Once more, La’Var’s speed astounded Adria.

He wielded his sword, found a sack of oil in his bag, and put the bag on. A second passed. He dashed and jumped across boulders, leaving a trail of oil. His sword dragged across the rocks. Sparks flickered. And a flaming tail lit up behind the hunter.

Martin soared out of Adria’s pocket, shifting, in the middle of the air, into his slender true form. He landed on her far left—around thirty meters, by the looks of it—and a serpent’s tongue emerged from his shadow-engulfed face. He licked his claws.

In the middle between the spirit and the hunter, Adria frowned. They hadn’t talked about a backup plan, neither explained what they were doing now, but… She caught onto the idea that she was bait.

Adria raised up the bone dagger and her hand trembled. Against the wyrm, it was as good as nothing. Only speed could save her now.

A powerful shockwave quaked across the boulders and cracks split open underfoot. The wyrm climbed up the sides of the boulders. And its head emerged in front of Adria’s face.

Vicious burgundy eyes gleamed. Dark green scales rattled. As the maw opened, it revealed a hundred sharp, crooked teeth and a blood-soaked tongue. The beast roared and engulfed her in heat. Her ears rang and hairs stood up, and her mind… snapped.

Any sense of fear or anger vanished and the burgundy depths of the wyrm’s eyes imprinted in her head, leaving a single thought: kill or be killed.

Half a day ago, spilled blood sickened her.

But when the real eyes of death stared, any rules, beliefs, morals—whatever she’d told herself—vanished. Yes, looking back at herself just hours ago put a smile of pity on her face. Silly Adria. Didn’t figure it out in the catacombs, so she had to go into a fit when a few wolves kissed swords, and her hysteria almost killed everyone.

When you’re outside of the safety of walls and rules, you have to survive any way you can. No way around it.

From La’Var’s direction, arrows whooshed through the air and stabbed into the scales of the wyrm. Adria’s fingers crossed, begging the wyrm to turn to La’Var and give her a precious second to start running. Instead, the creature’s blood-soaked tongue licked its teeth and bit.

Needles of cold stung Adria all over.

She jumped out of the way and scurried towards La’Var.

The wyrm finished climbing up atop the boulders and slithered after Adria.

If I’m good at one thing, the thought crossed her mind, it’s running away from death in the woods!

Adria reached La’Var’s trail of flames and weaved around it. He fired faster and countless arrows dug themselves into the beast’s scales. The pinpricks didn’t slow the wyrm, and at Adria’s heels, it gnawed.

Adria jumped.

In the middle of the air, Adria’s heart stopped whilst the heat of the flames vanished, and the sweat that began to cover her skin became icy.

The wyrm missed and plunged its head into the trail of flames. The wyrm wailed a scream that could surely be heard in every corner of Sparkling Valley. It tossed itself around. The beast emerged from the fire, cascaded down the boulders and collapsed into the opening, crushing the corpses of the Winterwolves and destroying the hidden trap.

Adria fell into a crouch. Catching a breath, she raised her head and caught La’Var throwing a thumb up at her. He grinned then his eyes landed on the spirit and the proud smile died. He waved towards the wyrm. The hunter and the ghost slid down the boulders and dashed across the open plain.

As Adria watched the two approaching the wyrm, the cold returned.’Kill or be killed’ buzzed in her head. And now she couldn’t sit and watch and catch a breath. Someone else took hold of her body… The burgundy eyes of the wyrm, which whispered, over and over, those four words.

Adria’s aching and wavering legs brought her up. She held the bone dagger tight whilst the harsh sides of the boulders bruised her skin. Hitting the ground, she stumbled and then ran towards the wyrm.

Martin clawed at the creature’s long tail, leaving streaks of crimson dripping down and forming puddles on the ground. Dueling with the head of the wyrm, La’Var landed slices around its neck. Whenever the wyrm countered, he put up his blade and blocked the head, hopping out of the way when it overpowered him. During one of the blocks, he stumbled and a sharp tooth pierced his shoulder.

La’Var held his black hat and howled in pain.

The scream drilled into the depths of Adria’s head. And hot dust covered her tongue. And the smell of blood and flesh filled her nose. And everything, together, wiped the pain and tiredness from her. With this newfound energy, she leaped atop the wyrm, pierced the dark green scales, and struck an artery.

