Just as Arvey stepped forward, a voice ripped through the trees. “HEEY!” The shout hit hard enough to make him stop on the spot. He lifted his dagger without a sound and kept his weight balanced, ready to move.

  Three warriors pushed through brush in a tight line, weapons already up. Arvey felt the difference before he counted them, a pressure in the air. One of them Tier 5, the other two Tier 3.

  One Tier 3 warrior stepped ahead of the others and raised his sword. He had broad shoulders, and his eyes were wet with anger. “Did you kill this Vulpini woman?!” he yelled at Arvey.

  The second Tier 3 warrior spat and swore while he scanned the clearing. “Damn you cult freaks!” he snapped, and he shifted his grip on a short spear. The third held back half a step, blade lifted, eyes tracking Arvey’s stance and then sliding to the body on the ground.

  Arvey raised both hands to shoulder height and stepped backward once. He spread his fingers and kept his palms open so no one could pretend they missed the gesture. “Hey, hey,” he said, and he forced his voice to stay even. “I wasn’t the one. I saved her.”

  The first man moved closer and pointed his sword at Arvey’s chest. “Why is my sisters blood on your hands?!” he shouted, and the question came out as an accusation. Arvey glanced down at his palms and saw the dark smear across his skin and under his nails.

  He swallowed once and lifted his hands a little higher. “I’ll admit that doesn’t help my case,” he said, and his throat tightened as he looked back at the sword tip. “But—” He didn’t get the next word out.

  “Save your lies!” the Tier 5 warrior barked, and he let his mana flare out in a short threat. Arvey kept stepping back in small controlled steps, careful not to turn away. “I really wasn’t,” he said, and he hated how weak his words sounded next to a dead body.

  Kozlo leaned over a branch above Arvey and shouted, “Arvey not kill!” The voice came out clear and loud, and it cut through the tension like a blade. All three warriors jerked their heads up at once.

  Their eyes went wide as they tracked the owl. Their weapons stayed up, yet their focus broke for a heartbeat because a speaking owl did not fit anything they had expected right now.

  When the warriors snapped their gaze back down, Arvey was gone. They shifted their stance, scanning left and right, and their shoulders stiffened as the clearing stopped making sense. Then they looked up again.

  Kozlo was gone too. The branch above them shook once and then stayed still. The brother swore and spun toward the body.

  He ran to Seryn and dropped to his knees beside her, sword forgotten in his grip. His hands shook as he touched her shoulder and then her cheek, and he didn’t try to hide it. “Seryn,” he said. “How could they do this to you…”

  The third warrior glanced at the treeline and cursed under his breath. He didn’t kneel, and he didn’t look away from the direction Arvey had taken. “Let's go,” he said, and the second warrior nodded once and sprinted after Arvey.

  Their boots hit roots and packed soil, and they kept their spacing even while they ran. Seryn's brother stayed with her, his shoulders started to shake when the others vanished into the trees.

  The warriors thought Arvey had run. They expected a straight trail through brush and noise they could chase. What they didn’t know was that he lay flat behind a fallen trunk twenty paces away, his cheek pressed to damp earth.

  He kept his breathing shallow and listened to the footsteps split, two running and one stopping. His palm still carried Seryn’s blood, and the blood on his clothes had started to dry into a sticky film. He didn’t move until their sound pulled farther into the trees.

  “Not my problem,” he thought. But in reality, it was his problem because he needed answers, and because those warriors would cut him down if they caught him. He tightened his grip on his dagger and waited for their footfalls to move farther.

  The chase cut through the forest in a straight line. Arvey heard the spear man shout something to the other, and he caught only fragments through brush. He forced himself to stay still until their sound pulled away.

  Then he moved.

  He pushed off the ground and climbed the first tree beside him, using bark and low branches to pull himself up fast. He settled on a thick limb and kept his boots off the thinner twigs, then held still and listened. He waited there for the two warriors to circle back, eyes fixed on the path they had taken.

  Minutes passed. He heard nothing but distant birds and the wet drip of water off leaves... and the crying of the brother not to forgot.

  Then footsteps returned, voices followed right after. “We lost him,” one of the Tier 3 warriors said, breathing hard as he came back into the clearing. He stopped near the brother and kept his spear low, then shook his head once. “He vanished like smoke.”

  The brother looked up with fury in his eyes, face tight and wet at the same time. “The cult will pay,” he said, and his voice carried into the forest. “I swear it by the Abyss. As long as my name is Semir, I will avenge my sister.”

  Arvey watched from above and kept his breathing shallow. “Semir,” he thought- His eyes dropped to Seryn’s ears again and then to Semir. “Vulpini, huh?” he thought quietly, and it clicked into place.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Semir turned his head toward the spear man. “Marec,” he said, and his voice went low. “Give her the last honor please.” Marec shook his head.

  “No,” Marec said. “You do it.” He tore a strip of wood from a nearby tree with one hard pull, then held it in his hand. Fire flared in his palm in a tight controlled burn, and he pressed the flame into the wood until it caught.

  Semir took the burning piece and nodded once. “Thank you, my friend,” he said. He crouched in front of Seryn, hands steady now, and he looked at her face for a long beat.

  “Enter the Garden of the Gods, my beloved sister,” Semir said in a low voice. “May your soul find peace.” He touched the flame to the cloak and the dry cloth near her, and the fire took fast.

  The three warriors watched the body burn without speaking. Marec stayed close and controlled the flame, keeping it from jumping to the trees. When only embers remained, he lifted his hand and snuffed the rest with his ability.

  Arvey watched the motion from above and kept his eyes on Marec’s hand. “Fire aspect,” he thought, and he kept it quiet. “Talented.”

