The first monster crossed into John's territory at dawn.
John knew the moment it did.
He didn't sense it as a spike of danger or an instinctive threat. There was no adrenaline rush, no reflexive tightening of muscles. Instead, it felt like a ripple—subtle, deliberate, like a stone dropped into still water.
Something had stepped where it didn't belong.
John opened his eyes.
He had been resting atop the stone outcrop again, wings folded loosely at his sides, letting the early morning warmth seep into his scales. Mist clung to the forest floor below, drifting lazily between trees, softening the scars left behind by the recent battle.
The ripple came again.
Closer.
John exhaled slowly.
"…You're either brave," he murmured, "or very stupid."
He rose to his feet without urgency and stepped off the ledge.
