Another boy arrived as the words fell, shrouded in a wreath of red flames—only he was much more wild in appearance.
Sparks of flame lingered as he emerged, trailing him like a natural extension of his will.
His long red hair was pulled back into a high ponytail that was held in place by a golden ornament just a few tones darker than his eyes.
"Nonsense. Your early arrivals are what give you an advantage. Lose those, and I'd easily take first, White," his voice called out from afar.
"Huh. Sounds like you need your own mount to ride into battle, then."
"...That wasn't the point I was making."
Suddenly, a pillar of fire crashed into the hesitant wolves still surrounding me.
The heat slammed into me like a wall, roaring up from the ground in tight columns that instantly set the beasts aflame, only extinguishing after their furs were charcoal-black.
"In any case, I hardly need it. Not when I can move around just fine."
His predatory gaze took in the field, the expression in them somewhere between bored and faintly disappointed, as if he'd arrived at a battle half-finished.
It wasn't long before his eyes met mine. "What're you standing there for? Go help your men. We've got it from here."
I shot a hesitant glance towards my late wife's only sister, debating against something internal before nodding, twisting my heel and breaking off to Caldron, who was still locked into his battle.
He'd seem to have gotten the better of the other two wolves, leaving him in a one-on-one situation, but not without injuries of his own.
"Duck!" I yelled.
There was a split second in which he stood still, seemingly surprised at hearing my voice, before following orders. My shield passed over his head with no issues, however the wolf wasn't so lucky.
Steel and stone met flesh, and well… it wasn't hard to imagine what happened next.
"...Good arm, you've got there, Leader. Wish I could say the same."
I skirted to a stop just shy of him, medkit already being torn from my waist. "Quiet. Save your strength…!"
We knelt, and I took in the situation of his mangled arm, treating it the exact way I was taught.
Cloth and skin were shredded together, clinging to where the beasts' fangs had sunk in, and his vambraces were damaged, parts of it cutting into the flesh beneath it.
The joint had swelled up a lot already.
There wasn't a lot I could do, but it was enough to hold out until we could get him a healer.
"—Guys!"
Emila slid out of the trees with a frantic, half-relieved expression.
She reached us with a scratched cheek and a cut through her pants that ran a little too high up, revealing her long legs.
And the string for her bow hung loosely between the material.
"...You're both alive," she breathed, her words half a laugh, half a sob. "I… I'm sorry. Two of them chased me up the cliff—I didn't think they could jump so high—s-so I ran, and before I knew it, I was—"
"That's fine," I cut through her faltering tone, giving her a firm nod. "You're okay. That's all that matters. You did well."
Her eyes flickered hesitantly, and she seemed to retreat in on herself, despite the words.
And for a moment—a brief, fleeting second—it felt like everything was alright in the world.
It wasn't joy, rather it was the feeling that only came from looking death in its face and, somehow, coming out on top.
…For that split second, it felt like just maybe things would be alright.
Caldron winced, cutting the moment short with a choked grunt.
"...Ah—nghh—dammit… Times like this are what make me miss Yae the most. A shame she couldn't live long enough to see the smirk wiped off my face one last time…" he chuckled.
"Damn it," I swore under my breath, pressing a hand against his shoulder. "Emila, I need you. We need gauze and salve, alongside the two minor healing gems you have. Everything."
She listened, and we worked together, spending a few minutes tending to his arm.
Despite Emila's earlier slight panic, her demeanor shifted instantly, experience too vast to allow her to fall into the same panic twice.
We worked like this for a bit, drawing on our knowledge in order to stabilize his arm as much as possible. Gauzes, salves, the healing gems—the bulk of it all was spent.
Expensive to replace, perhaps, but the cost was never as steep as Caldron's life.
That was something we couldn't buy back.
Soon, we finished up, fastening his arm in a makeshift sling, and giving each other one last hardened look.
"...Much better," Caldron muttered after a moment, giving his arm a slight roll—or at least, trying to undergo the motions of one. "I think I can manage."
I gave him a stern look. "No," was all that I said.
