The Eastern Forest. Night. Lira and Ken's POV.
The signal arrow burned in the sky.
Lira had shot it without thinking. Her arm was still raised, her bow still humming, her eyes fixed on the figures below. Three of them. Two men, one woman. The strangers.
They had found them.
Ken appeared beside her, silent as smoke. His hood was down, his face pale, his eyes sharp. He had been scouting ahead when the trail led him here. He had circled back, found her, pointed.
"Two are wounded," he whispered. "The woman's arm. The man's leg. The boy is unhurt."
Lira studied them. The boy was young—sixteen, maybe seventeen—but his hands were raised, flames licking between his fingers. Fire magic. The woman had a staff, its crystal dim, her movements careful. Lightning, probably. The man with the sword moved like a soldier. Like someone who had done this before.
"They killed our people," Lira said.
Ken nodded. "They did."
"We need to take them."
Ken looked at her. "They're not hunters."
"Does it matter?"
Ken was silent for a moment. Then he shook his head.
---
The plan was simple.
Lira would draw their attention. Her arrows could split—one into five, ten, as many as she needed. Not as powerful, but enough to keep them busy. Enough to force them to cover.
Ken would move through the shadows. His gadgets, his blades, his training. He would find the openings. He would end it.
Lira notched an arrow. Drew. Breathed.
She released.
The arrow split in the air—one became three, three became nine. They rained down on the clearing, streaking toward the strangers.
The boy moved first.
He vanished—not running, not dodging, just gone. One moment he was there, the next he was behind a tree, the arrows passing through empty air.
Teleportation.
The woman raised her staff. Lightning arced up, deflecting the arrows, sending them scattering into the trees. The man drew his sword, moved behind a fallen log, his eyes scanning for the source.
Lira cursed. "They're fast."
Ken was already gone.
---
The battle was not going well.
Lira's arrows split again and again, filling the air with shafts, but the strangers were too fast. The boy teleported from cover to cover, never staying in one place long enough for her to track. The woman's lightning deflected anything that came close. The man moved through the chaos like he had been born in it, his sword cutting down arrows mid-flight.
Ken engaged him.
The swordsman—Ben—was good. Better than good. His blade moved like water, like shadow, like something that had been doing this for years. Ken's knives were fast, but the man was faster. Every strike was met. Every opening closed.
Ken threw a smoke pellet. The man didn't flinch. He stepped through the smoke, his sword already swinging.
Ken barely blocked.
The impact drove him back. His feet slid in the mud. His arms shook.
"You're good," the man said.
Ken didn't answer.
---
Lira shifted her focus to the woman.
Tina's staff crackled with lightning. Arcs of blue-white energy danced around her, deflecting arrows, scorching the ground. Lira couldn't get a clean shot. Every time she drew, the woman was already moving, already shielding, already countering.
Lira tried a different tactic. She aimed at the trees above Tina. Released. The arrow split—one became five, five became fifteen. They rained down from above, forcing the woman to raise her staff higher, to spread her lightning thinner.
For a moment, her guard dropped.
Lira drew again. Aimed at Tina's chest. Released.
The boy appeared.
He materialized between them, his hands raised, fire blooming. The arrow hit a wall of flame, disintegrated, fell to ash.
The boy's eyes were wild. His breath was ragged. Teleportation cost him.
"Tina," he said. "Behind you."
Tina spun. Ken was there, his knife raised, but her lightning was faster. It caught him in the shoulder, sent him flying. He hit a tree, fell, didn't move.
Lira's blood went cold.
"Ken!"
---
The boy vanished again.
Lira couldn't track him. She couldn't track any of them. They were too fast, too coordinated, too experienced. Three on two should not have been this uneven. But it was.
She was losing.
Ben appeared in front of her, his sword already swinging. Lira blocked with her bow—the frame creaked, splintered, held. She shoved him back, reached for an arrow, but he was already moving.
His blade cut the arrow in half.
"You're outmatched," he said.
Lira didn't answer. She dropped the broken bow, drew her knife.
Ben's eyes flickered. "Brave. Stupid, but brave."
He raised his sword.
---
Tina's staff crackled.
Lightning arced toward Lira. She dove, rolled, felt the heat singe her hair. The boy appeared beside her, fire in his hands, but she was already moving, already stabbing.
Her knife cut his arm. He gasped, stumbled, vanished.
Tina screamed. "Davin!"
Lightning exploded from her staff, wild and uncontrolled, lighting up the forest. Trees ignited. The ground cracked.
Lira scrambled behind a fallen log, her heart pounding, her hands shaking.
She was alone. Ken was down. Grog wasn't here.
Ben stood over the fallen log.
His sword was raised. His eyes were cold. He wasn't a hunter. He wasn't a creature. He was something else—something just as dangerous.
"Where are your people?" he asked.
Lira didn't answer.
"How many are coming?"
She met his eyes. "Enough."
Ben's jaw tightened. He raised his sword higher.
And then Grog was there.
---
He came from the trees like a battering ram. Silent until the last moment, then roaring, his sword still sheathed.
Davin had just reappeared, clutching his bleeding arm, his back to the trees. He didn't see Grog coming.
Grog's open hand caught him in the back—not a blade, not a killing blow, just force. Raw, brutal force. Davin flew through the air, hit a tree, crumpled.
"DAVIN!" Tina screamed.
Grog didn't stop. He pivoted, launched himself at Ben.
Ben lowered his sword. Too slow. Grog's shoulder caught him in the chest, drove him to the ground, and they crashed through the undergrowth in a tangle of limbs and steel.