The group moves through the dirt road in the middle of the forest, with some riding in carriages and others walking beside them. Those at the front set the pace, their steps crunching softly against the dirt path.
"Was this truly wise, Solen?" Astran, the robed man, asks with a tone laced with doubt.
"Perhaps not wise, but it's the right thing," Solen replies firmly, his gaze forward.
"If we're discovered, the entire guild will bear the consequences of your choice," Astran says, his voice rising with frustration.
"I believe it was the right thing to do as well," chimes a young blond man, driving the carriage just behind them.
Astran turns toward him, clearly displeased. "If even one of us breathes a word about this, it could cost all of us our lives, including the fool who decides to talk!" he snaps, his anger echoing through the group.
Solen places his hand on Astran's shoulder, his voice calm. "Everyone who left that town agreed to this, Astran. They knew the risks and still chose to leave the child with Oblea."
Astran huffs, his irritation barely contained. "Of course they did. I just didn't want to be the only one smart enough to call them all fools. Why must you always be so damn honorable?"
Solen's tone softens as he looks at him. "I would do the same for any member of our guild, Astran, even for you. And let's not forget, we all owe Oblea our lives. Even yours." He pauses, his expression resolute. "For Oblea's sake and everything she's done, silence is a trivial price."
Astran falls silent, his lips pressed into a thin line as Solen's words hang heavy with him.
His shoulders tense, but he says nothing, his anger seemingly displaced by reluctant acceptance. The rhythmic creak of the carriages and the steady crunch of boots against dirt fill the quiet that follows.
Solen walks beside him, not pressing further.
Astran's eyes flick toward the trees, then down to the ground, as if searching for a retort but finding none. The weight of Solen's truth leaves no room for argument and the guild marches on, their unspoken pact binding them all.
By the time the group reaches the city gates, the sun has begun its ascent, casting long shadows across the towering walls.
The guards at the entrance recognize the guild's emblem and wave them through with little hesitation. Inside, the bustling noise of the city wraps around them—a stark contrast to the quiet of the forest.
Carriages roll toward their destinations. Solen lingers briefly at the gates, his eyes scanning the group as they filter into the city, ensuring everyone is accounted for before following.
Astran remains quiet, trailing behind him, his expression unreadable as the guild melds back into the crowd.
Behind an old building of weathered brick and aged wood, the guild approaches a large open area leading to the stables.
"Ark!" Solen calls to the man steering the front carriage. "See to it the Namuras are well cared for!"
"Yes, sir!" Ark replies with a grin, hopping down to take charge.
The carriages are guided into designated spots and the Namuras are unhitched. Inside the expansive stable, the creatures are set loose, their harnesses and gear carefully removed.
The stable is vast, with Namuras occupying every corner—lining the walls and even clinging to the wooden beams of the ceiling, their agile bodies perfectly suited to the vertical space.
The Namuras stand around four feet tall, their long, sinewy bodies stretching twelve feet in length, not including their whip-like tails.
Their dark gray skin is patterned with black stripes that drop from their spines and taper off halfway down their sides. They move on four lean legs, each ending in five razor-sharp claws that lightly scratch the wooden surfaces as they climb or pace.
Their long, slender necks extend to small, angular heads, constantly flicking out thin, unnervingly long tongues that taste the air like snakes.
When their mouths open, rows of sharp, green fangs glint in the dim stable light, with two elongated, viper-like fangs on each side. The quiet clicking of their claws and the occasional flicker of their forked tongues fill the air as they settle into their temporary haven.
On the far side of the stable, a loud, cheerful voice rings out. "George!" A man sprints toward one of the Namuras, his arms wide open in excitement. The creature screeches sharply, bounding toward him with surprising speed.
Just as it reaches him, the Namura pounces, knocking the man down. Its long, whip-like tail curls around him gently, catching him before he can hit the floor.
The Namura circles in place, emitting a series of clicking sounds that convey clear excitement.
The man laughs heartily, wrapping his arms around its elongated neck. "I missed you so much, George!" he exclaims, his voice filled with warmth.
The Namura flicks its tongue rapidly, brushing it lightly against his shoulder in what could only be described as its version of affection.
Ark can only stand there in awe at what he is witnessing, shaking his head with a slight chuckle before turning back to his tasks.
Meanwhile, Solen squares his shoulders and strides toward the aged brick-and-wood building, its weathered exterior standing as a testament to years of service. Astran follows close behind, accompanied by a few others from the group, their steps echoing lightly on the cobbled path.
The building rises tall, its wooden beams bearing the marks of time. A faint aroma of cedar hangs in the air as Solen grips the heavy wooden door and pushes it open, the creak reverberating through the room inside.
