The forest pulsed with life, a living, breathing entity wrapped in the shroud of perpetual twilight. The towering spiral-branched trees twisted into unnatural angles above them, their coiled limbs interlocking like the ribcage of some slumbering beast. Shadows draped over the underbrush, thick and undisturbed, save for the flashes of movement that cut through the foliage at blistering speed.

  Hati ran like a creature born for this.

  Her bare feet pounded against damp earth, pushing off gnarled roots and uneven stone, the texture of the terrain ingrained in her muscles through years of experience. Every step was a controlled burst of power, her body coiled and released like a hunting bow. She leaped, vaulted off a thick branch, and twisted midair, her spear gripped tight in one hand as she landed soundlessly ahead of her three troupe members.

  Kofi ran beside her, his heavier frame making more noise, but not enough to give them away. He had always been a solid runner, but his true talent lay in sheer force—when he struck, it was with the weight of a mountain. A battering ram in human form. But right now, there was no need for force. This was a hunt.

  The goblins were ahead.

  The scent of them lingered on the air—bitter, acrid, tinged with something putrid and almost metallic. Goblin stink was a distinct thing, thick and cloying like mold that had been left too long in the wet. It clung to the trees, to the broken twigs underfoot, marking their passage with an unintentional trail.

  Hati bared her teeth.

  More contributions. More victories. More dead fucking goblins.

  A charge ran across her nerves at the thought.

  The rage curled in her gut, low and simmering, tempered by cold, razor-sharp control. These vermin had taken too much already. They had slithered into their lands, slipped through their defenses, and now, they had dared to probe at the very heart of Wolvenblade, sending a raptor straight into the village. It was a message—a test.

  And she would answer it in blood.

  Kofi matched her pace, his breath controlled, his expression unreadable beneath the faint sheen of sweat. His dark skin gleamed under the filtered light of the twin moons, his sharp eyes locked onto her as he spoke, his voice a low murmur beneath the rhythmic rustle of their movement.

  "How many do you think?"

  Hati inhaled deeply, scenting the air again.

  "At least six. Maybe eight. Could be more if they're hiding their numbers." Her voice was calm, but her fingers flexed around her spear. "They're not moving too fast. They think they have time."

  Kofi grunted. "Arrogant little shits."

  Hati smirked but didn't respond. There was no need to.

  A presence flickered at her side—Lennix, moving through the trees with the ease of a shadow. The man had always been light-footed, an asset in situations like this. His form flickered between gaps in the branches, his movements seamless, his breath as quiet as the wind shifting through the canopy.

  She turned her head slightly, her voice pitched low, threading between the rustling leaves.

  "Which way do we go?"

  Lennix didn't respond immediately. He landed softly on a thick branch, pulling a scroll from the folds of his belt. It was worn, but the ink was fresh, the lines precise. A new map.

  Surya's map.

  Hati's chest tightened slightly, but she ignored it, focusing on the moment.

  The girl had gone through the trouble of redrawing the terrain, marking out routes less laden with beasts, less threatened by Vampyrs. Paths that made the most sense for the goblins to take if they were moving with purpose.

  She had presented it at the courthouse, standing in that too-small body with that too-sharp gaze, commanding attention like it was her birthright. The Satyr had deliberated, their expressions unreadable, but in the end, they had agreed. Copies had been made, distributed to the military.

  And here they were, using them.

  Hati exhaled sharply through her nose, pushing away the knot of emotion curling at the edges of her mind.

  She was proud.

  She was also…

  Bothered.

  The girl had to keep saving them.

  A child shouldn't bear that weight alone, no matter how extraordinary she was.

  Hati knew that feeling too well.

  Her grip tightened on her spear.

  Never again.

  Never fucking again.

  She would be the one to take care of Surya. Not the other way around.

  Lennix traced his finger over the map, his voice a whisper, sharp and certain.

  "They're cutting west—through the featherlin grounds near the ridges. If we cut ahead through the narrows, we can intercept before they escape."

  Hati nodded once, decisive.

  "Then we move."

  And with that, they vanished into the trees, the hunt closing in.

  She shifted course midair, her trajectory precise as the vast sprawl of the forest blurred beneath her. The wind tore past her ears, carrying the scents of damp bark, crushed leaves, and the lingering musk of unseen creatures. The forest, ancient and untamed, spread out like an ever-shifting labyrinth of gnarled branches and twisting roots, the towering trees casting long slatted shadows over the undergrowth.

  Even in motion, she took it all in.

  Low-shackle Featherlins flitted on the forest floor, their scale feathers clanking with an almost soft, rhythmic ring. Their iridescent plumage flickered between hues of green and violet, catching the pale shafts of sunlight that speared through the canopy. These were a different type then the ones she was used to. Must have been moved because of the recent Vampyr influx from their original territory. Some perched on high boughs in the trees, their sharp black eyes tracking her movement with wary intelligence. Others ran near the vines, quick and cautious, sensing the bloodlust in the air.

  Predators on the move.

  A sharp whistle—too quick, too fast—yanked her attention to her side. Instinct took over. She twisted mid-leap, narrowly avoiding the jagged spine that shot past her head. The projectile embedded itself into the trunk of the tree she had just been reaching for, vibrating upon impact before sinking into the wood with a sickly crack.

  Her amber eyes flicked to the source.

  A Snavine.

  It had coiled itself within the boughs of the tree, its long, sinuous body camouflaged among the tangled vines, waiting for prey to wander into range. Its needle-lined jaw was half-open, black eyes glinting with predatory intent, but it was too late—Hati was already gone, propelling herself past, barely sparing the thing another thought.

  She could have killed it.

  In another situation, she would have.

  But not now.

  Yet something bothered her. Or rather stood out to her.

  This part of the forest—these paths—should have been swarming with beasts. Featherlins, yes, but also Razor Vines, Snapfangs, and more Snavines curled in ambush. There should have been Vampyrs lurking beneath the canopy's deeper shadows, their emaciated figures watching from the blackened gaps in the undergrowth. But there was nothing. No Vampyrs. And aside from the one impatient Snavine, barely any true predators.

  She smiled faintly. Surya truly was a little genius.

  She didn't have time to dwell on it.

  She vaulted off the next branch, her form nothing but a streak of motion, and then—there.

  Their targets came into view.

  The goblins were running, their squat, wiry bodies weaving between the tree roots, their bare feet pounding against the damp loam.

  Gray-green skin. Six-tufted ears twitching in panic.

  Cowards.

  She felt a flicker of amusement, quickly swallowed by cold focus. The little bastards had heard them. Of course, they had. Their hearing was sharp—absurdly so. But it didn't matter.

  They were too slow.

  The Canid Clan had always been superior in body—faster, stronger, better endurance, better instincts. And that was before Midea had come to their village, before their cultivation methods had been sharpened into something deadlier, the Solgaleo sutra was wholly different to what they used before.

  The goblins shrieked as they ran, their panicked cries reverberating through the trees. Then—predictably—each of them tapped at the black orbs strapped to their waists.

  Shadowcores.

  Darkness poured over their bodies like thick ink, creeping over their skin in liquid tendrils, sinking into the gaps between their limbs. Their presence waned, their figures smearing into the background like silhouettes bleeding into the shade.

  But they didn't disappear.

  Shadowcores wouldn't make them invisible.

  They tried, though.

  Pathetic.

  "Speed up! Don't let them go!"

  Hati's voice was sharp, commanding, a crack of sound against the rush of wind. She lunged forward, pushing herself faster, faster—

  The goblins were only ten. She had counted them earlier, confirmed it.

  A paltry number only a tad more than expected.

  She couldn't gauge their cultivation levels instantaneously, not from sight alone, but she didn't need to. She could feel them. Weak, skittering things. None of them had stepped past the second layer—she was certain of that.

  And her?

  Eighth Shackle.

  There was no contest.

  Hati was not na?ve. She wasn't arrogant enough to believe she could bridge the gap between the eighth and ninth Shackle—not with sheer will alone. But these creatures weren't ninth Shackle. They weren't even close.

  They were scouts.

  And scouts were weak as shit.

  She pushed Numen from her core into her legs, feeling the heat bloom deep within her muscles, coiling like a forge about to erupt. The force of it made her bones hum, a tangible, scorching pressure that built and built until her limbs felt like they might burst apart. This was the Solgaleo Sutra.

  The powerful sutra spoke of stars—the suns in the sky—burning with an unimaginable force known as fusion. They were not mere lights in the void, but roaring infernos of cosmic violence, devouring their own essence in an endless cycle of destruction and rebirth. And Numen, the divine energy within, could replicate that principle.

  A star's burst. A sudden, violent release.

  At the first layer of cultivation, Numen could not yet be molded into intricate forms. It could not be shaped into blades, whips, or spears of pure energy—not without rare and exceptional circumstances. Nor could it be projected outside of the body much. But it could be used, its raw, volatile nature harnessed in short, explosive bursts.

  Midea had called it a basic movement technique. Something elementary. Something crude. He had something similar, though it operated on different principles.

  But for Hati?

  For her, it was new.

  And new things made her dangerous.

  A grin split her lips, feral, sharp. The heat in her legs spiked, rippling up from her calves to her thighs, setting her nerves alight. It was unbearable and euphoric all at once, a sensation of standing too close to a raging wildfire, feeling the edges of her skin peel under the heat, but still wanting to reach closer.

  Her legs coiled.

  She flexed.

  And—

  "Sun Step."

  Numen detonated inside her.

  The force rippled outward, and the world behind her shattered. The branch she had been perched upon splintered apart, the bark exploding into a spray of shards. The thick tree trunk itself cracked from the sheer kinetic force of her takeoff, groaning as if struck by a war hammer.

  But she was already gone.

  A streak of movement. A comet given form.

  The goblin turned, sensing the shift in the air, but it was too late.

  Far too late.

  Her spear found his skull with a vengeance.

  The sharp, wet crack of bone splitting reverberated through the air as the tip of her weapon drove clean through, the momentum carrying the goblin's body forward even as his life was already ending. The shock in his beady black eyes barely had time to register before the force ripped his tiny, weak frame off the ground, the impact sending blood arcing through the air in a fine mist.

  Hati landed softly, rolling her shoulders as if disappointed.

  She had hoped for more.

  Instead, the moment she struck, the rest of them panicked.

  Something about the sheer speed of it, the brutality of her attack, seemed to push them into a desperate frenzy.

  One of them—the closest one— twisted on his heel, a jagged, bone dagger sliding into his grip as he lunged at her left side. Fast, but not fast enough.

  She moved to intercept, but—

  His foot burst with Numen.

  Hati's eyes narrowed.

  The goblin slammed his heel into the ground, and the earth erupted.

  A smokescreen of dust exploded around them, thick and choking, throwing up debris and obscuring her vision. At the same time, she caught the gleam of metal flashing through the cloud—

  Seven senbon.

  They sang through the air, thin needles of death aimed directly for her face.

  Hati's body reacted on instinct.

  Her legs flexed, twisting, dropping low as the deadly projectiles whistled past her. She could feel them—one grazing her cheek, another slicing across her ear tip—but none found their mark.

  Her spear moved with her, whirling in a tight, precise arc, its momentum building.

  Her Numen burned.

  "Eclipse."

  It she waved her sphere in a semi circle as numen burst from the weapon, the force of it expanding outward like the event horizon of a collapsing star, a blackened wave of raw destruction.

  For a brief, terrifying moment, it felt as though the light itself dimmed, as though the world had truly been swallowed whole by the shadow of an eclipsing sun.

  And then—

  The goblin's head left his shoulders.

  A single, clean strike.

  His body didn't even have time to react, the force of the blow sending his severed head flying skyward in a spiraling arc, a fountain of blood following it like a comet's tail.

  Hati straightened, her spear humming with residual power, her amber eyes cutting through the lingering dust.

  A sharp whistle cut through the thick haze of dust and blood.

  Hati felt it before she saw it.

  The arrow sliced across her cheek, carving a line of fire through her skin. It burned—a deep, unnatural heat that seared like the ember of a dying flame pressed against her flesh.

  Her eyes snapped toward the direction of the shot, amber-gold irises flashing with something dark and dangerous.

  They had archers.

  Good.

  She surged forward, pushing off the ground—only to be met with a barrage of arrows flying from multiple directions.

  A lesser warrior would have been caught.

  Would have panicked.

  Would have been filled with holes before they could blink.

  But Hati was not lesser.

  Her body moved like the snapping of a whip, every motion fluid yet sharp with purpose.

  She ducked beneath the first arrow, feeling the sharp wind of its passage graze over her scalp.

  The butt of her spear swung around, catching another in midair, deflecting it behind her before she twisted the momentum into a tight spin. Her spear cut through the next two arrows as if they were nothing more than dry leaves caught in a storm, their wooden shafts splintering into useless debris.

  Another arrow shot from her blind spot—fast, precise.

  Hati flipped.

  A powerful arch of her back, legs tucking inward, her body moving with perfect control as she rotated in the air. The arrow screamed beneath her, missing her by a hair as she landed flawlessly, the dirt beneath her feet barely disturbed.

  She zigzagged forward, dodging, weaving, her movements a blur of speed and precision as more arrows came, missing by inches, deflected just before impact, never quite catching her.

  Then—

  A tree.

  Her amber eyes flickered with the spark of an idea, and she pushed forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat.

  The goblin archer had just enough time to look up.

  Hati exploded out of the dust cloud like a hunting wolf, her presence overwhelming, her approach unstoppable.

  His face twisted into a mask of panic, his gnarled fingers scrambling to nock another arrow—too slow.

  She didn't even bother with her spear.

  Her hand, wreathed in Numen, slashed forward like a knife.

  The crackling energy tore through the goblin's weakly warded bow, splitting the weapon in two as if it were made of rotted wood. The halves of it fell away uselessly, and in the same motion—

  Her spear thrust forward, driving clean through his chest.

