Azm and Arinas lay beneath the vast canopy of stars, their makeshift camp illuminated only by the pale silver of the crescent moonlight filtering through the sparse cloud cover. The sturdy oak tree to which their horse was tethered creaked gently in the night breeze, its leaves rustling a lullaby. Without shelter, the crisp night air nipped at their exposed skin, causing occasional shivers despite their closeness.

  Azm reclined on the dewy grass, each blade cool against his back. He gazed at Arinas with wonder etched into every line of his weathered face, his eyes reflecting the starlight as they traced her features. The gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath seemed miraculous to him after their long separation. His arm curved protectively around her, serving as both her pillow and her comfort, his warmth seeping into her bones. His other arm gently covered her small body like a blanket bringing her closer, afraid that if he closed his eyes, she might vanish like morning mist.

  In the stillness of night, a sound barely perceptible reached him—dry grass bending under calculated paws, a whisper of movement against the earth. Azm's ears pricked instantly, catching what even the horse, with its sensitive hearing, had missed. His muscles tensed beneath his relaxed exterior. With practiced care, he lifted Arinas's head, his movements fluid and deliberate, and placed it gently on the soft earth. The transfer was so smooth that not even a change in her breathing pattern betrayed any disturbance to her slumber.

  Rising to his feet in one fluid motion, Azm's eyes adjusted to scan the perimeter. There they were—Silver-Fanged Wolves emerging from the darkness like ghosts materializing from shadow. Their metallic fangs gleamed wickedly in the moonlight, each one as long as a man's finger and twice as sharp. Saliva dripped from their powerful jaws, sizzling slightly as it hit the ground. Their yellow eyes, glowing with predatory intelligence, assessed him and the sleeping forms behind him.

  Azm stood motionless, his breathing even, his posture deceptively casual. Not a single bead of sweat formed on his brow, not a single tremor ran through his muscles. His face remained impassive, the face of a man who had danced this deadly dance many times before. With deliberate slowness, he rotated his head left and right, the vertebrae in his neck popping in sequence with a sound like twigs snapping. His fingers followed suit, each joint cracking as he flexed them, preparing for what was to come.

  With measured strides, he moved toward the wolves, his hand finding the hilt of his sword—the very weapon he had claimed from a fallen knight, its balance now familiar in his grip. The metal sang softly as he drew it from its sheath, the sound almost apologetic in the quiet night. He had hoped to dispatch these creatures swiftly, silently, allowing Arinas to remain in peaceful slumber, but the wolves were too cunning for such simplicity.

  They began to spread out in a practiced formation, their movements synchronized like dancers in a lethal ballet. Some focused their attention on him, hackles raised and teeth bared, while others began circling toward the vulnerable horse and his sleeping wife. Their strategy was as clear as it was effective—divide his attention and exploit the weakness.

  Recognizing the futility of his initial plan, Azm retreated several steps, his boots pressing firmly into the earth. He reached down without taking his eyes off the predators, his hand finding Arinas's shoulder with unerring accuracy.

  "Hmm, what's wrong, Azm?" Her voice was thick with sleep, her eyes fluttering open to the danger surrounding them.

  "Wake up, Arinas. We have unwelcome company here. Stay behind me; I'll deal with the—"

  In that split second of divided attention, when his eyes left the wolves to meet hers, a particularly bold wolf launched itself through the air. It was a gray blur against the night, jaws open and aimed directly at Azm's exposed throat. Without even glancing in its direction, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, Azm swung his sword in a perfect arc. The blade caught the moonlight before catching the wolf, cleaving it neatly in two. The halves of the creature fell to either side of him, steam rising from its bisected body as blood soaked into the thirsty earth.

  "Even if you are cunning, you still fall for the same trick, you stupid monsters," he said, his voice carrying no strain, no excitement—just the calm certainty of a man stating a simple truth.

  The remaining wolves witnessed their pack member's demise with calculating eyes. The dynamic shifted instantly. Their approach became more measured, more cautious, like skilled gamblers reassessing the odds. One wolf, with a coat the color of storm clouds, approached from the left, its movements suggesting an imminent attack. As Azm adjusted his stance and sword to meet this threat, the wolf suddenly pulled back, its paws skidding slightly on the ground as it retreated.

  It was a feint, and from the opposite side, another wolf—this one larger, with a scar running down its muzzle—seized the opportunity. It launched into the air and sank its silver fangs deep into Azm's muscular arm. The fangs pierced through flesh and scraped against bone, but Azm's face remained a mask of concentration rather than pain.

  The wolves continued their coordinated assault, their timing unpredictable to anyone but Azm, who had faced their kind countless times. Still, fighting alone without his clan members at his back meant accepting certain wounds. As they continued their pattern of feinted attacks from one side followed by real ones from the other, Azm adapted.

  He deliberately left his armed side exposed, pretending to focus his attention on the wolf whose fangs were embedded in his flesh. His sword arm swung wide, seemingly leaving his opposite flank completely undefended. The wolves, sensing weakness, pounced from the vulnerable side—only to meet the whistling edge of Azm's blade as he completed a full circle swing, his movements so fast they blurred in the dim light. Heads separated cleanly from bodies, rolling across the grass with expressions of surprise forever frozen on their canine features.

  The wolf attached to his arm sensed the changing tide and attempted to release its grip, but Azm flexed his massive arm muscles, trapping the fangs within his flesh. Each time he moved to strike this wolf, its companions would attack from the opposite direction, only to meet their deaths as Azm's blade found them with unerring accuracy. When no wolves remained brave enough to approach, Azm finally turned his full attention to the trapped wolf. With a single, powerful slash, he severed its head, freeing himself from the creature that had served as both captive and bait—first drawing its companions to attack, then drawing them to their deaths.

