When Sethion again gained a splinter of awareness, a dozen legionnaires and Vertragi had surrounded him. He cried out, frustrated and hurt, but not torn to pieces. A coarse man with an aquiline nose crouched, searching for eye contact. If he remembered correctly, his name was Marcus.

During one of his many sleepless nights when Sethion roamed the villa, he had met him and other Venator underlings at the front gate. With a mischievous glint in their eyes, they had told him to sit with them. They had asked a single question, not about what he was doing, but whether he knew how to play dice. For a single night, he had remembered what

being treated as a typical youth felt like.

That glimmer had vanished, extinguished by a calculating coldness measuring his every move.

"Can you walk?"

Sethion nodded. After getting his answer, the man turned around, seemingly losing all interest. He only watched the aristocrat out of the corner of his eyes. Had they known who they had shot at? Sethion wasn't sure. He did not dare to ask. Legionnaires were not known for their restraint. There was no unnecessary talking or questioning about why he had done it. The men had come for retrieval. They did not care. While for Sethion, it had been a vital fight for his entire future, for them, it was another day of the sun, a weekday, nothing more, nothing less. They did not tie him up, not out of arrogance, but because Sethion's knees were still shaking. He could barely stand. Maybe also because there was no rope at hand.

"Here's the chest, unopened, undamaged."

How do they already know what I stole?

Another man reported, rummaging through Sethion's bag. It felt strangely violating.

Sethion breathed consciously.

Focus.

Observing his surroundings, he counted fourteen men in total. However, more lurking nearby remained a possibility.

I assume Father sent them just for the chest. He has probably already written me off. I wonder how they would react if they knew what was inside.

Escorting the young fugitive in their midst, the legionnaires began returning to the estate. As time passed, Sethion's movements grew more controlled again.

Things could be worse, right? Things can always get worse, right? Why can't I think of anything worse?

Well, I could be dead right now, I suppose. Wait, would that be that bad?

The soldiers' steps were steady as they walked effortlessly in perfect unison. Without noticing Sethion's facial expression, people might have believed them to be his protectors.

Walking through the forest, which had been off limits for over ten summers now, left him with much time to ponder where it all had gone wrong.

The window, the moment he had run, or had the idea been flawed all along?

Maybe I should have done it in broad daylight, so brazen no one would have even considered it. Walk out with a smile on my face, wishing the guards a lovely day.

Sethion's shoulders slumped.

It doesn't matter. There won't be another try. I will be lucky if I sleep under a roof tonight or don't get quartered by tomorrow.

Moos squeaked under his shoes. His feet hurt. A blister had appeared where the leather had rubbed against his toes. The night air felt cold on his skin. His short light-brown curls stuck to his head, glued by sweat. The adrenaline, the thrill of doing something forbidden, subsided.

Dull.

As the sole upside to the situation, the pain decreased to a more bearable level. Another fit he managed to survive. Nothing new. But would he survive the next? The one after?

He yawned, the tiredness catching up to him. That had been it? A short escapade of wishful thinking until reality poured a bucket of cold water over his head. He had taken the gamble and lost. And like a gambler, he found the thought of footing his bill appalling.

Did I miss something? Was I too quiet, or have I been just unlucky? What could a child have done other than screaming for its notice? Cry?

Involuntarily, the image of his mother flashed before his eyes, her curly hair the same as his, her walnut-colored eyes, and her aloof expression. The distant look on her face had not changed the day the physician had diagnosed the Rot.

Oh, spare me of your madness of a philosophy. You only believe in fate because you have had luck in life. Must be easy. Taking something, proclaiming the gods, fate, or whatever has destined it to be yours.

Sethion kicked a pebble, hitting a guard in front of him. He wanted to punch something. The man continued without pausing, not halting for a single moment. It led to a realization.

I'm throwing a temper tantrum like a child instead of doing anything.

They approached the outskirts of the woods, where the trees grew sparser. Sethion did not hold any unrealistic expectations. He required a wonder or something out of a legend to escape.