Adria stabbed again and again until beneath her, the wyrm helplessly wiggled and screeched.

Adria froze.

No more ‘kill or be killed’ — the words had vanished.

Soon enough, the aches and exhaustion returned, and tears were rolling down her cheeks.

What am I doing?

Wouldn’t it be better to be killed than to commit these atrocities?

Adria knew damn well that in situations like this there were no other options, but to strike. But the aftermath of shock and fear struck her with doubts and guilt, and when she looked at her crimson-drenched arms, she couldn’t help, but see the long, wrinkly fingers of the Liar.

The arena they fought the wyrm in shifted into Black Ice Bastion. The wails of the wyrm turned to the screams of prisoners. Martin’s and La’Var’s huffs and puffs became the laughter of The Liar and instructions of Adria’s wicked teachers.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Coherent words made it through the blur.

“Hah’Dria! What are you doing?! Don’t stop now — it’s not dead yet!”

Adria snapped back to reality right when the wyrm flung its tail. The heavy scales whipped. And they slammed into her. Adria tumbled into the boulders. As she crashed, her whole body cracked, and warmth trickled down from her forehead and cheeks.

La’Var yelled, instructed Martin, dashed for Adria.

Despite the endless stabs and slices, the wyrm returned to full power, roaring and biting. Its target was Martin.

The spirit vanished out of the way of the crooked teeth. The wyrm chewed before looking around in utter confusion, wondering where its dinner had disappeared.

The wyrm turned to Adria and La’Var.

A sharp tooth grabbed La’Var by the collar.

Gasping, La’Var fixed his hat and faced the opened maw of the beast. He stabbed the tongue.

Adria got up and approached the wyrm, waving the bone dagger. She hoped to catch the creature’s attention. In her mind, it would drop the hunter and pursue Adria instead. Having outrun a wyrm once, she could do it again, even in a much worse state.

The wyrm’s tongue licked La’Var.

Its burgundy eyes sparkled with pleasure at the taste. Or maybe pleasure from its enemies’ distress?

Adria remembered La’Var’s words about how the creatures of the Bowl of Fur and Teeth are smarter than they seem. When she was a few steps away, ready to strike, the wyrm’s tongue dragged La’Var into its mouth, and the mouth shut.

La’Var’s screams echoed out.

The wyrm turned around and slid out of the open plain, into the depths of The Bowl of Fur and Teeth. The ground quaked. A trail formed after the beast.

Adria fell to her knees, legs giving out, the world spinning.

Blurry views flashed by her eyes: Martin chased after the wyrm whilst La’Var’s sword slashed through the sides of the wyrm’s maw. Oil poured out of the wound. It caught fire and covered the wyrm’s scales in flames and left a track of light.

“Chase that thing… Kill it…” Adria coughed. “Save La’Var…”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do,” Martin snapped. “And I would, if I had the energy, but I get tired too!”

A flock of crows landed atop the smoldering boulders surrounding the plain. Several of the birds arrived at the heart of the battle, picking at the mangled corpses of the Winterwolf, examining the blood splattered all over the dirt, and scuttling over to Adria and Martin.

I could feed you the crows, Adria thought. The idea chilled her. No, it’s not worth it. Too dangerous. The two of us should save La’Var.

“Then watch over me, Martin,” Adria uttered. “And find out where the wyrm’s taking La’Var, alright? I can’t… I… I’m going for a nap.”

The world twisted and faded into darkness.

***

The moon was a great eye of light staring down at Jangling woods.

Through this passageway from the north to Sparkling Valley, a hundred riders of Black Ice Bastion rode, swords clinking at their waists, sweat oozing through their heavy, dark armor. Ahead of them floated The Liar. Like a ten-meter trail of smoke, his cloak—which covered his entire body—danced in the wind. Leading this envoy of evil and corruption was the Band of the North.

