----Chapter 13----
Enix walked along a narrow ridge, heading toward Ethille. The late afternoon wind tugged at his cloak as he moved, but he did not rush. His black-and-white hair stood out against the fading light, a striking feature that had earned him more stares than he cared for.
Below, a farmer's wagon rattled along the road. A young man lounged in the straw at the back, looking as though he did not have a care in the world. But Enix noticed the truth in the way the man's eyes scanned the trees, sharp and restless.
Their gazes met briefly as the wagon passed closer. The stranger did not smile or frown. He simply looked, as if sizing Enix up.
The moment broke with the sharp crack of a branch in the woods. The horses reared in panic. The farmer cursed, fighting the reins. The stranger rose in an instant, hand on his sword.
"They are here," he said quietly.
Enix's grip tightened on Incinerator.
From the shadows emerged the hunters. Gloomstalkers crept forward, their glowing eyes fixed on the wagon. Wolves twisted by shadow and hunger, with bodies covered in bony plates, whip-like tails tipped with venomous barbs, and unhinged jaws lined with needle-sharp teeth. They moved silently, appearing and disappearing in shadow as if the darkness itself protected them.
The stranger leapt down, blade flashing. His first strike cut one beast across the chest, sending it sprawling. Another lunged, but he dodged smoothly, slicing it down.
Enix joined the fray when the largest of the pack burst from the shadows, crashing into the wagon with bone-shaking force. Horses screamed, straw flew into the air, and the farmer cried out.
Incinerator flared with fire as Enix cut deep into the creature's flank. The beast roared, staggering. The stranger moved in and thrust his sword through its chest, finishing it in black ichor.
The field seemed calm for a moment.
But the forest was not done.
The ground trembled. A shadow rose, larger, stronger, and more terrifying than before.
It was a mother Dreadfang. The Dreadfangs are creatures of shadow and fire, apex predators of the wildlands.
Their most striking feature is their thick, black fur, which seems to absorb light, making them appear as living shadows.
This fur is often streaked with deep crimson, particularly around the joints and along the flanks, giving them a bloodstained appearance.
The Dreadfang's head is massive and powerful, resembling that of a saber-toothed cat.
Two enormous, curved fangs protrude from its upper jaw, extending far below its chin. These fangs are not merely for show; they are razor-sharp and capable of tearing through flesh and bone with ease.
The Dreadfang uses these fangs to deliver killing blows, often targeting vital organs or severing arteries. The forehead of the Dreadfang burns with an eerie red fire, a constant reminder of the creature's connection to shadow and flame.
This fire is not merely cosmetic; it radiates intense heat and is often accompanied by a dark, ominous aura that can unsettle even the most seasoned warriors.
The Dreadfang's eyes glow with an intense red light, piercing the darkness and allowing it to see clearly even in the deepest shadows.
The Dreadfang's body is built for power and agility. It possesses a muscular frame, capable of delivering devastating blows and leaping great distances.
Its forelimbs are equipped with razor-sharp claws, capable of tearing through armor and flesh.
The Dreadfang's hind legs are equally powerful, allowing it to run at incredible speeds and traverse even the most treacherous terrain.
The Dreadfang's tail is long and whip-like, tipped with fiery red flames. This tail is not merely for balance; it can be used as a weapon, delivering searing blows that can set opponents ablaze.
The flames on the tail are intensely hot and difficult to extinguish, making them a formidable threat.
One of the Dreadfang's most terrifying abilities is its ability to melt into shadows, disappearing from sight and striking without warning.
This ability makes it incredibly difficult to track and predict, allowing it to ambush its prey with deadly efficiency. The Dreadfang is also incredibly resilient, capable of shrugging off wounds that would cripple other creatures.
Its thick fur and powerful muscles provide a natural armor, protecting it from most attacks.
The Dreadfang is a creature of nightmare, a predator that embodies the darkness and fire of the wildlands.
Its saber-toothed head, burning forehead, and shadowy form make it a truly terrifying sight, one that inspires fear and dread in all who encounter it.
The stranger's gaze narrowed. "It senses the knife. That blade was forged from Dreadfang bones. No wonder it came for the wagon."
Enix frowned. "The knife was made from them?"
The stranger nodded. "Long ago, dark hunters forged weapons from the bones of Dreadfangs, binding them with their shadow essence.
