Several hours had passed, and the sounds of the battle had long since faded. The silence that followed was worse, stretching Kaelen’s nerves thin as he lay still in the dirt, his leg throbbing as the numbing potion’s effects began to wear off. He told himself to be brave, to keep calm like the others, but doubt gnawed at him. His father had always said he wasn’t cut out for this—wasn’t tough enough, wasn’t a real fighter. And lying there, his leg in pain and his magic nearly drained, Kaelen couldn't help but wonder if his father had been right all along.

He turned his head to check on the Stoneshield twins. Roran was doing his best to act brave, his glowing eyes wide with fear but his jaw set in determination. His black hair clung to his sweaty forehead as he held his sister close. Talia was less composed, her white hair tousled as she clung to her brother, her body trembling. She was trying not to cry, but the tears still streaked her face. Seeing them, Kaelen’s heart sank. They were just children, and their safety was now in his hands. The weight of that responsibility pressed down on him, and the gnawing doubt only grew.

If he had learned more magic—more powerful spells—he might’ve been able to protect them better. But instead, he was here, with nothing but a few low-level spells and a wand. He swore to himself that after this, no matter what his father thought, he’d focus on magic. He had to. For the twins. For the clan. For himself.

He glanced over at Tharin, who was fast asleep despite the chaos surrounding them. The big bear Beast Kin was snoring lightly, oblivious to the tension. It was almost absurd—how could anyone sleep at a time like this? But Tharin was Tharin, able to sleep through anything, even the threat of slavers. In that moment, Kaelen envied his friend’s ability to shut off his worries so completely.

Kaelen was about to reach out to the twins when a faint crunch sounded in the distance. Instantly, his heart leapt into his throat. He froze, his mind racing. His hands shook slightly as he gripped his wand tighter, every instinct telling him to prepare for the worst. He was trying to be brave, trying to push the fear aside, but the doubt was overwhelming.

The crunch was followed by a faint, urgent shout, “Sha'makra! Sha’makra!” The voice was low and tense, echoing in the silence. The twins startled, but Kaelen’s arm shot out, stopping them before they could make a sound. His heart pounded in his chest as his instincts screamed to stay hidden.

Tharin’s eyes snapped open, his usual sleepy demeanor gone as he slowly sat up, his gaze meeting Kaelen’s. The bear Beast Kin moved gently, barely making a sound as he lifted the hidden section of their camouflage trap and peeked out, scanning the area. He sniffed the air, his nose twitching, then scowled. “I’m not picking up anything,” Tharin whispered, his deep voice laced with uncertainty.

The low voice continued to call out, but Kaelen could barely make out the words. He shrugged helplessly, unsure of the next move, his doubt creeping back in. Tharin, however, made the decision for them. He slowly removed the camo, motioning for Kaelen to stay close. It was still dark, the twin moons absent from the sky, leaving the world in deep shadow. The forest seemed to close in around them, amplifying the tension.

Reluctantly, Kaelen stood, keeping the twins close behind him. His wand was gripped tightly in his hand, his mind racing through the spells he could use if things went wrong. Tharin moved ahead, taking a defensive lead, his muscles tense and ready, mace in hand.

As they cautiously revealed themselves, the figure in the distance spun around, blades drawn and pointed directly at them. The tension in the air was thick, Kaelen’s heart hammering in his chest. Every fiber of his being screamed to prepare for a fight, but he hesitated, unsure if the stranger was friend or foe. Tharin took a step forward, shielding Kaelen and the children behind him, his stance protective but cautious.

“Stay behind me,” Tharin growled, his eyes locked on the figure, ready for whatever came next. Kaelen nodded.

Tharin’s grip tightened on his mace, his voice low and careful as he spoke. "Sha'makra. Sorry, we didn’t expect anyone so soon." His eyes stayed locked on the figure, ready to react if things went south.

