“Sage, look at this.”

  They had been jogging through the eerie silence of the Nest of Silent Wings for only a few minutes when Myr suddenly stopped, eyes locked onto something beside a towering, gnarled tree.

  The trunk bore deep, jagged grooves carved into its bark, clearly fresh and disturbingly high.

  Sage jogged a few steps ahead before turning back, curiosity creasing his brow. “What is it?”

  Without speaking, Myr pointed to the fresh marks. Each claw mark spread wide, cutting deep into the bark at unnatural heights.

  “Claw marks?” Sage murmured, stepping closer.

  Myr nodded, tracing the edges of splintered bark with careful fingers. “Too deep for any small animal, and definitely higher than something that crawls on the ground.”

  He paused thoughtfully, examining the shredded edges. “These marks are recent—very recent.”

  Sage watched with genuine surprise at Myr’s sharp deductions.

  Myr caught his glance and offered a quiet explanation. “I hunt my own food sometimes,” he admitted. “Not Mutants. Regular animals back in Stage 6—wolves, deer. Wolves can claw trees like this, but...”

  “But wolves don’t usually attack so high, right?” Sage finished for him.

  “Exactly,” Myr said, leaning even closer as something else caught his eye. Gingerly, he plucked a thin, fibrous strand from between the splinters. “And there’s this—plant fiber. Looks like vines.”

  Sage’s eyes narrowed instantly. “Then that confirms it—a Flawed Blood. They’re like Thorns, but twisted and corrupted by nature. Most likely a Strain.”

  Myr’s throat went dry as he let the vine slip from his fingers. So this is what we’re dealing with…_

  His hand instinctively dropped to his boot, drawing the small dagger concealed there with a faint metallic click.

  Sage glanced down skeptically. “My friend, that tiny blade won’t accomplish much.”

  Myr raised a finger sharply to his lips. “Quiet. If it’s nearby, we move slowly. Stay low and silent.”

  Sage gave a quick, tense nod, slipping behind Myr as they advanced cautiously, eyes scanning every shadow for movement.

  Beneath the canopy of massive black feathers, the darkness seemed oppressive, suffocating—each rustle of leaves an unspoken threat.

  Before long, Myr stopped again, crouching to inspect loose soil near the tree’s roots. He lifted his hand, and his glove glistened darkly red.

  “Blood...”

  Grimacing at the sight and the iron scent it carried, he quickly wiped the stain against the dirt, covering it.

  The droplets thickened as they moved onward, dread coiling tighter in Myr’s stomach with each new step.

  They soon reached the grisly source of the blood trail. Even in the dim light filtering down through feathered branches, the violence was unmistakable.

  “Well,” Sage breathed softly, halting in place, “that’s one way to go.”

  Myr’s chest tightened.

  A mangled corpse lay slumped against the base of a tree, limbs twisted and broken, its face utterly unrecognizable. One arm was completely torn away, the right leg shredded by deep, savage bites.

  His stomach churned violently at the sight. He’d encountered death before, but never this savage—this grotesque.

  Myr forced himself to speak, though his voice emerged hoarse and strained. “We should bur—”

  “WATCH OUT!”

  Sage’s shout came just an instant too late.

  A sudden, violent impact struck Myr from the side, hurling him to the ground.

  Pain detonated through his shoulder, vision blurring as he gasped for air. An ear-splitting, inhuman shriek filled the air, drowning out all rational thought.

  Myr rasped for breath, heart hammering wildly as he struggled against the creature pinning him down.

  Its wiry, skeletal frame was entangled in twisting vines, limbs gnarled and warped.

  Where eyes should have stared down at him, there was only hollow, merciless darkness.

  A Strain.

  Up close, it was more horrifying than any tale Myr had ever heard.

  The creature’s emaciated frame writhed with thick, vine-like tendrils that sprouted grotesquely from its skin, oozing a stench of decay.

  The vines quivered hungrily, thorn-like teeth snapping mere inches from Myr’s face.

  Gritting his teeth, Myr thrust both arms against the creature’s jaw, straining desperately to keep it from biting clean through his flesh.

  He drove his knee into its abdomen repeatedly, each strike fueled by adrenaline and terror.

  Yet the Strain was relentless.

  With an unnatural hiss, several barbed tendrils erupted from its torso, arching overhead like living spears—each razor-sharp tip aimed squarely at Myr’s skull.

  For a heartbeat, sheer panic wiped Myr’s mind blank.