The authority in my voice was enough to dissuade any of his potential ideas; his faltering grin said so.
With the last bandage being tied in place, Emila sat back, and we all instantly turned our attention to the spectacle happening on the field.
"Shati…" The words died on Emila's lips. "She'll be fine," I nodded back. "That black wolf of theirs seems to be protecting her."
From here, we all watched the battle with mixed emotions.
The white haired boy that appeared… he was odd.
Every flick of his hand, every snap of his wrist, or pivot of his foot, was tinged with rime that trailed and lingered, reflecting the light.
His control was nothing short of artistry, frost and blade working as one to make quick work of the remaining wolves.
Not to mention clean.
The cuts are practical, too smooth even. And his bladeworks… It would take half a lifetime of training to even come near that point.
His companion was no less flashy and impressive, flames wreathing his figure and lashing out fiercely whenever needed.
It was a bit like watching a drama, or a rehearsed play of some kind, one that you'd only see in the most orchestrated of theaters. Oddly enough, the word competition lingered on my tongue, perhaps because of the comments made earlier.
Frost and flame, intertwining so smoothly as to almost become indistinguishable from one another.
But still, throughout it all, I found my attention drawn to the one called White.
There was something unmistakable—unshakable and inseperable—from the way he moved.
He possessed a certain "charm" to his movements, only the natural kind that only a certain few people in this world could ever exude; an allure only stars could hope to recreate.
…Almost like a…
Emila spoke up with uncertainty. "Should we… help them?"
"Help? Hah. Look at them and ask that again," Caldron replied flatly.
We exchanged uncertain glances again, but before any of us could even decide whether we'd wanted to take action or not, it seemed something had changed. There was an extra figure who was simply there.
Her hair fell in straight, pale strands that almost matched the snow underfoot, barring its subtle sheen, almost like moonlight.
She wore layered robes that blurred the line between that of a priestess and scholar, white, gray, and black fitting her lithe frame perfectly.
An obsidian wand drank in the brightness of the world around it, embedded with a single pale-white gem that burned like a star in the darkest of nights.
Wherever it moved, a thin film of silver magic followed, spreading outward, melding into a variety of shapes that only seemed limited by imagination.
From here, we could see their lips moving—but could hear no sound.
The fireboy was the first to address her sudden appearance, seemingly, and she shrugged him off.
"These guys… No way they're anything below B-rank, right? Just the three of them are enough to make quick work of what the four of us couldn't."
"Yeah, I get your awe," Caldron replied to Emila.
"They're no joke, that's for sure. But still… As thankful to them as I am, it's likely that they'll want the rewards for themselves. I mean, they did just save us, after all. Kinda gets rid of the entire point of us risking our lives to make a change in them."
"That's what you're worried about?" she scoffed, exasperatedly.
"As far as I'm concerned, they deserve it. With—"
I grunted, signaling an end to this conversation before it could grow any further.
Eventually, the fight began to settle, and the black wolf—who had assumed a defensive stance around Shati's prone, but conscious figure the entire time—lowered its head, beginning to nudge her gently upright, before moving under her.
She helped guide her back across the field, in our direction. By the time she reached us, the fight was over.
Moments later, we found ourselves having to collect our minds and fatigued bodies on the open field, surrounded by the dismembered silence of the storm wolves.
Blood and limbs littered the snow, giving it a deathly feel.
Caldron adjusted his arm in the sling with a slight grimace.
Emila wiped the frost from her string-snapped bow in small motions. Shati sat at her side, still recovering her breath.
All in all, we observed as the three exchanged quiet words with one another.
"How lucky are we that they showed up?" Caldron muttered, half-defeated.
"Fortunate enough, I'm guessing," Shati replied. "Damn wolf… Small creatures moving that fast tend to knock more than just the wind out of you. Thankfully, I'm a rather sturdy gal," she smirked. "Hard lesson to learn, though."
"Yeah—even harder lesson to be learned here, though," Caldron went on. "...I'm not nearly as strong as I thought… Shit. That's so frustrating, damn it. That should've been evident the first time, back with… when she… Damn it…!"