The figure stepped closer, and Kaelen tensed, his wand at the ready, the twins huddled behind him. Every second felt like an eternity until finally, the figure’s outline became clear, and both he and Tharin relaxed in unison.

It was Draxis, the Squirrel Beast Kin, his familiar twitching ears and slightly protruding front teeth a welcome sight. His voice, though gruff, was filled with relief as he spoke. “Sha'makra. Didn't think I'd find you lot so fast.”

Tharin let out a deep breath, lowering his mace. "Draxis! Ancetoers balls, you had us on edge. We weren’t expecting a search party for another few hours."

Draxis shook his head, his smile small but sincere. "Yeah, I thought I’d be searching all night. Matriarch wanted a quicker sweep. You know how she is when it comes to these things."

Kaelen, feeling the tension drain from his body, managed a tired smile. Draxis wasn’t his closest friend, but seeing him now, alive and well, brought a sense of safety. "Glad you found us," Kaelen said. "We didn’t know what was out there."

Draxis gave a quick nod, looking them over. "Good to see you’re all in one piece. We need to move soon, though. Others are still out there. We’re trying to gather everyone who made it." His usual grumpy tone had softened, and though he was distant as ever, it was clear he was glad to see them safe.

Tharin chuckled, clearly relieved. "Next time, maybe call out louder! Could’ve saved me from almost cracking your skull."

“Thank the oasis you're safe,” Draxis said, a relieved smile crossing his face. “I’ve been gathering everyone under Orin’s command. We’re meeting west of here to regroup and head back to the clan.”

Tharin grinned widely, walking closer. “Well, well, Draxis, I didn’t expect you to be the one rounding everyone up. Guess you drew the short straw, huh?”

Draxis snorted, his usual gruffness seeping back into his voice. “Yeah, something like that. Someone’s gotta make sure you’re not all wandering around like lost sheep.”

Tharin chuckled, giving Draxis a playful nudge. “Good to see you, squirrel. We were just starting to wonder if we’d have to fight our way out.”

Kaelen watched the exchange, the banter between them light and familiar, but his mind couldn’t help drifting. Draxis had always been a bit distant, not quite fitting into the tight-knit circles of the clan. He had a chip on his shoulder about his place—always grumbling about unfair treatment, as if he thought he deserved more. Kaelen didn’t know Draxis well, but he had never seen him as a real threat. Just a rough guy who never seemed content with his lot in life.

As Tharin and Draxis continued to talk, Kaelen’s thoughts were interrupted by a tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see Roran, wide-eyed and trembling. Talia, pressed close to her brother, looked equally scared. Beast Kin children had a natural closeness to their animal side—sharp instincts and heightened senses that sometimes picked up things adults couldn’t.

“Something wrong?” Kaelen whispered, trying to keep the kids calm.

Roran didn’t say anything at first, just kept staring at Draxis with wide, fearful eyes. Then, in a shaky voice, he whispered, “Look at his swords…”

Kaelen frowned and peered more closely at Draxis. At first, he didn’t think much of it, but then a chill ran down his spine. The swords on Draxis’ back weren’t his. Simple, well-worn, and unmistakable—those were Ilthra’s twin blades. Kaelen froze, his heart sinking as realization dawned.

Tharin, still chatting with Draxis, hadn’t noticed yet, but Kaelen’s pulse quickened. His mind raced. Ilthra would never leave her swords behind. She’d fought tooth and nail to earn them, a gift from her orc friend—a symbol of her strength. Why would Draxis have them?

Kaelen leaned down slightly, Roran’s whisper barely audible now. “Ilthra wouldn’t leave those, right?”

Kaelen’s stomach twisted as he straightened up, shooting a glance at Tharin. He moved closer, keeping his voice low. “Tharin… those swords… they’re Ilthra’s.”

Tharin, who had been grinning a moment ago, stopped mid-conversation. His eyes locked onto the blades in draxis hand, his expression darkening. The easygoing banter between them fell away as tension filled the air.

