The caravan rolled out just after sunrise, wagon wheels crunching over the hard-packed dirt road. Morning mist clung to the edges of the grasslands, and the air was cool enough that Kael kept his hands tucked in his coat pockets as he walked beside the last wagon.
He could hear Brant's voice up ahead, carrying over the creak of the wheels.
"…and then the instructor told me, 'You're never going to hit anything with that form,' and I still passed the test."
Mila laughed politely. Joss just muttered something about "lucky shots" and kicked a rock down the road.
Kael yawned.
By mid-morning, the rookies had fallen into the habit of checking on him.
"You alright back there, Kael?" Brant called over his shoulder.
"Mm," Kael replied without opening his eyes.
He had found the perfect spot — a wide crate of salted meat lashed to the wagon bed. Walking beside it, Kael rested one elbow on the wood and let the wagon pull him along just enough that it almost felt like leaning on a railing. His pace was so casual it looked like he might just stop and lie down in the road at any moment.
---
Day One passed without incident. The road stayed busy with other travelers, and the merchant kept up cheerful conversation with anyone who would listen. Kael wasn't one of them.
That night, camp was set near a shallow stream. Brant offered to take the first watch with Joss, and Mila fussed over boiling water for tea. Kael, having eaten, simply found a spot by the fire, tilted his head back against a rolled cloak, and was asleep within minutes.
---
Day Two was more of the same — if anything, the rookies seemed to have accepted Kael's lack of enthusiasm as part of his personality.
"Does he… ever do anything?" Joss asked under his breath as Kael trailed a wagon, head bowed like a man walking in his sleep.
"He's D-rank, so maybe he's just… efficient?" Mila offered weakly.
"He's lazy," Brant said, though not unkindly.
Kael didn't bother correcting them.
That night, they camped near the edge of the forest trail the merchant had warned them about. The woods loomed dark and thick, the air colder than before. Kael sat a little apart from the group, sharpening a dagger while the rookies chatted by the fire.
---
Day Three began quietly — too quietly. The moment they entered the forest, the lively chatter died down. The merchant's voice was lower, his eyes flicking toward the trees more often.
Kael noticed the shift. He could smell it — the faint, metallic tang on the air that didn't belong to the forest. Predators.
It wasn't until late afternoon, when the shadows were stretching long across the trail, that the first howl split the air.
Every head turned toward the sound.
From between the trees, amber eyes blinked into view — one pair, then another, then many. The Direfang wolves stepped out, twenty-four strong, their fur bristling, fangs glinting in the dim light. A massive alpha padded forward, larger than a horse's shoulder.
Brant's voice cracked. "T-twenty-five?!"
Kael finally straightened, rolling his shoulders. "Stay by the wagons," he said simply, stepping forward.
The pack began to circle.