Darius, Ryden, and Rice trailed the remnants of the Greyleaf Tribe at a respectful distance, as Fennrick had requested. The trio made camp separately, though Lucy often slipped away to visit them.
In the evenings, she would sit with them, her silver hair catching the light of the fire as she listened intently to their conversations. Sometimes she helped Rice prepare meals, her small hands clumsily but enthusiastically tearing herbs or stirring a pot under his watchful eye. Other times, she joined Ryden as he worked on his sculptures, her green eyes wide with wonder as he brought stone and wood to life.
"You'll be an artist yet," Ryden teased one night, handing her a small carving knife. "Just don't cut yourself."
"I won't," Lucy said proudly, though her first attempts at carving were a little rough.
Even Fennrick occasionally joined them. When the tribe stopped to rest, he would sit near their fire, Lucy leaning against his side as the trio regaled him with tales of their adventures. Stories of the city of Pillaris, with its grand murals, bustling markets, and towering spirits, seemed almost too fantastical for him to believe.
"You're making this up," he said once, though there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
"Nope," Rice said, skewering a piece of meat with a flourish. "We even have a giant turtle spirit. Moves mountains, probably."
Fennrick shook his head, laughing quietly. "If half of what you say is true, it must be a sight to behold."
One dark night, Ryden was awoken by a frantic tug at his sleeve. Blinking groggily, he saw the wooden rabbit he'd given Lucy hopping urgently, its carved eyes glowing faintly. As Ryden sat up, the rabbit emitted a faint squeak, revealing burn marks and blackened patches on its smooth surface.
"What the—?" Ryden muttered, his voice thick with sleep. But as he looked toward the horizon, his stomach dropped.
In the distance, the Greyleaf Tribe's camp was ablaze. Orange flames licked at the night sky, smoke billowing upward in dark, choking plumes. Shouts and screams carried faintly on the wind, the horrifying sounds of a massacre.
"Get up!" Ryden hissed, shaking Darius and Rice awake. "Something's happened."
The three scrambled to their feet, their gazes locking onto the inferno in the distance. Without a word, they ran toward the camp, their hearts pounding with dread.
As they approached, the reality of the devastation hit them like a physical blow. The camp was destroyed—tents reduced to ash, supplies scattered and burning, and bodies littering the ground. Men, women, and even children lay motionless, their lifeless forms illuminated by the flickering flames.
"God…" Darius muttered, his voice trembling with rage.
Rice clenched his fists, his eyes blazing with fury as he started forward. "We can't just—"
Darius grabbed his arm, stopping him. "you'll kill yourself" he said, his voice low but firm. "Look."
Near the center of the camp, warriors with blood-red auras patrolled methodically, their crude weapons gleaming ominously in the firelight. They moved with eerie precision, their eyes glowing faintly with unnatural power.
Their attention was drawn to a scene near the middle of the carnage. Fennrick was being dragged forward by two Blood Talon warriors, his arms bound and his face bloodied. They forced him to his knees before a striking figure—a young woman with an air of deadly authority.
Eris was younger than they expected, perhaps in her early twenties, but her presence was chilling. Her hair was jet-black, falling in uneven strands around her face, and her piercing crimson eyes burned with malice. Blood-red paint marked her skin in jagged patterns, accentuating her sharp cheekbones and the predatory curve of her lips.
She wore armor made of blackened bone and leather, decorated with trophies from her enemies. Around her neck hung a string of teeth—each one sharp and pristine. Her slender frame was deceptive, hiding the raw power that radiated from her every movement.
The warriors around her obeyed without hesitation, their unwavering loyalty making her seem even more sinister. She twirled a stone knife in her hand, its edge gleaming wickedly in the firelight as she approached Fennrick.
Eris crouched in front of Fennrick, her voice sickeningly sweet. "So," she drawled, tracing the blade along his neck. "You thought you could escape to the Stonehorn Clan? How simple."
Fennrick glared at her, defiant even in defeat.
Eris leaned closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You won't be able to escape anymore, you'll fall, just like your chief. Your wife. Your son."
She paused, her lips curving into a cruel smile. "And your daughter will soon follow."
Fennrick's body tensed, his eyes blazing with fury as he tried to lunge at her. The warriors holding him tightened their grip, forcing him back down.
"They all died screaming," Eris continued, her tone taunting. "And you will too."
With a flick of her wrist, she stood and turned away. "Finish it," she said, waving dismissively as she walked toward the edge of the camp.
As the warriors dragged him back, Fennrick struggled desperately, his voice rising in a hoarse shout.
"Lucy!" he cried, his eyes locking onto the hill where the trio hid. "Look after her! Promise me!"
Ryden, Darius, and Rice watched in silence, one of the warriors raised their weapons above Fennrick's neck, the trio's fists clenched as the light in Fennrick's eyes began to fade. They closed their own, silently acknowledging his life and sacrifice.
The Blood Talons worked methodically, stripping the camp of anything valuable—supplies, weapons, and even scraps of cloth. The warriors moved like shadows, their blood-red auras flickering ominously.
Eris led them away, her figure framed by the dying flames. For a brief moment, her crimson eyes flicked toward the hill where the trio lay hidden. The air seemed to thicken as her gaze lingered, but she said nothing. With a final wave of her hand, she turned and vanished into the darkness, her warriors following like wolves in her wake.
The camp fell silent, save for the crackle of flames and the roar of the wind. The trio remained hidden, their minds racing with what they had witnessed.