  A wet, sickening gasp escaped his lips as his beady eyes widened, crimson blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. He twitched, body convulsing as the Numen running through her weapon burned him from the inside out.

  Hati didn't waste time.

  She used her spear with the goblin—

  And swung his corpse like a bludgeon.

  A goblin had leapt at her from the side of another tree, dagger poised to plunge into her ribs, but instead, he collided headfirst into the limp, spear-impaled body of his comrade.

  The impact was brutal.

  The two goblins crashed into the ground, bones cracking, a mess of tangled limbs and blood-soaked flesh.

  But Hati was already moving again.

  Her foot pressed into the dirt.

  Her legs coiled.

  Numen flared.

  "Sun Step."

  The world shattered behind her as she launched herself downward with impossible speed, her heel crashing into the pinned goblin's skull.

  A wet, grotesque squelch rang out as his head burst apart, the force of her stomp caving in bone and brain matter, splattering gore outward in a wide, gruesome arc.

  The body twitched once.

  Then it stilled.

  Blood coated her boots, still warm, still fresh, but Hati didn't stop to admire the mess.

  Her eyes lifted—

  Six left.

  Hati yanked her spear free, the wet squelch of flesh separating from wood and bone drowned beneath the fading shrieks of dying goblins. Blood steamed against the cool air, its scent thick, coppery, intoxicating in its raw finality.

  But she wasn't done.

  Her eyes flicked up—sharpened, predatory.

  One of the little bastards was slinking into the darkness, its six ears twitching in desperate hope that she wouldn't notice.

  It had almost escaped.

  Almost.

  Hati reared back, her arm snapping into position with effortless precision, spear cocked as Numen surged into the weapon's shaft, the very air around it warping, vibrating from the sheer force compressing within it.

  And then—

  She threw.

  The spear whistled through the air, a single, deadly streak of motion, and the goblin barely had time to turn before it punched through his arm, pinning him to the thick bark of a tree with a sickening crunch.

  The shriek it let out was piercing, filled with sheer agony.

  Good.

  She bent down, her fingers curling around the hilt of a dagger still strapped to the belt of a fallen goblin, its handle warm from the body it had once belonged to.

  A weapon was a weapon.

  Her grip firmed around it, and without hesitation, she rushed forward, her amber eyes locked onto her struggling prey.

  But just as she closed the distance—

  A flash of light.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught movement—a goblin bursting out from behind a tree, his own dagger already coated in a dark, swirling mass of Numen, the air around the blade humming as it condensed into something akin to a damage amplification technique.

  A lesser fighter might have hesitated, might have second-guessed their odds in the face of an enhanced strike.

  Hati didn't.

  Instead of clashing blades, she dropped low—her body flowing past his attack like water, her dagger slipping under his own, bypassing his guard with surgical efficiency.

  His fingers.

  Her blade sheared through them in an instant, severing them so cleanly that he didn't even realize what had happened.

  Not until his hand—now reduced to a gory, twitching mess—was flung wide, the dagger he'd been holding spinning uselessly into the air.

  Pain hit him a second later.

  He screamed.

  She was already moving.

  A sharp pivot. A twist of her hips.

  She drove her elbow into his face—hard.

  His skull cratered inward from the sheer force of her strike, the impact so brutal that a wet, meaty pop accompanied the sound of shattering bone.

  His body slumped, legs already buckling—

  But she wasn't finished.

  She caught the falling dagger mid-air, its hilt still slick with the goblin's own blood, his severed fingers still attached.

  A savage downward strike—

  Dagger met flesh.

  The blade drove straight through his skull, the goblin's head splitting vertically like a log beneath the swing of an axe.

  The body convulsed once.

  Then stilled.

  Hati barely gave it a second glance, her ember-bright gaze already snapping back to her pinned quarry—only to see Kofi standing over it.

  The goblin squirmed, hissing in pain, but Kofi had already fisted a handful of its collar, lifting it with ease, his dark eyes locked onto hers.

  A flicker of something passed through his expression.

  It was unmistakable.

  Incredulity.

  And beneath that, beneath the hard set of his jaw, the weight of his stare—

  Just a tad bit of respect. Though there was more incredulity.

  No doubt impressed by her sheer, overwhelming power. She smirked.

  "Hati, did you think for like half a second about capturing them rather than just killing them?"

  Kofi's voice cut through the aftermath of the battle like a jagged edge. His tone was dry but laced with something sharper—exasperation, disbelief, maybe even irritation.

  Hati flinched. Barely. A twitch of muscle so minor most wouldn't have caught it, but it was there, buried beneath the weight of adrenaline and the heat still simmering in her veins.

  The truth? No.

  Of course not.

  She had been pissed. And she had shit to do tonight. The second those goblins came into view, her body had already decided for her—hunt, chase, kill. She wasn't thinking about the long game. She wasn't thinking about information or strategy.

  And really, did they need more intel?

  The goblins had been harassing them for weeks, their tactics predictable, their cowardice typical. What more could they have possibly needed to know? That the little bastards were still a thorn in their side?

  Hati clicked her tongue, turning her head away with a dismissive scoff. "Tch."

  Kofi's eyes widened, his expression morphing from frustration into something closer to sheer indignation as his brows rose.

  "The fuck is 'tch' supposed to mean, Hati?"

  She barely spared him a glance, waving a finger toward the goblin still pinned and wailing against the tree. "That's why I trapped him there."

  Kofi let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "Looked like you were gonna kill him to me."

  His grip tightened on the goblin's collar, and for a second, it looked like he might shake the poor thing just to emphasize the point.

  Hati rolled her shoulders, stretching as though utterly unbothered, despite the way heat licked at her pride. "Not only are you too slow to catch up with fucking goblins, but you also can't even comprehend basic battle tactics. Are you this pathetic all around?"

  She grinned as she said it, flashing teeth—a challenge, a taunt, knowing full well that Kofi wouldn't let it slide.

  And she was right.

  Kofi scoffed, shaking his head. "No, I'm quite normal. Honest about my intentions, my views, and my future." He paused, eyes narrowing just enough to signal incoming retaliation. His next words came slow, deliberate, and dripping with sarcasm. "When you hop off Garran's dick—no, wait, you want to be on it, but you failed? Right?"

  Hati's eye twitched.

  Kofi wasn't done.

  "And when you stop acting like you'll be able to shove a celestial body in your mouth when the only thing you actually shove in that piehole is an entire fucking boar, then we can talk about who between us is the pathetic one."

  There was silence.

  A thick, pressurized silence, like the air before a thunderclap.

  Then—

  Vein. Bulging. Forehead.

  Hati slammed her skull forward. Hard.

  Kofi grinded back, unfazed, their foreheads now locked in a war of stubbornness, both glaring, both radiating the kind of energy that could combust into pure violence at any moment.

  The goblin between them choked on a panicked wheeze.

  Then, just as the tension hit its peak—

  A figure blurred into view.

  Lennix landed between them, drenched in blood, his tunic torn, breathing slightly heavier than normal.

  And without hesitation, without a single word, he shoved them apart—the sheer force of his arms sending both Hati and Kofi staggering a step backward.

  His eyes flickered between them, assessing, unimpressed.

  "Can you two go five minutes without a dick-measuring contest?"

  Neither answered.

  The goblin whimpered.

  His face was half-shadowed under the dense canopy, his dark eyes glinting with pure, unfiltered exasperation.

  "Are we still doing this? For real?" Lennix raked a hand through his hair, shaking his head like a man who had been suffering this bullshit for far too long.

  Kofi huffed, rolling his shoulders as he dragged the unconscious goblin with him to back up, his expression caught between irritation and smug satisfaction. "I didn't start it."

  Hati scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, get your boyfriend to hold you back."

  She waved a hand at them, her smirk widening when she saw them both tense just a bit—Kofi's nostrils flaring, Lennix's eyes narrowing, their shoulders stiffening like they'd just walked into a trap.

  The reaction only made her grin sharper.

  "Oh, did I touch a nerve?"

  Before Kofi could shoot back, she turned away, her ears perking up as she caught the familiar, steady approach of Joan.

  The brown-haired man emerged from the undergrowth, his dark eyes scanning the aftermath of the skirmish with a practiced, calculating gaze. He wasn't rushing, wasn't tense—just arriving, assessing, and already moving on.

  Hati stretched, rolling her neck before flashing them all a wolfish grin. "I'll race you back. If you beat me, you'll prove me wrong."

  Lennix let out a deep, long-suffering sigh. "You're in a higher shackle."

  Hati only cackled, flipping herself around in one fluid motion before shooting forward in a burst of speed. "And we're the same age!"

  She didn't need to look back to know the exact moment Kofi and Lennix flipped her off.

  But oh, she could feel it.

  And that thought alone made her laugh even harder.

  ____________

  Tarak sat motionless, his expression neutral, watching as Reina crouched low to the earth, her sharp eyes scanning the blades of grass for rare insects, her fingers twitching in anticipation. A few feet away, Amoux, with her bubblegum-pink hair, was delicately plucking wildflowers, gathering them in an uneven bouquet, humming to herself as the wind toyed with the strands of her loose braids.

  Apparently, this was all for a wedding. Or at least, that was what they were calling this bizarre little ceremony.

  Tarak exhaled through his nose, still unsure what exactly was unfolding.

  "Are you ready, Tarak?"

  The voice belonged to Sol, who sat across from him, the faintest quiver in her tone betraying something unspoken.

  Tarak turned his head, his sharp gaze flicking to her face, catching the way her cheeks were unusually red, the way her wolf ears twitched slightly, as if reacting to something even she didn't fully understand.

  "No. Not really." His voice was flat, but there was an underlying curiosity there. "What is the point of this?"

  Sol sighed, brushing a stray lock of sunlight-colored hair behind one pointed ear.

  "I mean, I usually wanna play Warriors and Explorers. Or Fenrir and Tarak. But…" She hesitated, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Amoux wanted to play House."

  There was something strained in her voice, like she wasn't entirely sure she liked saying that out loud.

  Tarak, ever observant, tilted his head. "Then why not tell her what you wanted to play?"

  Sol opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. Her brows furrowed slightly, her ears twitching again.

  "Because she's my friend and…" she trailed off.

  Tarak blinked at her, his curiosity sharpening. "And?"

  Sol's face flushed deeper, though Tarak couldn't quite determine why. Was she sick? Had she injured herself in cultivation? He'd heard of internal injuries causing strange blood fluctuations—perhaps her circulation was disrupted?

  Before he could ask, her hands shot out, pinching his cheeks without warning.

  "Don't worry about it!" she huffed.

  She stretched his face in five different ways, contorting his usually neutral expression into ridiculous shapes. Tarak, accustomed to Sol's physical way of expressing herself, let her do it without resistance. It didn't hurt. It was more of a gesture than an actual attack.

  When she finally let go, satisfied, Tarak blinked, his face returning to its usual stoic neutrality as he finally voiced the question that had been sitting in his mind.

  "What is marriage again?"

  Sol hesitated, and for the first time, her usual confidence wavered.

  "Marriage is…" She frowned, the words not quite forming the way she wanted. "Well, marriage is supposed to make up a mother and a father."

  She looked pensive, the wind rustling the wild grass around them, the twin suns reflecting in her dark eyes.

  Tarak considered this.

  A mother. He was familiar with the concept. The one who gives life to another. A biological female, a caretaker. Like what Sol had spoken about before. Mothers. Caretakers. Her own mother.

  There was something there, something just out of reach, something he could almost grasp—but words failed him.

  Still, he knew he had a mother as well.

  Though… he did not know if she was married.

  "I also have a mother," he said simply, his voice as even as ever.

  Sol's head snapped toward him, her dark eyes blinking in surprise. "You do?" There was a flicker of disbelief before a slow, mischievous grin started to spread across her face. "I thought you just hatched from an egg! Who's your mom?"

  The excitement in her voice was palpable, her wolf ears perking up as she leaned forward, her tail twitching slightly with curiosity.

  Tarak stared at her, considering the question. "I did just hatch from an egg," he clarified, his tone laced with the faintest bit of confusion, as if unsure why this seemed to delight her so much.

  Sol's grin widened, her fangs glinting in the warm light of the twin suns. "Then who's your mom?" she pressed, her excitement now tinged with something more thoughtful, her brows furrowing slightly.

  Tarak tilted his head, his slit-pupiled crimson eyes shifting toward the sky. "Midea told me who she was. She's very far away right now."

  At that, Sol's expression shifted. Her smile faltered slightly, her tail lowering just a fraction.

  "Ah… I'm sorry." Her voice was softer now, carrying a weight that hadn't been there before.

  Tarak blinked at her. "What are you sorry for?" His confusion was genuine. "I don't know her, and I'm doing okay."

  He had meant the words honestly, but something about them made Sol still. The quiet between them stretched just long enough to feel different—not awkward, not uncomfortable, but… something else.

  Sol lifted her gaze to meet his, her dark eyes now gleaming with a mix of emotions he couldn't quite place.

  "But you don't miss her or anything like that?" Her voice had changed again—curious, but something else lurked beneath the surface. "Or—no, that's wrong. You don't want to meet her and hug her and all that?"

  There was something off in her voice, something strained, like she was testing the words, trying to weigh them against something personal.

  Tarak sat still, his instincts stirring deep in his gut, twisting in a way he wasn't sure how to interpret. He thought about it—not just in the way one considers a question, but deeply, his mind quieting as he searched for an answer.

  "I do want to meet her," he admitted slowly, the words coming from somewhere instinctual. "But if I don't, I won't die. I have my sister. I have Hati. And I have you." His eyes flickered back to her, his crimson gaze steady. "She is my mother, but that does not mean she should be the center of my life. She's just another person."

  Sol froze.

  Something flickered in her eyes—something unreadable, something that didn't quite fit into just one emotion.

  Then, without warning, she lunged at him, locking an arm around his neck in what was supposed to be a headlock. She might as well have been trying to hold down a mountain.

