As they made their way down the col, their steps grew more cautious. The path was treacherous—steep, uneven, and riddled with loose stones that shifted unpredictably beneath their feet. Every step sent small cascades of gravel tumbling down, the sound barely audible over the howling wind.
The descent was slow and tense, every movement deliberate. Nearly half an hour passed before they were close to level ground again. Just twenty meters more. Almost there.
Then it happened.
Roan misstepped. His boot landed on a slick patch of rock, and before he could react, his footing gave way. His body lurched forward, arms flailing wildly as he lost control. The jagged ground rushed up to meet him.
A sickening crack split the air.
A scream followed—sharp, raw, filled with agony.
The others froze. Their instincts screamed at them to turn back, to check on him. But they couldn’t see him from where they were, and the path was too unstable to rush down recklessly.
So they kept moving, forcing themselves to keep descending. They had no choice.
Nemsus was the first to reach him, his eyes wide with alarm as he dropped to his knees beside Roan. The boy lay sprawled on the rocky ground, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his face twisted in sheer agony.
Blood soaked his sleeve, dark and glistening under the moonlight. The cause was clear—bone jutted through torn flesh, stark white against the crimson that pooled over his arm. It wasn’t just a break. It was a brutal, jagged fracture, the kind that made Nemsus’s stomach twist at the sight.
“Shit—” Nemsus muttered, reaching out instinctively before hesitating. Roan clenched his teeth, his whole body trembling as he cradled his ruined arm. The wound was bad. Too much blood. Too much exposed bone.
Delilah arrived just behind Nemsus, but the moment her eyes landed on Roan’s arm, her expression darkened. That kind of injury… it wasn’t something a simple healing spell could fix. No mage could just mend shattered bone like that.
But she didn’t hesitate. She knelt beside him, pressing her lips into a thin line before gripping his arm firmly. “Hold still,” she warned.
Then, without waiting, she forced the broken bone back into place.
Roan screamed. His whole body convulsed from the sheer agony, but Delilah didn’t let go. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she pushed her magic into him, trying to mend what she could. It wouldn’t be perfect—nowhere near—but at least she could slow the bleeding, keep him from slipping too close to death.
When she finally pulled her hands away, the wound looked better, but only slightly. His skin was still torn, his arm still mangled, but the bleeding had lessened. Roan’s face was ghostly pale, his breath shallow from the blood loss.
“It’s the best I can do,” Delilah said, her voice tight. “If we don’t find real treatment soon… he’s going to lose that arm.”
Roan’s face somehow grew even paler at Delilah’s words. His breathing was uneven, his body trembling from the pain and blood loss.
Nero didn’t let him dwell on it. “We have to move,” he said sharply, his voice cutting through the tension. “Do you remember where we are?”
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No one argued. They couldn’t afford to.
Without waiting, Nero bent down, pulling Roan up to his feet. The boy staggered, barely managing to stand, but Nero held him steady. Then, without a word, he reached for Roan’s injured arm.
Darkness flickered around Nero’s fingers, cold and consuming. He didn’t have a spell to mask the scent of blood, but pure Darkness mana would do the same. The thick, metallic smell vanished almost instantly.
“That should keep them off our trail,” Nero muttered, watching as the tendrils of magic faded. “Let’s go.”
Nero’s voice was cold.
Delilah had already turned her gaze back to the forest below, her grip tightening on her sword the one belonging to victry that she took.
They couldn’t afford to stop.
Roan was shaking, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold. Every movement sent fresh pain surging through him, but he gritted his teeth and stumbled forward. The others moved slower now, their steps more deliberate as Roan’s strained breaths and occasional whimpers filled the silence.
By the time they reached the tree line, the cold was unbearable. The twilight’s last light barely touched the towering trees, their gnarled trunks swallowing what little warmth remained.
Lunia’s breaths were growing weaker.
It was fresing below zéro in this Forst the light pretty dim and She was just a child, just a human—wrapped in nothing but a thin, tattered shirt. Her small fingers had gone pale, her lips turning blue.
Nemsus held her tighter. “She’s freezing.”
They had to move faster
But they stopped again.
The sharp scent of blood hit the air as fresh crimson poured from Roan’s arm, seeping through the hastily mended wound. Nero cursed under his breath and wiped the scent away again with dark mana, but it was clear—the injury was worse than they thought.
Nemsus swallowed hard, his grip tightening around Hilda. "Keep moving." His voice was firm, but tension weighed heavy in his tone.
Delilah said nothing. She just turned and stepped forward, her expression unreadable. The others followed, their movements stiff with exhaustion and unease. Their eyes flickered between the trees, scanning the shifting shadows stretching across the forest floor.
They hugged the mountain’s edge, the uneven terrain forcing them to tread carefully. Loose stones slid beneath their feet, and the cold gnawed at their skin. Hilda’s shallow breaths against Nemsus’ shoulder grew fainter with each step, her small frame unnervingly light in his grasp.
Roan’s arm… it was turning a deep, ugly shade—black, blue, something in between. He was barely holding himself together, his breaths coming ragged and uneven.
Nero moved to help him again.
But before he could—
A rustle. A blur of movement.
Then a snarl, low and guttural.
And the sharp, snapping jaws of something lunging straight for Nemsus.
Nemsus twisted at the last second, barely dodging the beast’s strike. But Lunia—strapped to his back—wasn’t so lucky.
Claws tore through the air, raking across her face. Her scream ripped through the night, sharp and agonized. Warm blood splattered against Nemsus’ shoulder.
Her left eye was gone.
Nero was the first to respond. He moved fast, launching a fireball that slammed into the wolf’s side, but the beast barely flinched. Snarling, it turned on Nemsus again.
But Nemsus was already moving. Fueled by fury, he struck, forcing the creature back a step. For a split second, the wolf hesitated, its bloodied maw twisting as it adjusted—
Only to turn straight into Delilah.
Her blade cut through it like butter. Clean. Effortless.
The wolf barely had time to react before it collapsed, twitching, its lifeblood pooling beneath it.
After all, the sword she wielded belonged to a Sage.
Their expressions darkened. Nemsus tightened his grip on Lunia, hoisting her up again before breaking into a sprint. This time, his right arm clamped over her mouth, muffling her screams.
The others followed, feet pounding against the rocky ground.
Then—movement.
Two more wolves burst from the trees, sprinting toward them.
Nero’s expression twisted, his mind racing. The scent of blood was drawing them in. Lunia’s muffled screams weren’t helping either.
“Tell her to shut the fuck up!” he shouted at Nemsus, who kept running.
Nero’s eyes locked onto the approaching wolves. He took them in properly this time—
Each one stood nearly three meters tall, their thick gray fur bristling under the moonlight. Long tails flicked behind them. Their piercing blue eyes gleamed with hunger, their jaws dripping with saliva.
And the worst part?
If the fire spells barely hurt th
em…
Then these weren’t just wolves.
They were Ascendants.