Grab the bag and run. Could not be more straightforward. First, though, I need to tip the scale. The third time is the charm.

His muscles tensed as he took a deep breath, focusing on the next moment. Pain and tiredness faded out.

One last gamble.

"Heeeeeeeeelllllllllpppppppp!" Sethion jumped at the loudness of his scream. To his satisfaction, he noticed some of the legionnaires flinch as well. They span around, hands already on the hilts of their swords, vigilant at every step.

"What was that for?" A man questioned him.

Their eyes darted from tree to tree, penetrating the deep shadows in search of an ambush or any sign of an enemy, only to find nothing.

Worth a try.

Sethion looked up at his captors and noticed the dozens of eyeballs now entirely focused on him. Their stone-cold faces did not portray a hint of emotion, but he was sure they did not appreciate his small stunt in any way. He gave them an awkward smile. Somehow, their gazes grew even more piercing as a result. Sethion squirmed as a strong hand gripped his shoulder.

Suddenly, something deep out of the woods answered the call.

The looks on the legionnaire's faces turned from confusion to horror. A single deep, bloodcurdling howl encompassed all senses. He could feel it, smell it. Sethion's animalistic instincts screeched. The howl sounded distant and somehow right next to him.

Magic.

He had accomplished it, created his moment to get away. This time, they would not follow him, he was sure. Sethion's legs did not budge. Unnatural goosebumps formed all over his body. It had become so palpable he could taste it on the tip of his tongue.

Fear.

He looked around. These men were battle-hardened veterans. Most would not catch a bad night's sleep if they had to go to war tomorrow. What he saw in their eyes terrified him almost as much as the howl.

Dread.

The Vertragi whimpered and lowered their tails.

Sethion realized he might have called upon more than fourteen legionnaires could handle.

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There is a reason they sent the Venatores, or a century, whenever they try to eradicate a full-blooded myth. I need to run.

His feet did not move.

"Boy." The man's voice portrayed no emotion. Only his uncontrolled trembling left hand offered a glimpse at his true feelings.

"Do wolves live in this forest?"

The legionnaires held no fault. They had arrived recently. in addition to the family's guards. Cassion's rise in position warranted more potent protection.

They have no idea. Not a single clue. They caught me because of ignorance.

Sethion clenched his teeth before he could say anything. It had been a night of countless disappointments.

No use dwelling over ifs. It escalated already. Be calm.

"Not wolves. A myth. We need to run." Sethion's voice came out shaky.

Nobody budged.

The man, a veteran with yellow teeth, maybe even an Evocatus, cackled. The metal on his body shook, adding to the jarring sound.

"Bit late for that, kid."

"Assume circle formation!"

The legionnaires flowed like water, filling their designated spaces. The youth standing in the middle of them was redundant. A bystander, watching the assembly of the formation resembling a hedgehog in awe.

The Vertragi, ruthless hunting dogs, cowered. They would be useless in the upcoming confrontation. Animals were famously unreliable in confrontations with myths. The men steeled themselves, but the predator took its precious time.

"Eighty sesterces on a Fenrir." A man with crooked teeth broke the silence. An idiotic bet, they knew. What did it matter which myth would slaughter them?

"A hundred on Gaius guessing Fenrir because he doesn't know any other wolf myths." Another soldier answered, not making eye contact once during the conversation. Instead, he stared unwaveringly into the darkness.

"You think I would gamble a month's pay on -."

"Fifty on it being an Amarok." The slimmest of the bunch chipped in.

Sethion took a deep breath. The corners of his mouth twitched, almost forming a smile for a brief moment.

No, that's not right. A Fenrir couldn't have lived close to our villa. They are too big and dangerous. The Senate would have sent the Venatores long ago, and we would be dead. An Amarok? Possible. But it's not the proper climate. We aren't far enough north. The powers don't fit, either.