  Then a deafening crack split the air, rattling his ears and jolting him from terror’s grip.

  Warm, black blood splattered across Myr’s face, and the creature went slack.

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  It collapsed atop him in a putrid heap, its sudden weight knocking the breath from his lungs.

  Myr lay there, chest heaving violently, limbs trembling beyond his control. For a moment, his thoughts refused to form clearly, shock overwhelming his senses.

  Slowly, he turned his head.

  Standing several feet away, calm and composed, was Sage.

  He wore a faintly amused smile beneath his tilted, wide-brimmed hat, blonde hair still neatly pulled back. In one hand rested a slim, silver weapon, smoke gently curling from its tip.

  Myr forced himself to swallow, struggling to regain control. With effort, he shoved the limp corpse aside, rolling onto his side and gasping for air.

  The fallen Strain twitched briefly before going utterly still.

  Revulsion surged through Myr anew as he took in the creature’s remains—its bark-like flesh ruptured, dark sap leaking from countless wounds.

  Its skull was punctured cleanly, the edges burned black.

  Moments later, the body began to collapse inward, dissolving into the soil like ashes scattered to the wind.

  Soon, nothing remained but a dark residue quickly absorbed into the earth, vanishing without a trace.

  Sage exhaled calmly, one hand resting casually on his hip. “Lucky for us, it was starving. Flawed Bloods become reckless when hunger drives them. It didn’t think—just attacked.”

  Myr wrenched his gaze from the spot where the creature had vanished, heart still pounding painfully in his chest.

  His voice came out sharper than intended. “What in damnation is that thing you’re holding?”

  Sage, unfazed by Myr’s harsh tone, twirled the silver weapon in an exaggerated flourish before raising it to eye level. “This?”

  A sly grin spread across his face, eyes glinting mischievously. “It's called a revolver, my dear friend. Think of it as a bow and arrow, but faster, more precise—and, if you ask me, a great deal deadlier.”

  He let the weapon drop casually to his side, glancing pointedly at the now-empty space where the Strain had fallen.

  “So,” Sage continued lightly, eyes meeting Myr’s tense gaze, “how was your first real encounter with a Flawed Blood?”

  Myr’s expression hardened instantly. “Instead of asking pointless questions,” he snapped, “why not explain why you waited so long to do something? You had that… thing… the whole time.”

  He stepped closer, scrubbing roughly at the drying blood on his face. The bitter scent still filled his senses, leaving his stomach twisting uneasily.

  “My friend,” Sage replied calmly, smile fading slightly, “that was also _my_ first encounter with a Flawed Blood. Frankly, I’m surprised I reacted fast enough to keep it from tearing your head off.”

  Myr’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Are you certain of that? Or did your curiosity get the better of you—did you wait intentionally, just to watch?”

  Sage’s eyebrow arched, amusement dancing openly in his gaze. “You realize I saved your life, don’t you? That has to count for something.”

  “All it does is balance the scales,” Myr shot back bitterly. “Now you owe me nothing—no guilt, no morality holding you back. You’re free to use me however suits you.”

  A tense silence settled between them, Myr’s fierce hazel eyes locked onto Sage’s steady, unreadable gaze.

  Eventually, Sage released a quiet, resigned chuckle. “Such a pessimist.”

  Myr held his stare a second longer, then exhaled sharply, tension draining slightly from his posture. “Haa… Sorry. My head’s still spinning.”

  In response, Sage offered a small, understanding nod.

  Brushing away a clump of dirt with his boot, Myr spotted the dull gleam of his dagger lying several feet away.

  He knelt to retrieve it, embarrassment flushing through him at how useless the blade had been in the heat of battle.

  “Guess you were right,” he muttered, sliding it quietly back into its makeshift sheath. “A little knife’s not much against a Strain.”

  Sage allowed himself a faint, wry smile. “If you had a Thorn, things might’ve gone differently. It’s not a mark against you—just the harsh reality of facing monsters.”

  He gave the revolver’s barrel an affectionate tap, then slid it back inside his dark brown coat. “And before you ask, no, I don’t have a spare. Weapons like these are rare—especially at my rank.”

  They both glanced upward, noticing how the already dim surroundings had grown darker still.

  The Nest of Silent Wings became eerily quiet, the towering black feathers above them shifting restlessly, blotting out even more of the waning light.

  Sage cleared his throat uneasily. “It’s getting darker quickly. More creatures—or worse—will start lurking. We should find shelter for the night.”