"I hate long trips," Astran says with a slight smile, "always makes me feel like a lot changes but nothing ever does."
"Welcome Back, Hellcats!" A man standing at the front desk shouts, "I'll contact the Corps Master for you Solen."
"Thanks!" He shouts back.
A few minutes pass before the man returns and gestures toward a side hallway. Solen nods in acknowledgment.
Astran and the others fall in line as they're led through the building's dim corridors, the wooden floors creaking softly beneath their boots. Lanterns hanging from the walls cast warm light, illuminating faded tapestries depicting past guild victories.
After a few doors, they arrive at a heavy door reinforced with iron bands.
"This feels... different. We've never been taken to this room before," Solen remarks.
The guide hesitates, glancing nervously at Solen. "Yes, well, it's a bit of a... special occasion. I was told not to, uhh, spoil the surprise."
Solen narrows his eyes but says nothing as the guide pushes the door open.
The room beyond is spacious and imposing, dominated by a long, polished table with high-backed chairs arranged neatly around it. A detailed map of the region adorns the far wall, flanked by shelves overflowing with books and scrolls. The air smells faintly of ink and parchment, lending a scholarly weight to the space.
"Please, take a seat," an unfamiliar voice calls out.
Solen turns toward the speaker—a stately older man. His robes are pristine white, trimmed in gold, with the unmistakable insignia of the church embroidered across the chest. Solen silently motions for Astran and the others to sit as he takes his place at the head of the table.
"What can we do for you, Speaker?" Solen asks, trying to remain calm.
The Speaker offers a thin smile, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the table. "Let us not waste time, Guildmaster Solen. Your recent journey brought you near territories we have long considered... delicate. I trust you understand the sensitivity of such areas."
Solen's gaze sharpens. "Of course, Speaker. We're always mindful of where we tread."
"Mindful, yes," the Speaker replies, his voice carrying a subtle edge. "And yet, I hear whispers—rumors of certain individuals who might have crossed paths with your group. Individuals who, shall we say, have a reputation."
Astran shifts uncomfortably in his seat, but Solen remains composed. "The Hellcats are not in the business of rumors, Speaker. Our report will reflect only what pertains to our mission."
The Speaker leans forward, his eyes narrowing. "And if one of these... individuals happened to possess a particular set of skills? Perhaps skills that could endanger the delicate balance of our world?"
Astran opens his mouth to speak, but Solen cuts him off. "If such an individual existed, I imagine they would be worth more as an ally than an enemy," Solen says calmly. "But such discussions would be purely hypothetical, of course."
"Of course," the Speaker says, his smile returning, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "Still, one must consider the greater good. I trust your report will be thorough, Guildmaster?"
"Thorough and truthful," Solen replies, holding the Speaker's gaze. "As always."
The room falls silent, tension thick in the air as the Speaker studies Solen. After a long pause, he leans back in his chair. "Very well. Begin with your account."
Solen straightens in his chair, meeting the Speaker's sharp gaze with calm resolve. "Our expedition to Yaniyè proved more perilous than expected," he begins. "The werewolf pack had already reached the town before we did."
The Speaker leans forward slightly, intrigued, as Solen continues. "Oblea, as always, acted on her own to save as many as she could. She rushed ahead to buy time"
Solen's voice falters for a moment, his eyes lowering as if the memory weighs on him. "We found her surrounded by the remains of the pack, her blade still in hand," he continues, his tone somber. "It was clear she had fought until her very last breath."
Solen's voice grows heavier as he finishes. "Her sacrifice ensured the safety of our guild. The Hellcats owe her everything. A pack of fourteen would have decimated half of my party." The Speaker's piercing gaze lingers, but Solen remains composed. After a pause, the Speaker nods, motioning for Solen to continue with the rest of his report.
Solen takes a deep breath. "As for the town," he begins, his voice quiet, "there were no survivors. The werewolves had already torn through it by the time we arrived. All we could do was ensure the threat was eliminated and repair what little could in case others wish to move in."
The Speaker leans back in his chair, his piercing gaze lingering on Solen and Astran for a moment longer than comfortable.
"A grim tale but one that aligns with the reality of such beasts," he finally says, his voice heavy with reluctant acceptance.
He rises slowly, gripping his staff as he steadies himself. "You've done your duty, Hellcats. For now, I will take this report under advisement."
With a nod, he turns and strides toward the door, his robes trailing behind him, leaving the room in a heavy, uneasy silence.
As the heavy door closes behind the Speaker, everyone left in the room exhales deeply, their breaths shaky with relief, the tension in the air finally dissipating as they realize they are still alive and their story remains intact.