Beneath the trees, no one moved.
Even breaths came shallow and slow. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves in forced wind and the beast's frustrated bellows.
Minutes crawled past.
Eventually, the wyvern's passes grew wider. It climbed higher, beating its wings in heavy strokes. Its shadow shrank. Its roar faded into the distance as it moved on, searching for prey in a place where the rules were not being flipped against it.
Noctis did not move immediately.
He counted heartbeats, listening for any echo of a returning wingbeat, scanning the sky through the gaps in the canopy. Only when he was certain the danger had passed did he lift his hand again and give a small wave.
Forward.
The group emerged from hiding one by one, still shaken but alive. The adrenaline from the wolves and the wyvern both still surged in their veins, pushing them onward behind him with an intensity stronger than their doubt.
They walked.
The forest changed as they went. The broken ground of the wolves' ambush fell behind. The air grew cooler and cleaner. Lantern-blooms appeared along the path, flowers whose petals glowed with soft internal light. Pools of water shone with their own radiance, lit from within by clusters of tiny monster-creatures that pulsed like living lanterns.
They stepped through groves where tree trunks twisted into natural arches and branches wove together overhead like the ribs of a giant creature. The deeper they went, the more the surroundings felt less like a wild, uncaring wilderness and more like a place someone had learned, mapped, and claimed.
At last, the mountain rose above them.
Nestled at its base, half-hidden by tangled roots and thick curtains of vines, lay the entrance to Noctis's cave.
From the outside, it looked like just another shadow in the rock—a gap where water might have eroded the stone. Up close, the signs of deliberate use became clear. Vines had been guided aside. Stones had been arranged to form a narrow but stable path inside.
They ducked under the low opening.
Inside, the cave widened.
It was not huge, but large enough to hold the group with space between them. The floor was mostly flat and dry, lined in places with moss and woven mats. The air was warm but not stifling, carrying the faint smell of smoke and cooked meat.
A fire burned near the center, small and steady, its light controlled to avoid spilling out of the entrance. The flames cast shifting patterns on the walls.
Those walls were not bare.
Drawings covered them—sketches scorched into stone, lines traced in glowing moss, charcoal marks layered over older images. Monsters of every size and shape stared back: wolves, wyverns, serpents, titans, strange plants with teeth, towering things that made the cave feel smaller just by being drawn.
There were maps too.
Rough layouts of the valley, the river systems, the mountain slopes. Areas marked with strange symbols—some warning, some opportunity, some unknown.
Weapons rested in careful stacks near the entrance: spears made from bone and monster-horn, blades taken and reforged, slings, ropes, hooks. Jars were tucked into carved-out hollows in the wall, sealed with leaves and wax: food stores, medicines, monster reagents.
The leader stood just inside, taking it all in.
Her face showed awe that she tried to hide beneath caution. This was not a random survivor's hideout. It was a base. A home. The work of someone who had been here a long time and expected to remain longer.
One of the group broke.
A young woman with a gash along her arm sank to her knees, tears starting to drip down her cheeks. Relief crashed into her too fast for her to hold it back. Another fighter put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing tight.
They had lost people before today. That grief hung on their faces. But they had not been lost themselves. Not yet.
Noctis stayed near the back of the cave.
He let them move in, let them see the space, but he did not step close. His eyes remained sharp, watching how they reacted—who checked for exits first, who examined his maps, who drifted toward the food, who hung back and stayed ready to fight even now.
Outside, his kin's presence hovered, unseen but felt. The strange egg in its nest of woven leaves glowed faintly near one corner, pulsing with a slow, steady light. A promise of something not yet hatched. Not yet decided.
In the quiet that followed the chaos, something subtle shifted.
They had not shared stories. They had not made promises. Mistrust had not vanished. But a first, fragile bridge stretched between Noctis and this small band of humans.
It was not built from polite words or trading names.
It was built from the wolves that fled, the wyvern that found nothing, the silent path through the deadly forest, and the simple fact that they were all still breathing.
The wild was not tamed. The hunt was far from over.
But in this cave, under the mountain, with green and gold light flickering on walls full of monsters and plans, survival had changed again.
The group clumped together on one side of the cave, close enough that knees and shoulders bumped, but with just enough space left for hands to reach weapons if they had to. Belts stayed buckled, knives within reach, crossbows and spears lying where they could be grabbed in an instant. They formed a loose semicircle facing the fire, backs partly to the wall, eyes never resting for long.
Their gazes kept drifting between the small campfire and Noctis.
The flames painted everything in shifting gold and orange. Sparks rose and vanished into the dark above. In that glow, Noctis stood near the cave's entrance, half in and half out of the light. One side of his face and body was lit in warm tones; the other side was swallowed by shadow, making him look like two different people sharing one shape.
High in a small nook carved into the rock, the kin watched.
It was hard to see clearly—just a glimmer of scales, a faint outline of folded wings and bright, unblinking eyes. It stayed almost completely still, a silent guardian or partner, impossible to ignore for long.
Near Noctis's usual place by the wall, a strange egg rested in a nest of woven fibers and pelts. It gave off a soft, steady glow, pulsing gently as if something inside were breathing or dreaming. The light it shed was different from the fire: cool, ghostly, with hints of hidden colors.
For a while, nobody said anything.
The crackle of the fire filled the space between them. Occasionally someone shifted a foot, cleared their throat, or adjusted their position, but no one was willing to be the first to break the silence. Outside the cave, the wind whistled past the entrance, a thin, distant sound that made the night feel larger and more dangerous.
Finally, the leader spoke.
She was the older woman with weathered, wind-burnt skin and eyes that had seen too much. Her voice was firm by habit, but now it carried strain. Awe and suspicion tangled together inside it, and underneath that, the careful politeness of someone who knew they were at another's mercy.
"We owe you our lives, Noctis," she began. "But who exactly are you, really?"
Her gaze flicked over him—his stance, his clothes, the way he seemed completely at ease here.
"Where does a lone man learn to drive away an entire pack of awakened wolves? And why—" her eyes slid toward the walls lined with supplies, weapons, and drawings "—do you live alone in a place like this? At the edge of nowhere. As if you were hunting gods themselves."
Noctis met her stare without flinching.
The corners of his mouth lifted in the smallest of smiles. It wasn't friendly. It was closer to private amusement—like someone hearing a joke only they understood.
"I have lived here as long as I can remember," he said.
The words were simple, but they hit hard.
The group stiffened. A few eyebrows shot up. A murmur almost started, then died as they glanced at one another, unsure what to do with that answer.
A dark-haired archer, no older than fifteen, let out a short, unbelieving scoff.
"You were born here?" the boy blurted. "You've always hunted these monsters—by yourself?"
Noctis rolled one shoulder in a small shrug. His expression slid into a practiced calm, the kind he wore when he wanted to reveal nothing.
"The land teaches those willing to survive," he said. "I learned early."
Silence fell again, heavier this time.
In that quiet, questions swelled: How did a child survive here? Where were the ones who raised him? What had he seen? What had it done to him? No one spoke them out loud, but the questions hung between flickering shadows, showing in tight jaws and flicking eyes.
A broad man with burn scars along one arm and a crooked nose finally broke the tension.
"Doesn't matter to me if you're a ghost or a hermit," he grunted. His voice came low and solid. "Today, you saved us. That's all anyone should need to know."
A few heads nodded, grateful for something simple to cling to. But the firelight told the truth—doubt still flickered on tired faces. Gratitude could not erase fear. It only covered it for a while.