The road to Patus stretched ahead of them, winding and dusty, bordered by tall grasses and scattered groves.

  The sun still hung high in the sky, bathing the treetops in a soft golden light. A few overly curious birds trailed them at a safe distance, while a warm breeze gently carried the dust southward.

  Tharion led the way with steady, confident steps.

  Garlan followed, grumbling about the heat.

  Marenna trailed behind, mentally cataloging every plant they passed.

  After several hours weaving between hills and wading through a few cool stream crossings, they finally caught sight of the first houses of Patus.

  The hamlet was nestled between two hills, shielded from the wind by a curtain of leafy trees. Harvested fields surrounded it, dotted with sun-bleached scarecrows and crooked fences.

  A few stone cottages with thatched roofs circled a central square, where a worn-down stone well stood, stretched thin by time.

  Far beyond the village, a rocky rise cut into the horizon. A lone mountain, with steep, half-forested slopes and a flat, oddly-sculpted summit.

  — “Looks like a perch,” Marenna whispered.

  Garlan squinted.

  — “Or a giant nest…”

  Tharion nodded gravely.

  — “That’s Mount Azrak. Locals call it the Dragon’s Back. If the wyvern’s made a nest anywhere… it’s up there.”

  As they entered the hamlet, a small group of villagers approached cautiously.

  They all looked exhausted—worn down by sleepless nights and constant fear.

  An old man in a frayed straw hat stepped forward, hands clasped.

  — “By the Ancients… thank you for coming.”

  A woman in a linen apron joined him, relief softening her smile.

  — “We didn’t think the Guild would send anyone… let alone this quickly.”

  The villagers nodded, murmuring their thanks, and guided them toward a longhouse at the center of the hamlet—likely the town hall or a meeting space.

  — “You’re welcome here. We’ll tell you everything we know,” said the old man.

  Tharion narrowed his eyes slightly.

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  — “Good. Let’s start from the beginning. I want exact dates and times of each attack. How far apart they were. And most importantly: what kind of livestock went missing.”

  His tone wasn’t harsh, but it was sharp.

  The voice of a veteran who thinks before acting.

  The old man nodded and began speaking, hands folded behind his back.

  — “She attacks during the day—not at night. Always early, usually just after sunrise. Each time, she takes a single animal—something the size of an ox or a large horse. And she returns every two or three days, without fail. It’s been almost a month.”

  Tharion slowly nodded.

  — “Hmmm… Sounds like an adult wyvern. And if she’s hunting like that, she’s probably feeding young.”

  Garlan and Marenna exchanged a glance, quietly impressed.

  They weren’t used to thinking in terms of hunting patterns, cycles, ecosystems.

  But Tharion’s words made sense.

  — He reads a situation like others read a map, Garlan thought.

  Marenna, for her part, was studying Tharion like a walking field manual, mentally noting each step of his reasoning.

  They were learning more than they realized.

  — “Have you seen where she flies off to?” Tharion asked.

  The old man nodded.

  — “Always toward the mountain. She vanishes above the treetops, heading up. We assume she nests there.”

  Tharion folded his arms.

  — “All right. We’ll deal with this lizard—either with words or with steel.”

  He turned to Garlan and Marenna, half-serious, half-weary.

  — “We’re spending the night here. Full rest. At dawn, we head for the mountain.”

  He added with a mischievous wink:

  — “Off to bed, you two. And separately this time.”

  Marenna opened her mouth to protest—then thought better of it.

  He’ll think I’m obsessed with him…

  Which I kind of am. But still. I’m a well-raised girl. I can’t just—

  She glanced at Garlan out of the corner of her eye.

  …But I kind of want to.

  The next morning, just before sunrise, they left the village on foot.

  The wind was brisk, the sky still tinged with pale pink.

  Before them, Mount Azrak loomed—nature’s own challenge.

  They climbed the lower slopes in silence, dodging loose rocks and treacherous roots. The higher they went, the sparser the vegetation became, replaced by bare, gray stone.

  Suddenly, Tharion stopped short, raising a hand.

  — “Hold. There’s something here.”

  They froze.

  The centaur crouched down, brushing a pale ridge between two rocks.

  He slowly swept the dust away… revealing a bone.

  Long. Thick.

  Worn at the ends, but unmistakable.

  — “Beiroc femur,” he murmured.

  “One of those giant swamp beasts. This has no business being here. We're far from their habitat.”

  Garlan frowned.

  — “You think it was her? The wyvern?”

  Tharion nodded slowly.

  — “Yes. And if she dragged something that big up here… either she’s very strong, or she’s feeding something even bigger.”

  Marenna knelt beside the bone, touching it lightly.

  — “It’s still warm…”

  They stood again, a bit tenser now, and continued climbing.

  It was Marenna who spotted it first:

  a slender, winged shape soaring above the treetops.

  A wyvern.

  — “There!”

  Garlan reacted instantly. He focused his mana and unleashed a powerful gust.

  The creature, caught off guard, lost control and crashed hard into the ground, sending up a cloud of dust and scale-feathers.

  Tharion stepped forward cautiously, hand raised in a calming gesture.

  — “Easy… we’re not necessarily here to fight.”

  The wyvern, sprawled on her side, slowly turned her head toward him…

  …and took a deep breath.