"Oh gods, she's coming!" Viktor's voice was a ragged thing, worn thin by fear. "If she finds us, she'll peel the flesh from your bones and wear it as a trophy." Kai didn't bother to correct him. Let the boy believe the she was a monster. Maybe that fear would keep him sharp. The truth was worse. The truth was that she didn't want trophies. She didn't even want you. She just wanted you gone, and she would accomplish it with a quiet, terrifying efficiency that left no room for heroics or last words.
Viktor began to scramble. He hastily gathered what gear and supplies he could, then turned to Kai. "How can you be so calm?" he whispered, eyes wide. He took a step closer, then another, until Kai could smell the sour fear on his breath. "Don't you know what she does?" His hands flew to his own head, clawing at his hair. "The stories—the claws—I can't—"
Kai saw it was useless. If I don't take control now, this kid's going to cost us everything. Kai placed a hand over Viktor's mouth. "If you want to survive this, then shut up, breathe and listen. She's smart. She's dangerous. But she's no demon. We outnumber her four-to-one. We just have to play it smart."
Viktor offered a muffled protest beneath the palm. Then the tension released. Once he could speak, a whisper escaped. "Right. Sorry." The two men moved deeper into the cave, where the others waited with the 'cargo'.
They were transporting a young, beautiful fox girl and her human father. The father clutched his leg, where a deep cut with fresh blood was flowing. If she finds us, we leave him.
Kai's gaze swept over the girl. Her kind were more common in the cities now, the old stigmas fading enough for mixing to happen, if not quite for acceptance. The result was this: a form human enough to avoid unsettling most buyers, yet marked with just enough of the exotic to command a premium from those with particular tastes. The large, white tail and enormous ears were part of the package. He filed the observation away. The journey was long, but discipline was longer. Time was running short.
The father caught him eyeing his baby girl like a slab of meat. "Wretch," father spat, the word thick with blood and rage. He strained against his bonds, a futile gesture that held all the fury of a cornered wolf. "Your days are numbered. Hurt me, break me, but touch my daughter and I will spend my last breath choking the life from you with my bare hands."
Kai didn't bother with a verbal reply. Words were for people. This man was now bait. He simply leaned down and kicked the man onto his side. As the father cried out, Kai's hand shot out and gripped the girl's chin, forcing her to look at her helpless father. It was a gesture of pure, uncomplicated ownership.
A whistle pierced the air.
Pain, foreign and overwhelming, bloomed from Kai's arm. The force sent him stumbling, and he looked to his arm. There, an arrow had gone through his tendons, embedded deep.
They weren't just short on time.
They were out.
* * *
Mona smirked as she watched the arrow sink in, her tail flicking beneath the cloak. The other man panicked the moment he realized his partner was hurt. With zero hesitation, he bolted off. The wounded man searched frantically for her, to no avail. He forced himself upright, then yelled.
"She's here! Take the girl and leave! One of you, back me up!"
Mona heard the clatter and shuffling immediately. She didn't have time to plan, she had to act. She quickly surveyed the scene. She saw the pooling blood. The human is bound, and bleeding badly. The slaver has backup coming. She shifted position, carefully closing the distance while keeping the entrance in her periphery.
The wounded man unsheathed a dagger with his other arm, lunging for the father. "Show yourself, you feline bitch!" He pressed the blade to his throat. "Or I'll end his suffering now!"
Mona hesitated. She remembered what happened those years ago. With Millie. The panicked guard killed her without a second thought. I… Can't let that happen again.
Then, a bright, blinding light illuminated the cave. A new figure, elven and gruff, appeared at the mouth of a connecting tunnel with a ball of light following close behind. A mage? Didn't expect that. Her position was compromised. She ducked behind a stalactite, but saw her ears casting a shadow.
"There!" The mage chanted , and thrust his hands forward. A blaze erupted from his hands, taking the form of a ball. He hurled it at her position.
The fireball slammed into the damp stalactite. Heat flashed; a violent hiss and a wall of steam exploded between them. Shit. Up and move! Now! As she flung her self away, she readied another shot. She needed to deal with the mage first. She let an arrow fly—but they were both prepared.
