The screams echoed through the forest like a natural alarm, each sharp note slicing through the air and coiling around the nerves of those who heard them. The group was close, and the winged creatures Kaldor had described—the Elchorns—were pressing in closer.
Kaldor adjusted his spear across his back and took a step forward, his gaze steady and calculated. "We can't ignore them. These screams will attract more predators and draw attention to us as well. Besides, they're heading straight for our base. If we want to avoid future trouble, we need to intervene now."
Brana took a deep breath, nodding. He looked at Luma, who was gripping a small bone dagger, its jagged edge sharp but crude. It was a rudimentary weapon, but enough to handle smaller threats. He couldn't help but feel uneasy seeing her holding it, but he knew Luma was more capable than she appeared.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his tone cautious.
Luma gave a faint smile, trying to mask her nervousness. "I'm fine, Brana."
Brana didn't press the matter. He adjusted the bone bow slung across his back and checked the improvised arrows in his quiver. In his hand, he held a similar dagger to Luma's, though his was sturdier, crafted from the bone of a larger creature they had hunted.
Kaldor observed them silently, his expression serious but tinged with a faint trace of approval. "Follow my orders. If you're not ready to attack, fall back and leave it to me."
With that, the group advanced through the forest, moving carefully toward the increasingly loud sounds of the battle.
When they arrived, the scene was chaotic. Five people were cornered in a clearing, surrounded by Elchorns. Their translucent wings reflected the light of the moons, creating ghostly patterns that danced in the air. The creatures flew in circles, emitting sharp cries that seemed to come from all directions at once.
A man at the center of the group held up an improvised shield, trying to fend off the creatures' calculated, swift attacks. Beside him, a short-haired woman wielded a small axe, swinging it through the air as she attempted to protect the other three, who seemed less prepared for combat.
"They're being overrun," Brana whispered, observing the scene.
Kaldor didn't hesitate. He drew his spear and stepped forward. "Strike fast and hold formation. Let's break the circle."
With a swift movement, Kaldor charged forward, his spear slicing through the air and piercing the side of a low-flying Elchorn. The creature let out a shriek of pain before crashing to the ground with a dull thud, its wings flapping uselessly.
Brana drew his bow and carefully aimed. He released an arrow that struck another Elchorn's wing, throwing it off balance and causing it to lose altitude. Luma quickly ran toward the wounded creature, her small figure moving with precision as she drove her dagger into its neck.
One of the Elchorns dived toward Kaldor, its sharp claws glinting in the moonlight. Kaldor spun his spear with expert precision, deflecting the attack and striking the creature mid-air. The blow sent it hurtling into a nearby tree, where it fell lifelessly to the ground.
Brana noticed another Elchorn heading for one of the men in the mysterious group. He rushed to intercept it, firing an arrow that struck the creature's flank. Taking advantage of its hesitation, he quickly closed the distance and plunged his dagger into its side, finishing it off.
The cries of the Elchorns gradually diminished as the remaining creatures realized the unexpected resistance. They began to retreat, flying into the shadows of the forest with swift, erratic movements.
When the last Elchorn disappeared, the battlefield fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of the combatants. Kaldor spun his spear to clean it before securing it across his back. He looked at the group of five, quickly assessing their condition.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice firm but devoid of hostility.
The short-haired woman nodded, still catching her breath. "Yes... Thanks to you. We would've been dead without your help."
Brana, breathing heavily, observed the group with curiosity. They looked exhausted, but not inexperienced. One of them, however, caught his attention.
Leaning against a tree, holding a small axe, was a man whose appearance felt familiar to Brana. Something about the way he held the weapon, the expression in his eyes—it was as if Brana had seen him before.
"It can't be..." Brana murmured to himself, his heart racing as he tried to process the connection.
Kaldor noticed Brana's hesitation but said nothing, simply maintaining his vigilant stance.
Brana took a hesitant step toward the man, his mind racing for answers.
The short-haired woman, still catching her breath, repeated her thanks. "Yes... Thanks to you. We'd have died without your help." Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed exhaustion and relief.
Brana, still trying to steady his breathing, studied the group intently. Their clothes were worn, marked by dirt and battle scars. Fatigue weighed heavily on them, yet their movements suggested they weren't strangers to hardship. Even so, the tension of the encounter seemed to have drained what little energy they had left.
Then Brana saw the man leaning against the tree.
The man was injured, his left arm bandaged with a piece of improvised fabric that was already soaked with blood. His face was dirty, smeared with soil and deep cuts, yet something about him made Brana's heart pound.
The man gripped a small axe with both hands, holding it as if it were a shield against any potential threat. His half-closed eyes met Brana's, and there was something in that gaze—weariness, relief, and perhaps... recognition.
"It can't be..." Brana whispered, his voice barely audible. He took a step forward, as if drawn by an invisible force.
Luma, standing beside him, tugged gently at his sleeve. "Brana? What's wrong?"
He didn't respond. The sounds around him seemed distant, muffled, as his mind raced to make sense of what he was seeing. The familiarity was undeniable, but the man's disheveled state made it hard to be sure.
Kaldor, ever watchful, noticed Brana's hesitation. His sharp eyes flicked to the man leaning against the tree, but he said nothing. Instead, he subtly shifted his position, standing between the two groups as a barrier in case things went awry.
Brana took another hesitant step forward, his breathing quickening. "You..." he began, his voice faltering. The connection was there, almost tangible, but his mind refused to believe it.
The man furrowed his brow, as if struggling to gather the strength to respond. He moved his lips but said nothing, keeping his gaze fixed on Brana.
"It's you...?" Brana finally asked, the question hanging in the air like an echo.