The stillness that followed the battle wasn’t just silence—it was weight. It pressed against the air, dense and unmoving, the kind of quiet that follows something irreversible. Around them, the world held its breath. The body of the Crimson Basilisk lay twisted and torn, a monstrous form now reduced to something hollowed-out and grotesque. Its massive, sinuous frame was now just a half-eaten husk. The creature’s blood—thick and dark—had soaked deep into the cracked earth.

  Nearby, Goldeyes crouched low. The huge wolf was sprawled in a posture that suggested rest, but the tension in his muscles told a different story. His fur was matted with blood, his snowy white coat stained with the deep crimson of the beast he had not helped to kill(Not that Jack resented him for it. He had asked to face the basilisk alone and it wasn’t like he had any use for the meat anyway). He licked his forepaws in slow, deliberate strokes, cleaning them with methodical precision. The act wasn’t mindless—it was ritual. Purposeful. Each motion a statement: I have eaten. I have survived.

  The wolf had eaten his fill from the beast that had dared to threaten his bondmate. He had claimed that right without hesitation. The Crimson Basilisk had died fighting them, but its final defeat had come not with a blow, but with teeth and claws. Now only shredded muscle and ruin remained, and the stench was vile—a mix of acid, old blood , and the rot that came from meat left out too long.

  Above them, carrion birds circled. They wheeled on the wind, dark shapes against the pale sky, their cries distant and hungry. But none dared to descend. Not yet. They sensed the danger still lingering. The wolf’s presence. The pulse of lingering magic in the air. Something about the battlefield warned them away.

  Jack sat a few paces from the corpse, his back leaned against the jagged edge of a broken boulder. He looked like he was resting, but he wasn’t. His eyes were half-closed, and his breathing was slow and measured, but there was no fatigue in him now. Not physically. His wounds had healed. His strength had returned. That wasn’t what held him still. He needed the moment—not to recover, but to think.

  Because what came next would cost more than a battle.

  His voice didn’t stir the air this time. His Companion had ignored his spoken words and he knew he would have to take another tack to broach the difficult subject. Instead, he reached out through the bond that connected him and the wolf.

  We need to talk.

  Goldeyes turned toward him, slowly and without alarm. There was no aggression in the wolf’s movement, but no comfort either. He was watching. Measuring. A pause passed between them, long enough that it almost became its own kind of question. Then the wolf replied, his mental voice cutting across the bond like a ripple in still water.

  Talk… now?

  Yes. About the Ramkin. About your pack.

  The air between them changed immediately. The bond trembled—not with anger, not at first, but with something deeper. Grief, maybe. Old pain given breath.

  Then came the growl. Low, simmering. A sound that vibrated through the link rather than into the air. Goldeyes stood abruptly. His paws dug into the bloodstained dirt as he paced, his shoulders rippling with restrained fury. His tail lashed once. His ears pinned back.

  Kill them.

  Jack didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

  Some of them. Not all.

  The wolf froze. Turned halfway towards him. His stance shifted subtly—not exactly aggression, but confrontation. His stare narrowed, and the red smear of blood across his muzzle made the golden glint in his eyes all the more feral.

  Kill them. You promise. Promised revenge.

  Now the wolf had definitely stopped pacing. He turned fully toward Jack, planting his feet as if squaring off. His eyes were locked on Jack’s, and he thought agin how the blood drying on his muzzle made the look in them even sharper.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Killed my kin. Clawed them. Burned them. Laughed.

  Jack flinched—not from fear, but from the memory. That detail hit harder than he expected. The laughter. He remembered seeing that part in Goldeyes recollections. When he knew it had gone beyond survival. Beyond hunting. Into cruelty.

  I know. I saw the memory. You were the only one left. I saw you carry Monsoon away from the fight.

  Then why wait?

  Because there’s more at stake than vengeance.

