Daylight grows dim as Ivan and Khaliss rest in the forest. They've found a spot that's sheltered by a compact shelf of earth, framed by the healthy brush—this time certain that it is no illusion—where they can tend to Sylfir's corrupted wound. Khaliss has done all she can for now, standing watch out of sight as Ivan remains with the wood elf, recuperating from almost an hour of carrying her weight. He's exhausted, but he dares not close his eyes as he sits beside her supine form. The beast could be upon them at any moment. Even resting here feels wrong, but when his step started to falter, Khaliss insisted.

They've taken the convoluted way back to the village, given the destruction the beast has wrought on the forest in all its roaming. The felling of the trees almost seems intentional—barriers of rotting wood blocking natural paths, forcing them to walk through thick underbrush that steals their strength with every step. More than a few times, Sylfir's long hair has tangled with it, picking up stray leaves or ripping from her head altogether. He hopes she can forgive him when she wakes.

But for now, she sleeps. It's not something elves do if they can help it. Her eyes flick this way and that beneath closed eyelids as she dreams for what's probably the first time in decades.

Ivan wonders what she dreams of. He hopes her mind doesn't linger on her recent suffering. She looks peaceful enough for him to believe that she doesn't. He watches her for a little while, paralysed—caught between thought and action—but then the voice in the back of his head grows too insistent to ignore. Unable to resist, he reaches out to her, and his hand comes to rest on her forehead, still clammy and cool. He strokes her dirt-caked hair, still silky despite the stray leaf buried within, which he carefully picks out from beneath copper-red strands.

Part of him hopes she'll respond to his touch, but she never does.

"How is she?"

Ivan draws his hand away with a start, his head arching up to look up at Khaliss, who emerges from the brush with Sylfir's spear in hand, returning from her watch.

"She's dreaming," he says.

Khaliss hums. "I see. Let us hope she dreams of good things."

Ivan's limbs are slow to move, even though his mind is eager. "We should head out."

"Agreed. We are not far now. We should make it to the village before sunset."

As Ivan reaches for Sylfir, Khaliss comes to help him sling her over his shoulder, once again helping him cope with her weight as he stands. She leads him out of the brush and back into the wider forest to resume their journey home, though she gestures for him to take the lead again so she can cover his flank.

The short rest has done him some good, but his legs are stiff from disuse. It takes time for him to regain full mobility as he takes yet another winding path, clearer than any other he's taken on the return journey. This is a part of the forest the beast hasn't touched yet. It's reassuring, given that they're close to his family's land now.

Around him, the forest animals weave between the underbrush, and the woodland birds chirp their evening song, flying from branch to branch. Their song is comforting to his ears, every note confirming their reality. This time, when he sees a distant boar make its retreat, he hears its hooves strike the ground as it squeals.

As the minutes pass and the waning sun dips lower in the sky, Ivan feels the most serene he ever has since he entered the forest. He holds Sylfir a little tighter, secure in the knowledge she's alive. She's safe with him.

Soon, the trees grow thin, and Ivan can see the vast, but ruined golden fields of wheat, rye, and barley between their trunks and branches. Just a little farther west and south and he'll be at his house. He cuts across the forest floor to skirt the border of the crop fields, hugging the perimeter. His gaze turns toward his house, where he sees a few distant figures roaming just outside it, but they're too distant to make out in detail from his position in the forest.

A sharp intake of breath reaches him from behind. He turns to see Khaliss looking out to the north, then east with a bemused expression, and his heart skips a beat.

"What is it?" Ivan says.

Khaliss' frown deepens. "A whispering voice."

"I don't hear it."

Khaliss looks at Ivan with worried eyes, but concern soon gives way to barely repressed anger as her eyes dart away, her lips curling back in a soft sneer.

The suspense becomes unbearable for him. "What's it saying?"

She shakes her head. "Hmph! 'Lo, it comes from the east,' she says. This voice—she mocks me..."

Crack!

Ivan flinches, the fear striking at his core reflected in the lavender of Khaliss' eyes.

"No. Not this close," he whispers.

The ground almost rumbles, and a low growl echoes through the trees from the east, preceding what sounds like the snapping of terrible jaws.

"Go," Khaliss says.

Ivan doesn't linger to ponder how the beast evaded their senses for so long. He runs, but every step is made awkward by Sylfir's weight. She rocks this way and that, and he feels his shoulder grow wet. Her wound is tearing, he realises, her flesh splitting wider and deeper, and Ivan winces to know he's doing her harm, but the alternative is far worse.

"Keep going!" Khaliss commands.

A sickening series of echoing cracks cut through the air, licking against the ear like a cruel whip, and the ground shakes; Ivan knows the beast is bounding toward them at speed. His heart is whipped into a frenzy, stealing the breath from his lungs, and he worries his strength will leave him as he almost runs himself into the ground. He's not sure he can carry Sylfir beyond the threshold of the ward around his home, but he's so close.

He reaches the corner of the golden crop fields, and as he turns, he dares to look back. The beast bounds from the northeast, and Khaliss trails behind him. As they lock eyes, she grimaces, her lips curling back as she pants.

