The beast dropped to all fours the moment Thomas vanished from sight—and charged.

  The ground shuddered. Trees groaned and snapped as its mass tore through the forest.

  I lowered my stance; muscles coiled for impact. The storm was my ally: downpour, pitch-black sky, dimness—all gave me a sliver of chance.

  Its hind legs stomped and launched forward. I dashed into the dense woodlands behind me just as its weight crashed down where I had stood. Stone screamed, cobbles skidding loose beneath the impact.

  It swung a massive paw at me, claws carving the air. I fled deeper into the woodlands, trees and shrubs behind me ripped apart like cloth.

  I slung missiles at the enormous target—impossible to miss—yet not a single one tore its fur.

  I ran, pathetic and gasping, as the beast thundered after me, never once losing sight of me, not even in the darkest gloom.

  Then the beast halted mid-charge.

  It rose onto its hind legs and turned away from me, roaring up at the storm as thunder crashed overhead. Lightning split the clouds, white and blinding, and the creature bellowed back as if challenging the sky itself—forgetting me entirely for that brief, fatal moment.

  The beast’s massive body trembled, defiance in every movement. It pawed the ground violently, sending shards of wood and stone flying, as if daring heaven itself.

  That instant—its fury and pride turned outward—was my only chance. Pain lanced through every muscle, splinters dug into my soaked skin, but I forced my breathing even, heart hammering in my ears.

  Fingers clenched around the jagged stone I had torn from the shattered cobbles, its rough edges biting into my palm. I did not aim yet. In the storm-darkened woods, sight was meaningless. I waited.

  I prayed in the dark, not out of faith—only desperation.

  Lord Levia, just one glimpse. That’s all I ask.

  Lightning split the sky.

  For a heartbeat, the world burned white—the beast’s towering form etched in stark clarity, its garnet eye blazing like a wound in the dark.

  I moved without thought. As if guided by something beyond me, my arm snapped forward, every instinct honed through countless hours of slinging practice taking over where reason failed.

  Then I let it fly.

  The stone vanished into the darkness.

  I waited—breath held, ears ringing, rain pounding—until a painful roar tore through the storm. The stone had struck true, smashing into its great eye. Blood spilled as it reeled back, shrieking in fury.

  I retreated at once, wary despite the success—hurt, but far from slain. Thunder and lightning answered, mocking its fleeting triumph.

  Roots snagged my ankles, sending me sprawling again and again in the dark. I dragged myself upright, skin torn and bleeding, but the beast—half blind and writhing in pain—did not notice, too consumed by storm and fury.

  My hand swept across the woodlands floor, snatching sharp stones and sending them flying. Its wounded eye glowed faintly like a dying ember, a beacon in the blackness.

  I aimed by that glow, by the silhouette carved out in lightning flashes. The first stone had struck true; the rest were nothing but desperate prayers, hurled at nose, mouth, shadow.

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  Even if I were to die here, I would make it remember me—the tiny prey that dared to strike back.

  Its movements grew erratic, then frighteningly predictable—each charge veering the same way, its wounded eye dragging its aim astray.

  I changed positions, hauling my tattered body through roots and wet leaves, every breath burning as fiercely as its roar.

  I seized a branch and hurled it into the darkness to my left. The crack echoed. The creature’s ears twitched; it lunged at the sound at once, fury ruling what sight remained.

  One eye yet lived—but rage guided it more than reason now.

  I reached down for another cobble—and lost focus.

  Pain surged back all at once, every wound screaming awake, sharp and merciless.

  I gasped as icy rain seeped into torn cloth and broken skin, stealing what little warmth remained. My limbs trembled, numb and stiff—whether from the cold or from being driven beyond their limit, I couldn’t tell.

  Strength bled from me with every breath.

  There were no distractions left.

  Ahead, the beast slowed. Its growls deepened, steadier now, no longer wild. Long ears twitched beneath the rain as it listened, patient once more.

  It had calmed.

  And I had nothing left.

  If this was the end, then… at least I had bought them time.

  ??????????

  Late afternoon. Raging storm.

  Orphanage.

  Strong winds battered the windows, rattling them violently. The old orphanage—once a lookout post—shuddered as if the storm had chosen it alone to bear its wrath.

  “Luckily Rondall patched the roof the other day…” I thought, grateful for his timing.

  I checked the usual spots—the kitchen, the children’s room, the front hall. No fresh leaks.

  Still, tension thickened as the storm worsened.

  Allen, Thomas, and Xanthia had gone to town today.

  Leviafest. Travellers. Noblemen.

  Don’t get into trouble, children.

  “Lucia… they aren’t back yet.”

  Fiorella stood beside me, clutching her rag-doll as I stared out the window.

  I reached for her and brushed her cheek.

  “They won’t be back until the rain stops, sweetie. Go call Julian and Millie—we’ll eat while we wait.”

  She nodded and padded off.

  I had just reached for the clay cook-pot when a violent crash shook the front door.

  The children all froze in the dining hall. For a heartbeat, no one breathed. My chest tightened—but I did not let it show.

  The door burst open.

  Cold wind and rain rushed in, tearing through the hall and snuffing out the warmth we had gathered. Thomas collapsed across the threshold, his soaked body hitting the stone floor with a painful thud.

  I shut the door at once and rushed to him.

  Julian and Millie were already at his side, peeling away his drenched tunic. His skin was icy, streaked with scratches and bruises that wept under the chill.

  Panting, conscious but weak, he clutched his sling like a lifeline.

  “Allen… in the woodlands… huge moss-hopper… he… he let me escape…”

  His voice cracked with guilt.

  Julian froze, hands suspended midair. Millie gasped.

  Fiorella stood a few steps back, rag-doll pressed to her chest, face crumbled.

  Thomas collapsed, the message torn from him with his last breath of strength.

  “Thomas, wake up! Please, wake up!”

  Millie broke into tears, yelling his name.

  He was losing warmth fast. Every second mattered.

  Julian rose; gaze locked on Thomas.

  “Millie, look after Thomas. I’ll bring Allen back.”

  His words were strong and fearless. Julian was unstoppable now.

  I inhaled deeply, torn between duty and fear.

  Every part of me wants to keep you here, safe by the fire…

  I gave him a sharp look.

  “Then make it count. Don’t die for nothing.”

  Millie was shocked. Her lips trembled, but no words came.

  She rubbed Thomas’ arms furiously, desperate to draw heat back into him, as if her silence alone could hold Julian back from the door.

  Confusion, fear, and worry overwhelmed Fiorella; pearls of tears fell onto Thomas’ pale face as she stroked him.

  Julian bolted into action as I gave permission.

  I rushed to the kitchen, grabbed the tonic from the shelf—not the finest, but it would help.

  Thomas was layered in rugs to build up heat. Millie fed him the tonic, bit by bit with a wooden spatula.

  Julian armed himself—sling in hand, daggers strapped, sword at his side. He wore a long-sleeved leather tunic and a thick cloak.

  I looked at him, heartbroken deep inside.

  “Lord Levia’s blessing upon the brave and courageous—may His tide carry you safely!”

  I declared, my voice rising above the thunder like a ritual cry.

  He grinned.

  “My father always said storms are no place for cowards. I’ll prove him right!”

  Pride and admiration lit his face as he raised his fists.

  I took his hand and pressed the runestone into his palm.

  “You knew how to use this, use it wisely.”

  It was my mother’s keepsake, but the children’s lives weighed heavier than sentiment.

  He accepted without hesitation.

  The risks were high; he needed every useful instrument.

  Julian stepped into the rain, sprinted down the cobbled way.

  His voice cut through the storm, defiant and clear:

  “I’ll bring him back!”