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  The surviving wolves, now reduced to half their original number, retreated into the darkness. Their yellow eyes gleamed one last time from the edge of the clearing before they vanished into the night, carrying with them the knowledge that they had encountered not prey, but a predator far more deadly than themselves.

  Throughout the entire confrontation, Arinas had watched her husband with unwavering pride. Though she had always known of his strength, she had never before witnessed his prowess in battle. Women of the clan typically remained within its protected borders, shielded from such dangers. Yet she felt no fear as she observed the wolf latched onto his arm and its companions circling for the kill. Her trust in his abilities was absolute, though concern for his wounded arm flickered across her features once the danger had passed.

  "We have to treat your hand, Azm," she said, already rising to her feet, her eyes assessing the damage.

  "Wait for a second, Arinas. I need to check if those monsters have any cores first," he replied, kneeling beside one of the fallen wolves, his fingers probing the creature's chest cavity.

  "We can come back to check. Let's go; there's a river nearby," she insisted, her tone brooking no argument.

  Their horse, exhausted from the day's journey, had somehow slept through the entire fight, its sides rising and falling in deep slumber. Suddenly, its eyes flew open, whites showing in terror. It began to neigh frantically, its hooves pawing at the ground as it strained against its tether.

  The coppery scent of fresh blood had drawn something else to their camp—something far more dangerous than wolves. When the massive shape emerged from the tree line, Azm's eyes widened in genuine alarm, the first real fear he had shown that night. Thousands of scenarios passed in front of his eyes; in most of them, he lost his beloved wife.

  "What is a troll doing here?!" The words escaped him in a harsh whisper.

  Beside him, Arinas went rigid, fear coursing through her veins like ice water. Her hands began to tremble uncontrollably, and her breathing came in short, sharp gasps. Both knew the truth—a troll was not an opponent that could be faced by a single warrior, no matter how skilled. Even for Azm, such a confrontation would require extensive preparation, and victory would be far from certain. Escape was impossible with the horse in its current state of panic, and he could never send Arinas away alone with the wolves still lurking in the darkness. His options dwindled to one—prepare to fight, and likely die.

  "What do we do, Azm?" Arinas asked, her voice steady despite the fear evident in her widened eyes and pale face.

  "Let's take a few steps back and see," he responded, his tone controlled as they retreated toward their agitated horse. With a swift, calculated movement, Azm delivered a precise blow to the horse's head, rendering it unconscious. The animal collapsed to the ground, suddenly silent.

  The troll advanced, each footfall sending tremors through the earth beneath them. The ground literally shook with each step, a rhythmic "Thoom... Thoom..." that reverberated through their bodies. Its massive form blotted out the stars as it approached, its shadow stretching across the clearing like a living thing.

  But to their astonishment, the troll simply gathered the wolf carcasses in its enormous, gnarled hands. It collected them one by one, indifferent to the humans who stood frozen nearby, and then turned back toward the forest, disappearing as suddenly as it had arrived.

  Azm released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, the exhale seeming to deflate his entire frame. "That was a really close call. I'm not sure what I would have done if that thing decided to fight. I don't like backing down. I'll be sure to come back and hunt you, you piece of ****."

  The absence of a full moon had worked in their favor, as monsters were known to be more aggressive under its light. Azm hoisted the unconscious horse onto his broad shoulders as if it weighed no more than a child, and they made their way toward the sound of running water in the distance.

  At the riverbank, Arinas tore a strip of fabric from her own clothing, the ripping sound sharp in the quiet night. With gentle, practiced movements, she bound Azm's wound, her fingers working deftly to ensure the bandage was tight enough to stem any bleeding but not so tight as to cut off circulation.

  "I think we need to continue our journey, even if it's night. We'll reach the clan by noon if we start now," Azm suggested, his eyes scanning the tree line for any further threats.

  Arinas nodded her agreement, her face set with determination despite the exhaustion evident in the shadows beneath her eyes.

  Azm turned to the still-unconscious horse and, with a decisive movement, splashed water onto its face. "Wake up, you stupid horse. You nearly killed us there." The animal jerked awake, scrambling to its feet with a startled whinny as the cold water shocked it back to consciousness.

  "Even though this horse seems stupid, I still like him," Arinas said with a soft giggle, the sound like bells in the night air, a moment of lightness after their ordeal.

  They traveled through the remaining hours of darkness and into the morning light. By noon, the guards of the Taniri clan spotted a shadow approaching from the distance. As the figure drew closer, recognition dawned, and their voices rose in excited shouts that carried across the plains.

  "Our champion has returned! Azm and Arinas are back safely!"

  The announcement spread through the clan like wildfire, and people emerged from their dwellings, running toward the approaching travelers. Their faces were alight with joy, hands raised in welcome, voices joining in a chorus of "Welcome home!"

  Azm sat tall on the horse, his eyes drinking in the sight of his clan members—faces he hadn't seen for two long years. A smile of triumph spread across his weather-beaten face, the joy of homecoming written in every line. Beside him, Arinas's eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over as she beheld her people once more.

  Suddenly, a small figure darted through the crowd, racing toward them with abandon. Tears streamed freely down the child's face, leaving glistening tracks on dusty cheeks. Seeing this approaching form, Azm's composure finally broke. With the gentleness of handling the most precious treasure, he lifted Arinas as though she weighed nothing and leapt from the horse's back. His feet had barely touched the ground before Arinas broke free, running with arms outstretched toward their child.

  Though two years had brought many changes to the young one they had left behind, a parent's heart never forgets. Arinas enfolded the child in her arms, her tears finally spilling over to mingle with those of her offspring. The clan gathered around the reunited family, their joy palpable in the air, and a celebration began that would last a full day and night—a fitting welcome for the champions who had returned home at last.

  be three more chapters throughout the day.

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