Morning came not with peace, but with eyes sunken and bodies stiff. The forest mist clung to the students like a shroud. One of the hunters muttered, "Too quiet again," as he checked his blade.
The camp was surrounded by claw tracks. The Crimson Howlers hadn't attacked—they had watched.
Kael didn't sleep. None of them did. He sat beside Sarin, who kept tying his worn cloth bandages tighter with every wounded student.
"You're running out," Kael noted, his voice rough.
"I'll tear my shirt if I have to," Sarin replied, trying to keep it light. "These people... they just need someone to care."
Kael looked at him quietly. "You're too soft for this world."
Sarin chuckled, then grew serious. "Maybe. But that's why people like us have to live. So it doesn't all go to rot."
A group of five students was sent to collect herbs under hunter supervision. Liri volunteered too, despite her own limp. She always helped—quiet, sweet, and focused.
A noble, tall boy named Dralen, with blond hair and polished leather armor, scoffed at them. "We're wasting time with wounded stragglers. The strong should push forward."
Sarin stepped up before Kael could. "And leave the weak behind to die? That's what your family teaches?"
Dralen's hand hovered near his sword, but one of the hunters gave him a glare that stopped him cold.
Kael remembered Sarin's words.
That evening, when the group returned with herbs, it was Sarin who noticed something. Birds flying overhead in erratic patterns. A stillness in the trees.
"Form up!" barked a hunter too late.
Mistclaw Panthers—six of them—emerged from the undergrowth, fur glistening with dew and saliva. They didn't snarl. They moved like ghosts.
The students scrambled. Screams tore the quiet apart.
One panther lunged for a child who had tripped—a young boy named Tev, barely thirteen.
Sarin dove.
He tackled the child aside, taking the claws across his back.
Kael saw it all. He rushed in too late.
By the time the hunters rallied and killed the beasts, Sarin lay slumped, blood pooling around him. He looked up at Kael with a weak smile.
"Looks like… this world… still has too many thorns…"
Kael clutched his hand. "Don't talk. I'll—someone—"
Sarin shook his head. "Don't mourn me. Just… protect someone else tomorrow…"
He died with the softest smile Kael had ever seen.
They burned his body that night, along with two others who had fallen. The air was thick with smoke and grief.
Kael didn't cry.
But when no one looked, he took Sarin's knife and tied it to his belt.