The sound of his body hitting the earth echoed too loudly in the silence. Something inside Mai went taut, stretched to the edge of breaking. His pupils shrank into razor slits, catching what little light pierced the veil. His ears pricked forward, twitching at sounds no one else could hear. Behind him, his tail lashed in restless arcs, too agitated to stay still.

Pain pulsed through his chest, heat pressing against cracked ribs until every breath came jagged and shallow. His lips peeled back in a silent snarl, teeth pushing longer with each inhale—fangs sliding down, predatory and cruel.

The trees warped around him, their shapes stretched thin in the suffocating dark of the veil. Branches twisted overhead, blotting out the sky. The cart, the adventurers, even Iruminai blurred to the edges of his vision, dissolving into meaningless haze.

What cut through was raw and unrelenting: scent, movement, threat. The forest itself seemed to vanish, thinning to a single truth—prey and predator.

Time fractured into the rhythm of a hunt.

His fingers curled, nails tearing skin as they lengthened into claws, blood slicking across his palms. His jaw locked, tasting iron as a growl vibrated low in his throat, too deep, too raw to belong fully to him.

Every part of him sharpened, a fox turned feral. The boy was still there, buried somewhere beneath the weight of instinct.

Mai lunged, crossing the gap in a blur of claws and fury. His nails carved through the Hound’s shadowed hide, raking smoke that bled and reformed around his hands. A snarl ripped from his throat, raw and feral.

The beast recoiled, tendrils lashing wildly—then its mask snapped toward him, jaw splitting impossibly wide. Teeth gleamed. Hunger surged.

He twisted aside—too late.

A tendril slammed into his ribs like a hammer. Agony tore through his chest, each bone screaming as he crashed through dirt and leaves. A breath tore from his lungs; blood spilled from his mouth in thick drops.

Staggering upright, swaying but unbroken, Mai locked his slit-pupiled gaze on the beast. His chest burned, vision blurred—but he refused to fall.

The Hound lowered itself, tendrils writhing. Then it charged, a streak of living shadow.

A wall of steel flashed between Mai and the beast.

Jayce hit like an avalanche. His roar shook the clearing as his massive shield crashed into the Veil Hound. The impact thundered through the ground, sending shivers up Mai’s legs. The beast was hurled sideways, its shadow-flesh tearing against bark as it smashed into a tree with bone-cracking force. Cracks spider-webbed across the shield’s surface, but Jayce held fast, braced like a fortress in the storm.

Before the Hound could recover, the sharp click of springs cut through the chaos.

Jori moved. Her slim figure crouched low atop the cart, wrist flicking, threads on her crossbow rig singing with tension. A staccato rhythm of twitches and pulls—then three bolts screamed through the air, streaks of frost-lit silver. They buried themselves deep into the beast’s legs and shoulder. Cold spread instantly, frost veins racing outward, crystallizing across its shadowed hide until the creature groaned under the weight of its own frozen prison.

“Hold it!” Myla’s voice rang, sharp and commanding.

The air shimmered. A translucent plane of Lunis energy snapped into place before her, glowing faintly like tempered glass. She twisted her palms, and the construct lurched—rotating with brutal speed.

Deru and Kael were already moving.

They sprinted without hesitation, boots hammering against dirt. As they reached the edge of Myla’s conjured platform, she flipped it like a lever. The force catapulted both men skyward—two human projectiles launched toward the creature.

Kael led. Lightning crawled up his body, sizzling through the air as his greatsword gleamed like a slab of judgment. His eyes glowed with something unreadable. He released the blade mid-arc, the weapon spinning once before plunging straight into the Hound’s chest. The sound was wet, wrong—steel tearing shadow. The impact slammed the beast harder against the tree, half-pinning it, its howl ripping apart the veil.

Kael didn’t stop. Momentum carried him straight into his embedded weapon. His hands found the hilt, muscles straining as he twisted with inhuman precision. The greatsword ripped sideways, carving a trench of light through the beast’s torso. Smoke and shadow burst from the wound, writhing, screaming.

Then Deru crashed down.

Twin blades blazed in either hand, his crimson hair trailing like fire through the dark. He twisted midair, a predator’s grace honed to perfection. Both swords plunged into the Veil Hound’s neck with surgical brutality. The impact slammed the beast harder against the tree, pinning it like prey caught in a trap.

The creature thrashed, shadowy tendrils whipping wildly, but Deru held firm. His eyes locked on its glowing sockets, unwavering. For the first time, the Veil Hound’s gaze faltered. Hunger and rage gave way to something else—something colder. It recognized the look in Deru’s eyes: the cold, calculating gaze of death itself, staring down at its next collection.

The beast lunged in desperation, a tendril stabbing toward his chest. Deru pivoted with effortless precision, letting it scrape past. One sword remained buried deep, anchoring the monster in place. With the other, he raised his arm high, and in a clean, merciless arc, brought the blade down.

Steel met bone. The mask shattered like glass.

Light erupted, pure and blinding. Radiance poured from the fractures, unraveling shadow-flesh in ribbons of brilliance. The Veil Hound’s howl cracked into something unearthly—half shriek, half song—as its body dissolved into motes of light.

The forest exhaled. Shadows peeled back. Sunlight speared through the canopy, gilding the battlefield in fractured gold.

Day had returned. Birds cautiously resumed their songs.

