The heavy doors closed behind them with a slow groan.
The echo followed the four down the corridor until it faded into the hum of pipes and machines.
No one spoke at first. The air in the hall felt heavier than before — warmer but suffocating.
Kael walked a few steps ahead, silent, eyes fixed forward.
Rin's boots hit the floor a little too hard, his anger spilling through every step.
"Rest, huh?" he muttered. "We almost die doing their job, and now we're supposed to nap while someone else gets the credit?"
Lira's voice was calm but clipped.
"We're still alive because he pulled us out, Rin. He made the right call."
"Yeah, yeah," Rin said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Doesn't make it any less humiliating."
Taro sighed. "At least he didn't yell at us."
Kael stopped at the intersection. The others nearly bumped into him.
He turned slightly, expression unreadable.
"He's not wrong. We're new — green compared to the ones he'll send. If we push too far too soon, we'll burn out fast."
"Still," Rin muttered, looking away, "feels like we left something unfinished."
Kael didn't answer. Because he felt it too — that quiet, gnawing guilt that came with leaving behind people they hadn't truly saved.
---
The mess hall was a different world.
Steam fogged the windows; the air was thick with warmth and the scent of broth and herbs. Hunters sat at long wooden tables, some laughing, some asleep where they sat.
Kael's group slid into a corner booth, their bodies still stiff from exhaustion. A cook ladled stew into their bowls — thick, brown, fragrant.
For a moment, none of them spoke. The sound of spoons scraping bowls was oddly comforting.
Taro was the first to speak.
"This is… actually good. Tastes like something alive."
Rin smirked. "Eat enough of it and you'll start hallucinating vegetables."
Lira shook her head but smiled faintly.
"You two have the maturity of children."
"We were children when we joined," Rin said, leaning back, stretching. "Guess it's a miracle we made it this far."
Kael listened quietly, spoon still in hand. The warmth from the food finally reached his fingers, but not his thoughts.
He looked at his team — at the small, tired smiles, the faint bruises under their eyes.
This was what being alive looked like. Fragile, human, and fleeting.
"You know," Lira said softly, "it's strange. We fight monsters who eat humans, but most days, it feels like we're the ones being eaten — just slower."
Rin looked up. "That's dark, even for you."
"I'm being realistic."
Kael set his spoon down. "Maybe that's what separates us. We still feel tired after it's over."
That earned a quiet nod from Lira — and a small, unexpected laugh from Taro.
"Well, here's to being tired and not dead."
He raised his bowl. The others joined without a word, clinking the edges softly together before drinking.
---
The baths lay deeper underground, carved from stone and fed by the base's geothermal vents. Steam drifted through the arched ceiling, catching the lantern light like drifting ghosts.
Kael and Rin stepped into the men's section, setting their weapons aside before lowering themselves into the water. The heat hit instantly, sinking into muscle and bone.
"Oh, thank the gods," Rin groaned. "I think my soul just unclenched."
Taro followed, slipping in with a quiet sigh.
"This beats sleeping on cold stone."
Across the partition, Lira's voice echoed faintly, clear but teasing.
"Don't flood the baths again. Last time, the vents almost burst."
Rin grinned. "No promises!"
Kael sank deeper until the water reached his shoulders. The heat dulled the ache in his arms. For the first time in days, his body didn't feel like it was fighting gravity.
The sound of dripping water, soft laughter, and distant machinery filled the room — strangely peaceful.
For a moment, Kael closed his eyes and almost forgot the frozen tunnels, the pale faces, the silence of the dead.
"You think they'll really handle Ravenwood?" Taro asked suddenly.
Rin shrugged. "The veterans? Sure. They've got years on us."
Kael's eyes opened again. He watched the ripples drift away from his submerged hand.
"If they don't… then we'll go back."
The others fell silent. The sound of bubbling vents filled the space between words.
None of them questioned it.
---
Later that night, the outpost dimmed to its nighttime glow — quiet generators humming, the halls empty except for guards.
Kael stood alone on the observation deck, a narrow walkway lined with thick glass that looked out toward the snowbound horizon.
The moon was faint, barely piercing the storm clouds. Beyond the glass, the frozen wilderness stretched endlessly, Ravenwood hidden somewhere beyond the ridges.
He could almost feel it breathing.
The memory of the warden's face returned — not the monster's, but the man's, before he turned. Duty in his eyes. Then hunger. Then nothing.
Kael rested his hand on the glass.
The surface was cold — colder than it should've been.
"If they won't finish it," he whispered, "we will."
Behind him, faint footsteps approached. It was Lira, wrapped in a black overcoat, holding two mugs of tea.
"Couldn't sleep?"
"Didn't try."
She handed him one mug. Steam curled between them.
"You can't fix everything, Kael."
He didn't respond.
"But you can rest," she added softly. "That's how you keep fighting."
Kael took a sip. The warmth settled in his throat, grounding him.
"Yeah… just for tonight."
Lira nodded once and turned to leave.
He stayed a little longer, watching the faint shimmer of frost forming on the horizon glass — as if the forest was whispering his name again.