skipped as he carefully pulled back the hood to reveal a fellow Tiger Tracient. Her striped fur was dulled with dirt, her face streaked with tears, but her eyes gleamed with a fragile determination.
Kon stared, his chest tightening with an emotion he couldn't name. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
"T-Tigrera," she said weakly, her voice breaking as she collapsed into his arms.
Kon held her steady, his mind racing even as his expression remained unreadable. For the first time in years, his heart felt something new—something he wasn't ready to confront.