  "Just another person, huh?" she growled playfully, though there was a tension behind it, something buried beneath the surface. "You have me, huh? I'll teach you well about this world! Who needs moms? They're just people at the end of the day, right? We don't need them. We don't—"

  Her words stumbled, faltered, wavered into something else entirely.

  Tarak's gaze shifted toward her, watching her carefully as her arms clenched slightly around him—not in attack, not in playfulness, but as if she was trying to ground herself in something solid.

  He said nothing.

  But he wanted to distract her from her thoughts.

  "What about a father?" Tarak asked simply, his tone as dry but carrying a bit of haste, even so it sent another ripple through Sol's already fragile composure.

  She blinked at him, then quickly straightened, pointing a single finger right in his face as though declaring a universal truth. "Ah! That's the other side!" she said, regaining her footing with confidence. "The man who helps the mother become a mother."

  Tarak considered that. "How?"

  Sol sputtered—an almost comical stutter of breath, her face scrunching slightly. But just as quickly, a light flashed through her dark eyes, a realization, an epiphany.

  She cleared her throat, lifted that same finger, and declared with all the authority of a scholar reciting an ancient truth, "Well, apparently, when a man and a woman love each other a lot and hold each other's hands while sleeping, the suns send a beam of light shooting through the night into the woman's belly, and that makes her a mother."

  Her voice was confident, her expression utterly serious.

  Tarak tilted his head slightly, his small horns catching the golden light of the twin suns.

  For some reason… he felt as if that was untrue.

  But then again, Sol had no real reason to lie to him.

  He gave her a slow blink, processing her words as she crossed her arms with a self-satisfied nod.

  "Mothers and fathers are partners forever," she continued, her tail wagging slightly. "Marriage makes the partnership, and they become mothers and fathers when they have a kid."

  She finalized her statement with a proud expression, as if she had just imparted some sacred knowledge upon him.

  Tarak considered her words for only a moment before responding.

  "Then aren't we already married?"

  "HUH?!"

  Sol threw herself backward, falling flat into the grass with a startled yelp, flower petals scattering into the air and floating gently down onto her white-and-blue blouse.

  "Are you okay, Sol?!" Amoux's voice carried across the field from where she was gathering flowers. "Also, stop messing up the flowers!"

  Sol, however, did not respond.

  She just stared at him, face red, her mouth opening and closing as she processed what he had just said.

  "What are you talking about, Tarak?" she finally managed, her voice tight, her eyes narrowing as though demanding an explanation.

  He blinked at her, his face completely neutral. "We said we would be partners and stay together forever. Is that not similar to marriage?"

  Sol froze.

  Then, as though her body moved before her mind could catch up, her hands shot up to her cheeks, pressing against the growing warmth.

  "That's different!" she blurted.

  Tarak tilted his head slightly. "Is it now?" His tone was pure curiosity, no teasing, no malice—just that calm, unreadable Tarak-ness.

  Sol scrambled to her feet, her tail flicking wildly behind her. "Yes! Yes, it is!" she insisted, pointing at him with renewed intensity. "Now we are playing getting married, so we can be husband and wife!"

  Tarak opened his mouth to ask another question, but before he could, Sol grabbed his hand in an iron grip and yanked him forward, dragging him through the field. The scent of crushed flowers and sun-warmed grass filled the air around them, the breeze sending golden pollen swirling like tiny sparks.

  His legs moved automatically to keep up, his grip relaxed even as she clutched his hand tightly, her face still red but determined.

  Tarak did not resist.

  He merely let her pull him along, watching as the petals danced around them under the seven colored light.

  "Hehe, Tarak! Look at this cool insect I found!"

  Reina bounded up to them, her blue hair bouncing as she excitedly thrust a small, wriggling creature toward his face. The insect was an oddity—its segmented body shimmered with deep purple hues, its four hood-like legs twitching, twice the length of its central body. Its tiny, iridescent eyes gleamed in the sunlight.

  Tarak tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing in interest. He did not understand why she was showing it to him, but then again, he did not mind. "Ahhh." He opened his mouth, prepared to consume the insect without hesitation.

  "Reina!"

  Sol's voice was sharp with disapproval as she lunged, snatching the insect away just as Tarak's teeth were about to close around it.

  Reina huffed, puffing out her cheeks in annoyance. "What? I can't feed him?"

  Sol crossed her arms, tapping her foot against the dirt. "No, you can't just feed him bugs every time you find one. He's not a pet!"

  Reina stuck out her tongue in response but then turned to her satchel, rummaging through it with delight. "And look at how many witnesses I gathered for the ceremony!"

  She spun around, revealing a small, writhing collection of insects in her satchel—beetles with glistening shells, moths fluttering in confusion, a large centipede coiling at the bottom. The honored guests.

  Tarak was mildly disappointed. Not because of the ceremony, but because that was quite a good collection of edible creatures, and now they were meant to be spectators instead.

  Sol sighed, shaking her head with a helpless laugh. "You like such weird things."

  Reina beamed, undeterred. "It's because they're cool!"

  Meanwhile, Amoux approached, holding two flower crowns with a gentle smile. "Here, wear these."

  She placed a lavender flower crown carefully around Sol's head, its pale petals resting against the soft golden of her hair. Then she turned to Tarak, her expression flickering with amusement as she tried to place the deep red one atop his head.

  It was not easy.

  His horns—curving and ridged, sharp yet elegant—were obstacles, their positioning making the placement awkward. Amoux grumbled softly, adjusting the flower crown several times, trying to wedge it between the horns without it slipping off.

  Tarak merely stood still, entirely unconcerned.

  After a few more failed attempts, Amoux huffed in frustration, finally settling the crown so that it balanced precariously between his horns. "There." She stepped back with a satisfied nod.

  Now properly adorned, they were led forward to the grand altar of their play-marriage—the boulder with an eerily smooth, flat surface, unnatural in its precision.

  It had once been round.

  But when prompted by the girls, Tarak had sliced it in half with a single swipe of his tail, cleaving through the dense stone as though it were nothing but a fruit. The clean, even top had been deemed the perfect wedding altar by Amoux and Reina, and now, at last, it was being used for its sacred purpose.

  They stepped up onto it, the golden light of the seven suns filtering through the sky, casting a warm glow over the wildflower-dotted field.

  Sol turned to him, her hands reaching out to take his in her own. Her fingers were warm, small, yet firm with an odd nervousness.

  Reina, practically vibrating with excitement, placed her collection of insects onto small rocks around them, her "guests" shifting and crawling with mindless activity, utterly oblivious to the importance of the event they were meant to witness.

  Tarak did not fully understand the significance of what they were doing or why she seemed so nervous. It wasn't as if it was real.

  But he understood this moment. It was valuable for what it was.

  The rustling of the grass. The warmth of the suns. Sol's hands around his own, her dark eyes flickering with an unreadable light. The scent of flowers carried by the breeze.

  And so, he stood there, hands in hers, waiting.

  The myriad colored light of the suns bathed the clearing in a warm glow, their rays filtering through the swaying grass and wildflowers that surrounded the sacred, makeshift altar. The sky was vast and endless, painted in hues of soft blue and gold, red and orange and green with drifting clouds like scattered tufts of wool. The air carried the crisp, sweet scent of blooming flowers, their fragrance mingling with the distant scent of damp earth and wind-stirred leaves.

  Amoux stepped forward, her expression serene yet full of conviction, her dark eyes shimmering with quiet excitement. The wind ruffled the lavender crown on Sol's head and made Tarak's precariously placed flower crown shift slightly atop his horns.

  She raised her arms, a small figure standing tall against the vast, sunlit field. The ceremonial weight in her voice, despite the playful nature of their game, settled over the clearing like something sacred.

  "Today we stand here to acknowledge the union between the fearsome Tarak and the warrior Sol. Under the seven suns, may they be bonded seven times, or seven eras, over seven lives."

  The words hung in the air, carried by the breeze.

  "Let the darkness of death be unable to corrupt their bond. Let the howls of the wolf echo off their souls as they acknowledge one another into their packs."

  The insects—Reina's carefully selected witnesses—twitched, scuttling on their rocky perches, their iridescent shells glinting under the sunlight. The soft rustling of the wind through the grass was the only sound as Amoux's words settled over them like a quiet promise.

  "A special space held only for them, that will never be touched by another. Today you become family, and in family, there is love, and in love, there is light. And light never ceases. No matter how dark the days ahead are, let this bond spark the way forward."

  Tarak blinked slowly.

  "Both of you must be the light. And I know you shall be, for I know you well. With three howls, we seal this union."

  Sol's fingers tightened around his, and Tarak looked down at her.

  She was smiling at him. A real smile—not the mischievous grins she threw at Reina when they schemed together, not the haughty smirks she gave when she won at a game, not the challenging grin she wore when she called herself the strongest warrior in the village.

  No, this smile was soft. Gentle.

  Like he was everything.

  And yet, Tarak was the one who saw a bit of everything embodied in her. The wildness of the wind, the steady warmth of the sun, the resilience of the earth. She was all of it—contained within the frame of a girl who loved to play warriors and who never hesitated to declare herself the leader of their group. It was a bit cnfusngbut something strange took shape in her. Something strange and amazing he did not understand.

  She was brilliant under the light of the seven suns, her dark eyes like the richest obsidian gems, her golden hair flowing in waves as the wind played with its strands.

  She took a breath.

  "Awoo!"

  Reina and Amoux immediately followed, their voices high and eager.

  "Awoo!"

  And finally, the last cry rang out into the sky.

  "Awooooo!!"

  The clearing erupted into laughter.

  With a sudden pounce, Amoux tackled Sol to the ground, sending them both tumbling into the soft grass, petals scattering into the air around them.

  "What are you two doing!" Sol gasped between breathless giggles, trying to push Amoux off.

  Meanwhile, Reina latched herself onto Tarak's neck, hanging off of him like a tiny, overexcited beast.

  "Next time, we should all just get married to each other!" Reina declared with a wicked grin.

  "Yeah! I want to get married too!" Amoux chimed in, rolling onto her back in the grass, her pink hair a wild mess around her.

  Sol let out a dramatic groan, throwing her arms up. "All of you are weirdos!"

  Then, she grinned.

  That wide, wild, uninhibited grin that Tarak had seen so many times before.

  "Next time, we're playing warriors!" she declared, poking Amoux playfully in the cheek.

  The three girls burst into laughter, the sound ringing through the little clearing, carrying over the field like a melody. Their voices were light, filled with an easy joy that Tarak didn't fully understand but found himself immersed in nonetheless.

  He did not laugh with them.

  But he sat there, silent, watching.

  He enjoyed the scene quite a bit.

  _________________

  Tanya hummed, her voice low and rhythmic, a quiet melody carried by the cooling winds of the evening. She sat cross-legged beneath the fading glow of the seven suns, their dwindling light painting the sky in fractured hues of violet, gold, and ember-red. The flickering firelight cast shadows across her face, illuminating the sharp contours of her cheekbones and the thoughtful intensity in her eyes. The air was rich with the scent of roasted meat, thick and laced with a hint of citrus tang.

  Not far from her, the insectoid raptor's carcass—its tough exoskeleton now blackened from the heat—was impaled rotisserie-style over an open flame. The sizzle of fat dripped onto the embers below, sending up a plume of fragrant smoke that curled lazily into the sky. The flesh itself was surprisingly tender, a mixture of the expected gamey toughness of predator birds and an unexpected zestiness, akin to black ants from Earth, which were known for their acidic, lemon-like tang. Tanya found herself absently pondering the biochemical composition of these creatures—why was their acidity so high? Was it an adaptation linked to their diet? Defensive evolution? A byproduct of their metabolic processes?

  She mentally noted to investigate their social structures and predatory habits later. Not for any grand reason—just simple curiosity. Knowledge, after all, was the foundation of growth, and Tanya had long understood that to learn was to sharpen one's own edges.

  Shaking off the trailing thoughts, she reached forward, the warmth of the fire licking at her fingers as she snapped off one of the raptor's legs. Her tongue instinctively stiffened as she tested the unfamiliar texture, her barbed appendage effortlessly stripping the meat clean from the bone. She leaned back, savoring the lingering tang of acid and charred flesh while watching the fire crackle, its glow reflecting on her silver wings alongside the floating aspar. The rhythmic pop and hiss of the burning wood filled the evening, mingling with the distant rustle of the trees swaying in the gentle breeze.

  Satisfied for now, she set the bone aside and shifted her attention to the thin wooden tablets beside her. These had been meant for purchase, but the village elders had simply handed them to her without charge—an unspoken acknowledgment, perhaps, of her contributions, or maybe just an act of quiet favor. Either way, she had accepted them with a simple admittedly regretful nod, already knowing exactly what she would do with them.

  Tanya lifted her bone-carving knife, an almost delicate tool she had fashioned from a chip of hardened bone, its edge worn yet still keen. She dipped the tip into a mixture of charcoal, crushed berries, and natural pigments she had painstakingly gathered earlier, her fingers working with steady precision as she etched symbols into the wood. The fifty-two wooden tablets lay arranged before her, some already bearing markings, others waiting for their turn beneath her blade.

  On each, she carved a unique symbol—hearts, triangles, circles, squares—pressing the designs deep into the grain so that even without pigment, they would be distinct by touch alone. For the face tablets, she engraved the images of a peasant, an elder, and a chief. The ace was marked by the suns themselves, a representation of power and light. And for the jokers, she smirked faintly as she carefully carved Tarak.

  Not her brother—the Tarak. The mythical figure of the village, the legend wrapped in half-truths and superstition, spoken of in reverence and awe.

  A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she continued working, her fingers moving with the muscle memory of someone accustomed to crafting. The night deepened, the fire's embers glowing hotter, the rustling of the leaves whispering secrets between the trees. Tanya remained at her task, the world narrowing down to the rhythmic scratch of her blade against wood, the scent of pigment and ash curling in the cool air, and the quiet hum of satisfaction in her chest.

