The Beast’s Retreat

The air was thick with the aftershock of Sabre's charge. Every sense screamed as Cren's desperate dive fell seconds short—a flash of claws, a hiss of fur, and blood fanned across the tangled roots at his feet.

"Gah!" Cren's voice cracked. He bit down through the pain, staggering upright on his good leg as the fresh wound turned his sock sticky.

"Cren—hold on!" Gilian's command cut the confusion. The wail of wind hugged the forest floor, spinning up leaves—fwoosh—as Sabre's mountainous form loomed between them.

Cren hobbled away, using his spear to steady himself, jaw clenched. He didn't need to say it, he didn't want to. The pain slowed him. For the first time, Gilian saw Cren—calm, iron-willed Cren—glance behind, wondering if escape was even possible.

The beast's presence was stifling. Even in moon-dipped shadow, Sabre's eyes shone. cold, calculating, almost resentful that its prey had not simply yielded. With another heavy breath—huff, huff—the monster advanced, thick paws bruising the soil with every measured step.

Gilian felt terror prickle between his shoulders, but years of training moved his hands before thought could sideline him. He swung his bow into place, notched an arrow with trembling fingers, and called, "Cren, get down!"

He took aim—not just at the beast, but at the space where terror and bravery waged war inside him.

Twang!

The arrow sliced the air, striking a patch of moss by Sabre's haunch. Not a wound, but a warning. Sabre's head whipped around, focusing on Gilian—its breath a furnace, eyes narrowed as if remembering the boy's scent.

Arvan stepped in at Gilian's flank. "You okay?" His question was a whisper—more incantation than inquiry. Even Arvan's cockiness was gone, replaced with battlefield instinct. He gripped his dagger in reverse, knuckles white, body taut as a bowstring.

Suddenly, Herman leapt between Sabre and the others, both daggers glinting. He set his stance wide, boots digging grooves—screech—into the loamy ground. "You're not taking anyone," he growled, voice level.

A low growl rumbled from Sabre—

Grrr…

—making the branches above tremble.

"Arvan, cover Cren!" Herman barked. "Gilian, ready your arrow—force it back!"

Cren pulled up behind a knotted tree, using it as a bulwark. Panting, he wrapped a torn cloth around his bleeding foot; each tug sent agony lancing up his leg, but he stifled the sound.

Sabre's paw pressed into the soil, claws digging deep. Its muscles bunched. it was deciding.

Herman braced with both blades. "Here it comes!"

Then—ROOOAAR!

The sound exploded from Sabre—jaws wide, tongue lolling, hot drool splattering the bark. The forest echoed, each vibration a thunderclap. Gilian felt pain twist in his head, eardrums vibrating. He ducked, shielding Cren's form with his body.

Leaves shivered free. landing like green rain on the party as the monster's voice faded.

Sabre's attention left Cren and settled predatorily on Gilian, now a step away from the others—the easiest target, isolated by instinct.

Gilian's mind raced. He readied his bow, forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply.

Headshots—it's always the lore. Or…

He locked eyes with the monster and waited.

Time stretched—a waiting game, only the soft sough of the wind moving atop the tension.

Then—thwip!

Gilian's arrow sped for the beast's head, but Sabre's reflexes astounded him. The monster moves aside—swoosh—the arrow missing its vital mark.

But Gilian's true shot was for Sabre's incoming foot—another arrow, loosed instantly. 

Thunk!

The shaft bit into Sabre's front right paw just as it landed—creek—causing the beast to stumble, blood spurting.

Sabre howled—a sound twisted with pain and rage. Its body wrenched, but it never slowed, charging straight for Gilian.

The world narrowed. Gilian reached for his dagger, panic clawing at his ribs.

Everything happened at once.

A glint—shink!—and one of Herman's daggers spun overhead, catching Sabre along the shoulder. The blade rattled to the leaves.

"Now! Distract it!" Herman roared.

Arvan didn't hesitate. From his pouch, he snatched a small packed stone, lit the fuse with a match from his vest, and lobbed it.

Feeshh—BANG!

The explosion sent soil and gravel flying, enveloping Sabre in a cloud

—whoomph! 

The beast jerked back, momentarily stunned.

