Blood Hounds

The silence after the encounter was deafening. Kael didn't like it. Neither did Fenrir. The wolf still stood at the tower's entrance, nose twitching, golden eyes searching the trees as if expecting the shadow to return.

Rhia sat by the extinguished fire, rubbing her wrist absentmindedly—the same wrist that bore the healer's mark. Her expression was unreadable.

Kael sheathed his sword. "That thing knew my name."

Rhia didn't look up. "I know."

"You've seen something like it before."

This time, she hesitated. Then, in a quieter voice: "Yes."

Kael waited, but she offered nothing more. His jaw tightened. Whatever she knew, she wasn't ready to say.

Before he could press further, Fenrir let out a low chuff and turned his head sharply.

Someone was coming.

Kael heard the footsteps a second later—light but deliberate. Not the panicked scrambling of the Black Hounds, nor the slow, unnatural movements of whatever had whispered his name.

A traveler.

Kael moved to the doorway, hand on his sword. Rhia straightened, slipping her dagger back into its sheath but keeping it close.

Then, from the mist-shrouded trees, a figure emerged.

A man, clad in a dark cloak, hood drawn over his face. He walked with the ease of someone who knew these woods well. As he approached, he raised his hands slightly—not a threat, but not defenseless. A sword rested at his hip, the hilt worn from years of use.

Kael narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

The stranger stopped a few paces away. "A friend," he said, his voice smooth but edged with caution. "Or at least, not your enemy."

"Not an answer."

The man exhaled, lowering his hood.

Beneath it was a weathered face, lined with experience. His eyes were a sharp steel-gray, his dark hair streaked with silver at the temples. He looked somewhere between his late thirties and early forties, a man who had seen war but lived to tell the tale.

"You can call me Darian," he said. "And if you have any sense, you'll leave these woods before nightfall."

Kael glanced at Rhia, who was watching Darian carefully, her expression unreadable.

"You know what was out there," Kael said.

Darian's jaw tightened. "I know enough." His gaze flickered to Fenrir. "And so does your wolf."

Kael felt Fenrir shift beside him, muscles tense.

Darian continued, his voice low. "There are things in this land that do not belong in this world. Creatures that should not be able to speak a man's name."

Kael studied him. "And yet, you're here."

Darian smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "That's because I know how to fight them."

Silence.

Kael's fingers twitched at his sword hilt. He didn't trust this man. Not yet. But if he had answers…

Rhia was the first to break the tension. "If you know what we're dealing with," she said, "then you know running isn't an option."

Darian looked at her, his steel-gray eyes thoughtful. "No. It's not."

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

"But if you're going to fight the things that live in the dark… you'd best be ready to pay the price.