  Yes. Tanya was making cards.

  Tanya absently picked up the raptor bone, her fingers closing around the scorched fragment as she brought it to her mouth. With an effortless crunch, she shattered it between her jaws, grinding the dense material into smaller fragments before swallowing them. The warmth from the marrow and lingering energy in the bone spread through her body, a flickering ember that momentarily illuminated her veins before being swallowed whole by the abyss within her. A mere pulse of sustenance before disappearing into the vast depths of her being. Her body rejoiced at the completed cycle.

  The wind whispered through the clearing, rustling the strands of her hair and ruffling the feathers on her folded wings. A sudden urge overtook her—a primal, instinctive need to take to the skies, to break free from the pull of the earth and soar. Her muscles tensed as if they were readying for flight, but she suppressed the impulse before it could take hold. She was not reckless. She was fine with flight, but only within controlled bounds. Flying too high in a world like this was a death sentence.

  The planet teemed with supermassive, cultivating fauna, apex beasts whose mere presence distorted the natural order. She had yet to see any sky-dominating creatures, but that did not mean they did not exist. The absence of proof was not proof of absence. And even if the upper skies were clear, there were other limitations—breath, pressure, unknown dangers waiting just beyond her sight.

  Did she still need to breathe?

  A question she had never truly tested. Perhaps, if she reached high enough, if she stretched the limits of her being…

  She shook her head, casting the thought aside. Not yet. It wasn't a risk worth taking for idle curiosity. There were more pressing matters at hand.

  Refocusing, she turned her attention back to her work, taking up a fresh wooden tablet. This one was more intricate—a tricky beast, its form twisting and contorting like shifting shadows. Tanya's blade carved with steady, measured precision, shaping the inky black specter with flowing curves and jagged edges. She etched in eyes, hollow at first, before staining them deep crimson with the pulp of crushed berries. The vibrant red bled into the grooves of the carving, giving the creature an eerie semblance of life.

  The Joker.

  Tanya allowed herself a small, satisfied nod. Her dexterity had always been unnaturally refined despite her overwhelming strength—a contradiction she had long accepted as natural. Even now, with power coiled beneath her skin like a dormant predator, she wielded the delicate blade with the grace of an artist.

  "Pik pik pik!"

  The rhythmic sound of carving filled the air as she methodically worked through the final details, her amethyst eyes sharp with focus. When she was finally finished, she exhaled a deep breath, the force of it sending a nearby aspar twisting away, caught in the brief but powerful gust.

  She set the completed deck before her, fifty-two tablets, each marked with its own unique symbol.

  Now, why had she taken the time to make these? Simple.

  Luna.

  This had started as nothing more than an effort to snap the girl out of her sadness, to draw her out from whatever pit of grief and loneliness she had fallen into. Luna was important—not just for Tanya's plans, not just as an asset, but as someone who was firmly in her camp. That meant she had a responsibility. And if that meant playing the role of a companion, of a friend, then so be it.

  But that was only the first reason.

  The second reason was far more pragmatic.

  The village needed a better recreational activity. Something to fill the idle hours, something to bind them in unity, something that could be monetized. Tanya could leverage her current status to introduce these cards as a pastime, subtly pulling in more Sun Coins, weaving influence into the economy like strands of a web. A single card game wouldn't make her rich, but it was a start.

  Trade with other villages.

  Resources.

  Shadowcores.

  She and Tarak would soon be gathering more than enough of those.

  Wolvenblade would see economic prosperity—if one ignored the Vampyrs looming over the village like a shade waiting for nightfall.

  Tanya stacked the tablets, her fingers running over the smoothed carvings one last time before she stood. The cool night air kissed her skin as she set off, the weight of the cards light in her grasp but heavy with intent.

  She had one last stop to make.

  The place Caela would gasp her last. Where luna slept.

  She had to grab that old woman on the way. If she wanted to make amends, she couldn't afford hesitation.

  With that thought, Tanya disappeared into the day that began to fade to night.

  _________

  Garran lay stretched out on the thick, wild grass near the village walls, the scent of damp earth filling his nostrils as he stared up at the vast sky. The light of the setting seven suns cast a rainbow hue over the clouds, their edges tinged with red and violet, shifting and reshaping like slow-moving beasts. He watched them absently, his mind lost in thought, the weight of responsibility pressing down on his chest like an iron hand.

  Then—

  "Open the gates! They're back!"

  The shout rang down from the ramparts, cutting through the air like a blade. The sentries atop the towering wooden-and-stone walls shifted, their carapace-layered armor clanking with movement. Even from where he lay, Garran could hear the grind of stone as the great gates groaned open, the archway crowned with the imposing motif of Fenrir, its fanged maw frozen in a silent snarl, watching over the entrance like an ever-vigilant guardian.

  Hati strode in first, her long red hair bouncing behind her like a flickering flame, that same ever-present cocky smirk etched onto her face. Following behind her were Kofi, Lennix, and Joan, their postures less triumphant, more exasperated.

  Kofi was dragging a goblin prisoner along by its collar, the little six-eared wretch snarling weakly, its left arm dangling uselessly at its side. The raw wound where her spear had pinned it down was still fresh, and Garran imagined it would be lucky to keep the limb at all. Kofi's dark-skinned face was twisted in irritation, his eyes narrowing at Hati, who was clearly enjoying herself far too much.

  Lennix, on the other hand, looked tired—his usual calm veneer cracking just slightly.

  Garran let out a low sigh. He didn't need to hear their exchange to know exactly what had transpired outside the walls. The smugness radiating off Hati like a self-satisfied wolf after a fresh kill was enough of a clue.

  Sure enough, Kofi waved her off with an exasperated grunt, shaking his head as she laughed brightly, her voice sharp and ringing. Her red hair shimmered as she tilted her head back, the sun catching on each strand like molten metal.

  Garran just shook his head and looked back up at the clouds.

  He had more important things to think about.

  Or at least, he should have.

  He had gone over the plans Surya had drawn up—detailed, methodical, well-reasoned, viable. But that was expected. Everything she touched was like that.

  And that was the problem.

  Because he was the general. He had years of experience. He had trained, bled, and fought his way into this position, he was not guaranteed it even as a Lupus. He had wanted to become the general on his own because it was the path Juraf took. And yet, here he was, being outdone by a girl not even a month old.

  Not just outdone. Overshadowed.

  And it wasn't just him.

  Every warrior in the village, even the elders, felt it. The realization that two newborns—two infants in all but body—could decimate a battle-hardened elder, one who had been cultivating for over a century, was a bitter pill to swallow.

  A sobering one. As much of an asshole as Hathor had been.

  He closed his eyes briefly. Maybe he should be training.

  Or handling affairs. There were many.

  The shadowcore excursions had to be prepared for.

  Delegations had to be organized—trips to neighboring villages, strengthening alliances, pushing to blacklist the goblins, ensuring that those treacherous little bastards were cut off from trade and influence.

  There were patrols to lead, scouts to debrief, defenses to check.

  And yet, Fenrir knew—

  He was exhausted.

  The only thing his mind kept circling back to, no matter how much he tried to push it away, were his master's kids.

  Suddenly, a blob of red blocked out his view of the sky. He blinked, adjusting his focus, only to be met with a familiar freckled face, amber eyes glowing with perpetual vitality. A small scar split her left brow, a faint reminder of the battles she had weathered, and her grin—that hooligan grin—spread across her face with the same cocky assurance Garran had seen a billion times before and would no doubt see a billion times again.

  Hati.

  He sighed.

  "How was it?" he asked, his green eyes leveling with her own, gaze unreadable.

  Hati's wolf ears twitched as she smirked down at him, her red hair shifting vibrantly in the sunlight. "Surya naturally did everything perfectly," she preened, her arms crossing, as if she had orchestrated the entire thing herself. "We caught them on their way out easily. Even with shadowcores, they were too slow. Her paths were right."

  Garran exhaled through his nose, the faintest hint of amusement flickering across his face before it vanished.

  "I see. And the captured goblin?" His eyes narrowed slightly as he pushed himself up on his elbows. "I'm surprised you didn't just kill them all, given your personality."

  Hati bristled instantly.

  Her brow twitched, her lips pulling back just slightly, before her hand shot out—her grip latching onto his ears with a merciless tug.

  "Shut up, asshat!" she barked, yanking him forward before he could react. Garran let out a low laugh, too used to her antics to be fazed. He made no move to stop her, even as she gave one final tug and released him with a grunt, dropping heavily onto the grass beside him.

  "Why are you sitting here brooding all alone anyways like you're some sort of hero in a tale." she asked turning her head.

  "Mmmm, just thinking, I guess." He leaned back again, staring up at the sky, as if she hadn't just assaulted him.

  Hati's eyes slid to him, a gleam of something wicked flashing through them before her lips curled into something insufferable.

  "MmMm JuST THinkinG i gUeSs," she mocked in an obnoxiously high-pitched whine, contorting her face into a dumb imitation of his relaxed expression.

  Garran sighed, resisting the urge to rub his temples.

  "Are you ten?" he said flatly, his voice drier than sand.

  Hati's amber eyes glinted, but something shifted in them. Beneath all the playful arrogance, there was something sharper, something more grounded. She knew him too well to buy the way he was deflecting.

  She leaned back, resting her hands behind her head.

  "Stop with all the nonsense." Her voice was calm now, steady—a rare thing for her.

  "I know you, Garran," she said, her gaze unwavering. "Just be a man and say what's on your mind. Stop stepping around the issue like a pansy. It ain't like you.".

  She was calling him out.

  "Pffft! Hahahahaha!" Garran burst out laughing, the deep, full-bodied sound reverberating through his chest. It wasn't forced or bitter—it was real. He laughed because, damn it all, she was right.

  Beside him, Hati chuckled too, though hers was more subdued, a quiet rumble of amusement at his expense.

  "It's about Juraf's kids, right?" she said, her tone light, but certain.

  Garran's laughter cut off instantly.

  His head snapped to her, green eyes widening slightly in shock. His mind raced—was he that predictable? This was the second time in the last few days that someone had called him out on this before he could even say a word. His brow furrowed as he touched his forehead absentmindedly, half-wondering if the damn words were written on his skin or something. Because there was no way in hell he was this easy to read.

  He exhaled, shaking his head. "I guess so," he admitted.

  His fingers ran through his tawny brown hair, tangling slightly as his jaw tightened. "I suppose I just feel like a failure towards Luna." The words left his mouth in a low murmur, quieter than he meant them to be.

  He had already talked to the girl and Lain about this. Luna had even told him she didn't blame him—yet the weight of it hadn't lessened. The guilt still sat heavy in his bones, gnawing at him. He knew he had to start being better, but where the hell was he supposed to start?

  Hati was silent for a moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was light as air, but it cut deeper than a blade.

  "Because you are a failure. There's no doubt about that."

  Garran's head snapped toward her, his brows twitching, but before he could fire back, he caught the glint in her eyes.

  Those ember irises, glowing fiercely under the light of the setting suns, held not cruelty, but truth. Honesty.

  "But failing doesn't mean much, you know," she continued, her tone neither mocking nor dismissive. Matter-of-fact. Resolute. "It's what you do after, and how you change, that defines who you are."

  Her gaze didn't meet his, but her voice was steady. "That's what defines the self."

  The self.

  It was a concept that weighed heavier than the words themselves, something Garran felt in his gut.

  A long pause stretched between them, the only sound the rustling of the wind through the village walls.

  Then, Hati spoke again.

  "Garran… do you remember when my father passed away?"

  This time, her voice was different. Quieter.

  Softer.

  She still didn't look at him.

  "I do," he answered. Curious now.

  How could he forget?

  Her father had died in battle, outside the village, saving his own father's life, along with several others. He had sacrificed himself, so they could live.

  The funeral had been large, the village mourning a warrior lost, a man honored. Garran remembered it clearly.

  He also remembered one more thing—the first and only time he had ever seen Hati straight up sob her heart out.

  "Back then," Hati's voice softened, a stark contrast to her usual brazen energy, "I called myself Amara. Or rather, that was the name my parents gave me."

  She leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows, her amber eyes hazed over as if watching the past unfold before her in the shifting hues of the sky. The winds picked up slightly, carrying the scent of earth and distant pine, the sounds of village life a dull murmur beyond the walls.

  Garran said nothing. He knew when to listen.

  "When my old man died, my mom took it… hard," she admitted, her voice quieter now, though it never wavered. "Harder than me, even. I loved my dad—a lot. He was everything to me. But I was young. I was hurt, yeah, but I had my whole life ahead of me. I was injured, but I would heal."

  Her lips pressed together briefly before she continued.

  "But my mom?" Hati let out a breath, slow and measured, but Garran could tell it wasn't an easy one. "She was devastated. My father… he truly was the love of her life. No doubt about it."

  She paused, eyes distant, flickering as if watching ghosts only she could see. Memories surged through her like an unstoppable tide, dragging her into the depths of moments she never spoke of.

  "At first, it was just crying. Endless crying. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs that shook her whole body. I swear, she could've filled a tub every single day with the tears she spilled."

  A humorless laugh left her lips, a mere exhale of air, but there was nothing funny about it.

  "Then came the anger. Not at me. Never at me." Hati's eyes flicked toward Garran for just a second, then away. "But at the world." She scoffed. "At night, I'd hear her—breaking things. Not with numen. Just… smashing them. Beating her fists into walls, into the floor, until they were red and raw."

  She turned her hands over, as if remembering the way her mother's hands had looked back then, and slowly clenched them into fists.

  "Then came the delusions."

  Garran remained still, but he was listening intently now. He knew this wasn't easy for her to say.

  "She started acting like he was still there," Hati whispered, her voice barely carried by the wind. "She'd set the table for him. She'd talk to him like he was sitting beside her. She'd laugh at jokes only she could hear." Hati's throat bobbed as she swallowed. "Some nights, I'd wake up, and she'd be whispering into the empty air… telling him about her day."

