It had been days since the Natterwing battle, though it felt more like a lifetime—a blur of pain, exhaustion, and running. Robin’s ribcage screamed with every breath, bruises swelling beneath skin that still stung with the burn marks from that damned serpent. Each step was agony, his right leg dragging behind him, stubborn as if it had forgotten how to listen, and yet they had kept moving, moving because they had no choice.

The blood. The cursed blood.

They hadn’t even had time to rest, not after the creature’s carcass began to leak its strange, purple fluid, the thick stench of it filling the air like a call, like a signal. And then the noise, faint at first, but unmistakable—the growls, the scrapes of claws on stone, growing louder, closer. The Hundsteins, drawn by the pheromonic stink of Natterwing’s death.

So they ran, or rather, Robin hobbled while Minona flickered in the air beside him, her light bobbing and weaving like a firefly on the wind.

“You looked younger without the beard,” she teased, though the mischief in her voice barely masked her concern.

“Thanks, damnit,” Robin spat through clenched teeth, his hand gripping his side as if he could somehow squeeze the pain away. “It’ll grow back.” His leg dragged, stubborn and stiff, a reminder that even in victory, the body sometimes chose its own form of defeat.

“What a waste,” he muttered as they moved, each word heavy with the exhaustion that clung to him. “Natterwing... whatever the hell that thing was... looks edible to me.”

Minona said nothing, and Robin wondered if she could hear the frustration biting at his words, the bitter taste of disappointment in the back of his throat. The battle had cost him more than he cared to admit, and now they were running, not because they wanted to, but because survival demanded it, because the dungeon always had more to throw at them, always another beast lurking in the dark, waiting for the smell of blood to guide its path.

They pressed on, the growls behind them a constant reminder that the battle wasn’t over—not yet.

Minona, ever the restless spirit, flitted beside him, her glowing form darting in and out of his vision like a mischievous spark. "So, how about—"

“No Hundstein meat!” Robin's words cut the air, sharp and bitter, the taste of frustration still thick in his throat. He didn’t care for the rest of her question, nor for the constant sting in his ribs that reminded him of every wrong turn he'd taken since the battle. His leg dragged beneath him, uncooperative, and yet they moved—one way or another, they always kept moving.

Then the growl came. Low, guttural, primal, the kind of sound that crawled up your spine and whispered in your ear, telling you just how small you really were. Robin felt it before he heard it, a vibration in the air, like the ground itself was trembling beneath his feet. The kind of growl that spoke of hunger, old and unrelenting, a hunger that never ended. He knew the sound well. Too well. His body tensed in recognition.

Hundstein. Of course. His body sagged with the thought, like the weight of it was too much to bear. It was always Hundsteins, always these cursed things, as if the dungeon itself could conjure nothing else. But this one… this one sounded different. Its growl carried a chill, something deeper, more ancient than the others he'd faced before. It gnawed at his bones, made the air thick with anticipation, with dread.

He glanced toward the shadowy form stalking through the cave’s edge, its eyes gleaming with predatory intent. It didn’t call for the others, didn’t howl the way they usually did. No, this one was alone, and it liked it that way. A scout. Robin recognized the way it moved, deliberate, confident.

“It’s a scouting one.” His voice was hoarse, as though the words had scraped their way up his throat.

Despite the pain coursing through his body, despite the exhaustion weighing him down like a lead cloak, he lifted his dagger, ready. Not because he wanted to fight, but because he had to. And because that cursed beast, with its confidence and its cold eyes, had already made a fatal mistake—it thought him weak.

He could feel it in the way the Hundstein prowled closer, its steps heavy with arrogance. Robin’s Fragile Facade innate was working its silent trick, casting him in the illusion of prey, of weakness, of something the beast could toy with before finishing off. And it believed it. Hook, line, and sinker.

For just a moment, Robin felt something like satisfaction creep into the corners of his mind. If nothing else, this was his territory—the gamble, the trap, the silent understanding that the strongest sometimes fell because they never saw the knife coming.

"Human!" Minona shot forward, her glow intensifying, casting jagged shadows on the stone walls. She hovered ahead, fearless in her strange, ethereal way, taking a vanguard position she had no right to claim. "I'll handle this, myself!" Her voice rang out, filled with an eerie kind of bravado that felt more like a gamble than a declaration of strength.

Robin blinked, half in disbelief. What in the world had gotten into her? Minona, the one who always danced on the sidelines, conjuring smokescreens and the occasional glass of water, now rushing headlong into a fight she had no business in. There was no face to read, no expression to gauge her intent—just the pulsing light of her form, bobbing erratically in the air.

"You sure, Minona?" His voice carried a hesitation he couldn’t quite mask. "I can still handle it. Just… slower than usual."