  Myr cast a look around. In every direction loomed the same oppressive scenery: twisted trees burdened by immense black feathers, faintly lit by unsettling patches of violet glow.

  “Sure,” he muttered sarcastically. “We’ve got so many scenic options.”

  Without a word, Sage moved toward the mangled corpse slumped against a nearby trunk—the unfortunate victim whose screams had led them here.

  He crouched down, briefly rummaging through the shredded clothing, before wrapping his hands firmly around the ankles. Then he shot Myr a meaningful glance. “Help me?”

  Suppressing a sigh, Myr joined him, gripping the corpse beneath its arms.

  Together they lifted the lifeless body, carefully trying to avoid dwelling on the horrific injuries.

  As the limbs swung limply between them, Myr felt a fresh wave of revulsion churn his stomach.

  He couldn’t help asking, bitterness creeping into his voice, “Is this for survival or because you’re still curious?”

  Memories of Sage’s dangerous fascination with the feathers lingered unpleasantly.

  A mischievous glint flashed in Sage’s eyes. “A little of both. Leaving the body exposed would just draw more Flawed Bloods—or anything else out here with an appetite.”

  He glanced upward meaningfully at one of the enormous feathers swaying gently overhead. “Better to…dispose of it properly.”

  Grunting under the weight, Myr and Sage lifted the corpse toward the canopy until, as if sensing a fresh meal, one of the massive black feathers unfurled with disturbing speed.

  Like a predator striking, the feather wrapped itself fluidly around the lifeless body, swallowing it whole.

  Sage’s expression twisted into grim fascination. “I suppose,” he mused quietly, watching as the feather constricted tightly around its prey, “it’ll be quicker this time. No need to suffocate what’s already dead.”

  Myr winced, nausea rising at Sage’s detached commentary.

  Given a choice, he would have buried the stranger, affording him some dignity in death.

  But practicality ruled here, forcing sentiment aside.

  The sickening sounds of crunching and wet, greedy slurping filled the air, each noise more stomach-turning than the last.

  Myr quickly turned his head, fighting a wave of bile rising in his throat.

  _This damned place…_

  Finally, the feather loosened with a soft, shuddering exhale. The corpse was gone. All that remained was a pitiful heap of shredded clothing, sliding silently onto the dirt.

  “Huh,” Sage remarked quietly. “That was fast.”

  Myr fought down another wave of nausea at the casual remark, the acidic taste of bile still bitter on his tongue. “Let’s just... find somewhere to rest.”

  Sage shrugged, entirely unruffled. “Sure. But as you’ve said, everything here looks pretty much identical.”

  Myr swept his gaze across the bleak surroundings—the spindly, twisted trees, drooping black feathers, and the endless glow of faint purple embers overhead.

  The landscape offered no landmarks, just monotonous repetition as far as the eye could see.

  “Then we pick any tree,” he decided quietly, forcing strength back into his voice. “Lean against it, take turns keeping watch. I only need three hours of sleep anyway.”

  “Works for me,” Sage said with easy agreement. “Any particular tree call out to you?”

  Myr didn’t reply.

  Instead, he stepped away from the grisly scene, eager to escape the lingering scent of blood and the gruesome memory of the stranger’s fate.

  As he walked, he dragged the toe of his boot through the dirt, kicking loose soil over scattered droplets of blood.

  Eventually, he settled on a random tree—no different from its neighbors, save for its slightly thicker trunk and fewer low-hanging feathers.

  Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, each step feeling harder than the last. He sank down slowly, pressing his aching back against rough, uneven bark.

  Sage followed and dropped to the ground beside him, casually stretching out his legs with a lazy grin. “Relax,” the blond man joked lightly. “I’m like an eagle—ready to hawk at the first sign of trouble.”

  Myr didn’t reply. Instead, he watched Sage through half-lidded eyes, uncertainty coiling in his chest.

  Once more, he was struck by Sage’s unnerving ease in the face of danger—and that hidden revolver beneath his dark coat.

  Am I really safe with someone like him?

  But he’d already reached the limits of his endurance.

  The day’s chaos—the plummet from the arena, nearly being devoured by a Strain, witnessing horrors he’d scarcely imagined—had stripped him to the bone.

  Wariness gave way to overwhelming fatigue, pulling him down into darkness.

  With an unsteady exhale, Myr finally let his eyes close. Sleep claimed him almost instantly.