Chapter:15 Caged Fangs

The golden light of late afternoon poured through the small window, casting long, warm lines across the room's wooden floor. The sounds of hammers and sweeping brooms echoed faintly in the distance—the festival had passed, and the city was slowly returning to itself.

Fen lay on the clinic bed, unmoving. A shaft of sunlight touched the edge of his bandaged neck. His hand rose slowly, fingers brushing the tender skin. There was still a dull ache, but the bleeding had stopped. His wounds were healing—faster than they should.

He sat up, muscles stiff, breath shallow. With a quiet grunt, he reached for his clothes folded neatly on the chair: torn shirt, weathered jacket, and boots still dusted with alley stones. He slipped them on, one by one, as if piecing himself back together.

The streets were quieter now, with remnants of celebration being swept away. Fen wandered, pulled by instinct more than direction, until he found himself near a narrow stone bridge above the canal. Water glinted below like liquid amber. Workers bustled around, loading crates and barrels onto skiffs and wagons. The smell of river and rusted metal clung to the air.

But beneath it all, something else—a smell of sorrow, deep and primal.

Fen's ears twitched. He stilled, focusing. A sound beneath the noise. Not human. A growl. Faint. Guttural. Mournful.

He followed it, steps light, senses sharp, until he reached a weather-worn warehouse tucked between two canals. Most of the workers passed it by without a glance. But Fen noticed the guards—two of them, smoking and talking too casually.

He waited until they turned their backs, then slipped into the shadows. Inside, the air was cooler, stale with wood dust and old chains. In the far corner, half-covered in tarps and draped in darkness, stood a massive cage.

Fen moved slowly. His boots made no sound.

As he reached the cage, he gently pulled back the heavy cloth.

A creature stared back at him.

Towering, with thick fur matted in places, and eyes glowing dim gold—a bearfox. A rare beast, larger than any Fen had seen, with the bulk of a bear and the snout and tail of a fox, its curved fangs twitching with fury.

The moment its eyes met Fen's, it reared back and bared its teeth—a soundless snarl of rage.

Fen didn't flinch.

"I'm not them," he whispered, his hand resting near the cage's edge.

But the bearfox didn't care. Pain radiated off it like heat—its fury wasn't just toward guards. It was something older.

Fen knelt beside the cage, the shadows wrapping around him like a cloak. The bearfox snarled again—lower this time, uncertain. Its fangs were bared, its eyes wild with fury and fear. But Fen didn't move away.

Instead, he reached out.

Slow. Open-handed. Steady.

His fingers hovered just beyond the bars, near the beast's snout. The air was thick with tension.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Fen whispered, his voice barely above breath. "I know what they've done. I can smell it on the air."

The bearfox growled once more—then sniffed.

A long moment passed.

Then… it stepped forward. The cage creaked as its massive paws shifted. Its nose touched Fen's fingertips.

Fen held still, heart pounding, not from fear—but recognition. This creature wasn't just a prisoner. It was a kindred soul. Wounded. Hunted. Caged.

But not broken.

The bearfox gave a quiet chuff, its body easing. The tension in its shoulders loosened. Its lips lowered, hiding those deadly fangs. Then—it leaned into his hand.

Fen smiled, something soft and genuine flickering across his face for the first time in days. He reached through the bars, pressing his forehead gently against the beast's fur.

"You feel it too, huh?" he murmured. "We're the same."

The bearfox let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper—low, sad, but trusting. Then it nuzzled him.

Fen chuckled softly and wrapped his arms around the beast's thick neck, careful of its wounds. For a moment, they simply stayed there, tangled in each other's warmth like long-lost brothers.

Then Fen whispered against its fur:

"We're gonna get you out of here."

And somewhere, deep within the belly of the warehouse, something mechanical clicked.

Absolutely! Here's the revised continuation, combining the heartfelt moment between Fen and the bearfox with the sudden magical arrow twist:

Fen chuckled softly and wrapped his arms around the beast's thick neck, careful of its wounds. For a moment, they simply stayed there, tangled in each other's warmth like long-lost brothers.

Then Fen whispered against its fur:

"We're gonna get you out of here."

Suddenly—a sharp twang.

Thwip!

An arrow hissed through the air behind him, fast and silent like a serpent's strike.

Fen's instincts roared to life. He twisted, shoving his shoulder to the side just in time—the arrow missed him by inches, slicing through the space where his head had been.

It struck the lock with uncanny precision.

CLANG—crack!

A surge of green light burst from the impact, runes unraveling in a shimmer of fading magic. The enchanted lock clicked—then fell apart in two smoldering halves, useless and broken.

The gate of the cage groaned as it loosened, nudging open with a creak.

Fen turned sharply, eyes searching the dark rafters of the warehouse.

A hooded silhouette stood in the shadows, bow lowered. Cloaked in swirling, faint green sparks—illusion magic. The very same kind he had seen before.

The figure gave a slow nod. A flicker of something—recognition? A message?—passed between them.

Then, in a quiet shimmer, the stranger disappeared—vanishing like mist.

Fen blinked. Then looked down.

The bearfox, now free, was staring at him with calm eyes.

Fen smiled again—wider this time.

"Alright," he said, resting a hand on its fur. "Let's get the Hel out of here."

Fen pressed his hand against the bearfox's shaggy flank, and together they moved—silent shadows slipping through the warehouse's back corridor.

But something was wrong.

The guards that had been posted outside—were already down.

Fen paused over one, checking for signs of life. Alive… barely. A faint breath. A crackling burn of green magic scorched across the guard's armor.

Illusion magic again? Fen thought, narrowing his eyes. That archer… whoever they are, they're two steps ahead of me.

No time to dwell.

He threw a tarp over the bearfox, tucking the corners to make it seem like bundled cargo. The beast huffed in protest, but didn't resist—trusting him now. Fen pulled up his jacket, flipping the collar high to hide his bruised face.

They kept to the shadows, slipping out a side gate and toward the riverbank that wound along the edge of New Mug City.

The sun was just beginning to dip—molten orange reflecting off the slow-moving water.

An old wooden boat bobbed at the dock. A wiry old man in a wide hat leaned lazily on a pole, chewing a reed between his teeth.

Fen approached, nodding politely.

"Hello there, mister," Fen said. "How much to cross the river?"

The old man looked up, eyes flicking from Fen to the tarp-covered figure behind him. He noticed the snout poking out—bristled, dark, breathing slowly.

He squinted. But didn't flinch.

"Only three coins," he muttered, voice dry as driftwood.

Fen dug into his pouch and dropped the coins into the man's palm. Clink.

The boatman nodded, jerking his head toward the planks. "Alright. Get in."

The bearfox stepped cautiously, the boat groaning under its weight. Fen steadied it, rubbing the creature's side.

"Okay, buddy," he whispered. "You're almost home. Just across this river, and the forest's yours again."

The beast turned and nuzzled his hand gently, a low purr-rumble in its chest.

Fen smiled.

The boatman pushed off with his pole, guiding the vessel into the current. Water lapped against the hull, soft and steady. The city lights faded behind them.

As the boat neared the middle of the river, Fen stood on the dock, raising a hand in farewell.

The bearfox turned once more—looking back—before letting out a deep, echoing chuff.

Fen watched until the silhouette disappeared into the trees on the far bank.

Then, finally, he turned and walked back into the shadows of New Mug City.