"Watch me fight!" she snapped back, more determined than he'd ever heard her. And then, before he could say another word, she summoned her magic—a simple trick, dust compressed into a jagged blade of pebble, hovering like a poorly-made weapon. It was ridiculous, absurd even, but she charged at the Hundstein like it was her personal vendetta.

“You’re not getting away from me, you venison with arms and legs!” she yelled, her tone far too confident for someone hurling a dust-made blade at a monster hundred time her size. She lunged, and the beast, bewildered by the audacity of this strange glowing creature, simply sidestepped. It was almost comical, the way it avoided her attack with no more effort than if it were brushing away a fly. But Minona was relentless, darting back in with her jagged weapon, her movements sharp and full of misplaced fury.

The pebble blade struck its arm, embedding itself shallowly into the beast’s thick hide. It wasn’t much of a wound, not enough to even slow the Hundstein down. But it had caught the creature's attention. Now, its eyes gleamed with something more dangerous—a recognition that it had been attacked, however small the blow.

And so it retaliated.

The Hundstein snapped its jaws, fangs flashing as it lunged at her. For a moment, Robin's breath caught in his throat, sure that she was about to be swallowed whole by the beast’s ravenous maw. But Minona was quick, quicker than the beast anticipated. She darted away, weaving through the air in a wild, erratic pattern that kept her just out of reach. The Hundstein’s fangs clamped down on nothing but air, its eyes narrowing in frustration.

But then came the claws. Swift, brutal, and unforgiving, they swiped through the space where she hovered. This time, the attack came closer—much closer. Minona spun wildly, barely avoiding the deadly swipe, her light flickering as if even she realized just how close she'd come to being shredded.

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Robin watched, his heart pounding in his chest. She was fighting, yes—but the line between bravery and recklessness had blurred, and now she was teetering dangerously close to disaster.

“Minona, pull back! That’s too dangerous!” Robin’s voice cracked with worry, his feet anchored to the ground, watching helplessly as Minona narrowly avoided the Hundstein’s savage claws. She was too reckless, too exposed. “Let it come to me!” he called, urgency lacing every word, but she wasn’t listening. Stubborn, as always.

“Like I could bleed?” Minona snapped, though her voice quivered, a trembling undercurrent she couldn’t quite hide. “This is nothing!” she insisted, but Robin could see it—the way she faltered, the hesitation in the way she hovered, refusing to back down, but no longer certain.

This time, she conjured a hammer, the dust swirling around her like a cloud before hardening into rock. With a defiant dive, she hurled herself from above, determined to land the blow. But again, the beast was faster, too fast, and her hammer smashed into the dungeon floor, the force shaking the ground but leaving her open, vulnerable.

Robin watched, tension knotted in his chest. She was trying, he could see that much, but she wasn’t made for this. Not like him. Maybe she’d seen too many of his retreats, too many moments where he chose to flee instead of fight, and now she felt she had to carry the burden herself. Maybe she thought if she could do this, the journey ahead would be easier. But she wasn’t ready—not yet.

“Minona!” Robin shouted, his mind racing as he watched her struggle. She had power, more than she realized, but she needed direction. “Create a dust bomb! Roast it with fire!”

“What?” she blurted, spinning in midair, confusion overtaking her frustration.

“Just do what I say!” Robin’s voice was strained, a sharp pang in his ribs flaring with every word. “Then hit it with that.”

Minona hesitated, her glow dimming for a second as if she was weighing his words, her uncertainty battling against her defiance. But then she moved, her dust magic swirling once more, the fire rising to meet it. The elements merged, forming a small, crackling vortex—a miniature storm of dust and flame, wild and raw, spinning with barely contained energy.

With a burst of resolve, she charged again, the fiery whirlwind trailing behind her like a meteor. The Hundstein, startled by the sudden shift, dodged, its instinct to evade working against it. It was a mistake. Robin saw it before Minona did—the beast’s movement had placed it right in the path of the swirling inferno she’d unleashed.

“You’re cornered!” Minona’s voice rang out with more bravado than certainty, her small figure bobbing defiantly in the air. But she held back, her attack coiling like a spring, waiting for the perfect moment. The Hundstein dodged, just as Robin had predicted, and she seized it, unleashing the blazing fury she’d been holding in check. The dust bomb exploded, blanketing the beast’s fur in searing heat, like a cloud of burning insects crawling over its skin.

It howled in pain, thrashing wildly as the flames licked at its flesh. For a moment, she felt triumphant. But then, a wave of uncertainty washed over her. What now? She had the power, but she didn’t know what to do with it. The victory felt hollow, incomplete, like a song without its final note. And for the first time, she floated a bit toward Robin's direction—not with mockery or mischief, but with something deeper, something strange in her glowing eyes. Expectation.

“Robin... what’s next?” Her voice was smaller than before, laced with a hesitation she rarely showed.

“Create a dust hammer you did earlier!” he barked, his voice rough with strain, each word sharp as broken glass against his ribs. “Mix it with water—make it thick, like mud!”

