The wilds beyond Black Hollow were far more dangerous than Ronan had anticipated. The air grew thick with the scent of wet earth and decaying foliage, and every rustling of the trees seemed to carry an unspoken warning. The deeper he ventured, the more the forest seemed to close in around him, as though it were alive and aware of his presence.
But Ronan pressed on, the weight of Doomfang's power lingering in his mind. The wyvern had been silent for some time, its immense form a constant shadow behind him. The silence was deafening, and Ronan's thoughts turned inward. He had always been an outcast, a nobody—no friends, no allies, no support. Now, with this power, he was something more, but what? The fear that had clung to him in Black Hollow was still there, gnawing at the edges of his mind.
As the sun set, casting long shadows through the trees, Ronan found himself at the edge of a small clearing. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally, but there was no time to rest. The wilds were unpredictable, and even the slightest moment of weakness could mean death.
And then, the ground beneath him trembled.
Ronan's eyes snapped to the forest's edge. At first, he thought it was an animal, but as the creature emerged from the underbrush, his blood ran cold.
A massive boar, its tusks gleaming like daggers, stepped into the clearing. It was easily twice the size of any normal boar, its eyes glowing with an unnatural yellow light. The creature sniffed the air, its attention fixed on Ronan.
Ronan took a step back, his heart pounding. He had no weapon. No way to defend himself.
But then, Doomfang moved.
The wyvern's massive form emerged from the shadows, stepping forward with terrifying grace. He spread his wings wide, his claws scraping against the earth, and let out a deafening roar. The ground seemed to shake under the force of the sound.
The boar hesitated, its glowing eyes flicking between Ronan and the wyvern. For a brief moment, there was a silent stand-off—man and beast, locked in a battle of wills.
Ronan raised his hand, the weight of the bond to Doomfang coursing through his veins. "Stop," he commanded, his voice quiet but firm.
The wyvern's eyes flashed blue, and the boar bolted into the trees, fleeing before them. Ronan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
His control over Doomfang was still tenuous, but in that moment, he had commanded the wyvern—if only for an instant.