Just as Rea arrived on the battlefield, another figure was moving toward the same battlefield—slow, unsteady, but relentless.
Felix.
He hobbled through the shattered remnants of the once-bustling streets, the jagged edges of rubble threatening to trip him at every turn.
Each labored breath he drew was a sharp reminder of the pain coursing through his body, a relentless ache that gnawed at his resolve. Yet he pressed on, undeterred. The distant flashes of battle illuminated the night sky like a grotesque fireworks display, revealing fleeting glimpses of chaos.
The sounds of movement—clashing metal, shouts, and explosive bursts of mana—echoed around him, pulling him forward with an insistent force, like a heartbeat that he couldn't silence.
His vision blurred, the world shifting in a dizzying swirl of colors and shapes, but one thing remained steadfast in his mind—the unmistakable path his companions had taken.
With each faltering step on the uneven, cracked pavement, he could sense the ground trembling beneath him, the vibrations intensifying like a warning tremor.
The air around him was thick with anticipation, a palpable tension that hinted at the impending clash. He could feel it deep within his bones: the battle was approaching, and he was drawing closer to the heart of the storm.
He tightened his grip around the cracked core stone still in his hand. "Not yet," he muttered, forcing his legs to move faster. "Not… yet."
…
The battle near the convoy had shifted.
David stood near the front line, his coat flickering with embered dust as he unloaded silent shots into the heads of the last few zombies.
The air was thick with the metallic tang of mana discharge and burnt flesh. Around him, the ground was littered with corpses—zombies piled like broken walls, their numbers finally thinning after minutes of relentless fighting.
His eyes, however, weren't on the fight. Every few seconds, his head turned slightly toward the far end of the ruined avenue—the same direction the new rook was coming from. His gaze lingered there, unblinking, waiting for it to make its entrance.
A distant rumble from that direction indicated that he wouldn't have to wait much longer.
Behind him, the squad was scattered but alive. Kara knelt beside the convoy, her staff half-buried in the dirt, chest heaving as she calculated mana back into her body as fast as she could.
Ethan sat against the side of the transport, his armor cracked and dented, muttering something about "round two already?" under his breath. Philip stood watch at the rear, eyes scanning every shadow, while Eryn and Jace remained near the civilians—terrified faces pressed against the reinforced windows.
For a fleeting moment, a fragile and shallow peace enveloped the chaos, a calmness delicately sustained by the man valiantly battling the relentless zombies.
It was the kind of stillness that hung in the air, fleeting and eerie, like the quiet before an approaching storm, with the sounds of groans and shuffles muted just enough to create an unsettling calm.
Then, the air shifted.
A low growl rolled through the ruins, followed by the sound of thunderous steps that didn't belong to the undead. Heads turned instinctively toward the noise, hands going to weapons. Dust lifted from the cracked road as something blurred through the wreckage—fast, too fast for anything human.
It wasn't a monster.
It was a tiger.
Massive, lean, and glowing faintly with a crimson shimmer of mana. Its paws struck the ground in rhythmic bursts, crushing stray undead that wandered too close. On its back sat a girl—no older than twelve—her braid whipping in the wind, her hands gripping the tiger's mane with practiced ease.
The sight froze the squad where they stood.
"What the—" Ethan started, but Kara cut him off, eyes narrowing. "Don't. Move."
Eryn, however, didn't flinch. Her gaze flicked between the tiger and the girl, calm but wary. "That's him," she said quietly.
The name alone sent tension rippling through Jace. Jace's hand twitched toward his weapon, even though he knew it wouldn't matter.
The civilians huddled closer to one another as the great beast slowed, padding toward them with unhurried steps.
Rea stopped a few meters away, his amber eyes sweeping across the squad before settling on Jace, then Eryn. For a moment, the air itself seemed to still.
The girl on his back looked around curiously, her eyes bright and unafraid, clearly more fascinated by the people staring at her than by the battlefield itself.
Then Rea spoke—his voice deep, measured, and distinctly intelligent.
"Get down. Stay with them."
The girl hesitated for a second, pouting slightly, but obeyed. She slid off his back, landing lightly on her feet. The shimmering mana shield around her faded with a faint hum.
She glanced at Eryn, her team, and smiled, as if oblivious to the tension around them.
Rea's gaze lingered on her for a breath before turning back to the group. His tone sharpened. "Make sure nothing happens to her," he said. "Or else you'll have hell to pay."
He didn't wait for a response. The tiger turned, muscles coiling, and launched himself forward—an orange streak tearing through the battlefield toward where David fought.
The squad watched him vanish into the haze.
Ethan exhaled slowly. "...Was that a talking tiger?"
Kara shot him a glare. "Focus."
Still, their attention drifted back to the girl now standing beside them. She looked completely at ease amid the chaos, her hands clasped behind her back, eyes following Rea's fading form with casual interest.
Philip muttered under his breath, "Great. Another mystery."
But Eryn didn't speak. Her gaze lingered on the girl with faint curiosity, a quiet suspicion behind her eyes—as if she tried to recognize something she couldn't place.
Jace, meanwhile, could only stare, his confusion plain. Who is she? he thought.
The girl turned then, meeting his gaze with an innocent smile.