“Huh? Already?” Minona blinked, disbelief creeping into her tone, as if the idea of following his orders so readily unsettled her.

“Just do it!” he snapped, his breath catching on the edges of pain. “Trust me, getting hit in the head with a thick mass made of of mud is far worse than it sounds!”

The command was clear, and though every instinct in Minona screamed to push back, to insist that she knew better, there was something in Robin’s voice that stopped her. Something she couldn’t deny. Reluctantly, she obeyed. Her mana swirled, condensing dust and water into thick, heavy hammers—one after another, until ten floating weapons circled her like jagged, mud-filled fists.

With a grunt of effort, she flung herself forward, hurling the hammers with all her might. They slammed into the Hundstein with a dull, sickening thud, the weight of each blow sending it crashing into the dungeon floor. The beast tried to rise, clawing at the ground, but another mud hammer struck, forcing it down again. Again, and again, until it lay still, its fur matted with mud, its body limp beneath the barrage.

It wasn’t dead—not yet—but she knew it wouldn’t last long. She could leave it, finish it off, or flee while she had the chance. Robin would flee, she knew that much. That was how he fought—he used his strength to survive, to secure their escape, not to kill. But Minona… Minona wasn’t like him. She wanted to kill. If she could, she would. That was how survival was written in her dictionary.

But still, she glanced back at Robin, bruised and limping, his chest heaving with the effort of standing. He had led her through this fight, shown her what to do when she was lost. It grated against everything she thought she knew about herself, about him, to admit that maybe, just maybe, he knew something about her potential that even she hadn’t seen.

Robin exhaled slowly, the weight of his next words hanging in the air between them. His voice cut through the fading echoes of the fight like a blade, sharp and decisive. He tapped the back of his neck with two fingers, his gesture quick, instinctive, as if he’d already seen how the final blow should fall, how the battle would end. “Rock spear!” he added.

“No need to tell me that, human!” Minona shot back, her voice hard, brittle with defiance. But beneath it, buried in the edge of her words, was something else—a thread of trust, knotted tight against her will. She hated to admit it, hated that she needed him to guide her through the finish. Yet, here she was, betting everything on his command, on his damned instincts that seemed to know her better than she knew herself.

With a flicker of concentration, she summoned her dust magic one last time. The jagged edges of the rock spear took shape, rough and unpolished, but deadly sharp, its length stretching like a lance in her imaginary hands. She hovered above the Hundstein, its breath shallow, its body twitching with the last vestiges of life, waiting for the strike that would take everything.

With all the might she could muster, Minona plunged downward, driving the spear deep into its flesh. The impact stole the air from the creature’s lungs, its final growl fading into silence as its body stilled, and its life bled away into the dungeon floor. She floated above it, victorious, though the taste of that victory felt strange, almost hollow in the silence that followed.

She’d won, but not without him. Not without his guidance, his voice in her ear, leading her to this end. And though she’d deny it—deny it with every fiber of her being—Minona knew that, in some way, this fight had been as much his as hers.

Robin watched her, silent, as if he knew all along that she could do it. That she would. Even if her strike had failed, even if she hadn’t been strong enough to deal that final blow, he’d had plans in place, contingencies ready to fall back on. But it hadn’t come to that. This time, she had won, and she had done it by trusting him, despite herself.

Minona floated closer, her light trembling slightly, though her voice was quick to cover it, slipping back into its usual teasing lilt. “Did you see that, human?” she crowed, though a faint tremor betrayed her tone, “Still good at it, aren’t I? Could’ve done it even better if I could cast properly, you know.” The boast in her tone was loud, almost overcompensating, her arrogance a familiar shield she wrapped around herself. The whimsical comments had returned, light and sharp like they always did, signaling the storm had passed.

Robin glanced at her, his expression flat, indifferent as ever, but inside, there was a weight lifting, a quiet relief spreading through his chest like the balm he needed for his aching ribs. She was herself again, back to her usual playful arrogance, and that was enough for him. He didn’t need to say more than a low, “Yeah,” his voice carrying no particular interest, yet it carried more than he’d admit.

“Let’s move. Can’t have the pack finding us here once they realize one of their own isn’t coming back.” His words were clipped, practical, but beneath them was the urgency of someone ready to leave behind the danger, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing they’d gotten through, unscathed.

“Right!” she chirped, settling herself once more atop his head, as if nothing had changed, as if the brush with death had been nothing but another game. He felt her weight, small and featherlight, but unusually compliant, a sign that perhaps—just perhaps—there was more beneath her bravado than she let on.

And just as he felt the quiet moment settle between them, her voice broke the silence, as mischievous as ever. “Too bad, I roasted the Hundstein for you, look, there!”

“No Hundstein meat.” He groaned, still there was always some part of him to not tolerate her comment.