"Go!" she screams. She skids to a stop, turning to cast a spell at the beast, but it resists her magic, snapping its jaws as it chases her—as it chases them. 

Ivan turns tail and runs again, hugging the perimeter of the fields. The air in his lungs burns as he inhales and exhales, his throat growing raw with every heaving breath. His arms grow weak and his legs feel like they're weighed down by lead, and as he reaches the midpoint of the field's width, the beast lets out a wailing roar. He doesn't look back to see why. On his shoulder, Sylfir begins to groan, and he feels her weak legs kick.

"Hold on!" he says, but she's deaf to reason, still jostling in his grip. He growls in frustration, even as he understands that she's suffering. If she keeps moving like this, he'll drop her, and the beast will make an easy meal of them.

"Sylf!"

It's no use. She kicks again, and he curses as he stumbles, but somehow keeps himself upright. He squeezes her tighter to keep her from kicking, forced to slow down to regain his balance, but he never stops. He can't. The trees grow sparse as he draws closer to the main road. Closer to safety.

One last burst of energy sees him cut through the undergrowth, his muscles burning under the strain, and he breaks through the trees and onto the main road. He crosses it, his feet pounding the dry earth until they land on the green summer grass just before his home. Sylfir kicks one more time, and his grip loosens, his muscles too fatigued to resist. He stumbles, and they fall forward together, her back smacking into the ground as he lands on top of her in a sprawling heap of limbs. His arms shake as he pushes himself off her and onto his back, panting like a dog as she groans gutturally beside him, near-senseless in her agony.

"Ivan!"

He can barely turn his head toward the voice, but he doesn't have to. Soon, Artur comes into view, standing over him as his gaze flicks frantically between him and Sylfir.

"I'm fine," he says, his voice wafer thin. He reaches for the wood elf with a shaky hand, his fingers brushing against her arm. Then, a thunderous roar grates against his eardrums and he flinches, suddenly finding the energy to roll and push himself up on trembling arms.

He looks at the edge of the forest just in time to behold Khaliss breaking free from the trees as they topple behind her, giving way to the formidable strength of the beast as it barrels toward her. She drops Sylfir's spear the moment she makes it to the meadow, skidding to a halt as she unsheathes her longsword and spins around. Her silvery ponytail moves like a whip around her, and she faces the beast to take up her battle stance. Ivan watches her with wide eyes as she looks death in the face.

But it never comes. The beast smacks into an invisible wall, screaming as its flesh blackens and its feathers wither, singed by holy flame. The smell of burned carrion quickly infiltrates Ivan's nose, and he turns his head away in disgust.

An earsplitting roar tears through the beast's throat before it retreats, growing cautious, but its remaining acid-green eye fixes on Khaliss. She remains resolute, gripping her longsword like a vice. With a caution that mirrors the beast's, she follows it as it skirts the perimeter of the ward.

And then it rushes forward again, charging, only to smack into the invisible wall of radiant magic once more. This time it doesn't flinch or roar, snarling and growling as it forces itself to bear burning fur, feathers, and flesh, and the magic of the ward ripples and wobbles, producing a sonorous warble. Ivan feels a pit form in his belly as he realises that the ward is faltering. He watches Khaliss widen her stance and dig deep; the beast doubles down, too, kicking up dirt as it presses forward.

Then comes the resounding whistle of an arrow. It punches through the muscle and gristle of the beast, burying itself deep in its shoulder, and the creature whimpers, pulling back and looking back at Ivan's home. Ivan traces its line-of-sight back to a window on the top floor in the western wall.

"Erik," Artur says, "Again!"

Another arrow flies from the window, cutting through the air and piercing the beast's skin to bury itself in its forelimb, finding a companion in the arrow Ivan fired at it in the forest clearing. It proves too much for the creature to bear alongside its other injuries, and with one last guttural roar, it turns tail and retreats to the forest.

It's only then that Ivan realises he's holding his breath. He lets the air out of his lungs in one long exhale, awash with relief, but as he looks closely at the edge of the forest, he sees a silhouette standing eerily still by the toppled trees. A robed figure. A woman with a hidden face save for her red eyes. She fixes Khaliss with her penetrating gaze but says nothing, holding still for a moment before turning away and following the creature, disappearing through the trees.

"Bring her inside!"

Ivan turns his head to the sound of his father's voice. He's standing in the doorway, beckoning for him to come forward. Artur reaches for Sylfir, taking her by the shoulders, tucking his arms beneath hers and pulling her up. He grunts as he drags her, his head turning toward the house.

"Help me!"

It's only then that Ivan notices the few farmers gathered there, young blood employed by his father to plough the fields and reap the harvest, their farming tools held like weapons. Most of them are dumbstruck, but one has enough wherewithal to drop his pitchfork and rush toward Sylfir, grabbing her legs and helping Artur. She's silent the entire time they handle her as they hobble towards the safety of his home. Ivan struggles to his feet to follow, but not before Khaliss reaches him, her hand stabilising him as he stumbles on tired legs, and they walk together until they're passing through the doorway.