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[Image: A jagged ravine under a stormy sky, dark clouds churning with streaks of lightning, the air thick with the metallic tang of rain. Tobal’s scarred face glints with sweat under a worn blue militia coat, his medallion flaring gold in his grip. Fiona’s sky blue gown clings damp to her lean frame, chestnut hair plastered to her forehead, golden threads pulsing vivid. Rafe’s wiry frame braces in a patched cloak of faded green and gray, grin tight. Becca’s red hair sticks wet under a cloak of deep brown and russet, eyes fierce. Valentine’s shaggy gray-brown fur drips as he growls low—vivid, tense, with the clash of steel and scales echoing in the storm]
Tobal stood at the ravine’s edge, boots sinking into cracked, muddy earth, the storm’s wind lashing his broad frame with cold rain. Jagged rocks rose sharp around him, slick with wet, their edges glinting under a sky roiled with dark clouds and streaking lightning. His blue militia coat—worn and patched—soaked through, clung heavy to his powerful shoulders, his scarred face glistening with sweat and rain, short dark hair plastered flat. The medallion in his hand flared a sharp gold, its heat biting his calloused palm—a jolt that thrummed in his chest, raw and fierce, heavy with resolve.
Fiona braced beside him, her sky blue gown clinging damp to her lean frame, mud streaking the hem where it dragged over broken shale. Her chestnut hair stuck to her forehead, wet strands framing her sharp, pale face, golden threads pulsing vividly in her trembling fingers—her breath came quick, sharp with the metallic tang of rain, her lithe form taut with defiance, eyes locked on the ravine’s depths. Rafe hunched a step back, his wiry frame taut in a patched cloak of faded green and gray, soaked wool slapping his thin legs—his grin tightened, teeth flashing, a sly edge to his wiry build as he gripped his knife, rain dripping off his nose. Becca stood firm, her cloak of deep brown and russet sodden and dark, red hair plastered wet under the hood—her fierce eyes narrowed, catching lightning’s flash, her sturdy curves braced against the storm, breath a hiss of fury. Valentine growled low ahead, his shaggy gray-brown fur dripping, coarse and matted as he crouched on the muddy ledge—his snarl rumbled, swallowed by thunder.
The ravine churned—rain lashed the rocks, a bitter wind howling through the narrow cut, carrying the stench of wet scales and blood. Tobal tensed, his gut coiling as shadows writhed below—reptilian forms, slick and gleaming, claws scraping stone—a pack slithering in the dark. Lightning cracked—scales flashed green-black—his pulse hammered, a primal itch flaring low. He turned—eyes raking the Knights—his voice a low growl, cutting through the storm. “They’re here.” The medallion flared—gold light slashing vivid—his scarred hand gripped tight, rain stinging his knuckles. A hiss slithered up—sharp, close—his breath snagged, thick with resolve.
Rafe shifted, boots slipping on shale, his grin thinning as rain streaked his wiry frame. “Those? Just them with claws?” He flicked his knife—a claw scraped below—Valentine’s ears flattened, his wet fur bristling as he barked, sharp and fierce. Rafe’s laugh rasped—tight, edged—his lean hand steadying as thunder rolled, shaking the ground, a flicker of thrill in his sly eyes.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Fiona leaned forward, gown heavy with wet, threads weaving a vivid arc of gold that flickered in the storm. “They’re stronger than us,” she said—voice low, steady—her gaze piercing Rafe’s, though her fingers shook, rain biting her skin. Her chestnut hair clung flat—a gust tearing at it—and her eyes met Tobal’s, a shared fire threading alive between them, her lean grace sparking a quiet ache. A tail thrashed below—mud splashed—her jaw tightened, breath hitching with a raw edge.
Becca squared her shoulders, red hair dripping under her russet hood, her voice sharp but raw as the wind lashed her sturdy frame. “Stronger? I’d rather carve through them.” She drew her blade—steel glinting—glancing from Fiona to Tobal, fury flickering in her fierce eyes, her shapely form coiled with restless heat. A reptilian snarl echoed—close, guttural—her breath caught, quick and harsh, then steadied, rain stinging her cheeks.
Tobal dropped to a crouch—coat dragging in the mud—his free hand brushing Valentine’s flank, the dog’s wet fur warm as he pressed close, growling low. “This is time for fighting,” he said—gruff, low—his scarred face tilting to Becca’s, eyes dark with a fire that burned deep, his broad build radiating a quiet power. “Strike when they move.” The medallion’s glow sharpened—its hum threading his voice—his chest burned, a fierce pulse of hunger he couldn’t quell. A claw scraped louder—stone cracked—Becca’s blade steadied, her stance firm as the sound grew, rain pounding her shoulders.
Valentine lunged—mud splashed—a sharp bark tore the air as a reptilian shape loomed, scales gleaming wet. Tobal rose, medallion flaring, his scarred face hardening—something hot surged in his gut, bitter as the storm, a low growl of anger beneath it. “What’s that!” Rafe snapped—half a shout—his knife flashing as he stepped forward, wiry frame taut with a flicker of thrill. Lightning split the sky—a roar answered—Fiona’s threads pulsed, gold threading boldly—her voice steady as rock. “Hold your ground.” Tobal’s gaze struck Rafe—hard, fierce—his growl a whisper. “Sense them.” He lunged toward the shadow—boots slipping—the wind howling, thick with rain and rage.
The storm raged—shadows surged through the ravine, reptilian shapes slashing through mud and rain, claws glinting like steel. Cal—a wiry Knight with tangled brown hair—faltered, his breath a ragged gasp, eyes wide as a tail whipped close, spraying mud. Tobal’s hand clamped his shoulder—medallion blazing vivid—his grip iron, though his own pulse raced, a hiss in the dark spiking his ears, his broad chest tight with a flicker of dread. “Breathe it,” he murmured—voice low, rough—rain sharp in his throat. Cal’s chest shuddered—his eyes squeezed shut—then opened, fiercer, a faint spark of pride catching as a claw scraped near.
Fiona’s threads wove wider—gold flickering like a breath—her gaze slid to Becca, the storm’s chill cutting her lean face. “What’s the delay?” Becca asked—voice softer—her edge blunted, almost lost in the rain, her sturdy form trembling with a mix of rage and hope. A reptilian screech split the air—closer now—Fiona’s lips curved, just a breath—chestnut hair still and soaked. “To fight—to live.” Rafe’s laugh barked—harsh, wild—his knife slashing as a shadow lunged, rain streaming off his cloak, wiry frame alive with a reckless spark. Tobal nodded—medallion pulsing—wind howling low, thunder crashing close, a call to battle. The Knights braced—scarred, fierce—reptilian shadows thrashing in the storm.