The forest was a bruise of fading light and deepening shadows, its canopy smothering the last embers of the sun. Dinadan sat astride Bracken, his dependable mule, while leading Thistle, who bore Aidric’s slumped and feverish form. The gelding’s hooves sank into the damp earth with each step, the muffled rhythm the only sound breaking the oppressive silence. Even the usual stirrings of the woods—birds, the rustle of unseen creatures—were absent, swallowed by the heavy mist coiled around the trees like a living thing.

Dinadan tightened his grip on Bracken’s reins, his eyes sharp as they scanned the darkness ahead. Without the chest’s unsettling glow, the gloom felt alive, pressing closer with every step. Aidric’s shallow breaths came like whispers, the lad swaying with the horse’s movement, his head lolling against Thistle’s neck. Dinadan fought the urge to check the boy’s pulse again, though the hollow pit in his stomach told him what he already knew—Aidric wasn’t getting better.

The absence of the chest gnawed at him. It had been the rational choice, leaving it at the Henge, tethered to ancient wards that promised security. Yet rationality felt like a poor excuse now, with Aidric burning up and the faint smell of damp moss and decay hanging heavy in the air.

Dinadan broke the silence, his voice a quiet grumble. “Perfect. No glowing relic, no cryptic wizard to explain things, and me, with my sparkling optimism, to navigate the darkest corner of Albion. What could go wrong?”

Thistle snorted, and Bracken tossed his head, the mule as restless as Dinadan himself. Aidric stirred faintly, muttering something Dinadan couldn’t catch. The knight leaned over, his tone soft but edged with frustration.

“Stay with me, lad. You hear? No fainting, no dying, and no glowing like some blasted beacon. Not tonight.”

The path twisted deeper into the woods, the mist thickening until it felt like wading through a dream. Then, there it was again—a faint rustle. Dinadan froze, the sound prickling at the edge of his awareness. Bracken halted, its ears flicking toward the source.

"Not again," Dinadan muttered, his free hand drifting to his sword. "You’d think Albion would let me pass in peace for once."

The rustling grew louder, and then the creature emerged, its monstrous form cutting through the mist like a living nightmare. It was the same wolf from before—or perhaps one of its kin. Eyes like molten amber glared out from the fog, filled with unrelenting malice. Its hulking frame was low to the ground, sinews rippling as if barely containing the feral energy coiled within. Along its back, jagged bone-like spines gleamed, each sharp as a blade and slick with dew from the mist. A low, guttural growl rumbled from its chest, vibrating through the ground and into Dinadan’s boots.

Dinadan tilted his head, his lips curling into a wry, humorless smile as he drew his sword in one smooth motion. The sound of steel ringing in the damp air was both a warning and a challenge. "Well, aren’t you persistent?" he said, his voice cutting through the eerie silence. "All right, then. Let’s settle this once and for all. But I’ll warn you—I’m in a foul mood, so don’t expect me to play fair."

The wolf lunged without hesitation, faster than Dinadan had anticipated. A blur of muscle and malice, it closed the distance in a heartbeat. Dinadan barely managed to parry, his blade scraping against one of the creature’s jagged spines in a shower of sparks. The impact drove him back, his boots skidding on the damp forest floor as he fought to regain his footing.

Behind him, Bracken brayed in panic, jerking at his reins, while Thistle reared up, nearly unseating Aidric. The boy clung to the mule’s neck, his wide eyes darting between the snarling wolf and the knight struggling to hold it at bay.

"Stay still, you blasted mule!" Dinadan barked, his free hand snapping out to grab Thistle’s reins. But his split attention left him open. The wolf’s amber eyes glinted with predatory glee as it darted to the side, using the moment to circle for another strike.

Dinadan turned just in time to see it coil for a second lunge. He raised his sword, ready to meet the attack head-on, but the creature never reached him.

A deafening screech tore through the air, shattering the stillness of the forest. The mist churned violently, scattering like frightened birds as a massive shadow plummeted from the canopy above. The force of its descent sent a powerful gust of wind rushing through the clearing, flattening the grasses and rattling the skeletal branches overhead.

The shadow collided with the wolf mid-air, the impact driving the creature to the ground with a sickening crunch. Dinadan staggered back, his sword raised instinctively, as the dark shape resolved itself into a towering, winged form.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

It was a wyvern.

The creature’s scales gleamed in the dim light—a deep, dark green mottled with streaks of gold that seemed to pulse like veins of fire. Its eyes burned with an intelligent, predatory fury, and its tail lashed the ground, leaving deep gouges in the earth. Talons like iron spikes pinned the wolf to the forest floor as the wyvern’s massive head lowered, its jaws parting to reveal rows of jagged, gleaming teeth.

"Wyott?" Dinadan breathed, the name escaping his lips in a mixture of awe and exasperation.

