The road stretched endlessly before them.
Dry dust rose beneath their footsteps as they walked along the narrow path cutting through the open plains. The early morning sun climbed slowly into the sky, casting long shadows behind them.
Grey Hollow was gone.
Hidden behind hills.
Left behind in silence.
Arin walked quietly beside the knight.
His small boots pressed into the dirt with steady rhythm.
Step.
Step.
Step.
The world felt different now.
Larger.
Colder.
Unfamiliar.
For the first time in his life—
There was no home waiting behind him.
Wind moved across the empty fields, carrying the scent of dry grass and distant smoke.
Birds circled high above.
Watching.
Searching.
Surviving.
Arin tightened his grip on the small bundle strapped across his back.
Inside were only a few belongings.
Clothes.
Bread.
Water.
Simple things.
Everything he owned.
They walked in silence for a long time.
Neither spoke.
Neither stopped.
Until finally—
Arin broke the quiet.
"How far is the Academy?" he asked.
The knight kept his eyes on the road ahead.
"Very far," he answered.
The words settled heavily in the air.
"How long?" Arin pressed.
The knight thought for a moment.
Then replied calmly:
"Months."
Arin's steps slowed slightly.
Months.
The number felt enormous.
Unreachable.
Impossible.
But he did not complain.
Instead—
He nodded once.
Quietly accepting the journey ahead.
The knight noticed.
A small change.
But important.
"Travel teaches patience," he said.
Arin looked up at him.
Curious.
"And patience keeps you alive."
They continued walking.
The sun climbed higher.
Heat began to rise from the ground.
Sweat formed along Arin's forehead.
His legs grew tired.
His breathing heavier.
But he kept moving.
Because stopping was not an option anymore.
Around midday—
The knight suddenly slowed.
His posture changed instantly.
Alert.
Focused.
Dangerous.
Arin noticed.
"What is it?" he asked quietly.
The knight raised one hand.
A silent signal.
Stop.
Both of them froze.
The wind shifted.
Carrying a new scent.
Smoke.
Not from cooking.
Not from campfires.
From burning.
The knight's eyes narrowed.
He stepped forward slowly.
Carefully.
Silently.
They climbed a small ridge overlooking the valley below.
And then—
They saw it.
A caravan.
Or what remained of one.
Broken wagons lay scattered across the dirt road.
Wood splintered.
Cloth torn.
Supplies spilled across the ground.
Smoke still rose from the wreckage.
Thin.
Gray.
Unsettling.
Arin's chest tightened.
"What happened?" he whispered.
The knight did not answer immediately.
Instead—
He scanned the area carefully.
Watching for movement.
Listening for sound.
The silence felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
Then—
They saw the tracks.
Large.
Deep.
Fresh.
Claw marks carved into the dirt.
Wide.
Heavy.
Violent.
Arin felt fear crawl slowly up his spine.
"Was it monsters?" he asked.
The knight nodded once.
"Yes."
The word felt heavy.
Real.
Dangerous.
They moved closer to the ruined caravan.
Slowly.
Cautiously.
Broken crates littered the road.
Food spilled into the dust.
Cloth scattered across the ground.
A wheel lay several feet away from its wagon.
Completely torn off.
Arin's breathing grew shallow.
He had never seen destruction like this before.
The knight knelt beside one of the tracks.
His fingers pressed into the dirt.
Measuring.
Studying.
Calculating.
His expression hardened.
"This was not random," he said.
Arin frowned.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
The knight stood slowly.
"The attack was deliberate."
A brief pause.
"Something hunted them."
The words sent a chill through the air.
Suddenly—
A faint sound echoed across the valley.
A low groan.
Weak.
Painful.
Barely alive.
Both of them turned instantly.
The sound came from behind one of the broken wagons.
Arin's heart began to pound.
Fast.
Loud.
Uncontrollable.
The knight stepped forward carefully.
Sword already in hand.
He moved around the wreckage.
Slow.
Silent.
Ready.
And then—
They found him.
A man lay on the ground.
Covered in dust.
Bleeding heavily.
Barely breathing.
His clothes were torn.
His face pale.
His body trembling.
But he was alive.
The man's eyes opened slightly.
Struggling to focus.
When he saw the knight—
Hope flickered weakly across his face.
He reached out slowly.
Shaking.
Desperate.
"Run…" he whispered.
The single word carried fear.
Real fear.
The knight leaned closer.
"What attacked you?" he asked.
The man's breathing became uneven.
Rapid.
Panicked.
His lips trembled.
Then—
He forced the words out.
"Not monsters…"
A long pause.
His eyes widened in terror.
"Soldiers."