A month of silent watching had honed every part of Noctis's awareness. He knew this group of seven humans the way he knew the lines of his own palm. He had studied them from the treetops, from shadows, from the cover of glowing ferns and broken stone.
He knew the way the youngest flinched at sudden noise, then pretended he hadn't. He knew the habit the leader had of pressing two fingers briefly to her brow whenever she made a hard choice. He had marked who shared food without being asked, who always stepped between others and danger first, who watched for weakness in their companions.
Their language, once tangled and strange, had become familiar on his tongue and in his thoughts. Their jokes, their curses, their terms for monsters and landmarks, even their half-finished stories by the fire—he could follow all of it now. He had listened to quiet conversations in the dark, to confessions whispered when they thought no one else was awake.
From that, he understood more than what they said out loud.
He saw the group's structure: the leader at the center, two hardened veterans just behind her, one nervous but brilliant support, a pair of solid fighters, and the youngest, eager to prove he belonged. There were bonds that held them together—shared loss, old debts, the comfort of not dying alone. There were also cracks: a simmering envy here, a fear of being left behind there.
A month of this had sharpened him. Every detail mattered.
On this day, the forest felt… wrong.
At first it was subtle. The birdsong overhead stuttered, phrases cut short, a note of tension sneaking into the usual chorus. The wind blowing through the towering trees sounded too fast, too sharp, rushing around trunks and roots with a restless edge.
Noctis moved through the canopy, shadow-silent, keeping pace with the group as they trekked below. He kept his distance, close enough to watch, far enough to disappear if they suddenly turned.
That was when it happened.
From every side, deep in the undergrowth, came a sound—heavy, rhythmic, too deliberate to be simple wildlife. It wasn't the scatter of hooves or the random crashing of a fleeing beast. It was impact, pounding in measured beats, like someone drumming on the earth itself.
Awakened wolves.
Noctis had seen their tracks before: claw marks in stone, patches of scorched bark, pools of blood that did not belong to prey that simple animals could take down. These were not ordinary forest predators. They were monsters.
They burst from the trees in coordinated lines.
Each wolf was huge, its body packed with muscle, shoulders higher than a man's chest. Plates of dark, volcanic rock ran along their backs and flanks like natural armor. Between those plates gleamed streaks of iridescent metal, catching the sunlight in sharp flashes.
Their eyes burned with bright blue fire, rings of flame circling the pupils. Their jaws were lined with jagged teeth, flecked with a venom that glittered like crushed crystal.
There were at least a hundred of them.
They moved like a storm breaking across the forest floor, not as a mindless mob but in coordinated waves. Packs peeled off and rejoined, flowing around trees and rocks to form a tightening ring around the seven humans.
The group reacted fast.
The leader, the older woman with the iron-hard eyes, shouted orders. Her voice cut cleanly through the rising growls and snapping branches.
"Form up! Half-circle! Shields front!"
They moved without hesitation, battlefield habit taking over. Two of them took front positions, spears braced against the ground, shields up. Others fell in behind with crossbows, bolts already notched. The youngest scrambled to the side, grabbing a short sword.
Arrows flew.
Some struck true, slipping into gaps between the wolves' armor plates, shattering small chunks of stone and sending sprays of electric-blue blood into the air. A few wolves stumbled. One collapsed, legs folding under it.
But most did not stop.
Spears met charging wolves with sharp cracks. Some shafts snapped on impact, others glanced off the stone plates. The wolves snarled and pressed forward, as if the pain barely registered. They moved like living battering rams.
The pack tightened the circle.
The smallest human, the young one, sprinted for a fallen log, climbing up to gain some height. His hands shook as he drew his sword, but his eyes were steady. The others backed up slowly, step by step, trying to keep from being surrounded, trying to buy another few seconds of life.
Noctis saw it clearly.
They were strong. They were trained. They fought well together.
It would not be enough.
These were awakened wolves. Their eyes tracked more than motion—they watched for openings, for formations, for weaknesses. They shifted their attack in response to the humans' defenses.
Two packs feinted toward the spear wall, then peeled away at the last second, circling to hit the sides. The humans were forced to rotate, shields scraping, lines bending.
One woman's leg was caught when a wolf lunged low, jaws clamping onto her calf. She went down with a scream, shield falling from numb fingers. Before the wolf could tear deeper, two of her comrades slammed heavy blades into its neck and shoulder, freeing her – but she could no longer stand properly.
Another fighter saw this, cursed under his breath, and deliberately sprinted left, hacking at undergrowth, drawing three wolves after him. He sacrificed his positioning just to pull pressure off the others.
The ground turned into chaos.
Blood darkened the roots. Mud churned under boots and paws. Broken branches littered the forest floor. The sound was a mess of howls, shouts, metal on stone, and the wet rip of flesh.
The leader's voice began to fray around the edges.
"Hold together! Push left! Don't let them flank—"
Her commands were good. Her people responded as best they could. But the wolves sensed something primal: advantage. They pressed harder, bodies surging forward, a tide of armored fur and burning eyes.
Noctis stayed where he was a moment longer.
He watched their formations, their panic and discipline warring. He measured how much longer they could hold. Even with every trick they had, they were seconds away from being overrun.
Seven humans could not survive this.
He moved.
He dropped from the branches without a sound, landing on moss that barely whispered under his feet. Then he stepped forward, his presence folding out into the clearing like the shadow of a much larger thing.