The shadows had changed.
The reeds on either side now looked like jagged teeth under the pale moonlight. They shifted lightly with the breeze, rustling dry and low. The path narrowed again, the space around us tightening, closed in by terrain that no longer felt normal. Everything about it seemed off—too still, too controlled.
I lay still, soaked in sweat. My skin felt cold and clammy, but every bump the cart hit sent a new lance of pain through my shoulder. My fingers curled instinctively around the edge of the wooden bench, trying to anchor myself to something real. Something steady.
The creature hadn't followed us.
It had only watched. Or… seemed to.
The world felt like it was holding its breath. No sound but the groan of the wheels.
Then—
A brutal jolt. Wood cracked. The cart lurched hard to one side, and pain tore through my shoulder like a blade driven straight into the joint.
I bit back a scream, tasting blood as my teeth clenched.
Gamir cursed under his breath—sharp, frustrated. He yanked the reins, bringing the cart to a halt. The wheels groaned as they locked in place. Without wasting a second, he jumped down, landing with a muffled thud on the packed earth.
Namur rushed over to Gamir right away. A moment later, I heard his voice—tense, but controlled.
"What happened?"
"The axle's bending" Gamir muttered.
"What we patched earlier didn't hold. That last hit finished the job. It's out of alignment now."
Namur's voice came next, low but urgent.
"Can you fix it?"
A pause.
Then Gamir again, sharper this time: "Yes, but it'll take time. Half an hour. Maybe less—if we're lucky."
Azel dropped down. He moved like a shadow—always quiet, always watching. He took position near the rear of the cart, fingers resting on the hilt of his blade—ready, but not drawing yet.
I forced myself up slowly, gasping. My breath came shallow and thin. I peeled back the side cloth, letting the cold air slap my face. It stung—but it cleared my vision.
Outside, Namur and Gamir crouched beside the wheel, talking in low voices as they examined the damaged parts. The wood was cracked, and the metal axle bent just enough to be dangerous. Gamir pointed something out with his finger, and Namur nodded grimly.
Gamir's voice reached me: "It's warped. You can see where the wood split."
Namur let out a low breath. "The hits knocked it out of place. We should've stopped earlier."
Azel didn't say a word. He just stood there, still facing the dark, listening. Like always.
Maybe it was part of his Edict.
Or maybe he just didn't see the point in talking.
The silence thickened with every passing minute, broken only by the occasional knock of tools or a whispered curse. No one spoke unless they had to. Every movement was tight. Even while checking the cart or scanning the dark, they held that same quiet pressure—like a fight could start at any second. The oxen seemed to feel it too, standing unnaturally still.
Twenty minutes later, Gamir straightened and wiped his palms on the cloth at his sides. Namur nodded silently. Everyone climbed aboard again. The cart creaked, weight shifting.
But we didn't move.
Gamir sat at the reins, staring forward.
Namur approached, slow.
"Why aren't we moving?"
Gamir didn't turn.
"Don't move."
Then I saw it—
Something stepped out of the reeds—close, and coming straight toward us.
Slow. Crouched. Twisted.
A Child of the Guardian.
Four-legged—but nothing about it was natural. Its movements were jerky, broken, like it hadn't fully learned how to exist in its own skin. The spine arched unnaturally high and stiff, forcing each step like a body fighting itself.
Its hide was cracked and dry, scaly like stone—colored like old earth. You could almost mistake it for tree bark, dead and hardened... until it breathed—or at least, what I thought was its breathing.
Each breath came with a crunching rasp, like gravel grinding in its throat.
It had a face. Vaguely human. But twisted, melted. No eyes—just stretched skin where they should've been. From its brow, a cluster of short, crooked horns jutted out at odd angles.
And in its chest—something worse. The flesh split open with each step, revealing a second jaw buried deep inside, pulsing between ribs. It opened just slightly, like it was tasting the air for blood.
Its claws dragged along the ground—curved, uneven, thick. The kind that didn't just tear. They crushed.
Everyone froze.
We all held our breath. The world went still—until the oxen began to panic, snorting and stamping, trying to back away.
Namur reacted fast. He reached into his coat and threw a pinch of pale powder toward the oxen. It hung in the air for a moment, then scattered like ash.
The oxen calmed instantly.
The creature kept approaching.
Closer.
It circled the cart slowly, claws scraping against the wood—not striking, just feeling. Testing. It had no eyes, but it knew exactly where we were.
It was studying us.
My body screamed at me to be still. Even my breath became deliberate—slow, measured. I could feel my pulse pounding under my skin.
And then—
It stopped.
Everyone's hands hovered near their weapons. Fingers twitched slightly, ready to start tracing—but no one did.
Why weren't they activating their runes? Why weren't they preparing?
Then it hit me. Maybe they couldn't. Maybe that thing could feel spiritual energy—sense it like a flare in the dark.
We all stayed still. Held our breath. Every second pulled tighter, like wire about to snap.
And then, slowly, it began to turn away.
I exhaled. Everyone else did too.
A brief, silent release—like we'd all been holding the same breath.
Out of nowhere, a sharp stab of pain shot through my shoulder. I clenched my jaw, said nothing—but my breath caught for a second.
I looked down.
Blood was already soaking through the bandage. It slid down my arm and dripped onto the floor of the cart.
Why now?
Why this sudden pain?
I hadn't moved. Nothing had touched it. So why was it bleeding so much?
Out of the corner of my eye, I could still see the creature.
It stopped.
Its body went rigid, head tilting slightly, like it had caught a scent.
A moment later, its head snapped toward us. Straight at me.
And it screamed.
Not a sound. Not a roar.
A tearing.
Like wood exploding.
Like bone snapping inside the earth.
Gamir shouted, yanking the reins. The oxen screamed and lunged forward. The cart jolted into motion. Wheels scraped. Dust exploded behind us.
The creature moved.
It ran.
It was chasing us.