Where the Veil Hound had been, a glowing white crystal resided. Scattered motes of light danced upward before fading into the afternoon air.

Mai got up and stumbled across the clearing toward Iruminai, his own pain forgotten. His friend lay motionless against the tree trunk, blood soaking through his torn shirt. Mai's heart hammered against his broken ribs as he dropped to his knees beside him.

Lira was already there, her hands hovering over Iruminai's chest. A golden orb pulsed between her palms, casting a warm light across his pale face. Delicate tendrils of energy extended from the orb, weaving into Iruminai's wound like a golden thread through fabric.

"Is he—" Mai's voice cracked.

"He'll be okay," Lira said without looking up. Her brow furrowed in concentration as the tendrils sank deeper. "The puncture missed all vital organs."

Mai watched as the torn flesh beneath the glowing threads began knitting together. The bleeding slowed, then stopped. Iruminai's labored breathing gradually steadied.

The golden tendrils retracted into the orb as Lira sat back on her heels. Where the gaping wound had been, a fresh scar now marked Iruminai's upper chest.

"He needs rest," she said, her voice softening. "His body has been through significant trauma. The healing accelerates recovery, but it doesn't eliminate it completely."

Iruminai's eyes fluttered, but remained closed. Mai let out a long sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping as he collapsed onto the ground beside his friend. The adrenaline that had kept him moving, left him trembling and light-headed.

"Thank you," he said, barely a whisper. His eyes slowly closed as Lira twisted her attention to him, the golden orb between her palms reigniting once more.

Mai's eyes fluttered open to darkness. Stars glittered overhead through gaps in the forest canopy, their light competing with the warm glow of a campfire nearby. His body felt heavy, each breath a deliberate effort.

He turned his head slowly, vision focusing on Iruminai's still form on a cot a few feet away. His friend's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

Mai pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing as pain flared across his torso. The world tilted momentarily before settling back into place. He took a moment to gather himself before attempting to stand.

"Easy there," Jori’s voice came from beside the fire. She sat with her crossbow resting across her lap, idly adjusting a string, her posture loose despite the long day. Myla sat opposite, stirring something in a small pot, the flames painting her features in amber light.

Mai steadied himself against a tree trunk, testing his balance. His legs trembled but held. "How long was I out?"

"About six hours," Myla replied. "Lira did what she could before exhausting herself. She's resting now."

Mai took another look at Iruminai as he walked toward the fire. "Has he woken at all?"

Jori shook her head, fingers drumming idly against the crossbow’s frame. "Not yet. But Lira stitched him back together. If she says he’ll be fine by morning, then he will be."

Mai lowered himself beside the fire, each movement careful and measured. His ribs protested with dull throbs of pain.

Myla reached for a wooden bowl, ladling steaming stew from the pot. The rich aroma of herbs and meat filled the air as she passed it to him with a small wooden spoon.

"You should eat," she breathed. "Help rebuild your strength."

Mai accepted the bowl with a grateful nod. The first spoonful warmed him from the inside, the broth surprisingly flavorful given their circumstances.

"Thank you," he said after a few more sips.

The fire crackled between them, casting dancing shadows across the small clearing. The quiet night around them felt like a cocoon of safety after the day's chaos. His gaze moved between Jori and Myla, curiosity finally overcoming his exhaustion.

"So, where are you all from originally?" he asked, setting his bowl down. "I know so little about any of you."

Myla smiled, tucking a strand of orange hair behind her ear. “Faltra. A small town north of Phasbar. Fishermen, farmers. My father was a blacksmith. My mother, stayed home to take care of us. Neither of them wanted me chasing adventuring work, but here I am.” Her smirk softened into something closer to fondness. “They came around eventually.”

Mai returned the smile, setting his bowl aside. “They sound like good people.” His eyes drifted toward Jori. “What about you?”

"Junisol," she said, giving a small shrug as if to downplay it. Her fingers tapped against the frame of her crossbow.

Mai’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Not many Vesrin settle in Junisol.”

Jori’s lips quirked with the faintest curve of amusement. “Guess my family liked the view. Mountains, rivers, forests—hard place to leave once you’ve seen it.”

Mai studied her a moment, noting how the firelight caught the sharp lines of her expression. “It sounds beautiful.”

"It was," Jori said, then glanced at Iruminai’s cot. “Though it taught me one thing: if you’re weaker than the rest, you work twice as hard. Guess that’s something your friend already knows.”

Mai followed her gaze before letting out a soft chuckle. "He definitely puts in the effort, that's for sure."

The fire danced lower as the night deepened. Myla offered another bowl of stew, but he declined with a grateful smile.

Jori rose, brushing dirt from her trousers as she adjusted the strap of her crossbow. “I’ll cover second watch. He’ll be fine; I'll keep an eye on him. You should get some rest,” she added, almost offhand, though her eyes lingered on Iruminai’s cot for a beat before she turned away.

"Will do, goodnight." Mai murmured, watching Jori disappear into the darkness beyond the fire's glow.

Myla stood next, stretching her arms overhead. "Rest well," she said before following Jori.

Mai remained by the dying embers a moment longer. The day's events weighed heavy on his shoulders as he finally pushed himself to his feet.

Each step back to his cot sent dull pain radiating through his chest. Mai lowered himself carefully onto the makeshift bed. Exhaustion quickly overcame discomfort as his eyelids grew heavy, then closed completely.