  She exhaled, shaking her head slightly. "It was hard to snap her out of those."

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  And then…

  "Finally, there was the darkness."

  Her voice turned colder, more distant.

  "She stopped eating. Stopped getting out of bed. She didn't cook, didn't work, didn't do anything. Just… laid there. Wasted away."

  The weight of those words hung heavy in the air, pressing against Garran's chest like the slow descent of a blade.

  Hati finally turned her head, meeting his gaze dead-on.

  "During that time, I started hanging around your place a lot more."

  Garran's fingers twitched slightly. He remembered.

  "Sure, it was because we were friends," she continued with a dry chuckle, but there was more to it than that. "I wasn't just there to play or spar. I was there because I had to be."

  She looked back toward the sky.

  "Because there was no food at home."

  The words were blunt, without flourish, but they hit harder than any poetic lament could.

  "My mom neglected me. She wasn't there. She was living in another world entirely—one where my dad was still alive."

  She inhaled deeply, her chest rising with the effort, then exhaled as if trying to push out something lodged deep inside her ribs.

  "For a long time, I hated her."

  A small, wry grin tugged at her lips, but it wasn't amusement. It was acknowledgment of something ugly that once lived inside her.

  "I used to wonder, why couldn't she pay attention to me? Why was she so worried about my dad—he was already gone. What about me?"

  She tapped her chest, right over her heart, her fingers curling slightly.

  "Was I not important?" she asked, voice dropping into something almost fragile, though Hati herself was anything but.

  "Was I not her family?"

  The air between them felt heavier than before.

  "I spent so long thinking that way," she admitted, "until one day, I realized something."

  She inhaled slowly.

  "All of my thoughts were about me."

  Her fingers pressed tighter into her chest, then dropped back to the ground, fingers digging into the dirt like roots anchoring her to the earth.

  "Me, me, me."

  She let out a breath that wasn't quite a laugh, but wasn't a sigh either.

  "I put myself at the center of everything—like I was Fenrir or something."

  She chuckled absently, shaking her head as if shaking off the weight of a past that no longer defined her.

  Garran didn't speak. He just listened.

  "So I decided to become the change I wanted to see," Hati said, her voice carrying the weight of old resolve and the fire of self-made conviction.

  The wind blew through the grass where they sat, sending ripples through the field like waves cresting in an unseen tide. The setting suns bathed the world in a myriad glow, flickering through the shifting clouds, casting dappled light onto her freckled face. She stretched her arms behind her head, grinning—but there was something raw beneath it, something Garran had only seen glimpses of before.

  "I would use flame to forge a smile." She tapped her temple, amber eyes gleaming with mischief. "And by flame, I mean the unbearably awesome, ridiculously hot, dangerously charming me." She flashed her teeth, grinning like a rogue, like a wolf with a secret.

  He snorted. Of course, she'd say it like that.

  "I put on a mask, I guess," she admitted, twirling a strand of fiery red hair around her finger before letting it slip free. "I became Hati. I became crude, battle-ready, violent, a little crazy. I became fun. I became reckless. I started resembling my old man—and you all—just a little more."

  Her voice dipped slightly, the energy still there but holding something deeper underneath, something steady and deliberate.

  "I made Hati… to save my mother."

  Garran exhaled slowly. He understood now.

  "It was slow," she continued, voice quieter now. "At first, it didn't seem like it mattered. But my antics, my energy, my brashness— that was what my mother needed. To push past my father's death." She inhaled, her gaze flicking up toward the sky, toward the ever-burning stars. "And in pushing her past it… I pushed past it too."

  She turned her head toward him, searching his face, waiting to see if he understood what she was really saying.

  "I changed," she said simply. "People say it's difficult to change, but it isn't. Not really." She turned back to the horizon, watching as the last traces of daylight bled into deep violet.

  "Everyone has their own thoughts, their own dreams, their own desires. And everyone—everyone—puts on a face when dealing with others." She let out a small chuckle, shaking her head. "It starts when we're kids. We live in a society. We can't exactly do whatever we want."

  The humor faded slightly from her voice, but her conviction remained.

  "At some point, the faces we put on…" Her fingers tapped lightly against the dirt, as if counting the seconds between thoughts.

  "They stop being faces.

  They become us."

  Garran stayed quiet, but he was listening.

  "It's not just a mask anymore. It's who we are."

  She exhaled, tilting her head back slightly, letting the light hit her in full.

  "And maybe that's sad, but I don't regret it."

  She turned back to him then, grinning, all teeth and fire.

  "I don't regret a damn thing about what I did back then. And I sure as hell don't regret who I am today."

  The moment stretched between them, the weight of her words settling like embers drifting in the air, glowing before fading into the earth.

  Then, suddenly, Hati jumped to her feet, laughing, her energy reigniting like a blaze catching fresh wind.

  "It doesn't matter if you don't know where to start or what to do," she declared, grabbing his wrist and yanking him up before he could protest.

  "Just pretend like you do— and one day, it'll work out just fine."

  He stumbled forward as she dragged him along, her grip firm, unyielding, her presence like a living flame against the encroaching twilight.

  "Surya's making a game tonight for Luna." Her voice brimmed with excitement, like she was inviting him to the most important battle of their lives instead of a game night. "You're invited. Let's go!"

  Garran let himself be pulled along, his steps falling into place beside hers.

  He looked at her, this girl who had forged herself into a legend before she was even grown, standing there, stunning under the fading light.

  Her hair was lit by the flames of the dying suns, her scarred brow bold, her eyes burning like embers.

  Then, after a beat, he deadpanned, "Hati, you're covered in blood."

  She blinked, then glanced down at herself, the streaks of drying crimson splattered across her arms, her tunic, her thighs, even a streak across her cheek.

  "Woops." She grinned.

  "Hehe."

  ______________

  Midea's hooves clacked against the worn stone steps, the sharp sound echoing through the winding descent of the spiral staircase. The air was cool, thick with the scent of damp stone and the faint traces of incense from the upper levels. Flickering torchlight cast long, shifting shadows against the walls, illuminating intricate murals that seemed to dance as the flames swayed.

  The walls were adorned with masterful paintings—images of white trees stretching tall and unbending, their bark kissed with traces of silver, and wolves woven into the scenery, frozen mid-hunt, their forms sleek and powerful, their eyes alight with an eternal hunger. The perpetual chase of predator and prey played out along the curves of the passageway, telling a story older than the village itself. It was beautiful, he supposed—primitive in execution but imbued with a raw, undeniable spirit.

  This place, simply known as The Core, was a sacred ground, locked away from the eyes of the common folk. Only the priestesses, the chieftain, the Reification, and the successor to the priestess—which, if he recalled correctly, should be Lain—were permitted entry.

  He tilted his head, sharp crimson eyes flicking upwards as they came to a gate. Unlike the carved wood and hide-bound constructs of the village, this door was metal—a rarity in Wolvenblade, where such materials were hoarded like treasure. The gate was adorned with the sigil of a great wolf, its maw wide, teeth bared, its gaze one of eternal vigilance. It was warded, thickly layered with enchantments that shimmered just beneath the surface, unseen but palpable. He could feel the numen woven into it, layered over generations, like a quilt of magic reforged and reinforced with each passing era.

  Baya, walking ahead, stepped forward with purpose. She lifted her hand, her fingers tracing ancient symbols into the air. Her numen surged, tracing a complex pattern into the gate, its glow pulsing in tandem with her energy. The motes of power scattered like fireflies, drifting lazily before sinking into the metal. A deep groan resounded through the chamber as the gate unlocked, splitting down the middle as it swung open.

  Beyond the threshold lay a sanctum bathed in ethereal light.

  At its heart stood a white stone dais, perfectly smooth, its surface untouched by time. The dais was surrounded by pristine water, clear as glass, its depth unknown, its stillness unbroken save for the occasional ripple as if the earth itself exhaled beneath it. Small lanterns hung from polished wooden poles, casting a warm, golden glow over the scene, making the waters seem almost dreamlike in their clarity.

  And upon that dais sat a masterpiece.

  Even by his standards—a legacy genius of House Valefor, heir to the depths of Hell, a cultivator of the Greatrealm—it was an immaculate creation. It was not mere craftsmanship; it was artistry. The sheer presence of the object, the purity of its existence, the way the air around it felt different—all of it demanded respect.

  Midea, despite himself, paused for a moment to appreciate it.

  It was rare for anything on this uncultivated, backwater world or at least this village to impress him.

  This planet, despite its dense numen and overwhelming wilderness, had never struck him as exceptional. The beings who populated it were strong, yes—but strength alone meant nothing. These people were survivors, not visionaries. Their knowledge was rudimentary, their cultivation methods unimpressive. He had lived among them for some time now, had seen their traditions, their struggles, their ways of life. He respected them for their resilience, but there was nothing extraordinary about them.

  Nothing except for Luna.

  Nothing except for those two little monsters he had taken under his wing.

  But that thing was different.

  Midea's eyes narrowed, his pupils constricting as he took in the seed—amber, brown, and green, its hues shifting as if it were alive, breathing, almost aware. Its roots stretched deep, winding into the walls of the chamber, thick and gnarled, like the grasping fingers of an ancient behemoth anchoring itself to the earth. The way they vanished into the stone, merging seamlessly with the structure, suggested that they extended far beyond what was visible, perhaps even reaching the very foundations of the village itself.

  But more than that, every inch of its surface was shrouded in a vast network of runes, their complex formations shifting ever so slightly, as though responding to the presence of those who stood before it.

  This was no ordinary warding.

  The runes themselves were nothing like the rigid sigils of common spellcraft. No, these were organic, reflecting the raw intelligence of the natural world. They did not simply exist on the seed—they were part of it, woven seamlessly into its structure like veins through flesh.

  He traced their patterns with his sharp gaze:

  —Intricate fractals, spiraling endlessly, growing smaller and smaller yet never ceasing.

  —Delicate leaf patterns, curling at the edges, interwoven like the fibers of an ancient tree.

  —Vine-like symbols, wrapping around themselves in coils that twisted and expanded when one tried to follow them.

  —And, most notably, block-like glyphs that almost resembled the cellular structure of plants—an insight into the very biology of the living world, transcribed into runework.

  And there was something else.

  Buried within the web of carvings were chains of life—not physical chains, but layers upon layers of stacked warding, each amplifying the one before it. This wasn't just a protective barrier; it was an ecosystem of power, feeding itself, recycling its own numen, it was built to last ages. He could even see it had survived deterioration.

  Midea's breath was slow, measured. His tail flicked once, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

  This was extraordinary.

  Not just by the standards of this primitive village, but even by his own.

  He could not do this.

  That realization made his fingers twitch. It was subtle, but it was there. A crack in his composure.

  Despite his noble legacy, despite his status as a wardmaster of the second grade, despite the fact that he was a being from Hell itself, this was beyond his capabilities.

  Runes and wards, at their core, were shapes given power. A ward was a vessel, and energy was its lifeblood. But no amount of raw numen could make a simple ward exceed its limits—just as no amount of water could make a broken cup hold more than its shape allowed. The only way to surpass those boundaries was through complexity, refinement, and mastery.

  And this?

  This was the work of a master of a higher grade than himself no doubt.

  Midea's hand unconsciously curled into a fist. His mind churned, calculating. How long would it take for hm to reach thatlevel? How many years of study? How many thousands of failed experiments? He needed to know how it was made. He needed to understand.

  A sudden, barking laugh broke his thoughts.

  "Bagyagyagya! Impressed, are ya, brat?"

  Midea's eye twitched as Baya's raucous voice filled the chamber, the old priestess grinning ear to ear, her staff tapping against the stone with barely restrained pride.

  "This is the Core Seed, the pride of our village! This is what has kept Wolvenblade standing strong against the wilds! Against the beasts, the Vampyrs, the shadows, and whatever else wants to gnaw at our walls!" She spread her arms wide as if presenting it, her voice carrying the weight of generations of reverence.

  Midea exhaled slowly, masking his irritation beneath disinterest as he turned his gaze toward her.

  "Who made this 'Core Seed' exactly?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the room like a scalpel.

  Baya immediately bristled, waving her staff at him threateningly.

  "Are you tryin' to imply we couldn't, ya snide little brat?" She squinted at him, her grey eyes gleaming like a hawk that had just spotted prey.

  Midea barely spared her a glance, his gaze settling instead on Remus, who had been standing silently by the entrance, watching the exchange with a bemused expression.

  The chieftain crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly as he considered the question. Then, finally, he spoke.

  "It was simply here," he said, his voice measured. "Likely created by my ancestors when they built Wolvenblade."

  His gaze shifted to Baya, with a odd gaze. She responded but said nothing. It was a small interaction.

  One which Midea, of course, noticed.

  They were hiding something.

  Especially given that this was the work of a particularly talented peak second-grade wardmaster—perhaps even third-grade. The implications of that were immense.

  If it was beyond him, then it was most certainly beyond them. Their ancestors, no matter how revered, would have left behind records, techniques, legacies—something. These people were still basically scribbling stickmen where they should have been etching the essence of the Dao itself into reality.

  This was not arrogance, not solely. It was simple deductive reasoning.

  And that same reasoning told him that he would not be getting the full truth out of them. Not yet.

  Antichrist. These wolfmen were sometimes worse than the slimy bastards in the Circle of Envy sometimes. The way they danced around their own history was almost admirable in its secrecy. A bunch of mangy, flea-bitten bastards pretending they were simple cultivators in some backwater village, when in truth, they sat atop a relic of unquestionable power and origin. He had felt it before there was more to them. His gut told him so. He sighed.

  Still. He had work to do.

  Midea exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders as he turned his gaze away from the core seed, its shifting runes still whispering secrets in a language he had yet to fully decipher.

  "I can't do much here," he admitted, his voice level but firm. "Not to the extent that I reinforced the external walls."

  His horns gleamed faintly under the runic light, and his crimson eyes flickered with something sharp, calculating.

