Spirit

The beast was now wounded.

Its entire body was littered with cuts and bruises, each movement slower, more deliberate.

Its attitude had changed too.

Gone was the reckless, snarling predator that had leapt into battle with blind fury. What stood before them now was something far more dangerous — a thinking killer.

Its breaths came heavy, plumes of steam rising into the frozen air, but its eyes were alert. Focused. Calculating.

It began to circle.

Not charging. Not roaring.

Waiting.

By now, the other two groups had finished their battles. Lucia, Drako, and Kael stood at a distance, bloodied but victorious. The unawakened rebels were patching wounds and keeping Ash away from the carnage.

All eyes were now on Vael and Kiera.

But no one stepped in.

Not because they didn't want to help.

Because they knew they weren't needed.

Kiera shifted into a low stance, the shadows under her feet flickering unnaturally, as if reacting to her heartbeat. Her sword gleamed in the pale light, wet with blood but unwavering.

Vael stood at her side, his breathing steady. One eye shut, the ruined one glowing faintly with spatial mana.

He could feel every breath the tiger took. Every twitch of its limbs. Every shift of its weight.

"It's scared," he said aloud.

"Good," Kiera replied.

They moved.

Two blurs against the snow.

The beast tried to pivot, but Kiera's shadow tendrils shot forward, gripping its front legs just long enough to stagger it.

Vael blinked — a clean angle — and slashed behind the knee joint, making the tiger collapse.

Kiera was already above it, her sword aimed for the neck.

The beast twisted violently, flinging her aside with one last burst of strength — but Vael was waiting.

No blink this time.

Just one step.

And a thrust.

Right through its eye.

The tiger let out a final, ragged breath.

Then fell.

Dead.

Silence hung over the mountainside for a moment — broken only by the wind.

Then, slow claps. From Drako. Then Lucia. Even Kael gave a slight nod of respect.

Kiera stood up, brushing blood from her cheek.

Vael just exhaled.

"That's three months in the forest for you," he muttered.

That night, they feasted.

They weren't about to let three perfectly plump, juicy carcasses go to waste, were they?

Overall, the death toll was minimal — only one casualty, and a few injuries.

Ash, who had watched the whole battle from afar, finally saw the rebels', and Vael and Kiera's, true skills in combat.

To say she was impressed would be an understatement.

She even seemed to get a bit of life back in her eyes.

The unawakened, too, had a newfound respect for their scout, Kael.

They hadn't forgotten his performance — how he had practically carried their entire group by himself. While his ability wasn't as flashy as instant teleportation or shadow manipulation, it was clear he had experience. He was adaptable, calm, and deadly.

In short, reliable.

And in a place like this, that meant everything.

After a good night's rest, the group resumed their journey.

By now, they were about halfway through their trek across the Alps — maybe a week of walking left.

In the following days, they finally encountered the first signs of human life. Unfortunately, it wasn't exactly a warm welcome.

Multiple traps had been laid along the narrow paths. Some were crude. Others… alarmingly well-made.

They resulted in several injuries.

Morale, which had been boosted after the battle, started plummeting again.

Leadership was being questioned.

"Is this even the right path?"

"Another trap? Seriously?"

"I'm starving…"

"I can't feel my fingers."

"I swear I saw something move back there—"

And so on.

You'd think Kael would take the blame for not spotting the traps in advance — after all, he was the scout.

But no.

In their eyes, Kael could do no wrong.

He even shared some of his food with the others — the same food he had been hoarding before. Whether it was guilt or strategy didn't matter.

One of the rebels, a lanky man named Joren, muttered under his breath, "If it wasn't for Kael, we'd all be tiger meat by now."

The others nodded in agreement.

Kael had gone from quiet outlier to something of a legend — the only awakened among them who hadn't flinched when death stared them in the face.

Drako noticed it too.

During one of their evening breaks, as Vael and Kiera were sparring in the distance, he leaned over to Lucia and whispered, "They're starting to look to him."

Lucia simply replied, "Let them. It keeps them from panicking."

Still, the cracks were forming.

Even if Kael was earning their loyalty, the group was slowly coming apart at the seams. Sleep was shallow. Food was tighter. The cold had become something more than a background nuisance — it was an ever-present predator, gnawing at them, night and day.

Ash stayed quiet, but not idle.

Whenever they stopped, she'd check the others' gear — a ripped glove here, a cracked boot there — and patch what she could. Her small hands moved with practiced precision, salvaging supplies from Lucia's kit when needed.

No one asked her to help. She just did.

One night, as the wind howled like a wounded beast outside their barely-standing shelter, Vael sat near the fading fire, half-asleep and half-aware.

He glanced around the dim space:

Kiera sharpening her weapon.

Lucia mending a weather-worn map.

Drako on watch, stone-still as always.

Ash — curled up in a corner, her coat patched so many times it looked more like armor than clothing.

For a moment, Vael let his guard down.

Maybe… just maybe… they'd make it through this frozen hell.

But morning would come fast.

And with it, the next test.