The night had nearly passed.
A short, hooded figure slowly broke into the forest clearing, walking with heavy steps and muttering to itself. The dark cloak draped over its shoulders, while a scruffy white beard peeked out from the shadows of the hood.
—Where the hell did you go, damn you?.. —he grumbled under his breath, stroking his beard in frustration.
He stopped in the center of the clearing, and as his gaze scanned the area, his mind returned to a recurring thought.
"A cabin... It should be here. But, of course, it vanished, just like him." A curse slipped from his lips, as if merely thinking about it weighed on his soul.
He looked around, his brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what in the world had happened. As he scrutinized the place, a sharp sensation gripped him—a presence.
He froze, lifted his head, and his mouth twisted in a sneer.
—Tyr... —he growled the name as if it were venom on his tongue, words soaked in restrained hatred.
On the other side of the clearing, a massive creature emerged from the trees.
Four muscular, fur-covered black legs made it look like a giant wolf, but there was something unusually intelligent about its posture. It moved with the arrogance of a superior being, its eyes glowing in the darkness, and a crooked smile stretched across its closed snout.
A low sound rumbled from its throat, a sort of laugh without opening its mouth, as if it was enjoying its own cleverness.
The hooded figure clenched its jaw, watching the approaching beast with disdain.
The air in the clearing grew heavier with the creature's arrival, and the silence following its laugh seemed laden with malice.
The creature took several steps into the clearing and stopped. Its smile widened as it slowly opened its enormous mouth.
From between its sharp fangs fell several coin pouches, some crude weapons, and a couple of silver accessories that clinked as they hit the ground.
Each object fell with a metallic sound that echoed like mockery in the stillness of the place.
—Not bad,—the beast muttered to itself, in a nearly playful tone—. A modest haul, but acceptable. I didn't expect more from those "hunters."
The old Zharq watched the scene, his deeply wrinkled brow furrowing even more beneath the hood.
His small, piercing eyes, barely visible between the folds of his greenish face covered by a thick white beard, glinted with a mix of disapproval and disgust.
—Wretched creature —he spat with contempt—. Stealing from a bunch of terrified hunters? Is that what you do now, Tyr? Is this how you behave as the "lord's pet"? You slink around like a common thief, sullying his name with these pathetic acts.
Tyr, still wearing a smug grin, suddenly froze.
The joy that had danced in his eyes vanished, leaving only a flash of fury. His jaws snapped shut, and his once playful gaze turned into barely disguised contempt.
A low growl emerged from deep within his chest as he hissed the name of the old Zharq with venom.
—Jarvick... —he growled the name as if it burned his tongue.
—. Do you dare slander me? —His jaw muscles tightened as he shot a warning glare at the small figure standing before him—. This is nothing but gratitude from those noble souls I've saved from the claws of a merciless creature.
His tone was mocking, almost innocent, as he picked up one of the coin pouches from the ground and shook it lightly, making the coins inside jingle.
But Jarvick wasn't intimidated. He stepped forward and spat on the ground with disdain.
—Gratitude? —he spat the word like venom—. All I see here is extortion and theft, and you do it under the guise of a savior. Your master would be ashamed to see you like this, behaving like a common pillager while your only task is to preserve his dignity.
Tyr snorted, and a dark glimmer crossed his eyes as he sniffed the air. His nostrils flared, and his ears twitched slightly, as if picking up something on the wind.
His stern gaze fixed on Jarvick.
—Shame, you say? —he responded in a dangerously low tone, stepping a little closer to the old Zharq—. Isn't it ironic that you speak to me of shame, Jarvick, when I can still smell the stench of burnt flesh and death on you? —His fangs gleamed as he flashed a crooked smile—. Aren't you ashamed, as the lord's servant, to tarnish his image with your own crimes?
Jarvick clenched his fists tightly at Tyr's words. His breathing grew heavy, and his already wrinkled face contorted even more into a grimace of pure rage.
—S-Servant?! —he stammered at first, before unleashing his fury in a wave of curses—. I am the lord's steward, you damned abomination, not a stupid pet like you! Don't you dare compare me to a domesticated dog!
As he spewed his anger, his trembling fingers curled into fists. He began to murmur under his breath, ancient words that resonated with a dark and dangerous cadence.
As he did, flickering flames began to form in his wrinkled hands, the fire seeming to dance with his fury, reflecting his state of mind.
The growing heat illuminated his face, and his eyes now glowed with a visceral hatred.
