A few days later.
By mid-morning of the second day, the feeling was gone.
Anya adjusted the strap of her pack as the treeline closed around her. The forest was still damp from the night, the air cool enough to keep her steady.
Anya had moved from the inn long ago to another settlement called Stagwood.
No blood today. Just for this hunt.
The task was simple on paper—unknown beasts lingering near the outskirts of a settlement. No attacks. No bodies. Just sightings, watching from the treeline long enough to unsettle people who didn't know what they were looking at.
This felt familiar.
She'd seen this pattern before. Things that waited rarely did so without reason, and leaving them alone had a way of turning small problems into expensive ones.
Anya kept moving.
She slowed, listening.
There was always one way these beasts handle their—
Anya stopped for a moment. There it was.
If it followed the pattern, it would wait for her to relax.
Anya broke into a run, angling deeper through unfamiliar ground. She didn't know this forest well, but that worked in her favor. Uncertainty forced pursuit.
Something tracked her from behind—footfalls too measured, too even.
She pushed toward open space.
The trees thinned into a clearing just as the beast committed.
It didn't leap immediately.
Its weight shifted first—hind legs compressing, body lowering instead of rising. A burst of speed meant to close distance.
Anya twisted aside as it lunged past her shoulder, the rush of displaced air brushing her skin.
Her knife was already moving.
She drove it into the beast's flank as it overextended, steel biting deep before momentum carried it past her.
The creature hit the ground hard, rolled once, then scrambled upright.
Its retreat wasn't clean.
One hind leg dragged slightly. It vanished into the trees in short, rapid bursts instead of long bounds.
Anya didn't chase.
As expected.
She watched the dark smear along the undergrowth.
Looks like I was right.
A wounded one wouldn't run far, and it would lead her back.
Just like before.
---
Anya followed the trail carefully, keeping her breathing even. Control mattered more now than speed.
After a bit, she noticed that the blood trail thinned—and ended at a cave mouth.
Anya stopped at the treeline, studying the shadows.
There it is.
She counted quietly, eyes tracking the ground, the brush, the scuffed earth near the entrance.
There's usually four of them. Sometimes five.
She traced the signs again, slower this time.
This time it's three. One is already hurt.
She glanced at the sun.
Late morning, close to noon. I can work with that and be done by evening.
She settled back, waiting.
---
Mid-afternoon, a beast finally stepped out of the cave and into the light.
Anya already had her bow drawn.
She steadied her aim, waiting for the shift in weight—the moment it would commit forward.
The beast stopped.
Its gaze lifted.
Not toward the clearing.
Toward her.
She loosed the arrow.
The shaft cut through the air—
—and stopped.
NO!
Held in place, trembling, suspended inches from the beast's chest.
A cold weight settled in her gut.
Magic.
The arrow dropped.
The beast began to walk toward her.
Anya forced her breathing down, muscles loosening instead of tensing.
Don't freeze. Don't rush. It's dangerous—but I can survive if I stay calm.
She'd faced things like this before.
Rarely.
And now wasn't any different.
The beast kept walking. Slow.
The air around it felt… heavy in a way. Like something pressing down between them.
Anya stepped back, angling sideways rather than retreating outright. Trees at her left. Open ground to her right. She needed options.
Magic that stops projectiles needs focus.
She flicked her wrist and sent a second arrow—not at the beast, but past it, low and wide.
The arrow veered.
It skidded across the dirt instead of burying itself in the brush.
Anya's jaw tightened.
Directional control. Not a barrier.
The beast adjusted its path, compensating without breaking stride.
Anya shifted again, boots sliding slightly on damp soil. She moved faster now, circling.
The beast turned with her.
The space between them closed.
Anya drew her knife and threw it.
Not to kill.
To test.
The blade spun end over end.
This time the magic hesitated.
The knife slowed—just a fraction—but that was enough. It clipped the beast's shoulder instead of stopping dead, biting shallow before dropping uselessly to the ground.
The beast hissed. Low. Irritated.
Anya smiled thinly.
Good. You're not perfect.
She reached for her belt and came up with a flash vial, thumb snapping the seal as she hurled it hard at the ground between them.
Light exploded outward, sharp and sudden.
The beast recoiled, blinking hard—disrupted.
That was enough.
Anya lunged forward, catching the beast's forelimb as it swiped. The impact rang up her shoulder, but she held long enough to drive her remaining blade in low, under the rib line.
The beast shrieked and tore free.
It staggered back this time.
Anya didn't press. She stepped back instead.
The beast roared.
Bad. That'll draw the others out. Need to end this now.
Anya brought her bow up and aimed for its mouth.
"Be quiet."
She loosed.
The beast jerked too late. The arrow buried into the soft hinge of its jaw. It choked on the sound, staggering as it tried to recover.
Anya moved before it could.
She yanked her knife free from the ground, then drove the blade along its side.
The beast lurched, magic flaring unevenly now. The air around it warped briefly, then collapsed.
Anya felt the shift.
There.
She stepped inside its reach before it could recover, slamming forearm into its chest to pin it back against the rock face. The impact shuddered through her shoulder, but she held.
The beast snapped blindly, jaw ruined, breath rattling wetly through broken teeth.
Anya slid the blade up beneath the rib line and drove it in.
The creature stiffened.
Its magic failed all at once.
The pressure vanished. The air went still.
Anya twisted the knife and pulled free.
The beast collapsed at her feet, twitching once before going still.
She waited a beat—listening.
Nothing moved.
Only then did she kneel out of habit, palm to cooling hide, knife steady in her steel hand.
"Swift death. Clean kill. Honored—"
The words snagged. For a moment she couldn't remember the rest, as if the line had been scraped thin from use.
She swallowed, forced the breath down, and finished it anyway.
She rose and turned back to the cave.
One down.
She wiped the blade clean.
Her hand trembled—just once.
She clenched it into a fist until the feeling passed.