The first thought that came to Alina's mind was that whatever that thing was, it was gigantic. It moved like a shadow, sleek and silent despite its impossible size, and its body stretched far beyond what she could see—coiling through the trees like a living nightmare.
Its scales shimmered like dark obsidian, slick with rain and catching the faint light with an almost metallic gleam. Each one was jagged and ridged, overlapping like armor, and she had no doubt that the slightest brush against them could tear flesh open like paper.
It had no limbs—no claws or wings—only an immense, sinuous body, thick as a tree trunk and twice as long as the shed behind them. But it didn't need claws. The tail alone was a weapon, lashing behind it with a weight and force that cracked the earth beneath it.
Alina couldn't breathe. Her eyes locked on the creature's head—narrow and horned, with glowing eyes that didn't blink, only watched.
It wasn't just a beast. It was something out of legend.
It was a monster.
There was no way they could defeat that.
Alina had zero experience when it came to fighting—unless the encounter with the thieves from earlier counted, which she doubted. Her "battles" had mostly involved unruly flower beds and the occasional pastry war with Nana, not… whatever this was.
She stumbled backward, her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes stayed locked on the creature, but her hands were already scrambling behind her, searching—desperately—for anything she could use to protect herself. Her fingers closed around something solid, and without thinking, she yanked it in front of her like a weapon.
A rusty old ladle.
She blinked at it. The serpent hissed, its massive tail shifting in the doorway, scales gleaming like sharpened obsidian. And there she was, armed with a soup spoon.
Fantastic.
Unlike Alina, Killian didn't move an inch. He stood firm in the doorway, a solid wall between her and the creature. Though she knew he was no ordinary man—tall and built like stone—fear still clawed its way up her throat.
There was no way he could win. Not against that.
But then he moved.
In a blur, Killian surged forward—so fast, so sudden that Alina yelped, stumbling back as her heart leapt into her throat. One moment he was a statue in the doorway, the next, a storm. With a sharp, fluid motion, he drove the wood in his hands toward the creature, striking with terrifying precision.
The sound—wood meeting scale—rang through the air like thunder, and the serpent reeled, its tail lashing wildly.
It shrieked, not quite a hiss and not quite a roar, and reared back before its massive tail whipped around, crashing toward Killian like a falling tree.
Alina's breath caught as the blow landed.
But he didn't fall.
Instead, for the briefest moment, she saw it—something impossible.
A faint glow rippled across Killian's body—golden cracks of light flaring beneath his skin. It shimmered around him like a shield, catching the impact of the tail with a flash and a deep, thrumming sound that vibrated through the floor.
Alina stared, wide-eyed, heart hammering.
That wasn't just strength. That wasn't just reflexes. That was power—otherworldly and ancient. That wasn't the kind of strength someone earned chopping firewood or wandering from village to village.
With a swift motion, he swung the makeshift weapon, his stance shifting effortlessly, and the piece of wood became an extension of him. It didn't change shape, but the way he held it, the way he moved—he wielded it like a blade, sharp and precise.
The glowing aura around him flared brighter as he struck, each movement smooth and lethal. The serpent lunged, but Killian was already there, intercepting it, blocking and striking with the ease of someone who had trained for battles like this his entire life.
Her heart hammered in her chest as she watched him battle the creature with such precision and strength. Every strike, every movement, seemed effortless, yet it was clear he was putting everything he had into keeping them both alive.
And despite her fear, a strange sense of hope stirred in her—a belief that maybe, just maybe, they had a chance.
She tightened her grip on the ladle, staring at the chaotic scene unfolding before her, praying that Killian would keep fighting. For all the things she didn't understand about him, this—she could root for.
And then, with a sharp, calculated movement, he thrust the wooden piece forward, the force of the blow landing with a crack against the creature's massive scales.
The monster recoiled, hissing in pain, its enormous body shifting uneasily as the strike hit its vulnerable side. For a moment, the creature swayed, disoriented, and then, in a final burst of motion, it slithered back into the darkened woods, retreating from the clash.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Alina stood frozen, her heart still racing, the ladle clutched so tightly her fingers ached. The creature was gone, but the air remained heavy enough to choke on.
She blinked, still processing what had just happened. Killian stood in front of her, his chest heaving with the exertion of the fight, his eyes narrowed and alert as he scanned the area for any signs of danger. His hands, still holding the makeshift weapon, were steady, not a trace of hesitation in him.
Realizing that the danger was finally over, Killian turned toward her, throwing the worn piece of wood to the ground with a grunt of frustration. The makeshift weapon, now battered and charred from the fight, hit the ground with a dull thud.
For a moment, Alina could only stare at him, suddenly seeing him for what he truly was—a soldier, a protector, someone with a strength she hadn't imagined.
In a blink, he was in front of her, towering close. His gaze searched her face, intense and unreadable.
"You're hurt."
Before she could respond, his fingers brushed her cheek.
The touch was so sudden, so unexpected, that Alina flinched, a small yelp escaping her lips. Her body tensed, the shock of the moment lingering in the air like static, and her heart thudded erratically in her chest.
Instinctively, she raised her hand to her face. When her fingers came away, they were smeared with blood.
"I—I'm fine," she said, though the sting had finally caught up to her.
Her eyes flicked back to him. He was bleeding. Scratches lined his arms and neck, dark streaks soaking into his shirt. He looked worse than she did—and yet he was the one worried.
She opened her mouth to say something, to ask if he was alright—but the words stuck in her throat.
Feeling the weight of the moment settle too heavily between them, Alina stepped back, putting some distance between them.
The movement didn't go unnoticed.
Killian's eyes flickered—something unreadable passing across his face—before he turned without a word to face the door.
"Let's get you home."
Alina nodded, though her mind was still spinning. As she stepped out of the shed, she finally noticed the ladle still clutched tightly in her hand. A flush of embarrassment crept up her neck as she stared at the utterly useless thing—then promptly hurled it into the grass.
She followed closely behind Killian, and even with the strange, growing trust she felt toward him, the wariness in her heart remained. Her eyes flicked to the shadows as they walked, alert to every rustle and shape in the dark.
The danger was over—for now.
But something between them had changed.
She wasn't walking beside a mysterious stranger anymore.
She was walking beside someone who had saved her life.
And somehow, that changed everything.