“Draxis… where did you get those?” Tharin’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it now.

Draxis’s smile never wavered as he held Ilthra’s twin blades in his hands, fingers casually gripping the hilts as if he hadn’t just betrayed them all. “You’re too clever for your own good,” he said coldly. “Surrender, and you don’t need to be hurt.”

Kaelen’s stomach churned as three figures emerged from the shadows behind Draxis. He hadn’t just stolen Ilthra’s blades—he was working with the slavers. A Lost Fang. The realization was like ice in his veins.

Tharin’s eyes widened in shock as the truth set in. He glanced from the blades to Draxis, then over at Kaelen and the children, his face twisted with a mix of rage and pain. His voice was barely a whisper, filled with urgency. “Run,” he said, locking eyes with Kaelen. Then, with a roar that echoed in the darkness, he charged Draxis, screaming, “Lost Fang!!”

“There's nowhere to go!” Draxis shouted, raising the stolen blades defensively as Tharin rushed him. “You won’t make it out alive!”

Kaelen ran through the woods, his body moving on pure instinct. His legs pumped furiously, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his thoughts were a blur of panic and confusion. He didn’t know how far he had gone or how long he had been running, only that he had to keep moving. The image of Draxis standing there with Ilthra’s swords flashed in his mind, followed by the sound of Tharin’s roar. Everything was a chaotic jumble, and he couldn’t focus on any one thought for more than a moment.

The sounds of the battle—the clashing blades, the screams—had long since faded, but the panic hadn’t. He could still hear them echoing in his ears, even as he tore through the underbrush. His grip on Talia and Roran was tight, their small bodies weighing him down as he ran. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep going, but he couldn’t stop.

Finally, his legs gave way beneath him, and he stumbled, dropping the twins as he collapsed to the ground. His vision swam, and the pain from the bolt in his leg surged back with a vengeance. He gasped for air, his heart still racing, and for the first time, he realized just how far he had come.

He had run for fifteen minutes, covering nearly ten leagues in that time. The pitch-black sky above gave no indication of dawn yet. It was still the dead of night, and they were far from the battle. But Kaelen’s mind was still clouded with panic, the overwhelming sense of danger pressing down on him.

The twins’ sobbing pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts. Talia and Roran clung to each other, their cries soft but filled with fear. Seeing them, Kaelen’s heart twisted. They needed him to be calm. They needed him to keep them safe.

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He took a deep breath, forcing himself to slow down, to focus. He wasn’t alone—he had to protect them. His hands still shook, but he managed to pull a numbing potion from his pack and drink it, the pain in his leg fading to a dull throb.

Kaelen looked around, spotting a dense patch of underbrush nearby. They needed to hide, to stay out of sight. Moving carefully, he helped the twins crawl into the thick cover, spreading the camouflage blanket over them for extra protection. The twins huddled close to him, their small bodies trembling, but their sobs had quieted.

Kaelen held the twins close, feeling their trembling bodies pressed against his. He could hear their ragged breathing, the quiet sobs that hadn’t quite died down yet. In the stillness of the night, with the battle far behind them, the weight of their fear was palpable.

Talia sniffled, her small voice breaking the silence. “Are we… are we going to be okay?” She clung tightly to Kaelen’s arm, her wide eyes glistening with tears in the darkness.

Roran didn’t speak, but his grip on Kaelen was just as tight, his silence speaking volumes. Kaelen could feel the boy’s fear in every small, tense movement.

Kaelen took a deep breath, doing his best to stay calm. “We’re going to be fine,” he said softly, though the uncertainty in his own heart lingered. “We’re hidden. They won’t find us here.”

“But what about Tharin? And… and Draxis?” Roran whispered, his voice cracking. “Why did he… why did Draxis do that? He’s supposed to be one of us.”

Kaelen felt a knot tighten in his chest at the mention of Draxis. He didn’t have an answer. The betrayal had been just as shocking to him, and the image of Draxis holding Ilthra’s blades still haunted him. But the twins didn’t need his doubt. They needed reassurance.

