The forest pressed in from every side.
Branches twisted overhead, blotting out the moon until only thin strands of pale light slipped through the drifting mist. Hooves slowed as Riven guided them deeper between the trees, every sound dulled, swallowed by the damp earth.
No one spoke.
They dismounted before the clearing.
Lysara crouched beside Modred, parting the brush just enough to see through. Torches burned ahead—steady, controlled. Not defensive. Not careless.
Grey uniforms moved between tents.
"Division Two," Riven murmured.
The camp was orderly. Weapons stacked cleanly. Supplies sealed and guarded. No wounded. No fatigue in their movements.
"They're prepared," Lysara said quietly.
Riven nodded. "Too prepared."
Modred barely heard them.
Someone stood apart.
An older cadet. Brown hair slicked back, posture relaxed. His eyes didn't roam like the others'. He wasn't guarding supplies or issuing orders.
He was watching the forest.
Watching him.
The man's gaze snapped upward.
Their eyes met.
The world narrowed to that single point. His stare was stripped bare—no curiosity, no hostility. Just awareness.
Modred's breath caught.
A tight pull formed in his chest, instinctive and sharp. He leaned back without realizing it, heart pounding hard enough to hurt.
"What is it?" Lysara whispered.
Before he could answer, the man melted back into the camp's shadows.
Lysara's lips curved faintly.
"Did someone catch your eye?"
"Quiet," Modred said. "We need to leave. Now."
Riven frowned. "Already?"
"Yes."
Modred seized them both by the sleeves and pulled them deeper into the trees. They turned—
—and stopped.
Someone stood in their path.
He hadn't approached. There was no sound, no warning. One moment the forest was empty. The next, it wasn't.
The same man.
Up close, he was taller than Modred expected. Lean, coiled strength beneath the grey uniform. His dark eyes were hollow, unreadable.
Lysara felt it first—the cold crawling up her spine, sharp and wrong. Her fingers trembled despite herself.
The man spoke, voice low and even.
"Names," he said.
"Division."
Silence stretched.
The forest seemed to listen.
Elsewhere, the trees thinned into a narrow corridor of stone and root.
Dante and Julius moved without urgency, boots crunching softly over frost-dusted ground.
Too quiet.
Julius slowed. "Something's off."
Dante tilted his head. "You just noticed?"
Julius scanned the treeline. "We should've crossed something by now."
The mist ahead shifted.
Shapes moved within it—heavy, deliberate. Eyes flared briefly, red reflections catching moonlight before vanishing again.
A sound rolled through the forest.
Low. Broken. Amused.
Dante smiled faintly.
"Dred Wolves."
The axe slid free from his back.
Blue lightning crept along the blade, thin arcs tracing steel. Each pulse tore the mist apart, painting bark and breath in flashes of silver and shadow.
Iron flowed over Julius' hands, forming silently, dull and brutal.
The first Dred Wolf lunged.
Dante met it head-on.
The axe fell in a violent arc, lightning detonating as steel tore through flesh. The creature never finished its snarl. Julius moved beside him, iron crashing forward, each strike folding bone with merciless precision.
More surged from the fog.
Moonlight shattered through motion. Blue light flared, vanished, flared again. Shadows collapsed where the blade passed. Bodies fell and disappeared into the mist as if the forest consumed them.
Then—
Silence.
The fog settled.
Dante rested the axe on his shoulder, lightning fading back into steel. He wiped blood from his cheek, grinning.
"I killed more."
Julius snorted. "Keep telling yourself that."
They stepped closer—
—and stopped.
A cadet burst through the trees, breath ragged.
"Arthur," he gasped. "He's calling for you. It's urgent."
Dante clicked his tongue.
"Guess the fun's over."
They turned back toward camp, leaving the forest behind.
The mist closed in again.
As if nothing had ever been there.