The carcass of the fallen carrion hound was still smoldering when they finally moved deeper into the forest. No one spoke much after that fight—Eryndor's display had silenced both bravado and doubt.
By the time the sun slipped behind the tree line, the group had settled in a small clearing, ringed with rocks and low brush. The air grew colder as night fell, shadows stretching long across the grass. Lyanna crouched near the center, coaxing a flame from a flint. It sparked, caught, and soon a thin campfire crackled, giving off a meager but welcome glow.
The others formed a loose circle around it. Some checked their weapons. Others nursed shallow cuts and bruises. But their eyes kept drifting toward Eryndor.
He sat a little apart, leaning against a tree, arms folded over his knees. His body ached with every breath. Sparks still lingered faintly along his skin, reminders of the power he had forced himself to wield earlier. He stared into the darkness beyond the firelight, listening for every rustle in the brush.
Lyanna brought him a small piece of dried meat. "Eat," she said simply, sitting down beside him.
He gave her a tired look but accepted, chewing slowly. The salt stung his cracked lip, but the taste grounded him. "You should rest," he murmured.
"I could say the same to you," she shot back, her voice sharper than usual. Then softer: "You scared me today."
He didn't answer right away. The firelight flickered in his eyes, shadows cutting sharp across his face. "I scared myself," he admitted finally. "I pushed harder than I should have. If my body gave out before that last strike…" He trailed off, shaking his head.
For a long moment, the only sounds were the fire popping and the distant calls of night creatures. Then, one of the other students broke the silence.
"That thing you did," a boy named Callen said cautiously, "when the hound's strike bounced back… what was that?"
Eryndor looked over, his expression unreadable. "Something I didn't know I could do until I had to."
Callen hesitated, then gave a slow nod. The others said nothing, but their faces said enough. Respect. Unease. Maybe even fear.
As the night deepened, some of the students lay down near the fire, exhaustion winning over caution. But Eryndor stayed awake, his back against the tree, watching the treeline. Lyanna dozed lightly beside him, her head tilted toward her bow within reach.
He closed his eyes briefly, just enough to focus inward. He could feel it—those new abilities pulsing faintly in his veins, demanding refinement. But beneath that strength was something else: the lesson of betrayal. The figure who nearly ended him, the mission twisted into a trap. He clenched his fists slowly. Trust is a blade. Handle it carelessly, and it'll cut deeper than any enemy.
The forest whispered with unseen movement. Eryndor's eyes opened again. He didn't relax. He couldn't afford to.
It was their first night in the wilds, and survival wasn't just about fighting monsters. It was about vigilance. Endurance. And knowing when to act—and when not to.
As the firelight flickered lower, he made a quiet vow. "Stronger. Every day. Until no one can put me down."
Lyanna stirred faintly at his words, though she didn't wake.
Eryndor stared into the darkness until the first hint of dawn brushed the treetops.