"Cal…" Emila said softly, words trailing.
At that moment, the trio turned to us.
The white haired one, Crownless, as I'd come to learn his name was, was the first to address us. He adjusted his hoodie, brushing fur off his sleeve as if his actions hadn't meant anything.
"I'd ask if you were all doing fine, but well… I can see that clearly isn't the case. Forgive me for not arriving sooner. Maybe I could've…—"
I waved away his words, interrupting. "We'll live. That's what matters. Make no mistake, each of us have you all to thank for that."
His expression turned downcast, hearing this. He didn't quite seem convinced… No, perhaps unsatisfied with himself would be the more accurate way to describe it. Even in the face of appreciation, he couldn't accept it.
"It's all right. Really," I pressed on. "I'd like to repay you in some way. For your troubles. Please, take as many supplies as you need from the loot. You three… four—did more than we ever could. It's the least I could do.
I felt the shift in the air behind me as the words came out, opening myself to a lot of criticism from my team. The weight of it piled up every split second I couldn't observe their expressions or reactions, the guilt like a parasite eating away at me.
Yet still, when stripped utterly of your strength, all you have as a man or woman is your integrity. Moral compass is one such facet of.
I'd be damned if I didn't, at the very least, allow them that. The life of my comrades mattered much more to me than some pelts and cores… even if such treasures could effectively fund our expenses for the next year, if managed wisely.
Shut up. It doesn't matter anymore.
Internally preparing myself for a complete haul of the materials, I began decathecting.
Though they're our saviors, at the end of the day, they're people, as well. Adventurers trying to make a living just like us.
Only…
"Well, thank you for your kindness, but please, have a little more faith in us than that. We'll take three cores. That's enough for us."
I staggered. "That's…"
He gave me a curious look. "What? Is that too much, perhaps? Sorry, I would take less, but—"
Gesturing to the wolf at his side, he went on. "The thing is, my bond here has quite the appetite. So, please, excuse her." The creature tilted her head with intrigue.
Throughout it all, I was speechless, half torn between breaking into tears, or profusely thanking them. Before I could further explore these ideas, though, the girl in the back spoke up, saying just one thing.
"It's about time." Her gaze turned sharp in an instant, cutting past us, and settling toward the horizon.
Suddenly, Crownless straightened, giving a nod.
"Sorry to you all, but we have somewhere to be right around this time." His eyes glanced over our group. "Will you be able to manage on your own? If not, I'd be okay with–"
"Just go," I managed to say plainly, through the maelstrom of emotion. "We're fine."
There was another second of consideration before he turned.
"Ah, and a piece of advice," he began, "The look on your face when we first arrived… It's one I know all too well. The look of someone praying for a miracle. If I could be so bold as to overstep, then: If you ever find yourself again in a similar situation, maybe aim a little lower. As someone who once dealt with that before, there's a chance you get lucky, praying to the gods. But only if the stars align."
Moments after, we watched them fade into the distance, still feeling the weight of the situation.
Shati let out a slow breath and muttered, almost to herself.
"...Wait. Three adventurers—all fairly young looking—and… a wolf. Now that I think about it… I heard about a group like that, the last time we were in town. Cal and I went drinking and—ah, well, that's not the point."
Her eyes met everyone's in turn. Emila tilted her head curiously.
"You know of them?" She said softly.
"Not really, no. But… I've heard the name. They're a new group formed by the strongest rookies of the new generation, ever since the exams got backed up due to the gate catastrophes happening in the south. Out of everyone, only they were able to achieve a B-rank result. Looking at them in action, I can see why."
She paused to take a breath.
"Let's see… There was also talk about them potentially being a part of The Forgotten? Apparently, that guy—White—was caught muttering to himself about having to redo 'everything all over again', or something like that? They've earned some pretty cool nicknames, too, though I don't recall the name of their group. Right, Cal?"
"Tossing the baton straight to me, huh? How brutal," he countered. "Well, you're not wrong there. As for their name, it's simple. They're known as…"
***