Ragnar jolted upright in the dim bed, chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin.
The furs tangled around his legs like they meant to hold him down.
Beside him, Aria snapped awake, her hand already reaching for the dagger under the pillow before her eyes even focused.
"Ragnar?" Her voice cut through the dark, sharp with worry.
She sat up, the thin blanket slipping to her waist.
"What is it? Are you hurt?"
He dragged a hand down his face, breath ragged.
"Nightmare," he muttered, the word tasting like ash.
His gaze slid to her—silver hair mussed, eyes wide and searching—and something in his chest twisted.
'Should I tell her? Or let it rot inside me like the rest?'
He exhaled, long and tired.
"It's nothing. Just… shadows playing tricks."
Aria's fingers found his arm, firm but gentle.
"Don't do that. Not with me."
She shifted closer, her thigh pressing against his.
"Tell me what you saw."
He hesitated, staring at the low ceiling beams.
The silence stretched until it hurt.
Finally he spoke, voice low.
"I dreamed we were fighting. Swarm of monsters—too many. I watched you fall. Then the girls. One by one. Couldn't reach any of you."
His throat worked.
"I lost you all."
Her hand moved to his thigh, rubbing slow circles, grounding him.
"Hey."
She leaned in until her forehead touched his shoulder.
"You didn't lose us. We're right here. Breathing. Alive. And we're staying that way."
He turned his head, met her eyes.
The knot in his gut loosened—just a fraction.
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"Yeah, we are."
They dressed in silence after that, the nightmare still clinging like damp fog, but Aria's touch lingered on his skin, a quiet promise.
Downstairs the girls were already stirring—Bella packing supplies with quick, precise movements, the twins whispering over a map.
They fell into easy rhythm as the group hitched the carriage and rolled out of the kobold village, the dirt track winding toward Vale City.
Sunlight filtered through thinning trees, but Ragnar couldn't shake the itch between his shoulder blades.
Something felt… wrong.
He squinted ahead, hand tightening on the reins.
Dust rose in the distance, too much for wind alone. Shapes moved—fast, too many.
"Out!" he barked.
"Everyone—carriage, now! Swarm coming!"
The girls spilled from the vehicle without question, diving into the thick bushes lining the road.
Ragnar crouched beside Aria, pulse hammering as the rumble grew louder.
Not a swarm. One creature.
A nightmare stitched from dozens of floating cubic segments, edges glinting like blackened steel, humming with unnatural energy.
Fear spiked through him—cold, immediate—then he glanced at Aria.
Her warrior's stance had shifted; shoulders squared, eyes narrowed not in terror but sharp curiosity.
"You've seen this before?" he asked, voice rough.
She shook her head once.
"No." The word came heavy.
"Never."
The thing buzzed louder, a low, angry drone that set his teeth on edge.
'Run? We leave the road, it keeps going—straight toward the camp. Toward everyone still sleeping.'
His claws flexed.
'Or we end it here.'
He flicked his eyes to the girls.
Bella's face was pale but set; the twins gripped each other's hands, knuckles white.
He couldn't just stand here staring.
Couldn't let them see him freeze.
With a snarl he launched forward, claws slashing at the nearest cube.
Metal rang against scale—no mark, not even a dent.
"Ragnar!" Bella's voice cracked through the chaos.
"There—the center! Glowing core!"
He whipped his head around.
A pulsing violet light throbbed at the heart of the shifting mass.
He lunged again, hammering at it, each strike jarring up his arms.
The cubes responded.
They peeled away, orbiting him like angry hornets, slamming into his sides, his back.
Pain flared—sharp, bruising—but he kept swinging.
Then the girls moved.
Small frames darted in, blades flashing, shields raised.
They blocked the worst of the blows meant for him.
Cubic edges crashed against steel and flesh; the girls staggered but held.
Unyielding.
His heart lurched.
'They're so small against that thing… and they're still standing for me.'
Something broke open inside him—fierce, protective heat.
He roared, drove both fists into the core.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the glow.
One more hit. The light shattered in a burst of crystal shards.
The cubes dropped, lifeless, clattering across the dirt.
Ragnar stood panting, blood trickling from a gash on his cheek.
The girls straightened slowly, breathing hard, eyes wide with the aftershock of adrenaline.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"Grab the pieces," he said, voice hoarse.
"Might tell us where the bastard came from."
They worked quickly, silently, stuffing the strange segments into his storage space.
No one spoke of how close it had been.
By evening the spires of Vale City rose against the bruised sky.
The carriage rattled through the outer gates, cobblestones jarring under the wheels.
Bella pointed them toward a narrow side street.
"Lucy's shop is down there," she said.
"Quickest way."
They parked in the shadow of a leaning warehouse, the girls forming a loose perimeter while Ragnar scanned for prying eyes.
Thieves loved unattended rigs in this part of the city.
The cubic parts were safely tucked away, but he still felt exposed.
He strode to the unassuming door—wood scarred, iron fittings rusted—and knocked.
Three sharp raps.
The sound echoed inside.
He waited, claws tapping once against his thigh, the day's weight settling heavier now that the fight was over.
The latch clicked.