“I don’t know why Draxis did what he did,” Kaelen admitted softly, running a hand through Roran’s hair. “But Tharin is strong. He’ll fight them off, and he’ll come find us. You have to trust him.”

Talia buried her face in his side, her voice muffled. “But… but what if he doesn’t?”

Kaelen swallowed hard, his heart heavy. “Then I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, his voice firm. “No matter what happens, I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

The twins were quiet for a moment, their sobs fading as they clung to him, still scared but comforted by his presence.

Kaelen’s own exhaustion was overwhelming, but he stayed alert, his arms wrapped protectively around the children. He whispered soothing words, trying to calm their fears until, one by one, their breathing slowed, and they began to drift into an uneasy sleep.

Kaelen remained awake a little while longer, his mind still racing, but for now, they were hidden, safe in the dark. And for tonight, that was enough.

After several hours, Kaelen was jolted awake by the soft chirping of birds. The sky was beginning to lighten, though the thick canopy of trees still cloaked them in shadow. His body ached, his leg throbbed, but there was no time to dwell on the pain. He had to move.

Roran was already up, trying to wipe his tear-streaked face and appear brave. He grabbed his sister's hand, his wide, tired eyes fixed on Kaelen, waiting for direction. Kaelen couldn’t help but admire the strength these two had—at their age, he would have been a sobbing mess. But they were holding it together, pressing on through the fear and exhaustion. It both amazed and saddened him.

With no real plan, Kaelen decided to head south. The west was where the slavers likely had their camp, and he wanted to keep as far from it as possible. He estimated that the clan’s original location was at least a day’s ride away from where they had started, but now, on foot and with the kids, it could easily take four. The harsh reality hit him—he had no messaging spell, no way to reach them. They were on their own.

As they walked through the quiet woods, Kaelen couldn’t help but reflect on how everything had changed in a single day. Just yesterday, life had been fine—he had been away from his father’s constant expectations, enjoying the rare freedom from his duties. And now… they were running for their lives. The sharp contrast felt unreal, like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.

His thoughts turned to his father. Anger bubbled up inside him, but it felt distant, like something from another life. His father had always wanted him to be a hunter, forcing and pushing him into it, never giving him the chance to pursue what he truly loved—magic. If Kaelen had spent more time studying spells, maybe he could have done something more yesterday. Maybe he could have sent a message to the clan, or protected them better.

The thought of returning to his father after all this made him sick. But Kaelen swore to himself that if he got through this, he wouldn’t just submit to his father’s will anymore. He would stand up for himself, even if it meant bringing the Matriarch into it. His father hated her “new age” ideas, but he still obeyed her, like everyone else in the clan.

Still, the uncertainty gnawed at him. Was the clan even looking for them? He had to believe they were. Orin was still out there, and Tharin… Kaelen clenched his fists. He hoped Tharin was okay, that the clan was organizing a search party and doing everything they could to find them. But hope was fragile, and right now, Kaelen felt more nervous and unsure than ever.

They eventually came upon a road and continued heading south, though Kaelen wanted to stay in the woods. He knew the kids were struggling to keep up, and every step weighed heavier on his mind.

Every rustle of leaves, every crack of a twig had him on edge. He glanced back at the twins, their tired faces reflecting the same worry he felt. They trusted him to get them through this, and that was both comforting and terrifying. He couldn’t fail them. But in the quiet of the forest, with danger lurking somewhere in the shadows, that fear hung over him like a stormcloud.

As they walked, Kaelen’s mind was swirling, his thoughts racing between fear, exhaustion, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. His eyes were mostly downcast, scanning the ground, until something made his head snap up.

