The forest changed on the fourth night.
The birds stopped singing.
The wind no longer whispered through the trees. It groaned. Heavy. As if the trees themselves knew what was coming. Shadows stretched longer, darker—even when the sun still hung low in the sky.
Kael sat near the back of the caravan, helping Liri wrap a younger student's bruised arm. His hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from exhaustion. Dirt clung to his face, streaked with dried sweat and blood—some his, some not.
Sarin's death still lingered like a ghost between them all. His laughter used to echo by the fires. Now there was only silence.
A short distance away, Captain Varn knelt beside a group of scouts who had returned from ahead. Their faces were pale, clothes torn, one of them bleeding from a scratch that reeked of rot.
"We've entered Redclaw territory," the captain finally announced, loud enough for all to hear.
Students froze mid-task. Even the guards looked grim.
"The beasts here don't stalk from hunger," Varn continued. "They hunt for dominance. Packs of Crimson Howlers and Shadowfang Wolves run this region. And worse…"
His voice trailed off, but the silence that followed said enough.
A noble girl with gold-threaded robes—Yena, daughter of a regional baron—stepped forward. "Then why continue through here?" she asked, her tone half-defiant, half-anxious. "Why not turn back or wait?"
One of the older hunters, a bald man with burn scars down his jawline, scoffed. "Wait and die slow, or run and die fast. Those are the only other paths."
Captain Varn didn't smile, didn't blink. "We move. Sunset in three hours. The camp must be silent tonight. No fires. No shouting. Nothing to draw them in."
No one argued after that.
By nightfall, the caravan sat in near-complete darkness, scattered in quiet clusters beneath moss-heavy trees. No fires. No cooked food. Just cold rations and colder stares.
The air was wrong.
Kael crouched beside Liri and three younger kids who had taken to shadowing him for protection. His back was to the trees, a blunt dagger in his hand—taken from a dead student two days ago. It wasn't sharp, but it was all he had.
A single howl cut through the forest.
Low. Far away.
Then another answered, closer.
Liri grabbed his arm. "That… wasn't just one pack."
"No," Kael whispered. "It wasn't."
Yena cursed under her breath. Others clutched weapons tighter. One boy began muttering prayers. Another tried to hide beneath a cart's wheel.
From across the silent camp, the twin brothers—Ravi and Den—exchanged a look and tightened the grips on their spears. They were both body cultivators, minor nobles with talent, but even their usually confident posture trembled.
Captain Varn paced silently along the perimeter, flanked by the remaining six hunters. Three already dead. They couldn't afford another loss.
Kael felt it then—a pressure in the air. Not spiritual energy. Not essence. Just… tension. Thick, choking tension that made his lungs feel shallow.
A final growl rose from the woods—closer than before. The kind of growl that didn't warn.
It promised.