The forest still trembled with echoes of the fight. Ravyn stood among the carnage, the colossal beast lying lifeless at his feet. Its blood seeped into the dirt, forming a black pool around its grotesque body. Steam rose from its wounds, painting the air with the stench of death and sulfur.
With an exhale so faint it seemed like wind, Ravyn raised his head to the sky. A shrill whistle escaped his lips, sharp, short, deliberate.
From the eastern treeline, a horse emerged, a big one. As dark as the night, its mane a curtain of silver threads shimmering faintly in the dim light. It approached him silently, almost reverently, as though it too feared disturbing the forest's fragile stillness.
Ravyn stepped toward the fallen monster. His expression didn't change, his eyes remaining black and empty. He crouched beside the head, placing one gloved hand on the coarse skin. Then he raised his sword—white-bladed, its handle worn but sturdy—and in a single motion, he severed the head. A sickening squelch followed, blood erupting in thick spurts before slowing to a sluggish ooze. He tied the severed head inside a wide black sack, one made from a material unidentifiable by average merchants—leathery, but smoother than any hide.
Next, he began the slow process of removing the monster's fingers and toes, each one thick as a man's wrist and ending in razor-sharp claws. The meat was dense, layered in cords of flesh that steamed from its dying heat. He worked in silence, only the slicing of his blade and the occasional snap of cartilage breaking the quiet.
Once done, he carved out the eyes—large, milk-white orbs that still twitched in his grasp—and finally, both massive arms. These he wrapped tightly in black cloth, then bound to the side of the horse with metal clamps. The horse didn't move, didn't flinch. It was used to Ravyn. Used to the dead weight he often carried.
The remains filled the horse's back. There was no room to ride.
Ravyn stepped beside it and placed his bloodied hands together. Eyes closed. His voice dropped into a murmur. "Mhm."
The wind answered.
His lips parted again. "North."
And then they walked.
The journey began through green woods, but the color quickly faded. Trees that were once vibrant turned ashen and lean, their bark bruised with disease. Leaves blackened at the edges. The deeper they went, the worse it grew—until even the soil turned black, soft with rot, and wet underfoot. A stench hung in the air—swamp-like and bitter.
No more birds sang. No insects buzzed. Only silence.
And then—
A whisper of wind. A flicker of death.
An arrow.
It came from his left—silent, fast—but Ravyn's hand shot up, catching it mid-air without turning his head. His grip was firm, unshaken. The arrow trembled in his grasp.
A shadow detached from a tree up ahead. It stretched, bent, and solidified into a man, as though flesh had formed from smoke.
He was cloaked, lean but tall, with eyes like molten iron and a mouth twisted in curiosity rather than malice. A bow was already in his hand.
"You know what lies seven kilometers north?" the man asked, voice deep and calm, touched with dry amusement.
Ravyn turned to face him fully. "Brindare."
The man gave a slow nod, circling Ravyn with the ease of a predator.
"And yet you walk toward it, carrying… that." He gestured to the bundled arms and grotesque head swaying on the horse's back. "Brindare's not known for its kindness to strangers. Less so to ones like you."
"Not here for kindness," Ravyn said.
The man stopped and squinted. "Are you a Hellspawn?"
"I am."
The man's expression didn't shift. "Then you already know I can't let you pass."
His bow rose slowly, the string pulling back. Another arrow shimmered into existence—drawn from nothing, materializing with a whisper of dark energy.
It shot.
Ravyn caught it. Again.
Another followed. This time, Ravyn moved faster, sword unsheathed in one sweeping motion, slicing the arrow in mid-flight. The fragments fell to the mud, useless.
"You're quick," the man said, smirking. "Quicker than the last Hellspawn I saw. His head's probably still decorating a gate somewhere."
He looked at the horse. "Is that a monster?"
"Yes."
"Why carry it?"
"To trade."
The man's brow lifted. "Trade? You? In Brindare?" He scoffed, though it lacked venom. "They'll flay you before you touch the gates. No one trades with a Hellspawn."
"They won't know."
The man studied Ravyn, eyes narrowing, voice low. "You mean no harm?"
"Only business."
Silence stretched. Then the man lowered his bow slightly and said, "I'll let you pass… if you survive what comes next."
Ravyn stepped aside, creating distance between himself and the horse. The man nodded approvingly.
"Smart. I respect that."
