They didn't make it far.
Maybe a mile from the clearing.
The trees grew dense again — tighter, narrower, too close together for comfort. Ryliegh stopped first. His hand slid to the hilt of his sword.
Phoenix noticed immediately.
"What is it?" he asked, dropping his arm from Ryliegh's shoulder. He grimaced, testing his own weight.
Ryliegh's voice was low. "The quiet changed."
Phoenix unslung his flamberge and held it in both hands, body shifting instinctively into a loose guard. "How many?"
"Two. Maybe three."
"How do you know?"
Ryliegh tilted his head slightly. "I don't hear the ones behind me anymore."
The forest answered for them.
A guttural screech echoed through the trees, sharp and wet, followed by a crash of movement — claws against bark, limbs shifting with unnatural speed.
They came fast.
Two grunt-types, low to the ground and twisted like starved reptiles, burst from the underbrush — eyes sealed, claws twitching, mouths open in silence.
Ryliegh didn't flinch.
He stepped forward and met the first with a brutal shield bash that sent it sprawling, then pivoted on his heel and brought his longsword down in a sharp, clean arc across the second's midsection. It collapsed in two twitching pieces.
Phoenix let the flamberge drop like a guillotine.
The remaining grunt raised its claws, screeching — too slow.
The flamberge split its chest from collarbone to gut. Black ichor splashed across the dirt as Phoenix twisted the blade free with a grunt.
He didn't have time to breathe.
A roar cracked through the trees — deeper. Heavier.
Ryliegh turned, shield raised. "Soldier."
Phoenix swore under his breath.
The thing was already charging — nine feet tall, armored in thick horned scales. A longsword nearly the size of Phoenix's body dragged behind it, tearing a rut in the earth.
"Don't trade blows with it," Ryliegh warned, stepping sideways to flank.
"Wasn't planning on dying today," Phoenix muttered.
The soldier lunged.
Ryliegh moved in first — shield absorbing the brunt of the blow, boots skidding back, metal shrieking under the weight of the strike.
Phoenix slipped around the side — fluid despite the limp — and drove his short sword into the creature's thigh. It roared and spun, backhanding Phoenix across the chest. He crashed into a tree with a grunt, coughing.
The beast turned again — too slow.
Ryliegh stepped in close, ducked under the swing, and jammed the tip of his longsword under the creature's jaw. The blade slid up — through neck, skull, out the top of its horned head.
It spasmed, gurgled, and dropped.
Ryliegh stood still for a moment, breathing heavy. Sword still embedded in the thing's head.
Phoenix pushed himself up from the tree, armor dented, coughing dryly.
"Teamwork," he wheezed. "We're gonna be great at this."
Ryliegh yanked his blade free with a wet crack. "You got hit."
"You say that like I planned it."
Ryliegh turned toward him. "You're not dead."
"Yet." Phoenix limped over, wiped his blade on a moss-covered root. "You don't talk much during fights."
"No time."
"I talk more during fights."
"I noticed."
They stood over the corpse of the soldier, black ichor pooling at their feet, steam rising from the gashes.
Phoenix looked down at it. "That one was bigger than the others."
Ryliegh nodded once. "They're getting closer to the edge."
"You think they're hunting us?"
"No," Ryliegh said flatly. "They're hunting you."
Phoenix was quiet for a moment.
Then he sighed. "Of course they are."
Ryliegh sheathed his blade. "Keep moving. No time for dying yet."
Phoenix looked up at him, then managed a weak grin.
"Yes, sir."