Aren cradled the small pup gently in his hands, marveling at how fragile the tiny creature was. Its delicate body fit perfectly into the curve of his open palms, so small it seemed almost unreal. The pup's fur was pristine white, soft as freshly fallen snow and still faintly damp with the warmth of new life. Its chest rose and fell in slow, unsteady breaths—each one a quiet testament to its will to survive.
"Look… it's a boy," Kana said softly, stepping closer with a rare brightness in her eyes that seemed out of place in the grim silence surrounding them. Her voice carried a strange mix of joy and awe.
Aren's gaze dropped to the pup, a tide of conflicting emotions swelling inside him—tenderness, hope, but also the heavy weight of uncertainty. He traced his finger lightly over the pup's soft belly, feeling the fragile pulse of life beneath the fur. This tiny being, so helpless and exposed, had been abandoned to a brutal world that showed no mercy.
Turning to Kana, Aren's voice was quiet but steady. "Do you want to hold him? I'll take care of the bodies." Despite his calm tone, his mind was racing—thoughts swirling with doubts and questions about what came next.
Kana smiled gently, her eyes shifting between the pup and Aren. "The mission was to eliminate the wolves. We might need proof—some teeth, a claw or two. I'll head back to the car and get the shovel. We need to bury the bodies before the smell draws other predators." Her practicality was a stark contrast to the soft moment between them.
Bufo nodded silently and started walking toward the vehicle, the crunch of his boots on dry earth fading into the quiet forest.
Left alone with the newborn, Aren and Kana crouched near the pup, the forest around them eerily still except for the gentle rustle of leaves and the pup's fragile breathing.
"So… what do we do with him?" Kana asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laden with uncertainty. "Is he even part of this mission?"
Aren looked down, his thoughts tangled like thorny vines. "I don't know. This little one hasn't done anything wrong… but he's all alone now. He wouldn't have lasted long, not out here by himself." His throat tightened. "Maybe it's kinder to spare him more pain."
Kana's expression softened as she nodded slowly, the gravity of the choice sinking in. "He's like you, Aren. Alone in a world that's new and dangerous. Vulnerable… and unable to defend himself."
A flicker of recognition darkened Aren's eyes. Like me, he thought bitterly—the boy trapped in a body not yet strong enough for the trials to come, struggling to find a place and a purpose.
"Okay," Aren finally said, voice steady with quiet resolve, "I'll take responsibility. I'll raise him."
Kana's brows knitted in concern. "Are you sure? He's a wolf, not a dog. He'll need constant care, lots of food… and what if he grows aggressive? What if he becomes dangerous?"
Aren met her gaze without hesitation. "Then I'll deal with that too. That's what responsibility means." His voice grew firmer, filled with an unyielding conviction. "I won't abandon him."
Her eyes softened, a trace of trust shining through. She glanced toward the silent forms of the wolves scattered around them—a heavy reminder of the harsh truth behind his words. "I believe you, Aren. Let's tell Bufo."
Together, the three of them finished burying the wolves in the quiet earth. The sun had climbed higher, sending slanting rays through the canopy, dappling the dirt road ahead with patches of light and shadow.
Bufo broke the silence, his voice rough but not unkind. "That wasn't what I expected, kid. I'm still not sure about all this… but for now, let's head back to the city."
Aren's heart thudded with a mixture of hope and doubt. "What about the test? Do you think I'm ready to be a Stravan?"
Bufo exchanged a glance with Kana and then smiled faintly. "I think you might be. Once we get back, we'll find a proper mission to test you. But be warned—it'll be harder than this one."
Kana smirked. "Yeah. You'll need to be ready for anything."
Bufo leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp with curiosity. "And that emblem of yours—what was it? Some kind of power? It looked like a skin reinforcement or something."
Aren shrugged, choosing his words carefully. "It's an enhancement. It's helped me before, but I still need to master it." He kept the truth about the dark dragon emblem buried deep inside—some things were too dangerous to share so easily.
"And your swordsmanship," Bufo added, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, "that wasn't random. It felt like a style I've never seen before."
Aren's lips curved into a faint smile. "My grandfather taught me. It's a style passed down through my family." He left it at that, old habits of discretion hard to break.