Sethion positioned himself behind the burliest of them, setting up a hurdle between the myth and his tender flesh. Information is a vital component of defeating supernatural beings. A sentence he had heard countless times. His teachers, parents, and Cassion had told him the same when he complained about submitting entire encyclopedias to memory. Now, he wished to have never stopped practicing.

During that time, when his studies still mattered, he had spent months figuring out which myth his brother had formed a pact with.

Only to hit the wall of missing information during his research. His parents and brother would not tell him anything. Everything related to the incident they kept secret. They would not mention it. Not wanting to give anyone a hint as to what kind of creature Cassion had bargained with.

It left a sole starting point, the transmutation. Cassion's physical mutations in correspondence to the pact. The electric green eyes of his brother. Something no one else in the family possessed. That was not much to go off, but now he knew more.

"Focus. The beast should already be here." The Evocatus voiced out everyone's suspicion.

Lives in forests. Something wolf-like with affiliation to the color green. Can exert a powerful fear effect through its cry.

Could it be a, but why would it be so far west?

A dreadful silence filled the forest. The apex predator was on the prowl, inaudible even in the stillness, stalking its prey. A legionnaire whispered a prayer. Then, for the fourth time that night, Sehion shouted, breaking the quiet.

"Cu Sith! I think it's a Cu Sith!"

The legionnaire's heads didn't turn, but he had gotten their attention. Sethion could feel it. Every piece of information that helped them defy the odds weighed heavier than gold.

"That's great, but what the fuck is a Cu Sith?!" Gaius responded. The fear a single howl had instilled in them remained deeply anchored in their bones. Nobody could forget that they were facing certain death.

I can run. I would only have to slip out. No one will stop me. I need the bag. Everything has worked out the way I wanted. So, why am I not moving? I either die first or survive. Either way, I die.

Sethion stayed inside the encirclement.

An unreasonable voice of hope whispered in his head.

The Cu Sith didn't hurt Cassion.

The young aristocrat remained motionless.

Coward.

Sethion bit his lip. Not sensually, solely desperate. Not until blood trickled down his throat did he find the strength to speak.

"It's not a wolf, but a faery dog. Iron, its weakness should be iron.

The moment the words left his mouth, the expectant expressions of the legionnaire's dimmed.

"Oh, that's great, 'cause I wanted to stab it with a stick."

"Shut up, Fabius."

A man joined the praying legionnaire. Then another, until a small chorus formed.

"Ave dei magni. Ave dei magni. Ave dei magni."

"Ave dei magni."

Sethion readied himself to jump at the slightest notion, relentlessly examining the surroundings for an invisible enemy. One thought after the other rushed through his head.

Where is that damn faery dog? And why would the book specify iron as its weak point? It has to be cold iron. I don't-

Dark green lightning shot through his field of vision, hitting the formation like a cavalry charge. A body landed next to Sethion before he could comprehend what had happened. The night went silent again, and he had time to glance at the unfortunate legionnaire. The man was now missing his throat. Not torn or ripped to shreds, missing, replaced by a gaping hole. A single death rattle. Then he stiffened, but the liquid kept flowing, nevertheless. The nasty metallic smell of blood spread over the battlefield.

The acidic taste of puke filled his entire mouth. Years of training had failed to prepare him.

He gasped for air. He felt a heavy weight pressing down on his chest.

I can't-.

Two electric green moons stared him right in the eyes, the same as his brothers, but without any compassion. Instead, the distant glint of a hunter and malevolent intelligence filled them. While the legionnaires closed the gap created by their fallen comrade, wading through his blood, the Cuth Sith waited. The beast stood as tall as an ox, with its height reaching up to Sethion's chest. Its fur had the color of vibrant ivy, giving the doglike myth an eerie beauty. It stood still, barely inside the light cone created by the lanterns. The Cu Sith would have appeared peaceful without the red fluid dripping down its snow-white snout. The bowstrings of the crossbows hummed as they catapulted their bolts at the enemy. Not everyone had wasted their time staring. The faery had given the soldiers an easy target and enough time. Before Sethion realized the men had shot, the bolts found their mark. Then, they got deflected to the ground.

