The forest grew quieter the farther they walked.
Not the peaceful kind of silence—this one felt watchful, tense, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. Ren slowed instinctively, his steps light despite the exhaustion still lingering in his body. The sixth day of the trial was already draining enough without walking blindly into danger.
Kian was the first to notice it.
He raised a fist, stopping them mid-step.
"Wolves," he said softly.
Ren followed his gaze.
Between the twisted trunks and thick undergrowth, faint movements flickered—shadows weaving in and out of sight. Yellow eyes glinted briefly before vanishing again. The air carried a low, almost inaudible growl, layered and overlapping.
Not one.
Not two.
A pack.
Lira's fingers tightened around the vine coiled loosely at her wrist. "How many?"
Kian inhaled slowly, listening. "At least eight. Maybe more."
His lips curved—not in fear, but confidence.
"I can take them."
Ren turned sharply. "Alone?"
"They're just wolves," Kian said. "Not guardians. Not elites. I've handled worse."
Ren didn't doubt his strength. He doubted the situation.
"Wolves don't fight fair," Ren replied calmly. "They test, circle, and wait for mistakes. If one of us gets dragged down, it's over."
Kian frowned but didn't interrupt.
"We don't fight like heroes," Ren continued. "We fight like people who want to live."
A brief pause followed.
Then Ren pointed. "We split—but we don't isolate."
He looked at Lira. "High ground. Ambush. No prolonged fight."
She nodded immediately.
"Kian, you take the outer wolves. Don't chase. Force them to keep distance."
Kian exhaled, then nodded. "And you?"
"I'll draw the alpha."
That made both of them look at him.
Ren met their eyes steadily. "Not head-on. I'll keep it busy. Lira finishes when it commits."
No objections followed. That alone showed how far they had come.
They moved.
Lira vanished into the trees first, her vines extending silently, pulling her upward until she blended into the canopy. She positioned herself ahead of Ren's path, crouched low, breath steady, eyes locked on the clearing below.
Kian stepped to the right, sword loose in his grip, posture relaxed but ready. He didn't advance—he waited.
Ren walked forward.
The wolves revealed themselves almost immediately.
Dark gray bodies slipped from the brush, muscles coiled, teeth bared. Six emerged at first, spreading into a crescent. Then two more circled behind.
Last came the alpha.
It was larger, scarred, its left ear torn halfway off. Its eyes weren't wild—they were calculating.
Ren stopped ten paces away.
"Come on," he muttered.
The alpha growled—and lunged.
Ren reacted instantly, leaping sideways as claws tore through the space where his chest had been. He rolled, came up on one knee, and sent a short burst of fire—not to burn, but to force distance.
The alpha skidded back, fur singed.
That was enough.
The rest of the pack attacked.
Kian moved.
He didn't charge. He stepped into the first wolf's path and cut sideways—not deep, just enough. The wolf yelped and retreated instinctively, breaking formation. Kian pivoted, blade flashing again, forcing another to dodge.
He was controlling space, not killing.
Two wolves tried to flank him.
Before they could close in, a vine snapped down from above.
CRACK.
One wolf was slammed into the ground, ribs breaking audibly. Another took a vine bullet to the shoulder, howling as it tumbled away.
Lira didn't fire again immediately.
She waited.
Ren was already moving, keeping the alpha's attention. He used short bursts of fire at the ground, forcing it to reposition, while slipping just out of reach of its claws. His breathing was controlled, movements economical.
The alpha feinted left—then right.
Ren misjudged by a fraction.
Claws raked across his arm.
Blood sprayed.
Ren gritted his teeth but didn't cry out. He twisted, slamming a fire-reinforced punch into the alpha's jaw—not enough to kill, but enough to stagger it.
That was the moment Lira waited for.
Three vine bullets fired in rapid succession.
The first pinned the alpha's hind leg to the ground.
The second pierced its shoulder.
The third struck its throat.
The alpha collapsed, convulsing once before going still.
The pack broke.
Two wolves fled immediately.
The remaining ones hesitated—then Kian stepped forward, sword raised, blood dripping from his own shallow cuts.
That was enough.
They ran.
Silence returned—this time real.
Ren dropped to one knee, breathing hard. Blood soaked his sleeve, but the wound was shallow.
Lira dropped down beside him. "You okay?"
"Still breathing," he replied.
Kian wiped his blade clean. "That was clean."
"No," Ren said. "That was lucky."
They didn't linger.
After binding wounds quickly, they moved on, deeper into the forest. The terrain grew uneven, the trees thinner, the air carrying an unfamiliar scent.
Smoke.
Ren noticed it first—a faint, dark thread rising in the distance.
Then they heard it.
A shout.
Steel clashing.
Magic detonating.
Kian stiffened. "That's a fight."
Lira squinted through the trees. "And not a small one."
Ren stared at the smoke, mind racing.
Another group.
Monsters—or people.
Opportunity—or disaster.
He tightened his grip.
"We don't rush," he said quietly. "But we don't ignore it either."
They changed direction.
Toward the smoke.