The blade becomes tied to the creatures. Any living Dreadfang feels it. That is why it came for us."
The beast lunged, faster and stronger than any before. Its tail smashed trees aside, jaws snapping inches from Enix. The stranger slashed across its armored shoulder, sparks flying, but the blade barely cut through.
Enix swung Incinerator, flames scorching its flank, but the mother Dreadfang shook off the attack, growling deep and full of rage.
For minutes that felt like hours, they fought. Every strike from the Dreadfang forced them to react instantly.
The creature could melt into shadows, disappearing only to strike from unexpected angles.
Enix rolled beneath its jaws and struck with Incinerator, flames biting deep into the veins under its plates. The stranger attacked from above, driving his sword into gaps in the armor.
Each blow brought progress, but the mother Dreadfang roared and pressed them hard.
Sweat ran down their faces. The wagon shuddered as the battle raged around it. Horses screamed.
The farmer cowered. Even together, Enix and the stranger struggled to hold their ground.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they found an opening. The stranger vaulted onto the creature's back, pinning it slightly. Enix thrust Incinerator directly into the base of its skull.
Black smoke poured from the mouth as it convulsed. With a final, ear-splitting scream, the mother Dreadfang collapsed, shaking the ground with its fall.
Silence returned.
Then movement caught Enix's eye. Tiny shapes scuttled from the shadowed underbrush. Cubs. The Dreadfang had offspring.
Enix's chest tightened. He reached for one of the smaller cubs, cradling it gently. Its fur was black with streaks of deep red.
The young creature growled softly, its red eyes glowing faintly, but it did not strike. The stranger ignored it, his gaze elsewhere.
"Take it," the stranger said.
"Do what you must. I have no need for it."
He pulled a short, ancient knife from his cloak, its sheath carved with strange symbols that pulsed faintly.
"This is yours. I cannot pull the blade from the sheath. It is useless to me, but perhaps it will be useful to you."
Enix accepted the knife, tugging at the hilt. The blade would not budge, humming faintly with dark energy. He held it carefully as he cradled the cub.
He stared at the little creature, struggling to find a name.
Nothing felt right. Then the cub flicked its tail, a fiery streak of red light waving in the fading sun. Enix's eyes widened.
"You… you are Roc," he said softly.
The young Dreadfang stirred, then it suddenly leapt from Enix's arms. It soared through the air, landing squarely on Enix's chest, knocking him to the ground.
Its red eyes glowed intensely as it pressed its head against his, whimpering softly. It was a demand, a claiming. It wanted the name, wanted the bond.
Enix smiled. "We are bound by a pact, Roc. You are my companion, and I am yours. Together, we survive."
The stranger watched them, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
"Roc? Why that name?" he asked, his voice low.
Enix, still on the ground with the cub nuzzling him, looked up.
"Have you ever seen the Roc plant? It can only be found on cliffs and higher mountains, a drifter clinging to life.
I remember seeing one once. It was a strange flower, petals red and black, and it wiggles like it was dancing when strong winds collide on its petals. They say it was a medicinal plant used to treat burns and rashes."
Roc circled him once, then shrank into the shadows at his feet. Even invisible, Enix could feel its presence, always near, always ready.
The wagon moved again. The stranger climbed onto it for a moment before stopping at a crossroads. Left led to Ethille. Right led far south, into lands unknown.
"This is where we part," he said.
Enix looked at him, holding both the knife and Roc.
"Will we meet again?"
"Maybe," the stranger replied, already stepping onto the southern road. "Maybe not. Time has a way of answering questions for us."
He walked away, fading into the twilight shadows.
Enix stayed on the wagon, glancing down at Roc and the knife. The carvings pulsed faintly in the fading light.
The knife and the Dreadfang carried history. They were remnants of the dark hunters, warriors who had forged weapons from the bones of Dreadfangs and bound them with shadow essence.
The mother Dreadfang had sensed the knife from miles away. Its attack had been inevitable.
Roc had survived because it recognized Enix as its master. Its loyalty would grow with him. In the shadows, it could shrink, hiding, observing, waiting, ready to strike when needed.
Together, they were bound by fate and shadow, prepared for the dangers ahead.
The wind carried the smell of smoke and earth.
Shadows stretched long across the fields. Ahead lay Ethille, and beyond it, danger, answers, and mysteries waiting to be discovered.