Kalem woke to the soft glow of morning sunlight streaming through the cracks in the forge's walls. His body ached from the relentless battle with the Nightmare Hounds, and every muscle protested as he sat up. The memories of the night flashed through his mind—the endless waves of shadowy beasts, the glowing eyes, and the stench of their putrid aura.
Before he could fully collect his thoughts, the forge door creaked open, and in strode Vornar, his face a mix of irritation and begrudging respect. Close behind him was Tharic, whose wide grin and barely contained laughter immediately set Kalem on edge.
"What?" Kalem asked, his voice still hoarse from exhaustion.
Tharic was the first to speak, slapping Kalem on the back in a way that sent a jolt of pain through his already sore body. "Oh, nothing, lad. Just wanted to see the human disaster in one piece after that little stunt you pulled last night."
Kalem frowned. "Stunt? You mean the horde of Nightmare's that nearly killed me? That was no stunt."
"Exactly!" Tharic exclaimed, his laughter bubbling to the surface. "Which is why I told Vornar you wouldn't make it out alive. But you did, and now the old grump owes me two weeks' worth of ale!"
Kalem's eyes flicked to Vornar, who crossed his arms and scowled.
"You were watching?" Kalem said, his tone laced with disbelief. "You saw me fighting those things and didn't help?"
Vornar let out a heavy sigh. "It wasn't my job to help, boy. It was my job to observe. If you're going to survive out here, you need to do it on your own. That's what this life demands. And for the record," he added, glaring at Tharic, "I didn't think he'd fail. I thought he'd lose his weapons and run back here, smart enough to retreat."
Tharic roared with laughter. "You should've seen his face, Kalem, when you took down the last one. Like he'd bitten into a rotten lemon!"
Kalem's irritation grew. "So, instead of stepping in to stop me from being ripped apart, you two stood around placing bets on whether or not I'd die?"
Tharic waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. We had faith in you. Well… I had faith in you. Vornar's faith was more... conditional."
Kalem rolled his eyes, but his frustration began to ebb as the conversation shifted.
"What about those creatures?" Kalem asked, his voice serious now. "I've fought wild beasts before, but these things were... different. Unnatural."
Vornar's expression darkened. He moved to lean against the forge's wall, his gaze heavy with thought. "Nightmare Hounds," he said after a moment. "You're lucky to be alive, boy. They're monstrous hunters of the night. Their appearance is never consistent, but they're all killers, bred for one purpose: to hunt and maim."
"Why do they look so... wrong?" Kalem asked.
"That's their nature," Vornar replied. "They don't just exist; they're warped. Some say they're born from cursed magic, others that they're experiments gone wrong. No one knows for sure. What we do know is that they don't rely on sight. Their vision is… different, monochrome and all-encompassing, which means they can hunt in any darkness—even magical."
Kalem nodded, recalling how the hounds had seemed to sense his every move, even in the shadows. "And their bite… It felt like it was trying to drain the strength out of me."
"Aye," Vornar confirmed. "That's the most dangerous part. The putrid aura in their jaws has properties that weaken the prey they knock unconscious. Makes it nearly impossible for the victim to recover mid-fight. Their bites aren't just wounds—they're curses."
Tharic leaned in, his tone lighter but still serious. "You're lucky they didn't knock you out entirely, lad. If they had, you'd be in their belly right now. Nasty way to go, that."
Kalem let out a long breath, his thoughts swirling. The encounter with the hounds had tested him like never before, pushing him to the brink of his abilities. But it had also proven the worth of his Focus Core and the weapons he'd forged. Without them, he wouldn't have stood a chance.
"I didn't know they could track so well," Kalem said, his mind returning to the fight. "They always seemed to know exactly where I was, even when I was behind cover."
Vornar nodded. "That's their nature, boy. They don't need water or food to survive—just prey. They can smell it from miles away, and once they lock onto it, they don't stop until the hunt is over."
Kalem shivered at the thought. "So, what now?"
"Now?" Vornar said, pushing off the wall. "Now, you keep going. The mountains aren't getting any safer, and you've still got a lot to learn."
Tharic chuckled. "And maybe next time, we'll place bets on how quickly you survive."
Kalem shot him a glare, but he couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at his lips. Despite their unorthodox methods, he knew Tharic and Vornar were pushing him to become stronger, more capable.
He just wished they'd pick less terrifying ways to do it.