  "Too many new runes would clash with the existing wards—hell, even minor ones could throw off the entire balance. And that's not even considering how much ambient numen this thing is absorbing. It's already running at near-max efficiency, meaning any disruptions would make it work at suboptimal capacity."

  He let that information settle in the air for a moment before tilting his head slightly, his tail twitching behind him.

  "Not to mention… you wanted me to set up a teleportation formation here, correct?"

  His voice lowered, edged with pointed curiosity.

  Remus nodded, his expression unreadable. "Indeed. Can you make a formation that connects to the throne? Or rather, the same building?"

  Midea hummed internally.

  Ah. So there was something valuable there.

  Of course, that was a stretch—it could simply be a matter of practicality. After all, if he were chieftain, he too would want direct access to the most important defensive artifact in the village. But Midea was a demon.

  And if there was one truth about demons, it was this:

  The devil's in the details.

  His tail flicked lazily as he pondered. What exactly did they keep in the throne room? A defensive mechanism? A secret vault? Something tied to the origins of this village?

  Something connected to the Core Seed?

  There were too many possibilities, but all of them were interesting.

  Midea smiled slightly, his fangs just barely peeking past his lips.

  "That," he said simply, "I am capable of."

  No more words were needed. The decision had already been made.

  A few moments later, a group of priestesses garbed in pristine white entered the chamber, their robes flowing like woven moonlight, their footsteps eerily silent against the stone.

  They carried with them the necessary materials—bowls of beast blood, still warm and thick with numen, swirling in deep crimson hues that reflected the runic glow. Alongside it, they presented sheets of numen-sensitive carapace, the very same type they used in crafting Sun Coins.

  Midea's eyes sharpened at that detail.

  So they used this for both currency and formations?

  That meant this creature—the source of these carapace sheets—was both rare and valuable, a cornerstone of their village economy. A creature whose very body could harness numen with extreme efficiency.

  A strange beast indeed.

  Midea filed that away for later.

  For now, he stepped forward, his claws flexing as he reached out toward the materials, ready to shape them into something worthy of his skill.

  Purple and black numen flared around Midea's hands, swirling with a controlled, malevolent grace as he channeled his energy into the thick, still-warm beast blood. The viscous liquid pulsed in response, as if awakening, veins of numen threading through its depths like crackling lightning.

  He crushed the numen-sensitive carapace to fine dust between his fingers, the particles dissolving into the air with a faint shimmer before settling into the blood. With a slow, deliberate movement, he sprinkled the dust into the swirling crimson mixture, catalyzing the reaction further with a precise injection of his own numen. The air thickened. The energy twisted. The formation was beginning to take shape.

  The teleportation wards were a monumental undertaking.

  These weren't just simple energy circuits or basic warding glyphs—no, they required something far more intricate.

  Strange geometries, some bordering on non-Euclidean, twisted into existence beneath his claws, sapping at his mental stamina with every carefully drawn line. Some shapes, though appearing two-dimensional, bled into a third, and sometimes even a fourth axis, shifting subtly under the weight of their own metaphysical existence.

  He exhaled through his nose, focused.

  Each line had to be precisely arranged.

  The spheres had to be placed perfectly within the formations to create a harmonic cycle, granting the teleportation circle a sense of completion—a spatial anchor that would prevent violent distortions in travel.

  The fractals came next, woven into the formation like intricate spiderwebs, their chaotic, repeating patterns designed to store massive amounts of numen. These would act as batteries, ensuring the formation remained charged and operational even under duress.

  Then came the flow signs—small, spiraling glyphs integrated within the design that allowed the absorption of ambient numen. Without these, the formation would decay too quickly, requiring constant fuel from external sources.

  Even with all of this, it would need regular maintenance.

  A tedious, exhausting affair.

  And as if that wasn't enough, he took the extra effort to reinforce the surroundings of the Core Seed with additional defensive wards.

  Annoying but absolutely necessary.

  Satan damn it all.

  He exhaled, shaking his head.

  He hoped Surya would be able to cultivate soon.

  She was a genius. An absolute freak of nature, even among the most terrifying prodigies he had ever seen. But she was still a child, and a child who, as of yet, had no cultivation.

  The burden of handling these intricate ward matters fell solely on him, and while Midea was far too prideful to ever admit it aloud, he was tired.

  If Surya could finally begin cultivating, she could bear half of this weight. And Satan knew that half would be more than enough to split mountains.

  Instead, he was stuck handling logistics, while that idiot Bardo stumbled his way through simple elementary wards despite his reputation and position as the village craftsman and weapon maker.

  That man had the intelligence of a jarati.

  A fragmented, cracked soul had more of a complete mind than he did.

  Midea exhaled, his numen dimming as the final sigils settled into place. The air hummed with power. The teleportation formation was complete.

  He straightened, rolling his shoulders as a sharp pang of fatigue bit into the base of his skull.

  "That's all I can do here, honestly," he said, his tone edged with exhaustion, though his posture remained as proud and composed as ever. "Any more than this, and we'll start running into serious problems."

  Remus nodded, his broad features cast in the eerie glow of the formation.

  "Understood."

  There was an unspoken respect in the chieftain's tone—a rare thing among the villagers, who still viewed him with wary reverence, but respect nonetheless.

  The three of them turned, their footsteps echoing through the chamber as they made their way to the exit. The great metal doors groaned, shifting under the weight of centuries, before slowly sealing shut behind them.

  The runes on its surface flared brilliantly, casting long, twisting shadows against the chamber walls before the light faded, sealing the Core Seed off from external interference.

  As they ascended the spiral staircase, Midea's six claws absentmindedly tapped a slow, rhythmic beat against his leg.

  His mind was already on the next step.

  The hallway stretched before them, its silence broken only by the muffled echoes of their footsteps as they made their way toward the exit. The air carried an indescribable ambiance, something ancient yet ever-present, as if the very walls whispered secrets only those attuned to the world's rhythm could hear. The dim torches along the stone corridor flickered, their flames wavering in the unseen currents of the underground. Shadows danced upon the engraved murals lining the walls—depictions of white trees, wolves locked in eternal pursuit, and celestial bodies that pulsed with distant, forgotten power.

  The air was cool as they stepped beyond the Core's entrance, leaving behind the hidden sanctum. And there, just beyond the threshold of darkness, stood a figure bathed in celestial light.

  The night had fully descended, a vast, inky expanse sprawling across the heavens, and above them, the three waning moons hung in the sky, their dim glow a harbinger of the coming new moon. The stars speckled the firmament like distant embers, scattered amidst the drifting clouds. Against this cosmic backdrop, the Blue-Green's spiraling branches loomed—monumental, stretching skyward, an eternal effort to reach beyond the heavens, as though the very essence of life itself strived to evolve, to ascend, to pierce the ceiling of the sky.

  And beneath this celestial expanse, Tanya stood.

  At that moment, she seemed to embody something beyond the mortal, a being sculpted by light and shadow, standing at the crossroads of reality and legend. Her golden hair caught the luminescence of the night, woven with strands of silver-grey feathers that shimmered like gemstones. Her silver-grey wings, folded loosely behind her, gleamed with an ethereal luster, and the movement of the wind caused the edges of her feathers to stir, sending faint ripples through the moonlit air.

  But it was her eyes that struck Midea the most.

  Deep, amethyst, and luminous—they contained a glow of their own, separate from the light of the moons, as if she carried a piece of some distant, unknown star within her gaze. A gaze that did not simply see but pierced. Her face, delicate yet defined, still bore the softness of youth, yet there was no denying the promise of what she would become—a beauty that would one day rival the greatest figures of history, not merely in form but in presence.

  The golden lines beneath her eyes only added to her mystique, subtle yet impossible to ignore. They marked her as something different, something untouchable. Only Tarak possessed a presence so naturally distinct.

  Tanya tilted her head slightly, a habit Midea had begun to notice more and more.

  A habit she had picked up from her sibling.

  "Well, that's convenient," she said, voice calm, carrying an undertone of something unreadable. Her amethyst gaze drifted between him and Baya. "Midea, Baya, are you coming to the House of Healing with me?"

  Midea studied her for a moment before offering a small nod, the motion smooth and deliberate. He was never one for unnecessary words.

  Beside him, Baya nodded as well, though her expression was heavier, her agreement carrying the weight of something unsaid.

  Midea already knew why.

  Tanya's plan to bring everyone together for Luna, to soften the girl's grief, was known to him. He had seen the way Luna's light had dimmed over the past days, the weight of loss pressing against her small frame. It was a gesture both practical and kind, one meant to ensure that no one would have to bear their burdens alone.

  But Baya's presence was the greater mystery.

  Midea didn't need to hear it outright to know there was history there, something between the old woman and the dying woman, something tangled in the past of this village. He could deduce that much—but he didn't ask. He simply watched and stored the knowledge away, for when it became relevant.

  Tanya's gaze shifted slightly toward Remus, the silent giant standing beside them. She said nothing, merely observing.

  The chieftain met her eyes, then exhaled softly, shaking his head. With a single step, he crouched, then launched himself into the sky.

  The force of his departure rustled the earth and shook the leaves, numen condensing around his form as he soared into the distance like a titan bound for war. His form disappeared beyond the tree line, swallowed by the night, leaving only the lingering hum of displaced air.

  Midea felt the faintest sting of envy.

  To fly freely—not as a technique or a momentary burst of power, but as a natural extension of oneself. Despite it all the chieftain was indeed a man of the third layer of cultivation. Midea looked on with a slight sigh dispelling his envy. He was a demon of pride after all.

  Regardless, he wasn't far from that step himself.

  He would reach it. Soon.

  Midea exhaled through his nose, banishing the thought, and turned back toward Tanya, her form still glowing in the light of the moons.

  "Indeed," he responded, his tone smooth but final.

  As they began their walk, his hooves pressed against the dirt, each step grounding him as the aspar flickered in the air around them.

  Above, the stars burned bright, and the light of the moons painted the path ahead in silver and violet hues, casting long shadows that stretched into the night.

  ____________

  Tanya stepped through the wide entrance of the House of Healing, the scent of herbs and ointments thick in the air, mingling with the warmth of dim lanterns swaying overhead. The faint aroma of dried medicinal leaves clung to the walls, a stark contrast to the undercurrent of iron—a scent that never fully left places where suffering and mending intertwined.

  Yet, as she strode forward, there was no hesitation in her step.

  Eyes turned toward her and her companions, glances stolen from patients, healers, and visitors alike, the weight of their curiosity pressing against her. But Tanya was already used to it. Recognition, reverence, curiosity, unease—a blend of emotions stirred in the gazes of those who whispered among themselves.

  She had been looking for Baya, and the fact that she had found the old woman alongside Midea was a stroke of convenience. A necessary thread aligning itself in her plans.

  She licked her lips absently.

  She was still hungry.

  Bottomless. That was the only word she could use to describe it. A Tyrannius' appetite was never sated so easily, and even now, after devouring an entire raptor earlier, a dull ache still gnawed at the edges of her stomach. She pushed the thought aside—now was not the time.

  Her boots clicked softly against the polished wood, the echo mingling with the hushed conversations and quiet murmurs of the injured resting behind cloth-draped partitions.

  As she passed through the corridors, the gathered villagers instinctively parted, making way for the Reification, the High Priestess, and the Satyr.

  She didn't acknowledge it, but the weight of it settled within her nonetheless.

  "Oi, why are they walking around like a gang troupe, Ran?"

  Tanya's amethyst gaze flicked toward the source of the voice—two craftsmen standing near a set of woven cots, their arms crossed as they eyed the trio.

  "No fuckin' idea, Dan," the second craftsman muttered in response, rubbing his chin. "But they look mighty cool, don't they?"

  "'Ell yeah, they do!"

  Tanya eyed them briefly, wondering what in the actual hell two craftsmen were doing in the House of Healing in the first place. They didn't seem injured, nor did they appear to be waiting on anyone. Probably there for something ridiculous.

  She shook her head and moved on.

  They turned a corner.

  And her Tyrannius senses failed her. A rare thing. The world momentarily flickered—something in the air unsettled, unreadable. A presence too familiar, too sudden. And then—

  "SURYA!"

  Tanya barely had time to blink before Hati swept her up in her arms, the force of the tackle nearly sending her off balance—not that she let it. She allowed it. Because it was easier. Because she was already expecting it.

  Though… the woman still strained slightly to lift her.

  Tanya could see over Hati's shoulder, her gaze landing on a very particular scene at the far end of the hall.

  Her brother.

  Tarak hid behind a corner with a flower crown of red blossoms resting on his horns, his expression locked in perfect wariness as he eyed her like she was about to throw him into a battlefield.

  Further beside him, Sol was snickering, arms crossed, eyes glinting with unmistakable amusement. A lavender crown adorned her head, her pale wolf ears twitching with barely restrained laughter at Tarak's predicament.

  Tanya exhaled through her nose.

  Of course.

  Hati grinned down at her, her ember eyes practically glowing with delight. She was dressed in what was essentially an orange cropped top though it was more of a cut tunic, its hem cutting off just above her toned stomach, exposing her midriff as casually as breathing.

  Her military pants, dark green and rough, had the marks of wear and battle, yet somehow, she always made it look effortless.

  But what caught Tanya's attention wasn't her usual chaotic energy or her casual disregard for personal space.

  It was the well what looked like hair bands made of cloth in her hand.

  Tanya's expression remained unreadable, but a thought curled at the edge of her mind.

  Where the hell did those even come from?

  She hadn't seen Hati grab anything before she tackled her.

  It was as if, by some arcane absurdity, she had simply pulled them from the void itself.

  Had she comprehended the Dao of spacetime or something?

  Hati's grin stretched wide, all teeth and mischief, as she forcefully ruffled Tanya's hair, her hands moving with no regard for protest or resistance.

  "I'm putting your hair into buns!" she declared triumphantly, fingers already working through golden blonde strands and the silvery feathers with the dexterity of a woman who had wrestled beasts and walked away laughing.