Yinto, the brown-skinned sorcerer of the Band, whispered beneath a mask hiding the bottom half of his face. Whilst one hand held onto his steed, the other waved, casting balls of light. Orbs flew into the depths of the forest. Some soared ahead, giving light to the road. Others hovered over the envoy

Under the light of Yinto’s sorcery, Killmun understood the name of this forest. His gaze avoided the floating orbs—he couldn’t trust a man who birthed mortal weapons out of whispers, and more so, couldn’t stand to look at the magic—and his eyes landed on chains wrapped around trees. Hundreds of chains, far as the eye could see. The rusty metal locked vicious beasts, unfortunate prisoners and corpses.

A pack of dogs devoured a rotting carcass. When the light shone on them, they grabbed chunks of meat and scattered, crossing the road.

Sharp silver glimmered under the moonlight. Whimpering, the wild dogs fell limp, and their bones were crushed by the hooves of the envoy.

Ratbite’s silver hair flowed with the wind as he raised his silver blade, wiped with a handkerchief and lowered it by his side again. The swordsman’s sunken eyes showed no malice. He felt no ill or good towards the slaughtered creatures: if a being got in his way, it died. That was it.

Killmun admired the swordsman for his principles and cold adherence to orders. Too often, the Band of the North got emotional or took matters into their own hands. They were only the hands of the Liar, after all.

The wail of a creature in the throes of death echoed kilometers away.

Killmun frowned, fixing his black hair.

“Those are not the sounds of any creature facing its untimely end: that’s a wyrm, facing an ungracious death.”

Hutcher, the bald-headed assassin, twisted his crystal eye, tapped it, and fidgeted with it as he thought.

“What a fine fucking place we’re waltzing into,” he said, “where even wyrms have predators.”

“No, southerners do not always lie. The north is the only land where those god forbidden wyrm meet an end from other creatures,” Killmun said. “Those aren’t predators killing the wyrm. Those are hunters.”

“Then even the hunters are strange here.” Hutcher laughed. “What reason could they possibly have to hunt a wyrm on a night like this? There aren’t any festivals around, no celebrations… Are they just thirsty for the blood of a divine creature?”

“Those are the hunters of Saint Goblin’s Inn preparing for our arrival.”

The woods quietened. Even the heaving and galloping of the horses grew faint as every head of the Band of the North turned towards the Liar. His snake-like voice made Killmun’s skin crawl… But what could he do? This man had revived the north and had the same visions of glory as Killmun.

“These screams in the distance give me hope that everything we desire will be catered for and our feast will be legendary,” The Liar continued. “After all, we must celebrate a great victory.”

“A great victory?” Killmun asked.

“Indeed. A great victory in my eyes — Adria was lost and you found her. Some would say by pure luck, but I say fate led us to her. It's what fate wanted all along.”

“You are celebrating too early. The girl ran away from Black Ice Bastion, and we couldn’t catch her. We had a mountain, a thousand eyes, guards and hounds. And we did not catch her. Running away from here will be child’s play for her. You can’t forget that she learned from you.”

“I know you see strategy and what no others do. But this isn’t a matter you should worry about. She will have me on her trail, a hundred riders and nowhere to run… With Sparkling Valley being the newest addition to our empire.” The Liar paused. “Even if she learned from me and has endless potential, she still hasn’t had the time or the opportunities to see her power blossom.”

“A hundred men. How likely is it for us to conquer this land and catch Adria with that few?”

Killmun hated doubting the Liar, but often, his moves made no sense or remained unexplained. The Liar’s plan would work, he knew. How, though? Curiosity nagged at him. He needed to work on stifling it. Impractical in this line of work.

“A rider can appear as ten men. A Band of the North man can seem like a hundred to a peasant. It is enough to reign terror into the hearts of peasants and warriors. And terror is enough for the land to remain complacent until the Orderkeep battalions and settlers arrive.”

“Terror and bloodshed — what a filthy way to rule,” Hutcher said. “I’m not complaining—it’s a fun time and a half—but is it really the only way to unite the continent? What if the people snap? Everything will devolve into even more chaos.”

“Observant. Correct.” The glowing white mask—which floated a few centimeters in front of The Liar’s body—grinned. “Terror, bloodshed, fear, chaos — those are the only things that can lead to unity and prosperity. But their shelf life is short. Far too short. We must hurry in our domination as, soon enough, the gates of opportunity shall shut and the dream of a perfect continent will vanish forever…”

Once more, the deranged wails of a wyrm echoed. Over the treetops, kilometers away, smoke rose up.