Tyr, seeing the flames in the old Zharq's hands, felt the hairs on his back stand on end, a clear sign of the beastly fury stirring within him.
His sharp fangs glistened under the dim moonlight, and his eyes burned with pure rage. He was a predator, ready to devour his prey.
—Pet?! —he roared, his voice filled with such deep anger that it echoed through the trees surrounding the clearing—. I am no one's pet, you miserable dwarf!
The giant creature bared its fury with an attack stance,—. You're nothing but a plague in the lord's life! I've long wanted to tear you apart and free the lord from your pathetic and humiliating existence!
His jaw clenched tightly, and his eyes gleamed with murderous rage. The two exchanged looks of pure hatred, no longer holding back their desire to end each other.
—Humiliation?! —Jarvick scoffed, with flames now crackling between his fingers—. You're the one dragging his name through the mud! A petty thief, a coward hiding behind brute force! —The flames in his hands intensified, and his voice rose—. You're a dog playing at being a lion!
—You wretched, rotten old man! —Tyr let out a menacing howl as his muscles tensed, ready to attack—. I'll rip out that venomous tongue of yours and eat it while you're still screaming!
—I'll incinerate you until there's nothing left but ash, you cursed bag of fleas! —Jarvick snarled, raising the fire that danced in his hands.
The flames grew, casting grotesque shadows across the clearing.
—I'll tear you apart with my own fangs, useless old man, rip the skin from your bones and feed the crows with your remains! —Tyr responded, lunging at him with his fangs ready to tear flesh.
—I'll kill you! —they both shouted in unison, their voices full of hatred and determination.
Just as they were about to collide, reality itself seemed to ripple around them. A distortion in the air, barely perceptible, but enough to make both of them freeze.
For a brief moment, the hatred was suspended, as if something greater was intervening.
They both turned their heads simultaneously toward the empty space in the clearing, and there, where there had been nothing before, a cabin had appeared.
It was old but imposing, its structure radiating a unique presence.
Their bodies reacted instinctively, the rage from a moment ago smothered by another emotion now enveloping them.
A single thought crossed their minds at the same time.
"The lord... has returned."
Inside the cabin, the atmosphere couldn't be more different from the clearing. While outside, two powerful creatures were about to tear each other apart, inside, the situation was... less imposing.
—For the love of... —Ralkar shook his head, keeping his boots as far away as possible from Angyara, who was beginning to pant—. Seriously? At it again, kid? The first time was funny, but this is a bit much, don't you think?
The girl tried to catch her breath between dry heaves, but managed to raise a trembling hand and point toward him, her voice weak but sharp.
—Well, maybe you should learn how to bring me here in a… normal way! How am I not going to throw up if you drag me around like a sack of potatoes?! —she snapped, frowning as she tried to steady herself—. It's like you toss me headfirst into a whirlwind every time you do it!
She let out another groan before collapsing onto her hands again, while her stomach continued to protest violently.
Ralkar spun on his heels and began pacing back and forth, speaking quietly to his boots.
—They're fine, they're safe now… I'm so sorry, my darlings. I didn't know this unstable stomach would still be an issue…
Angyara tried to say something between retches, but all that came out was a new wet sound echoing against the wooden floor.
Feeling a bit dizzy, she raised an eyebrow as she saw how Ralkar treated his boots like they were living creatures.
—Seriously? —she said in a sarcastic tone—. Your boots? That's what you're worried about?
Ralkar stopped and looked at her as if she had just said the most absurd thing in the world.
—Of course I'm worried about them! —he responded—. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a pair of boots this comfortable? Ah, little one, boots don't betray you, they don't vomit, and they never complain when you toss them through planes. They're the perfect companions.
Angyara collapsed on the floor, too exhausted to continue arguing.
—I'd rather complain about your "incredible magic" —she muttered with a sarcastic smile, pointing at the still dirty floor.
Ralkar, still hugging his boots, made a gesture with his hand, and a gentle breeze swept away the mess, taking with it any trace of vomit.
—See? —he said with a smug smile—. All clean. Now, if we could just work on your… resistance to jumping between Veils, everything would be perfect.
Angyara narrowed her eyes at him, unable to decide if she was more annoyed or amused by the situation.
—Don't worry —she said, trying to get up—. Next time, I'll throw up on something more valuable… like your face.
Ralkar let out a horrified gasp and hugged his boots even tighter.
—Don't you dare! My beautiful face is untouchable.