The sun rose slowly, as if mourning the night.
Where there had been tents, only torn cloth and broken poles remained. Where there had been laughter, now only silence—and blood. The stench of it clung to the clearing like fog. Crows circled above, hesitant to land.
Kael hadn't slept. None of them had.
He sat near the blackened remains of a campfire, the iron short sword—his first real weapon—across his lap. His knuckles were pale, wrapped around the hilt like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
Around him, the survivors moved like ghosts.
A girl limped past with her arm in a sling, eyes unfocused. Two younger students sobbed quietly over a shared blanket. Hunters checked their wounds, speaking in low tones, preparing to move again.
And in the center of it all, Liri worked.
Her shirt was soaked with dried blood—not her own—and her face was smeared with ash, but she moved with purpose. With care.
She knelt beside a wounded student, tearing a clean strip of fabric from her own outer layer. "Hold still," she whispered. "This'll burn a little."
The boy winced as she poured a herbal mix over his bite marks, but didn't cry.
Kael watched her for a long moment.
No one told Liri to help. No one asked her to. But she had been doing it since the fighting stopped—bandaging, comforting, organizing supplies. Despite her limp. Despite her own injuries.
She noticed his stare.
"What?" she asked, wiping her forehead with the back of her arm.
"You... you're good at this," Kael said awkwardly.
"I wanted to be a healer," she said softly. "Before all this. Maybe I still do."
She gave a bitter laugh. "Or maybe I'll just die like the rest."
Kael said nothing. He understood.
Then, without thinking, he rose and walked toward a small group of younger students huddled near the supply cart. "We need to start packing. If you're strong enough to move, help gather what's left."
One of them looked up, surprised. "You're... not a leader."
Kael shook his head. "No. But no one else is telling us what to do."
That was enough.
Slowly, they started moving. Gathering scattered supplies. Checking which packs had survived. A broken pot of dried rice was found and quickly salvaged—dirty, half-burnt, but still edible. Two students worked together to patch a torn water flask.
Ravi limped over, a bruised arm in a sling, and clapped Kael on the back. "You giving orders now?"
"Just helping," Kael muttered.
"Well," Ravi said, smirking, "don't stop. People are listening."
Nearby, Captain Varn was speaking with the remaining hunters. They'd lost too many last night—another hunter was found dead in the bushes, dragged there during the chaos.
That made it three total.
And food was nearly gone.
"We march in two hours," Varn announced, loud enough for all to hear. "The beasts will be back. We can't stay here."
He looked over the group. "Those who can't walk will be carried. Those who refuse to move… will be left."
His voice was hard, but not cruel.
It was survival.
Kael tightened the strap on his new short sword. The handle was chipped, but it felt right in his hand. Better than the cracked dagger that had saved him once—and now sat buried under blood and dirt.
He looked around. At the camp. At the people. At the ruins.
And then he saw something move at the edge of the woods.
Not a beast.
A student.
Kael stepped forward. "Hey! You okay?"
The boy staggered into view—pale, wild-eyed, his arm shredded. "I... I was hiding," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to—I just ran."
Varn looked at him, nodded. "You lived. That's enough."
The boy collapsed to his knees, sobbing.
Kael helped lift him up, guiding him toward Liri, who was already preparing fresh bandages.
They weren't heroes.
They weren't warriors.
But somehow… they were still alive.
And the forest wasn't done with them yet.