The wounded man threw the dagger, leading her movement. Mona barely had time to avoid it. He reached into his pouch, pulling out several more. With a feline grace, she diverted her momentum and began a serpentine advance upon them, each thrown dagger sailing past. Mona readied two arrows in her hand as the distance shrank. Now! She loosed the first.
The mage successfully deflected it with another fireball, but his chants took precious seconds.
Seconds he didn't have.
Mona was on him in an instant. She dropped the decoy arrow, then spun the bow around in her hands. She brought the improvised garrote over the mage's head. With a savage downward thrust, the string pulled him off his feet. Mona slipped behind him before he fully went down. She quickly used a spare bowstring to bind his hands together behind his back. Done. Next.
The wounded man was out of daggers, and had begun a retreat. He saw the tides shifting. Mona readied an arrow and let it loose, her expression grim. She aimed for his leg. Eye for an eye. The arrow found its mark and the man crumpled forward, his head cracking against the cave floor. He was unconscious and wouldn't be an issue for a moment. Gotta help him.
She rushed to the father's side. The blood loss was bad, but if she stopped it now, he may have a chance. She quickly tore a strip of his shirt and began to bandage him. "Keep this tight. Don't move".
The man looked at her in awe, but it held little gratitude. He shifted back, eyes narrowed. "What are you DOING?! Save my girl! Not me!"
Mona snapped back, tail curling and fluffing. "You're going to die if I don't help!"
"If anything happens to her, I'll be dead in a way you can't fix." He pushed her away. "Go! NOW!"
Mona stared in disbelief. She shook her head, then gave chase. Try though she may, they were gone. The cave split into several directions. She tried to sniff out a scent, but all she could make out was damp rock. She listened, but the water flowing deeper in covered any leads. "There's no telling which way they went, or how deep these go." She hung her head. Then, a flash of anger. She let out a scream, grabbing a large rock and throwing it against the wall.
She returned to the father's side. She avoided his gaze, shrinking into herself. "I'm… I'm sorry—I couldn't—there's too many…" She stopped herself
The father deflated. "No… My little Hina…" His voice went low and frigid. "Some guardian you are."
Mona tried her best to ignore his chiding. I can't save them all! Would you prefer I only rescue kids from now on?She calmed herself. He's an asshole, but he still needs help. She looked to the elven mage. An idea. She pulled him up by the hair, leaning close. "Can you use healing magic?"
The elf looked away.
Mona grabbed an arrow, driving the head into his chest. "Answer."
The elf hissed, a crimson bead forming under the arrow's head. "Yes."
Mona pressed further. "I'll cut you free. But, only if you heal him first. But if I hear a single chant for anything except healing," she drew the arrowhead down, opening a thin red line, "I'll put the next one through your throat."
The elf nodded slowly, eyes wide. An elven lifespan means nothing if physical trauma cuts it short.
She cut him free and he got to work immediately. Mona stood behind, arrow in hand and ready to pull back for a shot if anything felt off.
The father's eyes were hollow. He muttered to himself as the magic worked, tears flowing. When the mage finished, the wound had sealed into a fresh, pink scar. The man was saved from bleeding out, but he was still deathly pale, the ghost of his lost blood haunting his face.
Mona went to help him up, offering a hand.
He slapped it away. "No."
Mona grabbed his wrist, hard, and her voice raised. "You have to leave. Don't make this be for nothing. You really think she wants to go through the rest of her days thinking her father died, wet and forgotten in a cave like this?!"
He scoffed. "Hmph. I'll just go to the capitol." He stood with a wobble and dusted himself off, avoiding any attempt at assistance from Mona. "Need to report this to the Elysian Wardens. Your 'help' won't be necessary from here." He turned away, then hobbled off.
Mona turned to the mage. "Now. Your friend. Both of you will talk." She stood watch behind him once again.
The elf scoffed, but the sound was strained, and she could see the weary slump of his shoulders. "Can't. I'm out of mana."
He's trying to sound defiant, but his body is giving him away, Mona thought. Or is it an act? She drove her boot into the small of his back. "Don't lie to me."
The mage gasped, and in a burst of panic, he began chanting, hands rising.
