“Which way does the trail lead?”
The man pointed silently towards the woods. She’d followed the blood through the fields, slipping into the trees, boots silent as she moved. The sun had just disappeared below the horizon, giving way to a darkening velvet sky. The faint trail of fresh footprints leading deeper into the trees.
Fog rolled low, swallowing her boots. A shape formed ahead; she crouched instinctively behind a fallen log. Branches cracked in different directions, snapping her aim between shadow and sound.
Her eyes locked onto a shape materializing in the haze. It was a figure, tall and strong. For a moment, she wondered if it was the injured beast. But as he stepped closer, his face came into view, outlined by moonlight filtering through the trees.
His coppery-blond hair had just brushed the tops of his broad shoulders, and slate-blue eyes stood in stark contrast against the dark. His jaw was powerful and square, softened only by the faint shadow of stubble that traced its clean lines. Sorcha watched him closely, her attentionlocked onto the man in front of her. He appeared to be searching for something when a sudden crack behind them startled both to attention. Branches continued to break under the weight of the unseen.
When out of the undergrowth, the wounded creature lunged. Its snarls tore through the stillness. Sorcha spun, bow rising in one fluid motion. Her runes flared beneath her skin, heat racing along her arms. But before she could release the string, the man stepped forward and raised his hands. His tunic caught the wind, the fabric clinging just long enough to outline the strength of his arms, the long stretch of his torso. Sorcha’s gaze snapped between him and the approaching creature.
Mist coiled around the forest floor, curling between tree roots and twisting through the air as if it had a will of its own. As the creature charged, the haze snaked toward it, wrapping around its limbs, constricting as it struggled forward. Its snarls turned to screams when the mist curled around its legs, it thrashed against the force overtaking it.
The man turned pale, staring wide eyed as he whispered.
His hands moved, and the mist responded. It surged around the beast, tightening its grip until the creature’s struggles faltered. A final, pitiful whine slipped from its throat before it dropped, panting and still. Sorcha watched, her arrow remained notched, her eyes locked on the man. Her heart was still drumming in her ears. She hadn’t decided if he’d just saved them or if things just became more dangerous.
The creature, stunned, stared at him with a mix of terror and sorrow. As the fog receded, Sorcha thought she saw compassion flicker across the man’s face. He turned to her, holding her gaze, rooting her to the spot.
“I mean you no harm, Sorcha,” he whispered. His voice was low and edged with a rasp, yet it slid through her like silk, sweet and unsettling all at once.
Her grip on the bow loosened slightly. The shimmer in her hair caught the moonlight, gold threadsglowing under the moon’s gaze, and his eyes lingered there for a moment before returning to hers.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?” Her voice wavered despite her best efforts to keep it steady.
He hesitated, listening to leaves rustle in the treetops above.
“Kyron.”
Her gaze shot to the subdued creature slumped on the forest floor.
The creature whimpered as Kyron knelt beside it. The gray clouds curling gently around them as he placed his hand over its face and the creature went limp beside him.
“It’s safer if you leave this part of the forest,” he warned, his voice was filled with frustration but also strained. Before she could speak, he stepped back into the shadows. His figure dissolved into the haze with the creature, leaving her alone in the clearing. The forest was suddenly so quiet, as if neither he nor the creature had ever been there.
Doubt crept in. Had she imagined it? She searched the area twice over. At first, there was nothing. There was not a trace of them to be seen. Then, as if the moon were illuminating the path for her, light poured onto faint tracks, revealing small splatters of decayed flesh. Subtle signs, nearly hidden by fog, but enough to confirm what she’d seen. Unease twisted in her chest as she turned toward Lumora. Kyron’s warning wrapped around her thoughts, constricting all others from her mind.
By the time she reached town, the night was well past midnight. Torchlights swayed in the breeze. Their flickering glow lit the tall golden gates and guided her to the central guard post. Her boots tapped on the cobblestones in slow rhythm as she began to gather her thoughts. She quickened her pace, trying to think of what she would tell the Commander.
Inside, Commander Nethran stood at his desk, poring over a stack of reports. The lantern’s glow lit the dark amethyst strands of his hair. He looked up suddenly as she entered, his eyes narrowing.
“Everything all right, Ranger?”
Sorcha hesitated. The surreal events clung to her thoughts. She hadn’t had time to process them, but she knew she couldn’t keep them to herself.
“I followed the beast that attacked the small farm outside Lumora,” she began, voice steadying. “But I ran into someone while tracking it in the woods.” She tried to collect herself for a moment before continuing. “He subdued the creature and then vanished.”
Nethran’s expression darkened.
“You found it, but it got away?” Nethran’s face changed from calm to irritated within moments. “I’m not following. What do you mean, they vanished?”
She shook her head.
“Respectfully, sir, I mean they disappeared. One moment they were there. The next, gone into the mist.” She waved her hands in the air, trying to illustrate what she meant.
“I know how it sounds, Commander. But all I have is a name Kyron.”
His name settled heavily in the room. Nethran’s eyebrow raised, and he tapped his fingers on the desk for a moment, lost in thought. “You did the right thing, reporting this. I’ll alert the Circle. For now, head home. We’ll figure out what it all means tomorrow.”