  Marec turned to the other two and set his stance. “Alright,” he said. “We still have a mission.” He pointed into the forest. “There’s a cultist camp nearby. We clear it. Maybe the boy from earlier would be there.”

  Arvey listened from above. “A camp,” he thought, and the word landed like a gift. He glanced up at Kozlo and gave him the hand sign to follow.

  Kozlo stayed hidden in the branches and spread his wings a little with excitement. He nodded with bright eyes, then froze when Arvey lifted two fingers again to demand silence. Arvey grinned once and then wiped it off his face, keeping his focus on the warriors below.

  The three warriors moved out together, their weapons ready. Arvey stayed above them and followed in the canopy, keeping distance and watching their backs.

  Kozlo dropped onto a branch above him without a sound. The owl kept his wings tight and his eyes wide. Arvey wiped his palms against his cloak and looked at the dark stain that refused to leave. “We don’t let them see us again.”

  Kozlo tilted his head, then flicked his eyes toward the direction the three warriors were heading. “They go camp,” he whispered, and his claws tightened on the branch. “They hunt cult.” Arvey nodded once and slid forward without answering.

  He stayed high and kept distance, moving in the canopy where the ground noise couldn’t betray him. The three warriors below held clean spacing and moved like they had done it before.

  Marec took point with his blade and cut brush aside. Semir followed half a step behind with his sword angled down, eyes scanning the ground for marks. The third warrior stayed on the flank and watched the trees instead of the soil, weapon ready, head turning in small controlled sweeps.

  Arvey tracked their pace. He stopped when they stopped, and he moved when they moved, keeping trunks between himself and their line of sight. Kozlo flyed above him and stood silent, eyes fixed on the warriors.

  They crossed a narrow stream and didn’t slow much. Marec stepped on stone, not mud, and the other two copied him without speaking. Arvey waited until they were past, then crossed the same way, boots on rock, water cold around his ankles.

  The warriors slowed at a bend and checked the wind. Marec sniffed once and spat. “Something here is different,” he mutttered.

  Semir didn’t answer, but his sword rose a little. The third warrior looked from Semir to Marec and tightened his grip. Then they moved again, slower and quieter this time.

  Arvey saw a faint red tint between trunks ahead. It didn’t light the ground, yet it held attention. Kozlo dropped closer and landed on a branch above Arvey’s head.

  “Red,” Kozlo whispered. “Bad.” Arvey nodded once and kept following.

  The three warriors reached a line of stones half-buried in wet soil. The stones formed a loose boundary, and a strange smell was in the air. Marec crouched and ran his fingers across one stone, then wiped his hand on his pants.

  “They were here,” Marec said. Semir’s shoulders tightened, and he stepped forward first.

  Arvey stayed above them and followed as they moved forward. He kept his breath shallow and his hands ready, because he didn’t trust any camp to be quiet for free.

  The trees opened around a small site ahead. Rough poles stood in a ring, and strips of cloth hung from them.

  Marec stepped in and stopped so fast the other two nearly ran into him. Semir moved to his side and froze, eyes locked forward. The third warrior lifted his weapon and scanned left and right, then took two steps closer.

  Bodies lay inside the ring.

  Not only one or two. A lot of bodies..

  Some were cultists by their masks and dark cloth, and some were not. A few lay on their knees with hands bound behind their backs, heads slumped forward, necks twisted at angles that didn’t come a normal death. Others lay facedown in the dirt, arms stretched as if they had tried to crawl away.

  The arrangement wasn’t random. Three bodies formed a line near the center, shoulder to shoulder, and their wrists were tied together with a single rope. Another group lay in a rough circle, each one facing inward as if they had been forced to look at something in the middle.

  Semir took one step in and stopped again. His face tightened, and his eyes moved fast as he counted the dead. “This was a ritual,” he said in a low voice, and the sentence came out like he hated saying it.

  Marec knelt near a masked corpse and touched the ground beside its head. His fingers came away black with dried resin and ash. He held his hand up for the others to see.

  “They burned something,” Marec said. He looked at the poles and the cloth strips, then at the bodies on their knees. “Or someone.”

  The third warrior walked the outer edge with weapon up and checked each shadow line. He stopped near a broken pole where the wood had been snapped clean. A smear of blood streaked the splintered edge, and deep claw marks cut into the dirt beside it.

  “Something came through here,” he said. His voice stayed controlled, but his grip tightened.

  Several masks were cracked, and the cracks weren’t clean cuts from steel. They looked crushed. One cultist lay with his chest caved in, ribs pushed inward as if a heavy blow had landed. Another had his jaw broken and hanging loose, and his throat looked torn.

  Arvey watched from above, anger stiring in his chest as his eyes moved over the corpses. "Damn," he muttered. "So the camp was real, and someone wiped it.” He glanced at Kozlo and gave the hand sign to keep following and stay silent. Kozlo spread his wings a fraction, then pressed them tight again and nodded fast.

  The owl’s eyes stayed bright, and he looked ready to surge ahead. Arvey lifted two fingers, and Kozlo froze at once, wings tucked, claws gripping the branch. Arvey held his position and kept watching the Tier 5 warrior below.

  “Whatever killed them,” Marec said, “it’s still close.” He turned his head and scanned the trees beyond the ring.

  He stood up and looked at the other two. “We came to clear a camp,” he said. “Now we find out who cleared it first.”

  Semir’s jaw tightened, and he stepped toward the deepest part of the ring.

  The third warrior pointed at the ground where tracks cut through mud toward the red tint. “Fresh,” he said. “But not the Cult.” Marec followed the line with his eyes and nodded.

  Arvey stayed above them and watched them choose the trail. The three warriors moved out together, weapons ready, and their steps controlled. Arvey followed in the canopy, because he knew he could find information if he stayed on their trail.