He straightened, intending to return to where the Four-Antlered deer had last been sighted.
Then the forest broke.
Voices cut through the heat-muted air, sharp and raw, tearing across the brittle quiet. Panic stripped of dignity. Shouts edged with desperation rather than command.
Something fled uphill through brush, claws scraping bark, and fireleaf fronds recoiled as bodies pushed past them, ember-veined stems flexing before snapping back into place.
Kaelric pivoted toward the sound.
He did not run.
He let gravity take him.
The slope fell away beneath his boots, ash-soft soil yielding before holding. He slid between scorched roots and flame-hardened ferns, hands brushing cinder-bloom petals still warm from stored heat. The echoes folded strangely here, bouncing off basalt outcroppings and heat-warped trunks, and he angled twice, following the way the shouting staggered rather than carried.
He touched down like falling ash.
Three hunters.
Their equipment lay scattered as if thrown aside in haste. A coil of wire half-buried in soot. A cracked flare stone ticking with residual warmth. One man lay crumpled near a blackened cedar, arm bent at an angle no body should allow. His fingers twitched in short spasms, nails dragging faint lines through the dirt, each breath rasping shallow and wet in his throat.
The other two stood frozen.
Faces pale beneath streaks of sweat and grime, blood dried in dark flecks across their sleeves. Heat shimmered above the ground between them and the animal, warping the air into soft mirages.
Before them loomed the deer.
It was enormous, nearly five times the size of a common stag. Light-tan hide stretched over powerful muscle, pale stripes faintly luminous along its flanks, each band pulsing with stubborn light. Two rows of antlers crowned its head, the first thick and blunt, the second branching sharply like split spears, their tips scorched where they had clipped burning vines.
Relics burned along its sides, etched deep into flesh, seams of light pressed into living tissue.
The reason it had survived where others had fallen.
The beast staggered.
One hoof scraped stone, throwing sparks. Its chest heaved, breath venting in short bursts that steamed against the warm air. A tremor rippled through its shoulders, then it collapsed, antlers carving furrows through bark as it went down, its weight shaking loose ash from the branches above.
Silence followed, heavy and stunned.
Only the distant crackle of fire-plants breaking seedpods disturbed it.
Kaelric stepped forward.
The hunters flinched.
Recognition reached them slowly, like a delayed echo through smoke.
The talkative one swallowed. His gaze darted, searching for Edran, who was not here, then back to Kaelric standing alone. Surprise surfaced, raw and naked. He straightened despite trembling legs and bowed, shallow but deliberate.
"We… we took it down together, sir Luthar," he said carefully, voice brittle with calculation rather than respect.
Kaelric's eyes moved, unhurried.
Scattered relic traps. White scars crossing older burns on their hands. Satchel straps worn thin from weeks of use, buckles polished smooth by constant tension. Beneath the deer's hide, its heart beat faintly, warmth radiating into the scorched soil.
"I want the heart," Kaelric said.
Calm. No threat. No rise in tone.
The hunter's breath caught.
"W–we can't," he said quickly. "It's… it's worth too much. We need stones. My friend—" He gestured sharply toward the broken body. "We need a healer first."
For a moment, hope crept into his posture, thin and desperate. He shifted half a step, not in defiance, but to place himself between Kaelric and the wounded man. His shoulder angled forward. His hand hovered near his satchel, then stilled.
Kaelric looked at the injured hunter.
Blood seeped into ash beneath him, turning it dark and tacky. The man's jaw worked soundlessly, teeth clicking once as he fought to keep a scream contained.
Kaelric looked back at the speaker.
Something clicked.
Not anger. Not surprise.
Alignment.
The scarred hunter leaned against a nearby tree, silent, eyes sharp. He did not speak. He watched Kaelric the way a veteran watches a blade, not fearing it, but respecting what it does when swung. His weight stayed on his back foot. His fingers never left the strap across his chest.
They were the same three.
The ones who had warned them.
The ones who had hesitated.
The ones who had failed, and come back.
"I doubt he ever said 'sir' to any Luthar before me," Kaelric thought distantly, watching how the title anchored the man's stance, as if formality itself might buy safety.
He crouched beside the deer.
Even in death, it radiated strength. Heat bled from its core into the ground, lifting faint vapor from charred moss. The Relics along its flanks glowed weakly, resisting surrender as they dimmed. Kaelric's fingers hovered near the hide, close enough to feel warmth, close enough to sense the stubborn pulse beneath.
Behind him, the hunters did not move.
No one stepped forward.
No one knelt beside the injured man.
No one placed themselves between Kaelric and the heart.
They watched instead.
Measuring. Waiting. Hoping.
Their gazes flicked to their satchels.
Their shoulders leaned toward one another.
The wounded man made a small sound, barely louder than a firebud opening nearby.
"They're choosing," Kaelric realized.
Not between right and wrong.
Between profit and loss.
He rose.
Dark Claw stirred.
He did not strike yet.
Kaelric inhaled once.
Pressure gathered in the air, subtle but present, like heat building before flame. Leaves along nearby branches trembled. A red-winged emberbird burst from cover and vanished upslope. Somewhere, stone ticked as it cooled.
The forest felt close, attentive, as if every root and leaf had leaned inward. The rhythm of the deer's heart echoed faintly in his palm, then faded.
His hand lifted, fingers curling toward the space between them. The air thickened, resistance forming like a held breath.
The talkative hunter sensed it a heartbeat too late.
"No—"
Kaelric moved.
Dark Claw flashed, precise and final.
Blood burst from the man's neck, hot and sudden, spraying across ash-dark ground. He collapsed before the word finished forming.
The second hunter shouted, half-turning toward his fallen companion.
Stone Rock pulsed.
A fist-sized mass condensed and struck his forehead with a dull, final sound. His body dropped instantly, consciousness extinguished before pain could arrive.
Silence returned, deeper than before.
Kaelric stood still, breathing even. Warmth slicked his knuckles. Copper touched the back of his tongue. His pulse slowed as Dark Claw and Stone Rock withdrew, dormant once more.
The forest reacted.
Fireleaf clusters folded inward. Roots contracted beneath the surface. Flowers sealed their ember-bright throats. Birds froze mid-call. Wind shivered through scorched branches, uncertain.
Or at least, it felt like that to him.
A line had been crossed.
Kaelric knelt beside the deer and reached in, fingers closing around the heart. Heat throbbed against his palm, its rhythm syncing with his own.
He rose, bloodied hand steady.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Not cruelty. Not triumph.
Realization.
This was his first kill.
And the forest understood.