Mona stepped back and drew the string. But nothing came. No light. No runes. He was telling the truth. She composed herself and asked with a growl. "Where are they headed?"
He turned to her. "A settlement past Jule. But this cave cuts the trip in half. The only ones who knew the way were the one who took the girl..." He cocked his head to the unconscious man, "and him."
Shit. The word echoed in her mind. The only other lead is an unconscious heap on the floor, and the girl is gone. The cave system stretched out before her, a silent, mocking labyrinth.
She turned her cold gaze to the mage. "Get up."
"What about him?" the mage asked, nodding to his unconscious partner.
Mona didn't answer. She simply began the grim work of dragging the unconscious slaver out of the cave. It was undignified and laborious, the man's head lolling. She dumped him unceremoniously near the main path, where the faint grooves of cart wheels could still be seen.
She returned to the mage. "The Wardens patrol this road by noon," she said, her voice flat. "If he's here, they'll take him. If you try to move him, he'll bleed out. Your choice."
She didn't wait for an answer. She shouldered her bow and walked away, not once looking back. A part of her hoped the mage would show a shred of loyalty. Another, darker part knew better. She was a hundred paces away when she allowed herself a single glance over her shoulder. The path was empty. The mage was gone. The unconscious slaver lay alone in the dirt.
* * *
Mona finally returned home. Or, to the place Valen used to live. The door groaned on its hinges, a sound he'd always meant to fix. The air inside was still and carried the faint, lingering scent of old leather and dried herbs—his scents. They lingered in the cracks of the floorboards and the fabric of the armchair he'd once claimed as his own. In the years following his death, she found herself struggling to share the space with these physical specters of him. Returning to an empty house, with no salmon or fish stew waiting on the stove, slowly chipped away her smile. She had good days. She had bad days. But lately, the bad days won in a landslide.
Her first year or so following his path was joyous. The momentum carried her, and whispers of her deeds rippled throughout Calamor and the neighboring cities. But alongside the praise, dissent grew louder as well.
'Why doesn't this guardian help find homes for the beastfolk she rescues? She just dumps them on poor Fioré, expecting her to do the hard work.'
'She's bringing in more homeless. Calamor isn't a charity. We don't need to take them in. What if they're criminals?'
She knew the truth about the first two. Fioré was happy to help, and Calamor had a flawed-but-functional transitional program running now.
But the one today? That stung in a new way. She was used to the distant whispers of armchair critics.
'Some guardian you are.'
That was confusing. Worst of all, it was terrifying.
I save him, and he doesn't offer a simple thanks? Some father he is. Despite her self assurance, she knew, deep down, that he was right.
Mona sighed as she entered, sliding off her gear with movements that were all muscle memory. The weight of the bow in her hands was the only thing that felt real. Before long, she found herself cleaning her gear with the same monotonous rhythm, a desperate attempt to scrub the day from her skin.
Wash the blood from the arrowheads. Scrape the mud from her boots. Patch the cuts in her tunic. String the bow.
Wash. Scrape. Patch. String.
The repetitive motions were a cage for her thoughts, but they rattled the bars violently. The father's empty eyes. The girl's white tail disappearing into the dark. The mage's cowardly flight.
Mona used to hate coming home because Valen wasn't here. Now, she realized with a fresh wave of grief, too much of him remained. His legacy, his successes, his very essence lined the walls, taking the shape of the trinkets and treasures he'd left behind. A carved wolf from the northern clans, a tattered map of forgotten ruins, a single, dusty silver spoon that was somehow the first thing he'd ever owned. They weren't comforts; they were exhibits, and they underscored the gulf between the hero he was and the failure she was becoming.
She sat at the table, the wood grain worn smooth by his forearms, and began to write a clinical account of the day's events.
'Subject: Hina, fox-type beastfolk. Last seen being taken into the serpentine caves east of Calamor. Father recovered, hostile. Two slavers neutralized, two escaped.
Outcome: Unsuccessful.'
When she finished, she laid her head on the table, the cool surface a small relief against the heat of her shame.
Silently, in this gallery for a dead man, she wept. The tears weren't the hot, furious ones. These were cold, quiet, and they fell for the girl, for the father, for Valen, and for the golden-furred feline who was so, so tired.