Wyott snarled, his powerful jaws snapping shut with the sound of splintering stone. The wolf yelped and twisted beneath the wyvern’s crushing grip, its struggles frantic but futile. With a final, vicious motion, Wyott’s fangs sank into the creature’s throat, silencing its growls in a gurgling rush of dark blood. The wolf’s body went limp, its spines sinking into the mud as Wyott reared back, releasing a triumphant roar that echoed through the forest like thunder.

Dinadan lowered his sword, letting out a sharp exhale. "Subtle as ever," he muttered under his breath, watching as Wyott turned his blazing eyes on him.

The wyvern huffed, a plume of hot air rushing from his nostrils and ruffling Dinadan’s hair. The intensity of Wyott’s gaze was almost accusatory, as though he expected some kind of explanation—or gratitude.

Dinadan tilted his head, one brow arching. "What? You want a thank-you? You’re the one who swooped in uninvited. And I don’t suppose this means Merlin is somewhere nearby, does it?"

Wyott rumbled deep in his throat, a sound that might have been agreement or disdain. His massive wings flexed slightly, stirring the air around them.

Dinadan groaned, sheathing his sword. "Of course he is. Because why wouldn’t he be? And here I thought I’d have at least one moment of peace before another round of riddles and prophecies."

Wyott snorted, his sharp tail swishing behind him as he took a deliberate step back. With a final, piercing screech, he launched himself skyward, his powerful wings beating the air with enough force to scatter leaves and send the remaining mist into swirling eddies. The wyvern’s shadow passed over the clearing like a storm cloud before disappearing into the canopy above.

Dinadan turned back to the horses, his movements brisk but controlled. Thistle was still trembling, but the mule stood still as Dinadan secured Aidric in the saddle once more.

"All right, lad," Dinadan murmured. "Seems we’ve got company waiting. Let’s see if Merlin’s as cheerful as his scaly friend."

Bracken snorted, as if in protest, but Dinadan pressed forward. The forest, though still ominous, felt subtly changed. The mist was thinner now, and in the distance, a faint golden light flickered.

Dinadan’s steps slowed as he approached the light. It wasn’t the cold, spectral glow of the Henge, nor the flickering eyes of a predator. This was warm and steady, a promise of safety—or a lure.

"Convenient," Dinadan muttered. "Too convenient."

Yet, with Aidric’s condition worsening and Wyott’s sudden appearance fresh in his mind, Dinadan had no choice but to follow. He nudged Bracken forward, leading Thistle and the boy into the light’s embrace.

The glow grew brighter, resolving into a lantern hanging inside the mouth of a cave. The hollow yawned out of the hillside, its edges jagged and blackened as though by fire. The air that drifted out was cool, tinged with damp earth and the faint tang of iron.

Dinadan dismounted and tethered the horses just outside the entrance. The animals shifted nervously, their ears flicking toward the cave.

Dinadan muttered, turning to lift Aidric from the saddle. The boy was too light, his fevered body limp in Dinadan’s arms.

“Don’t worry,” Dinadan said, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was reassuring. “We’ll be safe here. Or eaten. One of the two.”

Stepping into the cave, Dinadan glanced around, his unease prickling at the edges of his exhaustion. Shadows danced along the stone walls, retreating reluctantly from the lantern’s light.

He laid Aidric down near the lantern, his hands trembling from the strain. The boy’s face was pale, his lips cracked, and his breathing faint. Dinadan crouched beside him, pulling a flask from his pack and dampening a cloth to dab at the boy’s forehead.

"Easy now, lad," Dinadan said softly. "You’re safe. Or as close to safe as it gets."

The boy’s face was ghostly pale, his lips cracked, and his breathing so faint that Dinadan leaned in close just to reassure himself it was still there. He crouched beside Aidric, dabbing at his forehead with a strip of cloth soaked in the last of the water from his flask. The lad flinched at the touch, murmuring softly, his words lost in the crackle of the lantern’s flame.

Dinadan sank back on his heels, scrubbing a hand over his face. The absence of the chest—its unholy glow, its weight, its oppressive presence—pressed against his thoughts like a knife. Staring at Aidric now, fevered and fragile, it felt like folly to leave it behind. The chest was still pulling at the boy, its reach stretching over the plain as though Albion itself wouldn’t let him go.

“Brilliant,” Dinadan muttered, his voice bitter as he stared at the boy. “Leave the cursed relic behind and carry the consequences instead. Couldn’t have gone the other way, could it?”

The lantern flickered as if in answer, its light dimming momentarily before flaring back to life. Dinadan scowled at it, as if the flame bore all of the blame.

He let his head bang back against the wall, his body heavy with exhaustion. Aidric stirred faintly, his lips moving, though no sound came out. Dinadan watched helplessly, his chest tightening at the sight of the boy struggling against whatever darkness gripped him. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint, uneven rhythm of the boy’s breaths and the restless shuffle of the horses outside.

“Well, Dinadan,” he muttered bitterly, “another fine mess. Let’s see how you bungle your way out of this one.”

The silence offered no answer, and Dinadan didn’t try to fill it. Instead, he watched the boy, his mind churning with doubts as the shadows stretched long into the night.