A figure was approaching them, wearing black and white armor with a cloak draped over his body, his face mostly hidden beneath a hood. The only part visible was a half-skull mask covering the lower half of his face. The figure carried a long spear over his shoulder, the dark weapon looking sharp and menacing. Kaelen’s heart skipped a beat, instinctively pulling the twins closer as they moved to the side of the road.

As they got closer, Kaelen noticed the man’s piercing blue eyes staring straight at him from beneath the hood. Despite the figure’s intimidating appearance, Kaelen didn’t feel any hostile intent. The man walked with a strange calm, his movements fluid, like he was part of the forest itself. Kaelen swallowed hard, his nerves fraying at the edges, but he maintained eye contact, nodding slightly as the figure passed them by without a word.

The moment they passed each other, Kaelen let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His body relaxed, the tension slowly fading as they continued walking. Relief washed over him. For a brief moment, Kaelen felt a flicker of hope—maybe they’d gone unnoticed.

That relief lasted for all of a minute.

Ahead, a plume of dust rose into the air, and Kaelen’s heart sank as the sound of hooves thundered toward them. Four figures on horseback were barreling down the path, dust billowing in their wake. Panic gripped him. There was no time to run. How did they find us?

Fear shot through him like a dagger as he felt a sharp stabbing pain in his back. He reached back, grabbing at something—a small, spiked ball embedded in his skin. He didn’t even remember getting hit. As he pulled it out, he realized it had to be some kind of tracking spell. His mind raced, the terror rising. They’ve been following us this whole time.

The riders approached, their horses kicking up dirt as three of them dismounted. The lead figure, a gruff, burly man with a black beard and cruel eyes, stalked forward. His armor was a patchwork of leather and metal, heavily worn and scarred, making him look rougher, more dangerous than even Tharin. He held a whip in one hand and a short sword in the other, his gaze fixed on Kaelen and the children with a predatory smile.

“Well, well, well, Looks like I owe that bastard some thanks. He really did tag ya, didn’t he? What ya think, Draegar? Varkas?”

One of the other men let out a cruel, barking laugh, the kind that made Kaelen’s blood run cold. The sound was sharp, harsh, like they were used to mocking fear. The men moved with a rough confidence, their weapons drawn—cold steel glinting ominously in the early morning light. They looked like mythra slavers, their armor more suited for the hot dessert the for valoris, their expressions twisted into cruel smirks as they eyed Kaelen and the twins like prey.

The leader, with his scruffy beard and leather armor, cracked his whip, the sound cutting through the air. His grin widened, showing broken and stained teeth. “Didn’t think catchin’ a couple of runts would be this easy,” he sneered, his eyes dark with greed. “Don’t worry, kids, we’ll take real good care o’ ya.”

teeth. His voice had a thick, tropical accent, rough and melodic at the same time. “Ahh, I agree, Morak,” he said with a slow, menacing drawl. “Look at those kids. They gon’ net us a real nice price with the boss, eh?” He hefted a massive curved sword in his right hand, its blade gleaming in the early light. His bare chest was covered in intricate tattoos, the patterns swirling across his skin like snakes. “What you think, Varkas?” he added, nodding toward the third man.

Varkas, the third man, didn’t say a word. He was shorter than the others, his face scruffy and rough, with lips that looked almost too big for his face. When he opened his mouth, Kaelen noticed with a shudder that his tongue had been cut. Varkas just smiled, his silent, unnerving grin sending a chill through Kaelen. He held two daggers, spinning them slowly in his hands as he stepped closer.

Kaelen’s heart raced. They were moving toward him, their eyes gleaming with cruel intent. His hands shook as he drew his wand, trying to steady himself, but fear gripped him hard. The men saw it, and they laughed—loud, mocking sounds that echoed through the forest.

Morak, the leader, cracked his whip against the ground, the sharp sound snapping through the air. “Boy,” he sneered, his rough, bandit voice full of menace, “don’t make us hurt ya. Hand over the little ones, and we won’t beat ya too bad, huh?” His grin widened, his whip falling lazily to the dirt.

