[Rowan's POV]
I settled into the front of the carriage, the wooden bench groaning slightly beneath me.
The old thing smelled like sun-baked leather and dust, with the occasional creak like it had secrets to whisper.
Damien sat beside me, leaning back like he owned the world, arms folded and grin tugging lazily at his weathered face.
Behind us, the others climbed into their places. Talia had already withdrawn into herself, eyes fixed on nothing, arms crossed like she was bracing against more than just the wind.
Tobias, on the other hand, was already making fast friends with one of the new kids, gesturing animatedly with his hands. That boy could talk to a wall and make it laugh.
I turned back as Damien shifted, giving me a side glance. "The recruits should sit at the back," he said, his voice dipped in sarcasm.
That same half-smirk played on his lips, like he knew exactly what kind of person I was.
I gave him a dry chuckle, little more than breath passing over teeth. "Not interested," I said, keeping my tone even, flat.
He didn't press. Just nodded, amused, and leaned back further.
My gaze wandered to the front of the carriage. The beast pulling it wasn't quite a horse—at least, not one any sane farmer would claim.
It had the basic shape, sure, but it was bulkier, with thick muscles coiled in the wrong places and a head that looked like it belonged on something from a nightmare:
elongated, eyes too sharp, nostrils flaring with something primal.
"You're looking at my beauties," Damien said, pride seeping into his voice.
"Bred from wild stock—real beasts. Not just for show, either. Faster than any horse you've ever seen. Tougher too. These things don't tire easy."
I raised an eyebrow, watching the creature stomp its hoof into the dirt, tail flicking lazily like it didn't care what we thought of it. Fitting, really.
"Ugly as hell," I muttered, almost to myself.
Damien laughed. "Yeah, but they get the job done. Like some people I know."
The wheels creaked as the last of the group loaded in, and the caravan groaned as it prepared to move.
The wind picked up, carrying the faintest scent of pine and distant rain. I didn't look back this time.
The carriage groaned once more, like an old man stretching his back, and then lurched forward into motion.
The first few feet were slow—wheels crunching over uneven dirt and gravel—but soon enough the rhythm caught on, and the beast at the front picked up speed.
The wind brushed past my face, sharp with the scent of damp earth and pine resin, the kind of air that let you know you were no longer in the safety of stone walls.
I glanced at Damien, who hadn't moved from his slouched position, one arm draped over the back of the seat like this was just another day in his long, strange life.
"So," I said, shifting slightly, eyes drifting toward the narrowing trail ahead. "How long till we hit the camp?"
He didn't look at me, just let out a low chuckle. "Usually about five hours if we don't stop. But that's only if I run my beauties till they're wheezing."
He gave the reins a small flick, and the beast up front responded with a snort, muscles flexing under its mottled hide.
I leaned a little to the side, peering into the stretch of forest that now surrounded us.
The trees here weren't gentle—tall, jagged things with bark like rough hands and branches that tangled overhead like they were conspiring against the sky.
"Is it dangerous?" I asked, my tone steady but edged with caution.
My fingers tapped once against my thigh, a quiet rhythm that mirrored the wheels rolling over the earth.
Damien hummed. "We're cutting through Thayle's March," he said, finally turning his head a little.
"It's mostly quiet. Mostly. You get the odd awakened-ranked beast trying to prove something. But nothing a little mana and a sharp blade can't fix."
He grinned, not cocky, just seasoned—like a man who'd lived through worse and didn't feel the need to brag about it.
"Mm. Love the optimism." My voice came out flat, but not cold. Just tired. "You military?"
"Used to be," he replied, watching the road again.
"Lieutenant, back in the day. Frontline stuff. Lots of screaming, blood, the usual. Got tired of watching kids die for noble names and broken promises. So I quit."
He said it so simply, like he was recounting the weather.
"Now I spend my time doing this," he continued. "Dragging half-trained brats across the kingdom, trying to get them where they need to be without something eating their heads."
His words floated in the quiet for a moment, the only other sound the steady thud of hooves and the occasional creak of the carriage frame. I leaned back, letting my eyes close briefly.
Five hours. Five hours in the wild with a carriage full of ghosts and stories too loud to ignore.
The hour slipped by quietly, the way time does when your body's in motion but your mind stays alert.
The road stretched on, flanked by tall grass and dense trees that leaned too close for comfort.
I passed the time trading words with Damien—he liked to talk, especially about himself. War stories, half-finished tales, and cryptic throwaways.
The man was clever, knew just when to lean into nostalgia and when to hold his tongue.
A storyteller who made sure the important pieces stayed tucked beneath the surface.
Then, without warning, everything shifted.
The beasts pulling the carriage—Damien's so-called "beauties"—skidded to a stop, hooves digging into the dirt, their bodies jerking and twisting like they'd just caught a whiff of death.
