Dance of the desperate

The scent of damp earth and rotting wood filled Rael's lungs as he pushed himself up from the mud, his body aching from the fall. His father had made sure there was no easy start. They hadn't even stopped the carriage—just tossed him into the wild like a broken tool no longer needed.

He wiped dirt from his face, his fingers trembling. His ribs throbbed from where he had landed wrong, and his right ankle burned from a sharp twist.

Above him, twisted branches stretched like skeletal fingers against the moonlit sky. The wind carried distant howls.

He wasn't alone.

Rael moved slowly, taking in his surroundings. He had landed in a ravine, the earth damp and slick beneath his boots. Rocks jutted out at odd angles, and fallen logs lay half-buried in the mud. Visibility was poor—the thick fog curled between the trees like living mist.

He gritted his teeth and checked his only weapon.

A dagger. Rusted along the edges, its grip worn. A cruel joke.

He wasn't expected to survive.

A low growl rippled through the silence.

Rael froze. His breath slowed.

Glowing yellow eyes stared from the underbrush.

Then—movement.

A Direfang Wolf lunged from the darkness, its massive form tearing through the mist.

Rael barely reacted in time. He twisted his body—not fast enough.

A claw raked across his shoulder. Pain exploded down his arm.His back slammed into the mud as he tumbled, his vision flashing white for a second.

Move.

He forced his body to roll as the wolf pounced again. Teeth snapped an inch from his face. A growl rumbled through the beast's chest, hot breath washing over him.

Rael's mind burned. He had no strength to match it. No aura to overpower it.

But he had instinct.

The moment the wolf lunged again, Rael did something no knight would ever do—

He threw himself toward the attack.

His sudden movement caught the beast off guard. Instead of dodging, he collapsed into the wolf's chest, his weight knocking it slightly off balance.

Unorthodox. Wild. Desperate.

Before the beast could react, Rael jammed his dagger into its open mouth. Not a stab—he hooked it between the fangs and yanked sideways.

The wolf's jaw twisted unnaturally. A yelp of pain. Blood sprayed as one of its teeth tore free.

Rael didn't escape unharmed.

The beast's claws ripped across his ribs, a brutal swipe that sent him sprawling. He gasped as agony flared through his side.

His vision blurred—his body screamed for rest, for relief.

But there was no time.

The wolf staggered, snarling, blood dripping from its ruined jaw. It was disoriented, but still alive.

Rael gritted his teeth and adjusted his stance. He couldn't overpower it—but he could unbalance it.

Instead of standing strong like a knight, he let his body loosen. His feet barely touched the ground as he swayed, unpredictable.

The beast hesitated.

Rael took a shaky step back—then stopped.

A false opening.

The wolf took the bait, lunging.

Rael twisted at the last moment, pivoting behind the beast. In a single, desperate motion, he drove his dagger into its exposed throat.

The beast thrashed. Blood sprayed across Rael's face.

Then—silence.

Rael collapsed to one knee, gasping for breath. His side burned. His arm ached. His clothes clung to his skin, sticky with blood—some his, some not.

He had survived.

But barely.

With shaking fingers, he wiped the blade clean and forced himself to his feet. He couldn't rest. The fight had been loud—others had definitely heard it.

He wasn't the only hunter in these woods.

The Trial of kings was far from over