  Tanya felt herself sigh internally.

  Somewhere in the back of the room, Garran stood with arms crossed, his expression hovering between amusement and long-suffering patience. His green eyes flicked to hers, then away, shaking his head with such exasperated force that Tanya nearly feared he'd give himself brain damage.

  She barely had time to register the sensation of her mane being twisted, tugged, and shaped into two high buns before she caught sight of her brother.

  Tarak, standing at a comfortable distance, tilted his horns just slightly as he gazed at her with a look of silent resignation.

  A somber expression.

  A single, wordless message etched across his face.

  I can't help you.

  Tanya chuckled bitterly, her lips twitching in dry amusement.

  A fine warrior, a mighty hunter, and yet, in the moment I needed him most, my own brother abandoned me to the wolves.

  Hati stepped back, hands on her hips as she inspected her handiwork with a critical eye before grinning in satisfaction.

  "She looks good, doesn't she?" she turned, looking at the rest of the group for validation, self-satisfaction practically radiating from her.

  Silence.

  Garran shook his head.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  He shook his head so much that Tanya genuinely wondered if he was trying to sway the winds through sheer force of disapproval.

  From the side, Baya let out an earsplitting cackle.

  "BAGYAYGYAGYAGAYA!!!" The old woman's voice echoed through the hall, a single, gnarled finger pointing directly at Tanya as her laughter pierced through her ears.

  It was infuriating.

  Tanya's eye twitched, her hands flexing slightly, but she forced herself to breathe through it.

  "How cruel and unusual," Midea's voice drawled, his sharp eyes glinting in amusement.

  The Satyr had the audacity to smirk, clearly entertained by her predicament.

  Oh, how she loathed them all in this moment.

  And then—

  "Okay, that's enough."

  Tarak finally moved.

  Stepping out of his self-imposed shadowed corner, his presence alone shifting the air in the room.

  Beside him, Sol bounded after him with energy, her wolf ears twitching, her grin just as wide as Hati's.

  Tanya's eye twitched again.

  Why?

  Why did he only come out when the damage was already done?

  She exhaled, pushing down her irritation before she raised a hand, letting authority bleed into her tone.

  "Alright, quiet down."

  The room fell still.

  Hati tilted her head, her grin not quite fading, but her ears twitched at the shift in Tanya's tone.

  The others instinctively stilled, something in the air shifting.

  Tanya had been a soldier in her past life. A leader a commander of men with impressive might.

  Her voice, when she wanted it to, commanded attention.

  With that, she turned, stepping forward and pushing open the door.

  And the scene beyond it was exactly as she expected.

  __________

  Luna sat bowed at her mother's bedside, her large, clawed hands resting over the edge of the cot, her fingers curled into the blankets with a grip that spoke of tension and exhaustion.

  The candlelight flickered, casting shadows over her features, her horns gleaming as she slowly turned toward them.

  Her wings shifted, the thin membrane flexing slightly, her spiked tail twitching at their arrival.

  And Caela—

  Caela looked as bad as before.

  If not worse.

  New bandages, freshly wrapped, failed to conceal the raw, slag-like flesh underneath.

  Her face was still half-exposed, an empty socket where an eye should be, her cheekbone visible beneath strips of ruined skin.

  She lay still, but the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest confirmed she was still alive.

  Barely.

  The room smelled of medicinal herbs and blood, the iron scent hanging thick.

  Tanya's amethyst gaze flicked between them.

  She took it all in.

  The silent grief.

  The helplessness.

  The finality of it.

  And yet—

  She stepped forward. As luna turned to them.

  Luna's dark eyes darted from face to face, her expression riddled with confusion, curiosity, and something lighter—something almost childlike. For a moment, in that instant, Tanya saw the remnants of the little girl she had first met that night beneath the stars.

  Her hands flailed wildly as she rattled off a barrage of questions, her words spilling out faster than her thoughts could keep up.

  "Sister? Surya? Midea?"

  Her fingers twitched, her tail flexing in agitation as her wings shifted half-open, like she was bracing herself for an answer before one even came.

  "What are you doing here? Why are there other people with you? Your buns look really ugly. Why is the old woman here? And why is that red-haired woman standing there menacingly?

  "Oh! How is it being the Reification? I know it must be super cool.

  I'm sorry, Midea, by the way.

  And you look good, sister.

  I was waiting for you.

  I didn't expect you to be so attached to Tarak! Look at those crowns!"

  Her voice rushed together, an unfiltered stream of thoughts, but—

  It was genuine.

  For a moment, just a fraction of a second, Tanya saw Luna as she should have been. Not sitting at her dying mother's bedside, not drenched in grief, not a child forced into premature burdens and loss.

  Just a girl.

  A girl excited to see her friends.

  Tanya's lips curved slightly, the weight in her chest lightening.

  She smiled.

  Not out of amusement.

  Not out of calculation.

  But something quiet.

  Something genuine.

  __

  Tarak moved first, pulling out a low wooden table from the corner of the room with ease before setting it down beside a bit from Caela's cot.

  He sat.

  Sol, grinning as if she had been waiting for this, took her place at his side, practically bouncing in her seat.

  The others hesitated for only a moment before following suit, one by one lowering themselves onto the ground, forming a circle around the table.

  The room had shifted.

  The tension had not vanished, but it had dulled, settled into something softer.

  Something that wasn't grief.

  Something that wasn't sorrow.

  Tanya reached into her satchel and pulled out the wooden tablets she had painstakingly carved.

  With a flick of her wrist, she dumped them onto the table, the symbols and runes etched into the wood catching the glow of the candlelight.

  "Let's play a game together," she said, her voice steady, warm, and resolute.

  "I call it Knoker."

  She picked up the wooden tiles, her fingers deftly shuffling them, the soft clatter of carved wood filling the room.

  It wasn't a proper deck of cards.

  It wasn't perfect.

  But it would do.

  She dealt two out to everyone, including herself.

  Tanya leaned forward, her fingers drumming lightly against the surface of the rough-hewn table. The candlelight flickered, the golden glow reflecting in her amethyst eyes, as she looked at the gathering of warriors, misfits, and monsters surrounding her.

  The tension in the air was not gone, but transformed—curiosity now replacing the weight of grief, expectation where sorrow once sat.

  She placed the stack of wooden tiles—her makeshift deck—onto the center of the table, her motions fluid, practiced, precise.

  "Knoker," she began, her voice clear and steady, as she turned her gaze across each of them, commanding attention without needing to demand it.

  "It's a game of strategy, deception, and risk."

  She tapped the wooden tiles once, then spread them neatly in front of her, as if unveiling a treasure map.

  "Each round, we will all place sun coins or other objects of value into the center. That's the cauldron."

  Her fingers tapped the space in the center of the table, where the first few coins had already been tossed—glinting softly under the dim, golden glow.

  "There are four betting rounds."

  She lifted a single wooden tablet, flipping it in her fingers before placing it face-down with a soft thunk.

  "I will place five face-down cards on the table. You will bet before I turn any over. That's the first round."

  She set another tile down, fingers tapping against the wooden surface.

  "Then I will reveal three of them. This is the second round."

  She let the anticipation build, watching as their eyes flicked toward the stack.

  "Then, after that, another card is revealed. That's the third round."

  A pause, just long enough for the weight of the game to settle over them.

  "Finally, the last card is revealed, and that brings us to the final round of betting."

  She tilted her head, watching as they absorbed the rules, their expressions ranging from excitement to deep, contemplative thought.

  She lifted a finger, emphasizing her next words.

  "There are four actions you can take during a betting round."

  "First, you can Check—if no one has made a bet, you can choose to do nothing and let the round continue."

  "Second, you can Bet—this is where you put coins or other valuables into the cauldron. If someone bets, the next person has to either match it or fold."

  "Third, you can Call—if a bet has been placed, you match that amount to stay in the game."

  "Fourth, you can Fold—if the stakes get too high, you can back out, but that means you lose everything you've already put in the cauldron."

  She leaned back, placing both hands on the table. "At the end, whoever has the best combination of five cards—between their own hand and the ones revealed—wins the pot."

  Silence settled briefly over the room, the flickering candlelight making the faces around her seem almost carved from stone.

  A sharp exhale.

  "It's called Knoker."

  A knock-off of poker. She was willing to borrow ideas, mold them into this world's fabric, twist them into something new, but at least she had the decency to rename it. And yes knocker standed for knockoff poker. She was a soldier not and artist creativity wasn't her strong suit damn it.

  She let out a breath, flicking her gaze to Midea, and immediately regretted it.

  The demon was looking at her strangely.

  The way his crimson eyes gleamed with barely concealed amusement, the slight curl of his lips, the slow, almost smug tilt of his head—he knew.

  Damn it.

  He recognized the game.

  Of course he did.

  "How did you come up with this, exactly?" Garran asked, his brows furrowing, his emerald eyes searching her own.

  Tanya opened her mouth to respond, already constructing her cover story in her mind, but—

  "Because my sister is smart."

  Tarak's voice cut through the air like an axe through bark—monotone, steady, absolute.

  His slitted crimson gaze didn't waver, not even for a second, as he stared straight at Garran.

  A beat of silence.

  Garran blinked.

  "That's not what I—"

  SMACK!

  Hati slapped him upside the head, her wolf ears twitching in amusement.

  Garran scowled, rubbing the spot, but he didn't argue. Instead, he turned to Luna, his voice softer.

  "Hello, Luna."

  The girl hesitated, her wings and tail shifting slightly.

  Then, slowly, she nodded.

  Garran's scowl deepened, just a bit, before settling into something unreadable.

  Sol watched the exchange closely, a flicker of worry flashing in her dark eyes.

  Then—

  Pak! Pak!

  A sharp sound rang through the room as Midea set his six-clawed hands onto the table, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement.

  "How about we start the game now?"

  She could feel the atmosphere shift at that—the moment of levity cracking open a door for something sharper. Competition. Instinct. A different kind of hunt.

  "I'm always all in! Hahaha! Raise!" Hati slammed her sun coins down onto the pile, the sheer recklessness of the move making a few eyebrows rise.

  Garran, seated beside her, exhaled like a man used to being perpetually exhausted by her antics. "Be more cautious." His voice was dry as dust, but even so, he reached into his stack and matched the bet.

  Midea, that smug bastard, simply smiled, his six-clawed hands moving with an effortless grace as he placed his own bet—half of Hati's. Tanya's eyes narrowed slightly. That was deliberate. A test.

  He's reading the table.

  She turned her gaze to Tarak and Sol.

  "Tarak, what do we do?" Sol grinned, eyes bright with excitement.

  Tarak glanced at her. Just a glance. Then, without a single word, he reached forward and placed his bet, the exact minimum needed to stay in the round.

  Calm efficient. Unbothered by Sol who didn't seem to understand this was an individual game. He truly was her brother at heart.

  If anyone needed further proof that they were siblings, that was it.

  "Let me show you brats what one loved by the suns can do!" Baya cackled, tossing her own bet into the pile with a wild grin. "If I was in my prime, this game would have already been over! Bagyagyagya!"

  Tanya could already feel Hati's inevitable rebuttal coming before she even spoke.

  "You talk about your prime a lot, old lady." Hati snorted, fangs glinting in the dim light. "Aren't you overinflating yourself? And if anyone here is loved by the suns, it's Surya."

  Baya's expression twitched before she just waved the girl away with another crude laugh.

  Tanya's gaze drifted over to Luna.

  She was silent, but not in the way she had been before. Not in that distant, hollow way.

  No, there was something in the way she was watching, her silver hair catching the warm glow of the candlelight, the purple markings on her skin faintly luminescent.

  A little of that old spark was returning– no it was getting brighter.

  She still sat closer to Caela than the rest of them, her mother's presence an unspoken anchor, but she was facing the table—engaged, even if only tentatively.

  "Put in your bet, Luna."

  Tanya offered her a small, knowing smile, watching as Luna's cheeks puffed up slightly, her wings giving a small twitch.

  "I'm going to swallow the world! Just watch- I won't lose!"

  Tanya blinked.

  Hati burst into laughter. "Haha! That's the spirit!" She snapped her fingers and pointed at Luna, looking far too pleased.

  "See? She gets it. We have another celestial body eater in the making!"

  Tanya sighed, but smirked despite herself. At least she's getting comfortable.

  Luna placed her bet, and with that, the first round officially ended.

  Now—

  "Time for the flop."

  The room fell silent.

  Tanya carefully turned over three tablets, placing them onto the table.

  7 of Hearts

  6 of Hearts

  3 of Hearts

  She hummed internally, keeping her face neutral.

  Her own cards? A Chieftain of Squares and a 3 of Triangles.

  Not great.

  She could already tell that someone was in a much better position than her. The board was showing a straight draw, and if anyone had two hearts in their hand, they were already threatening a flush.

  She flicked her eyes subtly around the table, reading expressions.

  Hati was grinning like a lunatic.

  Garran was unreadable, but his fingers tapped against the wood—a thinking habit.

  Midea was watching, perfectly still, too still.

  Tarak looked exactly the same. Completely unbothered.

  Sol was leaning forward slightly, curious, but unsure.

  Baya's smirk had widened.

  Tanya clicked her tongue.

  "Next round of bets."

  Time to see who was bluffing.

  Tanya's fingers drummed lightly against the table's edge as she watched the others eye their hands, their expressions ranging from giddy confidence to carefully maintained neutrality.

  And then—

  "I raise!"

  Hati, of course. The red-haired hellion all but slammed her stack of sun coins into the cauldron, grinning like a madwoman.

  Not a second later—

  "I raise too!"

  Luna puffed out her chest, her dark eyes gleaming with excitement as she confidently shoved her coins forward. Tanya's eyebrow twitched slightly.

  Where the hell did she even get that money?

  She resisted the urge to sigh. Am I morally corrupt for introducing a child to gambling?

  …Eh. Too late now.