Bufo and Kana exchanged a look, suspicion flickering between them, but neither pressed further.
Aren carefully wrapped the pup in a shirt Kana had given him, cradling the fragile bundle close. For the coming weeks, it would be mostly goat milk and patient care to help the little one grow strong.
"Hey, Aren," Kana said softly, breaking the quiet. "Have you thought of a name yet?"
He shook his head slowly. "Not yet. It's an important decision."
She smiled warmly. "Make sure it's strong. He's going to need all the strength he can get in this world."
The car rumbled steadily along the dirt road as they talked quietly, the pup nestled peacefully in Aren's arms—a tiny, flickering hope amid the wild shadows.
Suddenly, Aren's eyes snapped toward a flicker of motion in the distance—a shadow among the trees, barely discernible but unmistakably there.
"Hey, did you see that?" he hissed, pointing sharply.
The low hum of engines drifted on the wind, distant but growing louder with every passing second. The familiar mechanical growl rattled the quiet forest like a storm approaching.
"Oh, fuck!" Bufo cursed under his breath, slamming his foot hard onto the accelerator, the car jolting forward with sudden urgency.
"What is it? Who's coming?" Kana's fingers tightened around her spear's shaft, muscles coiling with instinctive readiness.
Bufo's voice dropped, dark and sharp. "Bandits. Fast ones."
Aren's mind shifted instantly into battle mode. Every muscle tensed; his thoughts ran in crisp, clear lines. "I'll secure the pup," he said quickly, lowering himself and carefully placing the fragile creature inside a small wooden box Bufo had hastily fashioned earlier. He wrapped the pup snugly in soft cloth, making sure it was swaddled against every bump and jolt. "Stay put," he whispered softly, though the danger felt anything but distant.
Kana gave a curt nod, already drawing her spear up into a ready stance.
Bufo flexed his gauntlets, the metal plates catching the sunlight and gleaming faintly like sharpened blades. "They're closing in fast," Kana warned, eyes scanning the horizon. "Aren, are you comfortable with bows? There's one in the back with some arrows."
Aren's mind flickered to a memory, vivid and sharp as the present—the cold steel of a bow cradled in his hands, the taut string vibrating with tension, the smooth glide of an arrow released into flight. That was from another life, another role—the king he once was, a master of every weapon needed to protect his people and his lands. Archery was a discipline of patience and precision, the art of quiet breath and sudden release. His aim had been unerring; his eyes steady with unshakable focus. Those lessons were carved into his muscles, etched into his very being.
He grabbed the bow and quiver, feeling the familiar weight settle in his hands, the cool wood steadying his nerves, a calm spreading slowly through him.
"Good," Bufo nodded, his voice cold with purpose. "Take out as many as you can, from a distance. Slow their advance."
Aren settled into the back of the car as it rumbled forward, the forest blurring past. The bandits appeared on the horizon—a wild, ragtag mob of riders on dirt bikes and rattling four-wheelers, their engines snarling like predators in heat. They were reckless, fast, and closing the gap with terrifying speed.
He narrowed his eyes, drawing an arrow back and releasing it. The soft twang was swallowed by the roar of engines, but the arrow found its mark—a rider's shoulder. The man screamed in pain, flailing wildly before losing control and skidding off the road into the brush.
Aren's heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline sharpening his senses. Arrow after arrow flew, cutting down riders and sowing chaos in their ranks.
Kana and Bufo prepared alongside him, weapons gleaming under the slanting sunlight, faces set with deadly resolve.
The car shuddered violently as the bandits closed in, the collision inevitable.
Suddenly, Bufo's sharp gaze caught a figure moving faster than the rest—a sleek black motorbike weaving expertly through the disorder, its rider a dark silhouette radiating menace.
"That's their leader," Bufo growled low. "Watch him."
Aren's breath caught.
The leader's bike roared closer, kicking up clouds of dust and debris, a black tempest cutting through the chaos.
"Prepare yourselves," Bufo commanded, clenching his gauntleted fists. "This fight's about to get real."
Kana gripped her spear tightly, eyes flashing with fierce determination.
Aren's hand moved to the dagger at his belt, the familiar weight of the sword on his back suddenly heavier, as if sensing the coming storm.