  The bond between them flared—not with explosive rage, but something slower. Heavier. A heat that didn’t burn out. It simmered like coals buried in ash, waiting for breath to stir them back into flame.

  They knew what they did. Not beasts. Chose it.

  Jack let out a breath and answered with care.

  Some did. Some might deserve to dies.Others might not have even been there.

  Goldeyes resumed pacing, but now his steps were faster. His tail lashed once.

  Weak excuses. They deserve death.

  Jack’s voice in the bond was calm, unwavering.

  I’m not excusing it. I’m saying there’s a difference between justice and slaughter.

  You want to save them.

  I want to try.

  The wolf halted. One ear twitched. He studied Jack with narrowed eyes.

  Because of that quest.

  It wasn’t a question. Just a truth stated aloud.

  That Quest. The one that changed the weight of every choice since.

  You have been offered a Quest:

  Legacy of Shudra I

  Objective: Find a way to restore the lost legacy of the Ramkin by reversing the corruption of the Dungeon Core or establishing a new path for their future.

  Penalty for failure: The Ramkin will remain as they are, lost to savagery and corruption.

  Rewards: Experience, Unique Skill, next stage of Quest chain.

  Jack nodded once, slowly.

  Yes. And because I’ve seen what they used to be. Erydan showed me. They were more than savages once. I want to know if that can come back.

  Goldeyes prowled closer now, his steps no longer frantic. The soil didn’t even crunch under his paws. He moved with the silence of something older than fear.

  And if it can’t?

  Jack didn’t hesitate. He met Goldeyes’ eyes and held them.

  Then I’ll end it. I swear it. If I find out the corruption’s too deep, if they’re all like the ones who led the slaughter… I won’t protect them.

  The wolf didn’t answer immediately. His pale fur shifted in the wind, strands tugged by the breeze that moved across the battlefield. His stare was relentless.

  Swear it… by our names. By the last survivors’ names swear it.

  Jack’s throat tightened. He lowered his head. Closed his eyes.

  By Goldeyes and Monsoon. I swear it.

  A pause. The air grew heavier, as if the bond had solidified that oath into something more than words—something irrevocable. Jack felt it settle into his chest, into his very soul, like the weight of a stone dropped into the depths of a still pond, rippling outward, marking him, marking them.

  Goldeyes turned away then, slowly, his head dipping, not in submission, but in something deeper—grief, maybe. Or remembrance, the shadows of his past playing across his expression, too painful to fully acknowledge. For a moment, Jack could feel the wolf’s pain, his anguish, the weight of a promise of vengeance made not too long ago, but as yet unfulfilled.

  Remember those who killed the pups. One laughed as they died. I was too late to stop it.

  Jack’s fists clenched at his sides, his heart heavy with the weight of the wolf’s grief. His mental voice came out low, but steady. The resolve in it was ironclad, forged in the furnace of shared pain and loss.

  Then we find those ones. And we kill them.

  No mercy?

  Jack’s jaw tightened. His answer came like stone dropped into still water.

  No mercy.

  Again, silence stretched out. The wind moved the tall grass with a soft rustle. Somewhere in the distance, a beast called out—its cry mournful, eerie, impossible to place. It might have been a warning. Or a lament.

  Goldeyes finally spoke, low and certain.

  Not like people. You speak too much.

  You think too much. You just don’t say it.

  A soft huff rippled across their link. Not quite laughter. But close.

  Jack rose to his feet, brushing loose dirt and dried blood from the joints of his armor. His movements were slow, deliberate. The Soul Gem set into his chestplate gave off a faint pulse, warm and steady, as if it acknowledged the vow that had just been sealed beneath its glow.

  So we do both. Kill the ones who killed your pack. Give the rest a chance. One chance.

  Goldeyes approached, no longer bristling, no longer circling. His ears were forward now, alert but not aggressive. His voice was quieter now, more even.

  One. No more.

  Jack reached out, hand open and steady. Goldeyes pressed his massive head into Jack’s palm.

  One.