Kaelen’s heart pounded in his chest as he stood there, wand shaking in his grip. He knew they weren’t bluffing, and the thought of what these men would do to Talia and Roran made his blood run cold. But he couldn’t let them take the twins. He had to do something—anything

Kaelen had learned one lesson well from his father: when you strike, you do it fast and without hesitation. His wand shot up, ready to cast Magic Missile, but before he could even utter the spell, a sharp, explosive pain tore across his chest.

CRACK!

Morak’s whip struck him with brutal speed, the sound deafening. The force of the blow sent Kaelen stumbling backward, flailing as he crashed into the twins. The searing pain coursed through him, white-hot and all-consuming. His mind reeled in shock, fear racing through him as he lay there, gasping for breath. The men’s cruel laughter filled the air as they stepped closer, their mocking tones twisting in his ears.

He failed them, he thought bitterly, his chest heaving with the pain. Tharin’s sacrifice was for nothing…

Kaelen’s vision blurred as despair crept in, his body frozen from the sting of the whip. The slavers were closing in, and there was nowhere to run. The weight of failure pressed down on him like a crushing boulder.

But then, as he glanced at the twins—Talia and Roran, wide-eyed and terrified, clinging to each other in desperation—something stirred inside him. They were looking to him for safety, for protection. The thought of these men taking them away, of losing them, cut deeper than the whip ever could.

His father’s harsh lessons echoed in his mind, but this time, Kaelen chose to ignore the doubt. He could still fight. He had to fight.

With a groan, he forced himself to his knees, the pain screaming through his chest, but he pushed it aside. Gritting his teeth, Kaelen rose back to his feet, legs shaky but determined. The slavers sneered, not taking him seriously, but Kaelen held his wand firm. The fear was still there, gnawing at him, but something stronger had taken its place—a surge of courage, drawn from the need to protect the twins.

He stood tall, his eyes locking onto Morak. “You’re not touching them,” he growled, voice hoarse but defiant.

Tears welled in Kaelen’s eyes, but he forced himself to stay standing, trembling as the pain surged through his chest. His entire body screamed in protest, but he wouldn’t give in. If this was it, then he would make it count—maybe if he held the slavers off long enough, Talia and Roran could escape.

The slavers hesitated, their mocking grins fading as they watched him rise again. Even Morak’s sneer faltered, uncertainty flickering across his rough features.

Morak barked, “Hey! This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you, boy! Fuck off ‘fore we turn ya into mince meat, ya bastard!”

Kaelen barely heard the words, his mind locked on the impossible task ahead. He knew the odds were against him, and the thought of dragging anyone else into this twisted his gut with guilt. But just as he steeled himself for a hopeless fight, a figure stepped in front of him.

The same cloaked figure he had seen earlier on the road, now standing between him and the slavers. Confusion clouded Kaelen’s thoughts. He didn’t want to get anyone else involved, especially not this stranger.

Morak’s growl deepened with frustration. “What the hell is this? You gonna try somethin’, too?” His voice, once confident, now carried an edge of uncertainty.

The figure didn’t answer immediately. Instead, with calm deliberation, they reached up and drew the spear from over their shoulder, the weapon now pointing to the ground in a silent, deliberate gesture. Those piercing blue eyes glanced back at Kaelen briefly, and instead of hope, Kaelen felt something heavier—reluctance. But as he did he heard a strange and unfamiliar accent form the man as he spoke.

“You know,” the figure said, his voice low and edged with a thick, hard accent, dripping with barely controlled anger, “I don’t fuckin’ like your kind very much. And I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you lay a hand on those kids.”

He lowered the spear from his shoulder, the tip touching the ground with a quiet thud. The movement was slow, deliberate—like a final warning. His blue eyes narrowed beneath the hood as his voice deepened with a dangerous tone.

“So I’ll give you one chance,” the figure growled, his voice dripping with menace. “Walk away now, or I’ll paint this ground with your blood.”