He raised his bow once more. The arrow that formed this time was unlike the others—dark blue, wreathed in pulsing black energy. The very air recoiled from it. Trees around them groaned. Pressure settled on the forest like a storm building in the clouds.
The man's voice dropped. "Don't blink."
He released.
The arrow screamed through the air like a banshee, tearing apart the silence.
Ravyn didn't blink.
His sword rose, flat side catching the arrow mid-flight. The impact was thunderous, forcing Ravyn back by inches, boots sliding in the mud—but he held. Then, with a twist of his wrist, he guided the arrow away, redirecting it toward the ground, where it burst into a cloud of dark smoke and violet sparks.
The man stood, watching. Then, he smiled.
"A promise is a promise."
***
After a long time of walking, they finally arrived.
The cobbled road welcomed them, uneven but sturdy under Ravyn's boots. Brindare's walls loomed tall and worn, half-stone, half-story. Moss crowned many rooftops while others leaned tiredly into one another like old friends struggling to remain upright. The sky above was a somber gray, a fitting lid to the dull tone of the place. The air carried the stench of wet wood and faint traces of roasted meat, barely masking the rot that often accompanied damp towns like this.
The horse's hooves clicked against the stone rhythmically, the enormous sack on its back drawing lingering gazes from the few who wandered the street. Ravyn's long sword swayed lightly at his side, blood having long since dried along its white blade. His coat, dark and worn, trailed behind him as he walked, one hand on the horse's strap, the other never too far from his weapon.
Shops passed by—wood-framed windows showing off grim wares: dusty scrolls, iron trinkets, pickled beast parts. An inn's wooden sign swung with a squeak overhead, depicting a tankard and a broken wheel. A bar huffed stale music from a cracked door. None of it mattered to Ravyn. He simply walked.
Eventually, the street narrowed. Houses tightened like ribs around a throat, and noise fell away. Only two people lingered ahead. Both sat cross-legged on tattered blankets. Small assortments of goods—bottles, trinkets, crude amulets—lay displayed before them like fallen treasures.
Ravyn stepped toward the first man. His eyes, deep and glassy, locked onto the vendor, who glanced up, sizing Ravyn in a heartbeat.
"You looking to buy something?" the man asked, scratching his jaw with the back of his wrist.
Ravyn's voice, low and dry, answered, "I'm here to sell."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What are you selling, boy?"
"Parts of a Grey Goliath."
The vendor leaned forward slightly. Interest flared in his weathered eyes. "What parts you got?"
"Limbs, head, eyes, toes, and fingers."
The man gave a low whistle. "Can't say I've got use for most of that, but... maybe the hands. I might push 'em on the Black Market." He narrowed his eyes. "How much for both arms?"
Ravyn bent slightly and pulled the two thick, fingerless arms from the sack. He set them gently down, careful not to let the weight crack the stone.
"130 Volks each," he said.
The vendor stood, circled the arms like a wolf studying prey. He poked at one with a stick, nodding at the thick, gray-green flesh.
"Bigger than most," he muttered. "130's a fair deal for this beast. Deal."
Ravyn returned the arms to the sack and handed them over. In return, the man gave him a folded band of paper. Ravyn counted quickly.
"270?"
"Aye," the vendor replied, grinning. "Ten extra for the sheer bloody size of it."
Ravyn nodded once. "Thank you."
From beside them, the second seller, who had been quiet until now, waved frantically.
"Hey, over here! You still got parts, yeah? Let me see the eyes."
Ravyn turned, approached the second vendor's blanket, and produced the glowing blue orbs of the fallen Goliath. The vendor's eyes widened, then quickly narrowed.
"I'll take them... but not for more than 90 each."
"145 each," Ravyn said flatly.
"145? Are you mad? Grey Goliath eyes aren't worth that much!"
"These are blue," Ravyn countered. "Blue-eyed Goliaths are rare."
The man looked unconvinced. "Blue? All I needed was a standard one—for Hase Clogen potion. Colored won't work."
He sighed, leaning back. "Maybe a wizard from the Dafii Tower will want 'em. They're always collecting oddities."
Ravyn looked down at the man. "A wizard?"
"Yeah. Tower's not far. Northeast slope. Big and ugly. Can't miss it. If they're paying good, might be worth your time."
Ravyn bowed faintly. "Thank you."
Both men nodded in return, and without another word, Ravyn took the reins once more. He and his burdened horse continued deeper into Brindare.