The sudden halt nearly threw me forward. A second later, I heard the rustle of canvas behind us, followed by the flap of the back cover being pushed aside.
Tobias's head appeared through the gap, face sharp, eyes narrowed. He felt it too—whatever it was.
"Something happened?" he asked, voice low but tight, like a drawn bowstring.
Damien didn't flinch. He glanced back with the kind of casual calm that only came from living too long.
"Don't worry, young man. This usually means something wants to eat us," he said with a dry chuckle. "Do me a favor, check on the other carriage, will you?"
The words hung in the air just long enough to sour it.
Beasts. The real kind—not back-alley thugs or power-hungry nobles in gilded armor, but the ones with fangs and claws and hunger in their bones.
I didn't have much firsthand experience, but that didn't mean I didn't understand the threat. You don't need to be burned to know fire hurts.
Tobias nodded without hesitation, disappearing back through the flap. I caught a glimpse of him leaping off the side, heading toward the second carriage.
Probably to warn the others. Smart.
I turned to Damien. "So what now? We dealing with this here?"
He gave a short nod, already rising to his feet, his posture tightening like a spring.
"Yeah. If they stopped like this, that means the scent's strong. Real strong. They're nearby—probably just behind the tree line, waiting for the right second."
Then he glanced at me, something sparking in his eyes that wasn't fear. Readiness, maybe.
"Might want to get that sword off your back. Time to earn your keep. Grab whoever you think can handle a fight."
With that, he jumped down from the perch, landing with the ease of someone who'd done this too many times to count.
I followed, my boots hitting the packed earth with a muted thud. The forest loomed ahead—thick, dark, and quiet in that way that always meant something was watching.
My hand reached for the sword strapped to my back, and my eyes began sweeping the shadows between the trees.
No more talking now. Just the stillness before something cracks.
And it was going to crack.
I rounded the carriage and slipped through the back flap. Inside, the recruits were shifting in their seats, glancing around, confusion spreading like a slow fog.
They looked at me the moment I entered—wide-eyed, expectant, and clearly hoping I'd say something like "false alarm."
No such luck.
"Beasts nearby," I said flatly. "Could be on us any second. If you can swing a weapon, get outside. The rest—stay put and pray to whatever gods you still believe in."
That broke the silence. Talia stood so fast her seat rocked behind her. Her expression was hard, jaw clenched, fists already curling like she was itching to spill blood.
I gave her a quick nod—no need for words. She was always like that. Focused. Deadly.
I turned to leave just as Tobias finished talking to the coachman of the second carriage.
From the look on the poor guy's face, he didn't have half of Damien's composure—or any fight in him either.
Behind me, the flap rustled again. A few more recruits emerged, hesitant but moving. I faced them, counted five.
"You, with me," I said, voice sharp. "Grab your weapons. If you don't have one, find one. Now."
They froze, unsure. Then something shifted in their faces—recognition. Maybe the rumors had finally done some good. They followed.
I brought them to where Damien stood at the edge of the road, his sword already drawn, eyes scanning the tree line like he could see through bark and shadow.
He gave our group a once-over and grunted. "This is it? Bunch of scared kittens. Guess this generation's softer than I thought."
I didn't argue. Didn't have time, and didn't care.
"How do we draw them out?" I asked, over the sound of blades being unsheathed and nerves being swallowed.
Damien didn't look at me. He kept his eyes on the trees. "Lupoxes," he muttered. "Wolf-type beasts.
Smart enough to flank, stupid enough to rush in if the scent is right. I've dealt with them before. Got a personal grudge."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small flask—murky yellow liquid inside, thick and foul-looking even through the glass. He held it up like it was something holy.
"This stuff? Calls 'em like bells in a chapel," he said, a crooked smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
"We'll bait them here. I'll handle the alpha. You lot clean up the rest. Unless they're tougher than expected. Then you stay back, assist, and don't die."
He waited, maybe to see if anyone would protest. No one did.
Talia was gripping her short blades so hard her knuckles had gone pale. The others looked like they were trying not to breathe too loudly.
We spent the next few minutes laying the trap—adjusting formation, spreading out just enough to cover ground without leaving gaps.
I moved with quiet efficiency, every step calculated. The road was still, but the air had changed—thicker now, taut with the weight of what was coming.
Then Damien gave a final nod and uncorked the flask. He spilled a stream of the stuff onto the ground.
The stench hit instantly.
It clawed up my nose and punched the back of my throat—rotten, acrid, like something that had died twice and fermented in sewage.
I nearly gagged but forced it down. Around me, the others weren't so composed. One of the recruits turned green.
Damien chuckled. "Told you it'd work."
The scent crawled into the trees, curling between roots and brambles. We waited, silent. Ears tuned to the twitch of leaves, the snap of twigs.
Somewhere out there, something was moving. Watching.
And any second now, it would strike.