The first beast didn't make a sound.
It slipped from the shadows like smoke, its fur blending with the dark—until it pounced. A scream ripped through the silence as a guard was taken down in a blur of black and red. His spear clattered uselessly to the ground.
Then came the howl.
A piercing, soul-cutting cry that shattered the night.
Crimson Howlers.
Within seconds, more followed—eyes glowing red, claws tearing through tents, jaws snapping. Dozens. Maybe more. The hunters barely had time to shout.
"Form up!" Captain Varn roared, drawing his great curved blade.
Kael stood frozen for a second as panic exploded. Students scattered. Some screamed and ran into the trees—never to return. Others grouped tightly together, wielding whatever weapons they had.
A Shadowfang tore through the side of a wagon, dragging a noble student by the leg. Blood sprayed across the bark of a tree. Den and Ravi charged forward, their bodies pulsing with raw energy, forcing the beast back—but it was already too late.
The noble was dead.
Liri grabbed Kael's hand. "We stay with the group!"
He nodded, clutching the dull dagger tighter. Around them, chaos reigned.
One hunter was thrown against a boulder by a massive Howler Alpha, bones cracking with a sickening crunch. Another leapt atop it, stabbing wildly, until three more wolves brought him down.
Kael didn't know where to go—until he saw the younger kids hiding behind a broken cart, trapped as two beasts circled.
He didn't think. He just ran.
Sliding into the space between them, he waved his arms and screamed. "Over here!"
The beasts charged.
He ducked under one swipe, slashing clumsily with the dagger—it barely scratched the creature, but it was enough. It lunged again, but this time, a flash of silver cut it down. Captain Varn had arrived.
"Stay down, boy," he barked. "Protect the small ones."
Kael obeyed, pulling the kids under the cart as the captain and a few remaining hunters formed a rough line, pushing the beasts back with coordinated strikes.
But the line wouldn't hold for long.
A second wave came—more Crimson Howlers, and this time, several Shadowfangs with oily black fur and glowing eyes.
The students near the edges screamed again, and another noble boy was dragged away. He had tried to run alone.
Kael watched it happen—watched the beast pounce—and for the first time, he didn't freeze. He grabbed a nearby sling from a dead student and hurled a rock at the creature. It wasn't much, but it bought just enough time for Ravi to leap in and land a clean hit.
The student still died. But he didn't die alone.
As the night stretched on, the fighting slowed. Beasts began to retreat.
Kael sat beside Liri, panting. His arms shook from the adrenaline. Around them, the ground was soaked in blood—some still steaming in the cold air.
Of the 10 hunters, only 6 now remained.
"Where's our food?" one student asked, his voice hollow.
Varn didn't answer. Instead, he stood over a pile of destroyed supply crates—ripped apart by beasts during the attack.
"Gone," he said at last. "Burned or eaten. All of it."
A groan rose from the camp—hopeless, tired, broken.
Kael looked down at the dagger in his hand. Cracked. Chipped. But it had helped him save someone.
Then Varn called everyone forward.
"No speeches," the captain said. "No mourning. No guilt. This is the wild. You all saw what happens when you panic. When you run."
He looked around. "From now on, we take what we can from the dead. That's the rule."
Silence.
"Gold, weapons, tools—if it helps you survive, take it. Let them be useful one last time. We won't bury them. Blood draws beasts."
A few students recoiled, but no one objected.
Kael stepped forward, kneeling beside a fallen boy he remembered—a quiet one named Harren. He took his coin pouch and the iron-bladed short sword still strapped to his side.
It felt cold in his hands. But right.
A flicker of survival.
One of the beast corpses—a massive Shadowfang—lay near him, half-charred by fire. Kael noticed a deep wound in its flank. Fresh. It had been wounded before it attacked.
"I think this one was injured earlier," Kael muttered to the captain.
Varn examined the body, then looked at Kael with narrowed eyes. "Did you finish it?"
Kael nodded.
The captain grunted. "Then according to hunter rule, ten percent of this beast's worth is yours."
He pulled a pouch from his coat, tossed it at Kael.
"Hundred gold coins. You earned it."
Kael stared, stunned.
The others didn't cheer. No one clapped. But a few glanced his way—not with pity, but something new. A flicker of respect.
The night ended not with prayers, but the butchering of beast corpses—hunters carving usable parts for weapons and equipment. Kael sat beside the fireless camp, the gold heavy in his pocket, the sword heavier in his hand.
He hadn't chosen to kill.
But he had survived.
And tomorrow, he would again.