Cren, gritting through his injury, strung another arrow—this one wrapped in an explosive pouch. He drew deep—his hands shaking only slightly—and released.

Twang!

The arrow vanished into the smoke. A heartbeat, then

—BOOM!

Debris and blinding white erupted. Sabre staggered, its head snapping, a streak of blood smeared across the tough skin near its right eye. It blinked, dazed—then bared its monstrous teeth even wider.

But while everyone expected Sabre to press its attack, something changed. In the ringing aftermath, the beast froze, body coiled. Its wrecked ears, peppered by the blast.

Twitch!

Facing the distant woods behind the hunters.

Beneath its growl, Gilian sensed hesitation. He lowered his bow, hand slick with sweat, eyes scanning for any hint of what Sabre had detected.

Why isn't it coming for us?

For a moment, an awful understanding crept in—this was not the face of a beast beaten by hunters. Sabre was distracted, perhaps alarmed by something only it could sense.

Then, in a move none expected, the Alpha Monster turned. It bolted—not down the path from which it came, but opposite, crashing through thickets and roots, its hulking form shrinking into the shadows.

Crack, crash, snap!

Silence fell, broken only by the ragged painting of the four hunters.

They stood dumbfounded, weapons still raised.

Gilian exhaled, swaying. "It's… running?"

"Not from us." Cren's voice was rough, low. He fought to stay upright as Arvan propped him up, concern clear on his face. Blood trickled steadily from Cren's ankle, staining the leaves.

"I hit its eye—looks like that was enough to scare it," Cren half-joked, but his pallor betrayed the pain.

Herman wasn't convinced. "That wasn't fear. Did you see how it looked? It was listening to something else. Something further in the woods." He wiped his blade, eyes narrowed.

Gilian gathered his arrows, checking for damage. "We're alive, that's what counts." Yet inside, the terror lingered. He replayed the charge—the beast's intelligence, its ability to shake off wounds that would have stopped any other creature. Sabre had felt like the storm, but what storm makes a giant run away?

Arvan stared after the direction Sabre came from, mouth set in a thin line. The hairs on his arms rose at a sudden shiver in the air, though the wind was still. From the corner of his eye, he saw a shifting in the gloom—faster than any fox, darker than any shadow.

He frowned, rubbed his eyes.

Just the wind, or maybe a foxy again… he told himself, although the memory would linger.

They took inventory—minor scrapes on Gilian, frayed nerves on all. But Cren's wound was worrisome. Arvan bound it tightly with a strip of cloth and helped him up, supporting nearly all his weight.

"We have to move. Whatever spooked the Sabre… we don't want to meet it," Herman said, voice quiet but urgent.

No one argued.

The party regrouped, hearts still beating really fast. Every step back toward Huina felt lighter and heavier at once. lighter with relief, heavier with the new uncertainty. 

Was it the anomaly that had happened at Arnan Village that now stalked the forest, even driving out an Alpha Monster? 

The question haunted Gilian. He kept his bow ready, arrows close, scanning at every snap of branch or odd shadow between the trees.

Even after Sabre's flight, the forest did not return to its old, friendly hush. No birdsong. No insect hum. Only their footfalls—crunch, shuffle, limp—echoed through the ever-deepening twilight.

They moved together, Gilian now at the rear, giving Cren his place at the center. Every time a branch cracked or a root shifted, Gilian's heart skipped.

He glanced at Arvan—who was as jumpy, eyes flicking over his shoulder more than ahead.

Then, distant, a second, fainter roar vibrated up from the darkness.

Sabre—or something else?

Cren shuddered. "Let's get out, fast."

They picked up speed, supporting Cren's limping stride, careful not to leave any sign or scent behind if they could help it. Gilian tried to think of home, fire, and laughter—but each time, the images of Sabre's claws, blood in the undergrowth, and that quick, unnatural shadow in the trees returned.

***

After what felt like hours but was only minutes, the safety of distance felt just slightly more real. Still, no one relaxed, and not until they reached Huina Village would any of them really breathe.

For all their skill and courage, they left the forest that night knowing, something even monsters feared now lurked beneath the canopy of leaves… and it was watching them, too. emotionlessly.