It's toying with us.

The men cocked their crossbows without pause, adjusting to the cuneus formation, forming a wedge. Another bolt bounced off the myth, not leaving a trace in the dark green fur. The myth seemed almost amused. A Vertragi shook off the stupor and charged at the Cu Sith. All Sethion could do was remember the dog's name.

Hylactor. He whines the loudest for treats.

Marcus swore.

"Gaius, take the kid and run." The Evocatus ordered.

"We will join you later at the Mercor residence."

The legionnaires, unprepared for real warfare with their shields and parts of their armor missing, drew their blades, readying for close combat. In a cold frenzy, they rallied. They were about to die. It didn't matter. The thing had killed their comrade. They would make it pay.

"AD MILITES!"

The Cu Sith moved,

opening its snout, revealing canine teeth the length of a small man's hand.

Gaius forcefully grabbed Sethion's arm.

Then the beast barked, and the world froze. Honestly, he wasn't sure if it could be called a bark. People didn't collapse after hearing a bark. It was more of a feeling oscillating throughout his soul, superseding every thought and action he might have taken with terror. Warm liquid flowed down his legs as he lost control of his body.

The legionnaires didn't fare much better. Most had let go of their weapons and fallen to their knees. The primal emotion had conquered their minds in seconds. Hylactor toppled over. Not even the animals were spared.

The ruler of the forest walked graciously between the invaders of his turf, who had caused commotion after commotion, radiating a sweltering fury. The manlings had barged into its territory, carrying weapons instead of offerings, disturbing the forest to lure it with their cries.

Sethion kneeled before the monster, quivering erratically. His surroundings looked surreal. Countless wraiths danced in his vision, beckoning him closer as they filled the entire sky. Specters muddied his view, taking the little amount of sight left to him in the darkness of the night.

This is a dream. Nothing of this is real.

The sounds dampened. Sethion sat alone, decoupled from reality.

He didn't want to pray for salvation in his last moments, so he thought about his siblings and the girl he had almost married. Little moments that had gained their preciousness after his world had turned mad. A smile crossed his dry lips.

I tried my best but only accelerated it in the end. So what if this is the end? I have been dying for the past two years. Dying is easy. Living is hard.

Sethion ground his teeth.

Not yet.

He blinked and saw. Some legionnaires were moving, recovering. Three weren't. A green shadowy figure towered over the fallen. Something flickered in its mouth, frail but incredibly precious, something forbidden. The giant dog had torn something out of their corpses. A soldier pounced on the beast. Saliva dripped out of the man's mouth. Gone was the military discipline, replaced by a mad glint.

He is out of his mind. Maybe that is why he is still standing. With what kind of beast have you signed your contract with, brother?

The myth ignored him, gorging on its meal.

The soldier thrust his gladius, aiming at its chest. A motion perfected over hundreds of battles, making it second nature. The weapon drew a captivating line until the stab scraped the myth's skin. A mountain would have been a less resilient target.

Sethion, meanwhile, tugged the man with the stolen goods strapped on his back. The legionnaire didn't budge. The boy tried to pull the bag out underneath him without much success. Losing all restraint, he slapped the legionnaire, Gaius, across the face.

Sethion had promised himself.

Everything or nothing.

After half an eternity, the soldier regained his consciousness. Sethion pointed frantically away from the battle, signaling the escape path.

Gaius hesitated shortly, looking at his struggling comrades encircling the ahungered faery before using his wobbly legs. The legionnaires had spent years together, battling side by side. He decided in a split second. Gaius dropped the bag, turned, and charged. He was trembling as if it was freezing. Still, he knew the fever of battle would keep him warm.

While a young man ran alone through the forest, the burning eyes of the Cu Sith didn't leave his back once, even while the fight kept raging on. Its snout warped as if it had sniffed something disgusting.

Unworthy prey.