  "Call," Sol said after a moment, her lips pursed in concentration, fingers tapping lightly against the smooth surface of her wooden cards.

  And then, to her absolute lack of surprise, Tarak spoke—

  "I fold."

  Sol whipped her head around so fast Tanya was half-convinced she'd give herself whiplash.

  "You gave up too fast!" she all but hissed in his ear.

  Tarak didn't even blink. Didn't even acknowledge her indignation. He simply tilted his horns slightly, unbothered.

  "Tarak, a man should be bold and unforgiving."

  Baya, ever the provocateur, cackled loudly, the gleam in her eyes barely concealed beneath her wrinkled lids.

  "A man who gives up and is weak and limp isn't a man at all."

  Tanya's face immediately deadpanned.

  Midea exhaled sharply, muttering something low and scathing about crude old women, though his words were lost under Hati's obnoxious laughter.

  Tarak, oblivious to the underlying innuendo, merely responded with his signature blank stare.

  Tanya swallowed a snicker. I'm going to hell.

  "Call," Garran said, his tone flat, betraying nothing.

  Baya's grin widened. "Bagyagyagya! Call!"

  And then, in a move that had Tanya's instincts flaring—

  "Raise."

  Midea's voice was calm, confident, and just slightly amused. The smug curve of his lips was barely perceptible, but it was there.

  Tanya called when it was her turn, opting to observe hoping the last would go in her favor.

  She leaned back slightly, scanning the faces at the table.

  "Now for the turn."

  She carefully flipped over the next community card, revealing—

  Peasant of Squares.

  A low-value card. And not in her suit.

  A ripple of frustration and relief moved through the group.

  Luna pouted. "Check."

  Hati, however, was undeterred.

  "Raise!"

  She smirked at Midea, practically vibrating with challenge.

  "Stop copying me, goat bastard. I'm getting back at you today. My spirit will overcome yours in this card game!"

  Midea didn't even blink. He simply tilted his head slightly, scarlet eyes flashing with a knowing amusement.

  "Oh? Is that so?" His smirk widened. "I doubt it."

  The two of them locked gazes, though really, it was just Hati staring aggressively while Midea seemed unbothered and entertained.

  Sol looked between them before letting out a dramatic sigh.

  "Fold."

  She slumped next to Tarak, clearly not eager to keep throwing coins away.

  Garran studied the board for a few seconds before he, too, exhaled through his nose. "Fold."

  Hati immediately perked up, flashing him a shit-eating grin. "Tch! You coward."

  He said nothing. Simply shook his head, his face unreadable, and leaned back.

  Baya, on the other hand, was still in.

  "Call," she said, though this time, there was something more measured in her tone.

  And then, as expected—

  "Raise."

  Midea's smirk deepened.

  Tanya fought back a sigh, glancing at her own cards again.

  Yeah. No way in hell she was winning this round.

  "I fold too."

  She slid her wooden tablets across the table, watching as Tarak gave her a silent nod of approval.

  A small, amused smile tugged at her lips.

  Luna, noticing the exchange, frowned slightly before clenching her fists.

  "I'll win for you, Surya!"

  She was beaming, her silver hair glinting under the candlelight, the dark markings along her arms glowing faintly as her excitement made her wings give a little twitch.

  Tanya simply smirked, resting her chin in her palm.

  "You better."

  The air in the room grew heavier, thick with anticipation as Tanya's fingers hovered over the last community card. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows over the table, the scent of burning tallow mixing with the faint traces of medicinal herbs from the surrounding halls. Every face around the table was drawn taut, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the game.

  She flipped over the final card with deliberate slowness.

  A five of circles.

  The small wooden tablet clicked softly against the table's surface, and for a moment, there was only silence—before Luna let out a tiny, disappointed sigh.

  "Never mind."

  Tanya's eyes snapped to her younger companion, giving her a look that wordlessly demanded an explanation.

  Luna, now fully aware of her premature defeatism, turned an adorable shade of pink as her wings twitched in mild embarrassment. She giggled, ducking her head slightly as she leaned back, exchanging amused glances with Sol.

  "I fold."

  Her silver hair glowed faintly under the candlelight, and despite her loss, she looked happy—and that, if nothing else, meant Tanya had already won something tonight.

  Hati, however, remained unshaken.

  "Check," she declared, arms crossed confidently, though Tanya could see the slight tension in her shoulders.

  Baya let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes toward the heavens.

  "Damn this game! If I were in my prime, it would have ended in the first round!"

  Tanya arched a brow.

  That wasn't how that worked.

  At all.

  But she wisely kept that thought to herself.

  "I fold." The old woman pushed her wooden tablets forward, slumping back with a groan.

  And then—

  "All in."

  The words were spoken calmly, almost lazily, but the effect was instantaneous.

  Midea's fingers drummed idly against the wooden tabletop as he met Hati's gaze, his smirk nothing short of serpentine. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, unreadable yet brimming with a quiet, calculated amusement.

  The silence stretched, the only sound the distant rustling of night wind outside and the occasional pop from the candles.

  Tanya tilted her head slightly, intrigued.

  "There is one more betting round before the showdown. Will you match him, Hati?"

  Hati's jaw tightened. Her wolf ears twitched, her fingers flexing slightly as she weighed the decision. Tanya could see the way a single bead of sweat trailed down the side of her temple.

  Midea, the smug bastard, didn't move a muscle.

  "I won't let this old goat fool me!"

  Hati threw down her wooden tablets, her frustration barely concealed beneath her forced bravado.

  She folded.

  Tanya blinked.

  Then blinked again.

  Hati had a four and a five of hearts.

  A straight flush.

  An insanely strong hand.

  She had just thrown away a nearly guaranteed victory.

  Tanya turned her head slowly, her expression one of sheer disbelief.

  Had Midea actually intimidated her that much?

  Midea, meanwhile, was as calm as ever. He gathered his winnings, the heavy clink of sun coins filling the air as he neatly stacked his absurdly large pile.

  Then, with the kind of dramatic nonchalance only a demon could muster, he flipped over his cards.

  A nine of squares and a ten of triangles.

  A high card.

  The lowest possible hand.

  Silence.

  A moment of complete, unfiltered stillness.

  And then—

  "WHAT?!"

  Hati nearly flipped the entire table over, her amber eyes burning as she whirled on Midea.

  "You—you—YOU HAD NOTHING?!"

  Midea grinned.

  "I did not need anything."

  Tanya actually snorted, struggling to contain her laughter. Sol was already wheezing, clapping a hand over her mouth as her body shook with suppressed giggles. Tarak merely blinked with mild confusion.

  Luna, meanwhile, was rolling on the floor, her entire body convulsing with laughter.

  Baya let out a long, slow whistle.

  "Bagyagyagya! You got played, girl! This will teach you to call me old!"

  Hati's face was red. Her ears were pressed flat against her head.

  She looked like she wanted to murder him.

  Midea, of course, looked utterly unbothered.

  He leaned back, stretching out his six-clawed hands as he let the weight of his victory settle in. The lazy grin he wore was one of utter satisfaction, the smirk of a serpent basking in the sun after a particularly good meal. With deliberate, practiced ease, he flicked one of his newly acquired sun coins into the air, the disk spinning before landing back in his palm with a quiet chime.

  "Lacking confidence and intelligence is indeed a common symptom of poverty," he mused airily, as if stating an obvious fact, his crimson eyes glinting like polished gemstones in the candlelight. He examined the sun coin in his hand before letting it drop atop his pile with a muted clink. "I suppose your spirit failed to overcome mine."

  He sighed, dramatic as ever, and shook his head as if genuinely lamenting Hati's loss.

  "But it's no one's fault, really." He shrugged with the grace of a nobleman indulging the misfortunes of the lesser folk. "Just the unfortunate circumstances of your birth."

  Silence.

  A vein visibly twitched on Hati's forehead, standing out like a battle scar.

  Her wolf ears flattened, her fingers flexed, and before anyone could blink, she lunged forward, fury blazing in her amber eyes.

  "YOU SMUG LITTLE—"

  Garran, with the reflexes of a seasoned warrior, snatched her mid-air, wrapping his arms around her waist just in time.

  Hati snarled, kicking out, her boots scuffing the wooden floor as she struggled against him like an angry storm given flesh.

  Meanwhile, the rest of the group except Tarak burst into unrestrained laughter.

  Sol slammed her fist against the table, gasping for breath as she nearly fell off her seat. Luna, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, clutched her stomach, her wings twitching wildly as she doubled over. Even Baya, ever the dramatic one, let out an uproarious cackle as she wiped away a stray tear.

  Tanya, trying not to completely lose her composure, merely shook her head and shot Midea an unimpressed look.

  "You really know how to push buttons, don't you? Truly demonic."

  Midea, ever unfazed, grinned devilishly, his long tail flicking idly behind him.

  "It is one of my finer qualities."

  Across the room, Caela's single unbandaged eye fluttered open.

  She did not see them—not in the way others did. For she had never seen through normal vision in her life.

  Instead she saw the way numen fluctuated in the air around them—the warmth of their auras, the way their energy intermingled and danced like flames in a hearth. Although she was blind to Surya and Tarak.

  She could feel Luna's spirit stirring with newfound brightness. The weight of despair, while not entirely gone, was lighter tonight.

  Her fingers, wrapped in layers of bandages, barely twitched, the movement small but full of meaning.

  A memory surfaced—one so distant, so blurred, it barely felt like her own.

  Laughter.

  A different time, a different place.

  A long-lost warmth that had once filled her home.

  Juraf.

  She exhaled slowly.

  Perhaps… this was enough.

  Even if she could not see the faces gathered around her, she could feel their bonds, interwoven like threads in an intricate tapestry.

  And perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, that was all that truly mattered.

  _______

  The group lingered for a while longer, playing a few more rounds of Knoker before the night began to settle in earnest.

  Eventually, Hati—still scowling, still muttering curses under her breath about smug goat demons—was the first to leave.

  "I better get going before I put my foot through someone's skull," she huffed, throwing Tanya and Tarak into a quick but tight embrace before stalking toward the exit.

  Garran lingered.

  Unlike Hati, he wasn't one for grand exits or noisy complaints. Instead, he simply gave Luna a hesitant glance, his lips parting slightly as if to say something—before stopping himself.

  After a beat of silence, he reached out awkwardly and patted her head.

  "Take care, kid."

  Luna blinked up at him in surprise before nodding slowly.

  With that, he turned and left, disappearing into the night.

  The room felt quieter after their departure.

  Luna, now left alone with Tanya, Tarak, Sol, and Baya, shifted slightly, looking toward her mother's bed.

  Caela was awake now.

  Baya—who had been unusually silent for the last few minutes—took a deep, trembling breath before stepping forward, her fingers curling slightly.

  She knelt by the bedside, head bowed, her body stiff as if it physically pained her to be in this position.

  Then, in a voice lower, hoarser, and filled with something raw, she spoke.

  "Forgive me."

  The words were simple. But they carried a weight that had been long buried beneath years of avoidance.

  For a long moment, Caela did not speak. She could not speak after all. But she then moved.

  With struggle, slowly, painfully, she lifted her burnt, bandaged hand and swept it over Baya's head.

  It was barely a touch.

  But the meaning was clear.

  It was acknowledgment.

  It was a symbol of care and perhaps forgiveness.

  Baya exhaled sharply, something between a laugh and a choked sob escaping her lips.

  Meanwhile, Luna clung to her mother's uninjured side, her arms wrapped carefully around her frail form.

  Tanya observed the scene quietly, her expression unreadable.

  But she felt it.

  A soft, unspoken warmth settling into the air.

  A moment long overdue.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed Sol watching the exchange with an odd look before she left herself with a wave.

  It was something quiet and complex. She knew Tarak had noticed it too as he stood next to her.

  Tanya tilted her head slightly as she leaned toward her brother, her amethyst eyes glinting in the dim candlelight. "You won't follow her?" she asked, her voice low and even, though curiosity threaded through her tone.

  Tarak didn't look at her immediately. Instead, his slit-pupiled crimson eyes remained steady, locked on something distant—something unseen.

  "No," he said after a pause. "I spent quite a bit of the day away from you."

  His voice, as always, was steady—calm, measured, a statement of fact rather than an invitation for conversation. But she could feel the undercurrent of warmth beneath his words. It wasn't something he openly displayed, but it was there—woven into the fabric of his being.

  A small, quiet thing.

  And despite herself, it made her feel warm, too.

  Of course, she blamed it on instincts.

  She always did.

  After Baya had finally separated from Caela, leaving with her shoulders hunched from the weight of long-buried guilt, and Caela had slipped back into unconsciousness, the air in the room settled into something heavier. Not suffocating—but thick with the remnants of emotions unspoken.

  Midea, ever perceptive, was the first to break the silence.

  His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim firelight as he turned to Luna. "Do you want to live with us?"

  It was a question asked simply, without pressure, but there was a strange weight to it nonetheless.

  Luna's wings twitched slightly at the edges of her frame. Her tail—coiled tight around her seated form—flexed just a bit, as if curling inward.

  For the briefest moment, her pupils thinned to slits, flicking toward her mother's still form in the bed.

  And then, with a slight jitter in her voice, she answered.

  "Not ye—yet." Her fingers curled slightly against her lap. "I'd like to spend these last days with her."

  Tanya nodded in understanding.

  She didn't push.

  Didn't pry.

  Instead, she simply stepped forward, closing the space between them with quiet, unhurried movements.

  Luna blinked up at her, wide-eyed and startled, but before she could say anything, Tanya reached out—

  And scratched behind her ears.

  The reaction was immediate.

  Luna's eyes fluttered shut as she leaned into her touch.

  "Did you have fun?"

  Then, slowly, she looked up at Tanya again with a smile.

  And this time, her smile was as bright as the full moon and gentle as it too.

  "Lots!" she answered, practically beaming.

  Tanay just nodded her eyes a bit soft.

  Because that was enough.