Blood Hounds

The three of them moved quickly through the forest, Rhia leading the way with practiced ease. Kael watched her from the corner of his eye—she was nimble, slipping through the underbrush without hesitation. She wasn't just some lost traveler. She knew these woods.

"So," Kael said, breaking the silence. "Those men back there. Bandits?"

"Something like that," Rhia muttered, keeping her eyes on the path ahead. "They call themselves the Black Hounds. Nasty lot. They take what they want, and if you get in their way…" She trailed off, her jaw tightening.

Kael didn't press, but he filed the name away. The way she spoke of them—this wasn't her first encounter.

"And you?" she asked, glancing at him. "A wandering swordsman with a half-dead wolf? Not exactly common."

Kael smirked. "I could say the same about a girl with a dagger, wandering alone in the woods."

She scoffed. "Fair enough."

They continued in silence until the trees parted, revealing a small, abandoned watchtower nestled among the hills. The stone was weathered, ivy crawling up its sides, but it was sturdy.

Rhia gestured. "We can rest here. It's safe enough for the night."

Kael exchanged a glance with Fenrir, then nodded.

Inside, the tower was cold, but dry. Kael set down his pack while Rhia worked on starting a fire. Fenrir stretched out by the entrance, ears flicking, ever watchful.

As the flames crackled to life, Kael leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You never answered my question."

Rhia looked up, her face flickering in the firelight. "Which one?"

"Who are you, really?"

For a moment, she was silent. Then, with a sigh, she leaned back against the stone.

"I was a healer," she admitted. "Once."

Kael raised an eyebrow.

Rhia pulled up her sleeve, revealing the faint outline of an old, burned brand on her wrist—partially faded but unmistakable.

A healer's mark.

Kael's stomach twisted. He knew that mark. It belonged to the Order of the Veil, an ancient sect known for their ability to heal wounds, both physical and… unnatural.

And they were all supposed to be dead.

Rhia met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "Now it's your turn," she said. "Who are you running from?"

Kael hesitated, but before he could answer, Fenrir growled.

The sound was low, deep, and filled with warning.

Kael's hand flew to his sword.

Outside, beyond the tower walls, something moved in the darkness.

Watching.

Waiting.

And it wasn't human.

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