Together, they braced against the mounting threat.
The engines thundered louder now, dust thick in the air, stinging their eyes and scratching their throats. The narrow dirt road had turned into a battleground on the edge of wilderness.
Aren's grip tightened around his bow, fingers nimble despite the tension coursing through him. Inside the box, the pup stirred softly, its fragile breath steady—a small heartbeat of innocence in the growing tempest.
From the corner of his eye, Aren caught Bufo clenching his gauntlets, the metal dull but deadly in the fading light. Kana stood statuesque, spear poised like a coiled serpent.
No words passed between them. There was no time. Every second brought the bandits closer, their snarling engines a chorus of impending violence.
Then the lead rider surged forward—cutting through his own chaos like a shadow made of black smoke and menace. His approach was brutal and confident, radiating a lethal aura.
He was tall, with a broad, muscular build that set him apart from the others. His stance radiated quiet confidence, the kind earned through countless battles. A jagged scar slashed across his face, made all the more prominent by his closely shaved head, lending him a hardened, unmistakable presence.
A sharp voice cut through the tension—the leader's, dripping with bitter satisfaction.
"Well, well. Look what we have here," he shouted, his voice carrying clearly over the engine's roar. "You thought you could just take us down and walk away, huh?"
His words were poison, aimed to shatter their resolve.
Aren's mind flicked back to that bitter day at the market—rumors and fear rippling out like waves. Their ghosts had returned, hungry for revenge.
Bufo growled, fists tightening inside their metal cages. "Today's not your day, buddy. Turn back now while you still can."
The leader laughed—a cold, cruel sound that cut through the thickening air. "Big talk for a small crew. But I'm not here for words. You're going to regret ever crossing us."
He raised a hand sharply, and the bandits slowed, forming a rough semicircle that sealed off any chance of escape.
Kana's eyes narrowed. "They're trying to trap us. We can't let them dictate the fight."
Aren inhaled deeply, a sudden calm sweeping over him. The memories of battles long past flooded back—soldiers at his side, the weight of command, the sting of loss.
Those memories blended with the present—the pup's gentle breathing, the threat closing in, the bitter taste of survival hanging heavy in the air.
The leader snarled, revving his bike like a beast ready to pounce. "Enough talk. Time to finish this."
Bufo stepped forward, a growl rumbling low in his chest. His gauntlets caught the last light of day, gleaming ominously. "Let them come."
Kana raised her spear, muscles taut, feet planted firmly in the dirt—ready to strike at the first sign of attack.
Aren's hand closed around his dagger's hilt, the cold steel grounding him. His sword lay strapped across his back, waiting for the moment it would be called into the fight.
The bandits surged, the noose tightening fast.
"Wait!" the leader barked suddenly, voice sharp with cruel amusement. "Before we spill blood, listen up."
Engines quieted, bandits halting just short of their trap.
"You don't even know who we are," the leader spat. "We are the Dune Reapers. Does that name ring a bell?"
Kana's spear shifted in her grip. "So you're the cowards behind the raids around here?"
Bufo's face darkened, eyes scanning the horizon. "Figures. They've been hunting us ever since that market incident."
A chill slid down Aren's spine. They came for him. For what he did to their kind.
The leader's twisted smile was a knife in the cold. "We've tracked you for a long time. You made us vanish once, but we waited—patiently. Now, it's time to settle the score."
Bufo's voice was low, unyielding. "It ends here."
The leader's eyes glinted like sharpened blades. "It ends with you bleeding on the ground. Or worse."
The tension snapped like a bowstring.
Aren drew a steadying breath, his thoughts honing razor-sharp.
Focus. Protect the pup. Protect each other.
He slid the bow to his side and drew his dagger, the steel whispering promises of survival in his hand. His other hand curled around the worn leather grip of his sword.
Bufo flexed his gauntlets, ready to unleash devastating force.
Kana shifted stance, spear poised to strike like lightning.
Inside the box, the pup stirred again—a small heartbeat of fragile hope amidst the gathering storm.
The three stood firm, weapons gleaming, hearts pounding, ready to face the Dune Reapers head-on.
The fight was not just for survival—it was for a future. Fragile, uncertain, but theirs to protect.
And with that unbreakable resolve, the battle began.